The Intrusion

Nine

[Jordan]

The wind chills me as I walk home, and I pull my jacket tighter around myself. To take my mind off the persistent drizzle, I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my text messages. I have no service, so I just re-read the conversation Mel and I had last night.

Me: Hey Mel, how is your mom doing?

Mel: She is doing okay

Mel: I am going to take some sick/vacation time from work and stay here with my family through next weekend.

Me: Okay. Do what you have to do. I'm sure work will understand.

Me: You need to be with your family right now.

Mel: Yeah. Thanks, Jordan. :)

Mel: Don't have too much fun without me, kay? ;)

Me: I'm sure I won't be doing anything too exciting, haha. But I'll be sure to fill you in on any interesting activity across the street. ;)

Mel: haha, you better!

I know this might sound selfish, probably because it is, but now I don't know what I'm going to do this weekend. Mel and I were planning to go to the aquarium. I could still do that, but I don't think it would be as much fun alone. Maybe I'll go for a hike by myself or take it easy for the weekend. Guess I'll see...

Bang!

I just crashed into something. Or maybe someone. I knew I shouldn't be looking at my phone while I was walking. That's how people fall into manholes!

"Oh, I'm so sorry," a man says to me.

Canadians. He's apologizing to me, when I was the one that walked into him!

"Are you all right?" I didn't fall myself, but I've knocked him over. He must not have been paying attention to where he was going either.

He stands and brushes some of the water and mud off his jeans. He stares at me, looking me up and down like he's studying me or something. "I'm fine," he finally says.

I'm a bit shocked. I was expecting him to be angry at me and scold me for not watching where I was going, but from the way he's looking at me I get the idea that he thinks he's the one at fault. Things don't go like this in New York. People in Vancouver are so much nicer and more considerate.

He looks me in the eyes with an expression that almost looks like guilt, and for whatever reason, an overpowering feeling that I've seen him before sweeps over me. I know him. But I don't know from where or why.

Suddenly, shock—no—recognition, sparks on his face, and his eyes stretch wide. "I... I've got to go," he says quickly and rushes past me down the sidewalk.

I turn around. "Wait!" I call after him, grabbing him by the arm. "Have we met before?"

"No" He jerks his arm out of my hand and glares at me like I've got the largest piece of broccoli in the world stuck between my teeth. I run my tongue across them just to make sure, but nothing. Finally he breaks the stare and turns to leave again.

He's acting really weird. Why would someone behave this way?

He knows something.

I go after him.

"Hey!" I call at him, practically chasing him down. "Yes, we have. I recognize you, and I know you recognize me too. Where have I seen you before?"

"You haven't." He stops walking and turns back to face me, breathing out heavily and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"What's your name?" I'm sure I've seen him before. Maybe at work?

He pauses and sighs. I think he might roll his eyes at me as well, but that also might just be my imagination. "Andy," he finally says.

Andy. We don't have any Andy's at work. In fact, I don't think I've ever known anyone by that name before. "I'm Jordan," I tell him.

"Nice to meet you, Jordan, but I'm sorry. I really have to get going, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I say.

He turns and heads off down the street, but I can't let him get away. I have to figure out why it is that I recognize him. This feeling is way too strong to ignore.

"Wait," I say again.

He turns around, and I'm pretty sure I didn't just imagine this eye roll. But, I have been pestering this poor guy quite a bit, so I can't blame him for being annoyed.

"What?"

"Do you want to go for a drink or something later tonight?" I blurt out.

His blue eyes light up for a second. "Oh," he says. He runs his hand back through his short blonde hair, and then he puts the hood on his jacket up. "Umm, sure. Where do you want to go?"

"Do you know where Dockside Bistro 21 is?" I ask him. It's the only place I can think of off the top of my head: me and Mel's spot.

He thinks for a second. "Yeah," he finally replies.

"Great! How about there at 7:30?"