Chapter 3 – Griff

It was too early for the moon and too late for the sun. Griffin Hunter jogged the last few steps to the Belvedere lookout on Mont-Royal and paused, gazing upon the city of Montreal. A picture-perfect nighttime vista normally filled the skyline from this vantage point, but not tonight, not for the last three nights. While a few lights flickered like mischievous fireflies, most everything else was fading to black and fading fast. Griff took a moment to catch his breath, flipped on his headlamp, and turned to run back down the hill. 

He needed to get back to the apartment. It wasn’t safe after dark anymore. 

Griff negotiated most of the route back through the dusky shadows with ease. He’d done this route so many times, he knew its idiosyncrasies by heart. He exited on Avenue des Pins just behind the distinctive McIntyre Medical Building with its circular architecture (“The Trash Can,” as students liked to call it) and worked his way east through a variety of back alleys. He passed before the medical annex and continued south on McTavish. Music came from the McGill student pub. Griff flicked off his headlamp and moved in closer for a look. 

“Hey Griff, you playing the peeper, b’y?” a woman’s voice yelled from the shadows next to the entrance of the pub. “Why don’t ya come an’ join us then?”

“That you, Rachel?” Griff yelled back, squinting to discern form in the minuscule glow coming from the pub window. He knew it was, though. The question was strictly rhetorical and meant to buy time while his eyes accommodated. Her form was something Griff very much wanted to discern. Rachel was in his English class, and Griff, along with every other straight guy in Introduction to Canadian Literature I, had quickly become enamored of her soft blonde waves, mile-wide smile, and kick-ass Newfoundland accent. She had the cutest way of saying ‘boy,’ sounding more like bye.

“It is. We’re havin’ a li’l jam session. I’m just taking a li’l break an’ gettin’ some fresh air. It’s fousty as ‘ell inside.”

“Fousty?” Griff asked, smiling at her use of the strange-sounding Newfie slang. 

“Sorry, I tend to slip a little when I’m having fun. Fousty means, like, really foul smelling.” 

“Yeah, it looks pretty thick in there,” he said, peering through the window where aerosolized beads of perspiration crowded between swirls of vape smoke. “How did you guys even get in? I thought everything was locked down.”

“Evan is Chair of Student Council and has a master key for the building,” she replied, ditching her accent momentarily. “You’re right, though. If security comes around, I imagine everyone will make a run for it, not that that’s very likely. Nobody has seen security since that first day.”

“I’ll bet Evan has the key to the bar, also, doesn’t he?” Griff asked, smiling.

“Well, b’y, since the arse ‘as gone out of ‘er, I believes the concern was the kegs was goin’ bad, and it was our sworn duty to consume them ASAP,” she replied, putting on a little show for Griff. “I’m sure no one will miss ‘em when this is all over. You should come in and help us get on the beer, wha?”

Griff laughed, doing his best to work out the translation in his head. 

She paused a few seconds, and a new idea seemed to occur to her. “Hey, do you play?”

“A little harmonica and some guitar,” he answered. “Tell you what. I’m just heading back to my apartment to shower and check up on my roommate, Bear. I’m sure if he’s not too hungover from last night, he’ll be looking for some fun. We’ll join you later.”

“Your roommate is Bear? The big computer science guy?” 

“Yup, the big computer science guy.”

“Oh … I didn’t know you were roommates.”

“We are,” Griff said, surprised she knew Bear, but, then again, not really surprised at all. A six-foot-six defensive lineman who also happened to be a computer science genius was the type of guy people noticed.

“Well, okay, then maybe you can tell me something.”

“Hmm?”

“What’s his real name?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No, he insisted everyone just calls him Bear.”

“Well. He’s right.” The nickname had been coined by Bear’s high school football coach, so utterly and completely apt, it just stuck.

“Aw, come on. I won’t tell him you told me,” she said, smiling.

Griff folded his arms across his chest in a gesture of impenetrable determination, which lasted for about a second. “Ugh, okay,” he grumbled, giving in easily. That smile. He made a dramatic show of squeezing his eyes shut to highlight the angst involved in the decision to give up what he was about to give up. “It’s Sam – Samuel – but don’t tell him I told you.”

“Sam?” she said, trying the name out. “Okay, mum’s the word.” She gave a coy smile, and she and Griff stood looking at one another for an extended moment, no words. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in right now?” she finally asked.

“Thanks, but … I really should check on Bear first.” 

“Then go on home and get ‘em, b’y. But don’t take too long, or the bar will be cleaned out.” She opened the door with one hand, waved with the other, and disappeared inside. The sounds of Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin’” drifted into the night as Griff took off toward home, doing his best to mute the unwelcome question now nagging his thoughts. Is Rachel interested in Bear?

Fifteen minutes later, he found his best friend sitting at their kitchen table reading by candlelight.

“Hey, Sasquatch, I just ran into Rachel from my English class.”

“Rachel?” Bear repeated. “Gorgeous blonde, talks funny? That Rachel?”

“Yeah, that one. It’s a Newfoundland accent, by the way,” Griff said. “Anyway, she’s with a bunch of her friends at the pub. I think they’re cleaning out the bar. Evan’s got the key.”

“Does he now?” Bear asked, tapping his fingertips together under his chin like an evil villain. “We have to get up there immediately!” He jumped to his feet, knocking his chair backward in the process. He could be very decisive at times, particularly when he was bored. The fact that Rachel was there was probably a good motivator as well. 

“Listen …,” Griff began, righting the tipped chair with an eye roll. “Why don’t you head up there, and I’ll catch up to you in an hour? I went for a run, and I need a shower and a little food before I head out drinking.”

“All right, but I’m gonna get going. If I read any more of this …” He slammed the booklet he was reading closed and gazed with revulsion at its cover, “… course catalog, my brain will melt.” Before the words were fully out, he was already out the door. It was surprising how fast Bear could move for such a big guy. 

Griff checked the breadbox on the kitchen counter and found two stale bread heels. He slathered them with warm peanut butter, then opened one of those disposable single-serving packets of jelly that Bear always saved off his tray in the dining hall and brought home. Bear hated jelly, but he always remembered to save the packets for Griff. Griff, who couldn’t understand the point of peanut butter without jelly, appreciated the small kindness and was able to shave at least one item off his student grocery budget, thanks to Bear. 

He finished his meal with an over-ripe banana, then peeled off his damp clothes and ran the shower. Setting a flashlight just so on the bathroom sink, Griff did a quick self-survey in the full-length mirror on the inside door. Long dark hair. Medium complexion. He wasn’t tall, measuring in at a little under five foot eight, but, still, people were always surprised to learn his height. Said he “carried himself” taller. Bear might have been all brawn and bulging muscles, but Griff was sinewy-strong. Taut ropes coursed under his skin from years of martial arts training. Which type, he wondered, would Rachel prefer? He didn’t mean to think it, but the thought came, anyway. His brain then conjured her voice, “You should come in and help us get on the beer, wha?” One thing was for certain, she had invited him. He climbed under the water, smiling, and checked the watch he never took off, a gift from his mother. (It’s waterproof! Basically indestructible!). Bear had a twenty-minute head start. Griff grabbed the soap and lathered up.