On Irrationality

Despite my rudeness, Danny was there the next evening, this time with Plato. Then the next night, with Socrates; and the next, with Theophrastes. We didn't talk much: Just the standard "Hey, how are you?" and "See you tomorrow." On the first day of exams he surprised me with hot chocolate; I brought cookies the next day. The day before my last exam he asked me out.

"Skating – and wandering around, looking at the Christmas displays?"

I was a bit shocked, though thankful that he had waited until exams were almost over. Part of my stomach still curled with distaste for Jordan – but that had been over four weeks ego, and I had stopped cursing men with the end of classes. And our coffee date-but-not-date, overlooking the ocean so long ago, had been nice … And I loved skating …

"I can't," I blushed.

"That's alright – " but he had, oh-so-obviously, deflated. "I didn't really expect you to, y'know, just go out with anyone."

Anyone? – I was amazed that he was even interested. I wasn't ugly, but – at the same moment – wasn't anywhere close to being a supermodel: Tall, curvy – but not out-of-shape, oval face, brown eyes. I didn't follow fashion (shoulder pads? no thanks.) or wear make-up; school was for studying, the gym for sweating, and grocery stores for – well, groceries. I was too independent to put up with love-y-dove-y romantic stuff (public displays of affection? no thanks.). Jordan had been my longest relationship ever; the next had been Mark, in grade eight, at three days. I rationalized with psychology: Girls with high self-esteem tend not to flit between relationships. – I was just too happy with myself.

"No, it's not like that." The words tumbled out. "I'm flying to Seattle tomorrow evening after my exam – Christmas with my brother. I'll be back in early January, though."

"Yeah?" He lit up. "The rink will still be open."

Christmas was crazy: Ben's in-laws, Lucy's family – seventeen of them – was also visiting, most of them fawning over her pregnant belly and offering boxes of chocolates. They were an odd group. Lucy was a lot like her parents; – quiet, very polite – the rest were amazingly rowdy, and let their dogs run loose through the house. I helped out where I could, prepping breakfast in the morning and bringing the kids for walks in the afternoon – Lucy was in no state to host so many people, and Ben was the polar opposite of domestic. They left on Boxing Day; the silence was beyond welcome.

Lucy had the baby – a healthy girl, Alba – three days before I left for New York; Ben was still buzzing when he drove me to the airport. I was bouncing when I arrived at my apartment, and the mood infected all five of my roommates. The first week of term wasn't looking too horrible.

- Combine that with a Friday date. I met Danny, as usual, at the library, but instead of moving inside we headed for the Upper West Side and Central Park – as promised, skating. It was dark and snowing. Had it been a few weeks ago, the place would have been packed with patrons trying catch that elusive Christmas spirit. Now it was, more-or-less, empty, and most people complained about the cold.

Danny was a horrible skater: A bit like a five-year-old, ankles turning inwards and legs spread at odd angles. It was laughable and a bit cute – I had taken figure skating as a kid, and was working on axles when I quit at age twelve, when it started to get nasty-competitive. I had expected Danny, having suggested skating in the first place, to be a hockey player – or, at least in possession of some competency.

"Is this your first time?" I asked. He was grasping the sideboard with one white-knuckled hand, flailing with the other one.

"I've watched people," he said, eyes focussed on the ice. "It looked – easier?"

"Fix your posture first." Rule one. "Leaning forwards sets-off your centre of gravity. Up straight." He followed hesitantly, not letting go of the board. Standing tall, he was comfortably taller than my five-foot-eleven: Six-three, maybe six-four. "OK – now, come away from the boards, and we're going to fall down."

"What?"

"Well, you need to learn how to get up," I rationalized. "Ready?"

By the end of the night Danny was half-walking, half-stumbling across the rink. He was stable enough that I could chance offering my hand, though we couldn't work up much speed. It was more fun than I thought possible, though – as always – my feet were grateful to be out of the skates. Danny returned his pair, and I slung mine over my shoulders.

The rest of the date passed amazingly quickly – which means, I guess, that it was amazingly fun. We spent a lot of time wandering up-and-down the streets, gawking at designer clothes while sipping on hot drinks. Some of the designs were perfectly ridiculous: Bright jumpsuits, stirrup pants, neon paint splatters. I had noticed earlier that Danny violated all fashion trends – tonight was dark jeans and a sweater that matched his eyes. It flattered him in every way possible. I felt a bit like an accessory.

Like our first meeting, we talked non-stop – whatever came to mind was full game: Movies, hobbies, work, politics. He seemed to have dedicated his entire existence to reading and learning.

"I've had a lot of time," he laughed. "And there's not much else to do."

"No other girls?" – the dreaded question.

"None – " then he hesitated. "Well, one: But it was a thousand years ago – and the circumstances weren't favourable. I respected her choice; we settled into friendship. She told amazing stories."

"Back in England?"

"Hmm? – Oh. Venice."

We continued walked and window shopping, weaving our way past famous shops, eventually settling outside of Tiffany's. My mom had loved the movie: She'd watch it whenever possible; it wasn't my favourite. Still, it was fun to look at the charm bracelets and sparkling gems.

It was then, standing in front of an earring display, making guesses as to how much they cost, that the first strange thing happened: A beautiful little girl with huge green eyes, no older than five or six, came running over and gave Danny's jacket a firm tug. He looked down at her with mixed surprise and happiness – as if running into an old friend in the most unexpected place.

"For the Lord," the girl said, bashfully presenting him with a perfect sunflower. Danny bent down to her level and accepted it graciously.

"And for the Lady."

This time it was a white lily: My favourite flower … except it was a breed that I had never encountered before – huge, perfect, snow-white blossoms, and a scent that completely encompassed the New York sidewalk. More importantly – the girl hadn't been holding the flower a moment ago. There'd only been the sunflower.

"Oh – wow," I breathed, not knowing what to do or say. I crouched down like Danny, and accepted the flower with a smile. Would we have to pay? "It's beautiful. Thank you."

She curtsied and scampered down the block to where an equally-beautiful woman was waiting. I watched as she made eye contact with Danny, gave an appreciative nod, and turned away holding the girl's hand.

"What was that all about?" I asked, standing up and linking my arm through his. "Are you a closet celebrity? Royalty?"

"They're – " he paused. I smiled and sniffed the flower.

"It's absolutely lovely."

We wandered for another hour, eventually ending up outside of my apartment building. Danny kissed my cheek and bid me goodnight, and hailed a taxi. I floated up the staircase, completely dazzled, and relayed my story to the gossip-hungry ears of my roommates.

The lily never needed water. Never lost its intoxicating scent. Never bruised. Never died.

Danny was, by every single definition, a gentleman: Opened doors and took my coat, walked curb-side, never cursed, never spit, never interrupted, always paid. I spent dates two through five trying to figure out his flaw – it wasn't an easy task. The man, by many accounts, was perfect: As if he'd had centuries to hammer-out any possible flaw. They started popping-up on date six.

1) No concept of mortality, and the tendency to walk into the street without checking for traffic

2) No identifiable cooking skills

3) Overprotectiveness – though, in an endearing way

- And, of course, the series of unusual events.

Date Three: January 17th, 1986

I'd never seen the boy before in my life – seven years old, with that mischievous smile all boys wear. He approached without introduction, and wrapped his two lanky arms around Danny in a massive bear hug. Danny looked slightly taken aback; the shop owner, an older woman who smelled like lilacs, looked positively horrified.

"What are you doing here?" the boy asked, looking up at Danny with large brown eyes. "You've never been like this before – what's going on?"

Danny gave a smile: The type that an older brother would give a younger sibling, except that there was no chance that the two were related in any shape or form – they looked and held themselves in completely different ways.

"Are you here on a date?" he asked, looking at me for the first time. He seemed to glow in the sunset. "Is this your – uh – girlfriend?"

"I am," Danny nodded. "Patrick, this is Allison. Allison, Patrick. I – uh – sponsor him at a summer camp."

"More than sponsor," Patrick said, puffing out his chest proudly. "He's claimed me. – And Lotte, Charlie, Evan, and Anna. We've got the coolest cabin in camp!"

"Claim?"

"Yeah – even though we aren't his real kids," Patrick babbled. "Brian flipped when it happened! He's still stuck with the other rejects."

"Patrick," Danny said in a warning voice.

"Alright," the boy moped. "Unclaimed campers."

"Unclaimed?" Like, their parents had forgotten to pick them up when the session ended?

"My relations sponsor a summer camp," Danny explained quickly. "Everyone built a private cabin for their own family to use – but, I like to open mine up every so often to other kids. Not as much as Hermit – but there's no point in it being totally empty."

"And because we're awesome!"

"Totally awesome," Danny laughed. Patrick beamed.

Patrick babbled on and on about the camp – about his cabin-mates, and all the trouble they got into. Some of their pranks seemed frightening familiar to the ones I'd pulled in the past, while others were spoken in some form of camp code and completely indecipherable: "Pegasus," "centaur," "volcano climbing." It hit me part way through that Danny's family – or 'relations' – were rich enough to sponsor an entire children's camp and build their own personal bunk houses.

We left the shop a half-hour later, after Patrick ran out of conversation topics and I had selected an antique brooch from a display cabinet. The shopkeeper rang my purchase through, her brown eyes not once leaving Danny, and mumbled an awe-filled "thanks." I left utterly bewildered.

"What was that all about?"

"Patrick's grandmother? She's raising him: Both of his parents died at sea when he was two."

"She seemed a bit surprised to see you."

"A bit," Danny shrugged. "We've never actually met before."

"Oh?"

Date Four: January 23rd, 1986

One of my classmates once said that Weather suffers from histrionic personality disorder: You never know what it's going to do next, but it's sure to grab your attention. On January 20th it surprised everyone by bouncing up above freezing, turning the streets into a slushy, rain-filled, duck paradise. It absolutely poured for three days; sometimes, so badly that the gutters overflowed and drain pipes backed-up. In many ways, snow was better.

I met Danny under the Washington Square Arch, umbrella up against the onslaught. The plan was to head to the MET: My godfather, Uncle Gill, was head of Medieval Art and had gotten us tickets to the gala opening of the Leonardo da Vinci exhibit. At the moment I'd rather be wrapping my hands around a hot coffee, though the show was – supposedly – fantastic. How could it not be? It was da Vinci.

The rain began to still, though the clouds didn't go away. Danny arrived a few moments later, smiling, holding two cups of steaming something in his hands. "You look chilly." He kissed my cheek, and handed over a cup. I sniffed in the smell of dark chocolate, tried a taste, but it was still too hot to drink.

We caught the subway, and popped up a couple blocks from the MET. The "rainless patch" had followed us there: The trees were dripping, and the sidewalks were soaked, but there was nothing falling from the sky. It was a small blessing: Stacey had spent an hour pinning up my curls into a semi-Roman-esque style, and my dress wasn't exactly water-friendly. Danny, the lucky butt, had chosen dark jeans; I never understood how guys could attend formal functions au casual, while women had to dress to the nines.

"Just lucky, I guess," he shrugged.

The rain started seconds after we passed through the doors, bringing the "just lucky" count up to two. The MET had been closed to the public for the event: There was a lot of security mulling around, and lots of designer clothes and diamonds. I handed over my ticket, walked through the metal detector, and dropped my jacket off at the coat check. I recognized some faces from when my mom was working at the museum: Dr. Morales, Dr. Kolb, Dr. Read – Aunt Joan, Uncle Peter, and Uncle Max, respectively. You could spot the academics in the crowd. Socially awkward, faux-couture garb, using words that the socialites couldn't hope to understand.

"You're OK?" Danny bumped my shoulder gently. "Should we wander?"

Bits and pieces of the museum were open for viewing, though most people had clustered around the da Vinci's: It'd be empty in a few hours, when gossip and drink took over. I'd memorized the path up to the Greek and Roman Gallery years ago – we were the only ones there, except for a security guard lurking by the door. I felt at home.

"My mom's gallery –" Literally: The Kersey Gallery, dedicated to her and dad after the accident. I sat down on a marble bench that formed a square alongside Roman statues of Jupiter, Pluto, and Neptune. Stern gazes, thick beards, noble stance. They didn't look very friendly. I turned around to face a sculpture of a dancing woman.

Danny wandered around slowly, taking in each sculpture with a critical eye. He was at my eleven o'clock when he let out an excited "What?!" I got up and walked over; he was pointing excitedly at a terracotta kernos that dated from about 2300BC. "I haven't seen this … in ages!"

"Ages, hey?" I smiled. "It was a gift to the museum – when I was about eight."

"I saw it before then."

"Yeah?"

"It's an offering vase," he explained. "See all the platforms? Each one held a sacrifice. Normally a candle, or coin. Always at the entrance of a temple."

"Sort of like Holy Water," I reflected, thinking back to middle school religious studies, and a friend's Catholic wedding last summer.

"Yeah," Danny agreed. We walked through the rest of the exhibit together, finally settling on the dancing woman I had first looked at. She'd always been my favourite: In grade five, mom and I travelled to Europe because a wealthy French collector was liquidating their private collection. I had begged her to buy the woman. She told her boss that it was a unique piece, in that it showed a person moving rather than posing. Standing there with Danny it seemed to take on a completely new degree of fluidity: The veil fluttered in an imaginary wind, and her arms and legs weaved seductively. I stared, unblinking –

I jumped when Danny placed his hand on my shoulder. The woman froze.

"I think it's time to go," he said, gently steering me away. I walked in a half-daze, mind reeling, casting one back look into the room –

The woman's stance, I swear, had changed – and the Neptune statue, too: Younger, eyes smiling.

Date Seven: February 12th, 1986

I'd never been inside of Danny's apartment before: Normally when we arranged to meet at his place he'd be waiting down with the doorman. He wasn't there when I arrived; the intercom buzzed twice before he answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I chattered. It was freezing outside, and bitterly cold in the apartment's lobby despite four walls, floor, and roof. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, jeez," he mumbled. "Sorry – I'm waiting for a parcel, and completely lost track of time. Would you like to come up? I'm in 705. Top floor."

The building, with its brick exterior, had been recently updated, though in a fashionably elegant way: Polished marble and wood, and a sleek minimalist design that accented the old architectural features. The elevator was large and dimly-lit; the button was cool to the touch. Real glass, I thought. I couldn't remember seeing anything other than plastic numbers.

The doors opened with a pleasant ding! The hallway before me was long and wide, and devoid of all life. There was a lot of space between each door. Walking, I guessed that each suite was, probably, four times bigger than my apartment. The entire setting screamed luxury.

Sound from behind. I whizzed around to find myself nearly face-to-face with a middle-aged man dressed in a red courier's uniform, an envelope in hand. "Afternoon," he said with a nod. I stared and continued walking.

Suite 705 was the last one on the left, with a westward-facing view of the Hudson River. The courier stalked me to the door, whistling all the way, reaching in front of my nose for the knocker. Danny answered the door almost immediately.

"Hey," he said, smiling at me and glaring at the courier. "Great timing."

"Traffic, y'know," the man said.

"Traffic?" Danny cocked an eyebrow. "Never mind."

I peeked over Danny's shoulder as he signed for the package. His apartment was sleek and modern. It didn't like there was too many personal artefacts lying around – a painting above the fireplace mantle, a few books. It looked like a magazine photo shoot.

The courier handed over the envelope, tipped his hat, and walked off whistling; I gave Danny a bemused glance.

"I've worked with … him for a long time," he shrugged. "And, I'll tell you now, there was no traffic."

"Really?"

The envelope was made of a heavy parchment, and addressed in Ancient Greek; he tossed it across the room before I could read the writing. "Ready to go?" He had his coat in-hand.

The whistling stopped; I looked up. Both elevators were waiting at ground level. The courier had vanished into thin air.

Date Ten: February 21st, 1986

I'd never been on a carriage ride before, simply due to the fact that only tourists (and brides) took the horses for a spin around Central Park. It was expensive and, besides, I didn't like horses anyways.

Danny loved horses – or, maybe not "love," as "love" + "horses" brings up too many images of fanatical girls and riding competitions. "Respected" is a better word, or "cared for." Whenever we walked by the park, he'd always be sure to pack sugar cubes to feed the animals with. He was, I imagined, a bit like Tolkein's elves: Able to connect on some level that I'd never be privy to. Sometimes it was cute, and sometimes – like when we were running late for a movie – it was annoying. The horses seemed to be able to sense his approach, and would fit if he didn't pay them any attention.

On the "evening" of our tenth outing – closer to two o'clock in the morning – Danny was walking me home when a noise erupted from an alleyway: A very horse-like whinny. Danny halted, and peered down with wide blue eyes.

"What – ?"

"I think we have an escapee," he said, eyes glinting mischievously. "Come on – "

Taking my hand, he led me down the dingy New York alley, apparently unbothered by the thought of burglars or mass-murderers lurking in the shadows. It was a bit risky: He was a big guy, but – if faced by a single armed crook – things wouldn't go over very well. I thought about sunshine and daisies.

Waiting at the end of the alley was, as suspected, a horse: A great big grey beast, taller than me, – taller than Danny – eyes wide and rolling nervously. I waited twenty feet back; Danny approached, arm outstretched, making soft cooing noises in the back of his throat. It calmed on his approach.

"This is Roheryn," Danny said after a moment. "And he's a little bit lost."

"Lost?" I said, raising my eyebrows. "No kidding."

The horse snorted, as if laughing at my sarcasm. Danny clicked his tongue. "He's had a rather large adventure."

"Probably," or, definitely. A lone horse in the middle of New York City? – There'd have to be a pretty impressive story behind it. "Should I call the SPCA?"

"No, it's alright. We aren't too far from his home." I didn't ask how he knew that: Either he'd cracked, or there was some serious horse whispering going on. "Come put your hand on his side – he won't hurt you – and we're going to walk out together. OK?"

The horse was even bigger up-close, and our progression to the end of the alley took much longer than our trip in – the horse took several steps back whenever a car zoomed by. Eventually we reached the sidewalk, and started moving north. A few wandering drunks gave excited shrieks, which only freaked the animal out more.

"Where are we going?"

We were several blocks into our adventure. "The Central Park Equestrian Centre."

"That'll take us an hour to walk."

"Fresh air," he winked. "Thank goodness it's a Friday night." Thank goodness for sleep-in Saturdays.

A half-hour in a teenaged boy, probably seventeen or eighteen, came streaking down the sidewalk and skidded to a halt right in front of me. He was dressed in a simple T-shirt/jeans/baseball cap combo, with a pleasant face and honey-coloured skin. At first glance he was perfectly normal – but, why would a kid be running around New York City at 3AM? And in sub-zero temperatures without a coat? There was something weird about him: I couldn't place it. Odd posture, or positioning of the legs? A goat-like demeanour?

He was breathless and wide-eyed, and looked utterly shocked at seeing Danny. "Sir?" he panted. I noticed that he was carrying a horse's blanket.

"Good evening," Danny said.

"Sir," the boy repeated. He didn't look shocked: He looked terrified. "I can explain – "

"No need. You were running to the stables to fetch a blanket, and got separated."

"Yes, sir," the boy flushed.

Danny smiled understandably. "It's a large city."

"Yes, sir."

"I suggest planning ahead next time."

"Yes, sir."

Danny handed over the reins without question. My eyes bulged: How many people just gave a multi-thousand-dollar animal to a complete stranger? "Try riding along the river next time. They like speaking with their relations."

The boy gave a final "Yes, sir," threw the blanket over the horse's back, leaped on, and rode off down the street. The horse seemed to get exponentially smaller as they moved farther away, to the point where it was the size of a bicycle. I shivered.

"That was weird."

"Marcus works at the stables," Danny explained. "He takes the horses out for rides every evening, after everyone goes home, so that they can get some exercise."

"Did the horse tell you this?"

"Yes." I stared at him; he laughed. "They're quite proficient conversationalists."

Date Eleven: February 24th, 1986

When Beverly, one of my roommates, brought home a guy for dinner, it translated into a bite of Kraft Dinner and a speedy trip to the couch or, more often than not, the bedroom. That was Beverly, and her type of guy: She'd had more "friends" visit in the first month we'd lived together than I'd ever want to have in a lifetime.

I had no qualms about inviting Danny over: We'd hardly progressed past holding hands and kissing cheeks, though, sometimes, he definitely had a spark that suggested something more. Admittedly, I felt it too – heck, given Danny's all-round-amazingness, I'm sure most males felt it. Both of us were too nervous; or, maybe not. I wasn't religious or anything, but had grown up thinking that it was something special for a husband and wife – something so intimate that I'd never dream of doing it with anyone other than my soul mate. That probably made me the biggest hopeless romantic in New York, but – hey, that's life.

The buzzer rang at half-past seven; Danny materialized a few minutes later with flowers in one hand and a pecan pie in the other. It looked homemade – a welcome change in a house of frozen dinners. Three of my roommates, including Bev, gawked from the couch as he walked in and took off his runners. I grabbed a vase, filled it with water, and placed the flowers in it. They fell perfectly.

The girls scuttled off after a few minutes, feigning homework or exercise or a grocery shopping trip, leaving the apartment strangely quite and empty. "Well, that was inconspicuous," Danny laughed, breaking the mood. "They're – nice?"

"Nosey nit-twits," I corrected. We were both leaning up against the kitchen cupboards. The smell of dinner, my mom's butter chicken recipe, wafted throughout the apartment. "Gotta love them."

"Yeah?"

We made small talk for a while; closer to dinner time I moved to set the table. Danny insisted on helping me, asking for directions to the cutlery drawer and water pitcher. I pointed to cupboards, grinning whenever he opened up the door to the spices/baking/etc. cabinet by accident. I was in the process of grabbing a serving spoon when our hands touched; it was a burst of passion I'd never experienced before.

Ok, I rationalized. Maybe he is the soul mate …

His kisses were desperate, maybe even a little bit clumsy, hands clutching as if he was afraid I would vanish into thin air. And then, as quickly as we had lunged at each other, he was trying to push me away.

"What?" I gasped. I wanted more.

He shoved his hands into his pockets; outside, the clear day had turned stormy. He looked like a man about to head for the gallows. "I – "

I waited.

"I'm sorry," he breathed at last. "I – have so much to tell you. And, I don't want to do … this until you're completely aware."

"You're married?" I blurted, feeling utterly miserable.

"What?" he gasped. "No – no, of course not."

My mind was racing: Surely he'd felt that too - surely. Fetish? Bi? Cancer? Gay? Father? Criminal? Murderer? Pedophile? – the list went on.

"Can you tell me?" I asked.

He sighed and kissed my forehead, lingering next to my brow. "Not now."

Date Fourteen: March 16th, 1986

The day, despite reaching a high of nine degrees, had seen some snow – a light dusting in the evening, enough to grant Central Park a semi-mystical glow.

I had taken responsibility for organizing this date: The plan was to wander around and then crash in a bookstore – Remington's, a few blocks west of the park, offered live music every Friday night. We were walking across Bow Bridge and the half-frozen waters of The Lake when it happened –

It happened so quickly that I didn't understand what occurred until well after events had transpired. A man, a crazy man, came running up from behind, a bronze knife flashing, hacked at Danny's face, and tossed him over the bridge into the frigid water. He took off, as if hell hounds were on his tail, as I ran to the side screaming. There were no waves – no sign that anything had hit the water, let a lone a full-grown man. It was as if the lake had absorbed him whole.

– Not completely ingested. Hours, or seconds, later Danny emerged at the shore without stirring up a ripple or ripping a hole in the thin ice. I gaped, already running down the bridge.

"How – jeez – what? – "

He was perfectly dry, despite being knee deep in water, and looking none-too-happy. The cut on his cheek, where the knife had nicked him, was oozing something. It wasn't blood.

"Your face?"

"Oh?" he reached up with one hand and gingerly touched the wound. His fingers came away covered in gold liquid, thicker than blood, sparkling in the evening sunlight. Maybe he was an android, or a clone – Made in Japan, for certain. I took out a handkerchief, but he didn't let me touch the wound.

"It's alright," he explained, accepting the tissue with a smile. "It'll burn you." Hydraulic fluids?

The tissue soaked up the liquid like a sponge, leaving his skin dry and perfectly smooth – the cut was gone. There wasn't even a scar.

"You aren't wet," I noted.

"Oh, yeah – I'm – good with water."

"Are you human?"

I'm not sure if he was expecting my bluntness, and it took a moment for him to gather the words. "I'm a being."

– No indication of H. sapiens sapiens. 'Being' was open to a lot of interpretation – and, by the looks of things, probably beyond my imagination. I didn't want to guess.

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