The Canary Flaxseed Story

Say hello to your mother for me.

I'm sorry, I'm nervous.  And when I get nervous, I get mean.

Here's the story.

Her name was Canary Flaxseed.  Ok, obviously her name wasn't actually Canary Flaxseed, but I thought I'd use a fictional name that closely resembles her real name.  Now that I've got that established...

Her name was Canary Flaxseed.  She was 15.  So was I.  We were high school freshmen.  Everyone was in love with Canary Flaxseed.  The boys all wanted to be with Canary Flaxseed, and the girls...well the girls were glad they weren't Canary Flaxseed because 15 year old boys are gross and ridiculous.

Yes, we were all boys and girls.  All of us, that is, except Canary Flaxseed.  She was a woman.  With the body of a woman.  And she was a dancer.  I like dancers, always have.

So everyone loved Canary Flaxseed, everyone lusted after Canary Flaxseed...everyone, that is, except for me.  And do you know why?  It's because I'm an individual, it's because I'm an independent thinker, it's because I don't follow the crowd...

I was madly in love with Canary Flaxseed.

I went to great lengths to be Canary Flaxseed's best friend.  Best friend!  Friends, we were friends, yes, friends...we hung out all the time!  We were study partners, we played tennis together, tennis.

We were friends.

So even when Maxwell Boulevard (not a real name) pulled me aside and said, "so I hear Canary Flaxseed has a huge crush on you," I didn't let it bother me.  I didn't let it affect me.  I said, "nah...we're just friends."

I went to her house in Gobbler's Cove (not a real place) and there she made me cornbread.  She made me cornbread.  And she fed it to me...with her hand!  Into my mouth!  Do you understand?  Do you understand how sensual that is?  To feed somebody with your hand?  Into their mouth?  Cornbread?  It's the most sexual oven baked good there is!  She fed me cornbread with her hand into my mouth!

So I made up my mind...I had to ask Canary Flaxseed out on a date.  What are we going to do on this date?  I don't know, I'm 15, I don't have a car, I can't drive; I'll worry about that later...

We had a study group.  It was me, Canary Flaxseed, my friend Wolf Jones (not a real name), and Canary's friend Spuds Forest (nope).  Now, Spuds...she had these insane feet.  She could staple things with them, she could eat an apple with them...one time she was sitting behind Maxwell Boulevard in geometry class and Maxwell suddenly began to feel one of the most amazing neck massages he had ever received.  It was Spuds' feet!  She was giving him a neck massage, a solid one, with her damn feet!  They were just like hands, these feet.

So anyway, we were at the library, and Canary and Spuds were talking about some guy named Sploodge (it was actually Robbie).  I had heard the two of them mention this Sploodge guy before and it was never good.  Apparently, Sploodge had called Canary the night before around midnight and wouldn't get off the phone until two in the morning.  "What an idiot," says Canary.  "I know, right?  What a tool," says Spuds.

So I turn to the two of them and I say, "wow, this Sploodge sounds like a real douche bucket."

"That's Canary's boyfriend," said Spuds.  She actually signed it to me with her insane hands feet.

I was devastated.  Absolutely crushed.  My eyes welled up with tears.  You can't hide that shit; she noticed.  I tried to play it off..."oh, that's cool.  Yeah, far out...word...neato mosquito..."  I spanned three decades of general agreement slang.

As we were leaving the library, Canary pulled me aside and said, "hey, you look a little bummed."  Isn't that sad?  Isn't that pathetic?  I wanted her to say, "Sploodge means nothing to me, it's you!  It's always been you!  I'm in love with you!"

No.  "Hey, you look a little bummed.  Is everything alright?  Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah, say hello to your mother for me!"

I didn't say that.  I told her I was tired.

Not too long after that, Canary Flaxseed moved.  She went to a different school.  We lost touch.

As coincidence would have it (or as magic would have it), Canary and I ended up both moving up to Chicago for college.  Well, I attended college, she joined a professional dance troop in Evanston.  We reconnected and I went up there to visit her.  I had dinner with her and her mother.  I had met her mother before...wonderful woman.  Always laughed at my jokes.  We hung out a few times in my freshman year.  By my sophomore year, we had lost touch again.

Then, halfway through that second year of college, I had an intense dream about Canary.  And the night after that, another vivid dream about her.  I wrote in my journal at the time that I felt I would be back in contact with Canary again soon and, wouldn't you know it, the guy who had my old dorm phone number from the year before came up to me and said, "some girl named Canary Flaxseed called for you.  I wrote her number down but I put it in my jeans and now those jeans are in the wash."

"You get me that number."

And so I got the number.  We spoke, Canary and I, over the phone for eight hours.  Eight...all night long.  She had been dating one of the Northwestern football coaches or something insane like that.  I was single.

Sadly, we fell out of touch once again after that.

Years later, when it became easy to stalk people on the internet, she found me.  She was married and living in Orlando.  She had her own dance company now.  She looked great, judging by the online pictures of her.  She wrote me a very sweet message, one filled with the stars of youth and the dreams we lose in the shadows like runaway ghosts...

"OMG, lol!  How r u?!  How's Chicago?  Cold enough for you?!  lmao!  You look great!  KIT."

I wrote her back.

"So good to hear from you.  Hey, you're married!  Chicago is great, I'm doing well.  You know, I had the biggest crush on you back in high school.  I miss you.  Your husband's a real lucky guy.  You probably make him real happy.  Take care.  I wish you all the best.  And say hello to your mother for me."

Thanks everyone.  Have a great weekend, I'll talk to you later.