A still isn't speaking/texting/calling me. It's still possible that the email I sent didn't get to him and that he didn't see the messages I sent when he was online. It's possible he's just busy. It's likely he's pissed.

I think the problem with A is that he never really got over me dumping him for B. He still wonders if I'm 'the one' and I think it bothers him that even though it ended with B I've never stopped loving him. Until recently, I wondered if B was still 'my one'.

I met B in the summer of 1999. My life was a bit of the mess at the time. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life (hold on.. I still don't!). I partied all night, stayed wherever I could, lived out of a backpack (rucksack) and went to class during the day to finish up my highschool diploma.

My computer teacher, CT, was an odd little woman, married, who liked to lure in stupid men on the internet, admitantly mostly american solders who sent her dog tags and trinkets from overseas. She was about 4'10, 14 stone with frazzled, over-permed hair. She was literally cross-eyed and I found it difficult to hold a conversation with her and not wonder if she was looking at me or the guy beside me, or a wall, or the ground....

One sunny Canadian summer morning I was sitting in class, chatting online to A (as was all I ever did back then) and A's mate B came online. A, B, some random friends from the class and CT went into a chat room and joked around with the mic for a bit. The mic was a big deal back then! HA-HA. Anyway, CT got to telling lies to B and they began chatting regularly.

A few weeks passed and one day B got in touch with me asking me if I knew why CT wasn't responding to his messages anymore. She told me that he wanted to come to Canada and that that meant the end of their bogus relationship. She had told him she was a single 18 year old beautiful blond (she used pics she took of her NIECE on her profiles!) so understandably he may have been confused when the cross-eyed midget whore adulteress picked him up.

B was distraught. He said he had already purchased the tickets to come to Toronto on the basis that CT has said he could stay with her when he visited.
I don't remember the thought process for what happened next but suddenly I told him not to worry, that my parents had an extra room (MY old room) and that I'd ask them if they'd mind having an 18 british guy that I had never met in my life (and didn't even know through chat very well!) stay for a month in September.

Yeah, right! Right?
I had no intention of asking my mom. She had kicked me out on my keister a few weeks earlier because she claimed that her and my father 'worked better' without me there.
I hate her.

Anyway, again, thought process missing, skip to the end, my mom agreed B could stay at my parents house if I moved back in whilst he was there.
Oh, and my father, the french canadian, massive, ex-professional fighter said that if the limey bastard looked at him the wrong way, he'd crush him.
I love my daddy!

B and I only really properly spoke in the week before he came to stay. He had flown into the States to visit some other girl he'd met on the net who'd turned out to have a boyfriend. He was hauled up in a hotel room alone so when we would speak to arrange our meeting we'd gab on for hours about anything and everything we could think of.

I wasn't immediately attracted to B. He had a charming British accent but I'd written him off as he was a year younger then me. However the night we met and he wrapped his arms around me I was surprised how manly a 6'4 18 year old boy can feel.

It was a cool Autumn evening. B was taking an 12 hour bus ride from Toronto to the small town I lived in. He was due to arrive at about 9:30pm. I wasn't feeling at all well (early stomach issues) so I was asleep in bed when my mom woke me up to meet B.

I missed B at the first stop as the driver on the bus couldn't see me waiting and thought it best to drop him one mile down the highway at the usual drop-off where there was a payphone.
I ran all the way there in my tartan old man pyjamas. I could see him, sitting on a massive suitcase under streetlight, a modern day Thinker.

He looked petrified until he saw me when his face broke into a massive grin. B grin #1. Tall an slim with loads of dark, tousled, 12 hour bus ride hair. He stood up and walked towards me with open arms, which I wasn't expecting. I really wasn't the sort of person who liked being touched back then. I thought of myself more as someone who touched other people as a way of conveying dominance. A small pat on the arm, a squeeze of a knee..
He hugged me and I melted.

Those are the first few moments of B and me.