The New Sense

Sunday, June 30, 2002

Awoke to the sounds of craziness in the streets as the Brazilians celebrate winning the soccer World Cup. I've a funny feeling things would have been a bit more subdued if Germany had won instead.
I felt a bit sick this morning, but didn't actually puke. I'm going to have to tell him today or tomorrow. As it's a long weekend I can put it off for another 24 hours.
I finally convinced B— to come out and enjoy the samba-dancing, horn-blowing yellow throng that took over St-Laurent and St-Denis. It felt like Brazil, too. Muggy as hell (actually, I suppose in Hell it's a dry heat) which is really annoying, because Montreal seems to have skipped the fresh, early summer days and gone straight from rain to rainforest.
B— only agreed to come because he decided that a crowd like this would not be the kind of atmosphere Sean would be able to handle. I asked him to tell me more about Sean as we walked among the Brazilians and Brazilabees (Dave's word for Montreal's Portuguese immigrants who are fans of Portugal's soccer team when it suits them, and Brazil's the rest of the time).
"He's obsessive."
"Clinically?"
"Probably, though he's too intelligent to ever have a therapist diagnose him as such."
"And now you think he's obsessed with you?"
"Oh, definitely."
"And you aren't with him?
He smiled. "Sure. Of course I am. That's the problem with personal obsession; it infiltrates, it spreads like a virus. You can't know someone is obsessed with you and not be obsessed back."
"Well, that sounds very deep, but what about stars? What about Britney Spears? Is she obsessed about her fans?"
"If she's truly aware of their obsession, then yes."
"Interesting. I'll ask Britney about it next time I run into her."
"Anyway, Sean isn't a fan. He's not obsessed in the worshipping sense. He's jealous."
"Because of Stephanie?"
"No. I bet he never even thinks about her."
"What, then?"
"He's jealous because I have something he wants and he can never get."
"Which is?"
"My way of seeing the world."
"Oh, that." B— really is a nut. Who am I kidding? I'll humour him for a while until we break up, or get married and I have to tell the kid, "Daddy's a nut."
"I don't expect you to understand."
"Good. But why would he be jealous anyway? If he doesn't like your way of seeing the world, what does he care? And if he does, and he's so intelligent, why doesn't he just try to look at the world the way you do?"
"Good question."
I waited for more as we mingled with the fans, but he didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. The smell of the crowd was getting to me. It was fucking hot today and the fans had been up for a while. Does your nose get more sensitive when you're pregnant?
Finally he broke his silence. "He also has a wicked sense of humour."
"What do you mean by 'wicked'?"
"I mean he can be cruel, very mean, if he wants to be."
"But funny?"
"Yes. In a very, very dark way. Look, can we stop talking about him now?"
"Sure. Do you want to go back?"
"Uh-huh."
The rest of the day was a bit weird between us (what's new!). I felt like he could tell I had something to tell him, but was stopping myself. And tomorrow is the big day. Tomorrow I tell him I'm pregnant.

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posted by Sara