I remember realizing that everybody swallows.

I was probably three or four. Saliva would gather in my mouth when I wasn't even eating, and I'd have to swallow it. Sometimes I worried about this, and wondered if I was defective in some way. One day I finally got up the guts to ask my mom about it, and she laughed at me and said that everybody swallows, it happens all day long to everybody.

And I had thought I was special.

I remember getting a foot massage at three in the morning.

I was living in a warehouse on the edge of Gastown, full of artists and musicians all living there illegally. It was great! My roomie and I had half of the top floor, so we could go on the roof whenever we wanted to and howl at the moon. And being six stories up, we had a great view of the North Shore.

Now, I have to tell you about....nope, can't remember his name. Hmmm....we'll call him Bob. I met Bob when I was hanging out at this artist's studio. I remember his name--Lincoln. I liked to go to Lincoln's studio and watch him paint, I found it very relaxing. Bob also hung out at Lincoln's a lot, and one day, without any effort on my part, Bob declared his undying love for me!

That came out of left field.

I told Bob right away, and in no uncertain terms, that I did not return that love, and that there was no chance of a relationship between us...and he looked like a whipped puppy, but didn't say much more about it.

I thought that would be it. Days went by, I'd see Bob, he'd look sad, but it wasn't spoken of again.

Now get this. Go back to the warehouse. I live on the top floor of a six-storey, 12-foot ceilinged warehouse. It's the middle of the night, and I am fast asleep. I am pulled out of my slumber by a tapping...tapping...where is that coming from?...tapping on the window, tapping on the WINDOW??? I sit up like a shot and look over to the window, and there is Bob, leaning over from the fire escape outside, tapping on the window at 3 or 4 in the morning.

I did not know what to do! Bob seemed tame, so I crawled out of my futon and opened the window.

"Bob, what are you doing?" (can you hear the incredulity in my voice?)

"I know you don't love me, and that you'll never love me, but could I just please come in and give you a foot rub?"

Probably I shouldn't have let him. It's about the creepiest request ever made of me. But he looked so sad and helpless and harmless, I let him in. My roommate called sleepily from behind his curtain, "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing, Don. I'm just getting a foot rub."

(Don's sleepy voice)"Oh. OK, then."

Bob had brought foot cream and everything. He rubbed my feet without a word, and then left out the window and down the fire-escape the way he came.

I slept lighter for a few days after that, but Bob never came back. I guess the foot-rub was his way of breaking up with me.