After a break up, everyone has to anticipate the first time they may run into their ex.

Of course you want to be caught on a good hair day, when you’re wearing a fabulous outfit and you’re on your way to doing some charity work (or something else equally important).

When my break up with my ex was fresh, I was constantly ready. We both lived in Toronto. We both constantly used the subway. And we both liked hanging out on Queen West. It was bound to happen.

But days, weeks and months passed… no crossover. I realized the chances weren’t as high as I may have thought.

Whatever math equation you may think is appropriate to determine how long it takes to get over an ex, after having a serious two-year relationship, it doesn’t matter if you’ve moved on. That person is always going to have a special place in your heart.

I’m getting cheesy. Okay. Sorry. So, it was almost a year and a half before I ran into him. I landed a job two blocks away from his apartment. But, my hours were odd – 6:30 a.m. to 2 p.m. And my work was literally across the street from the subway. Again, the odds were slim for a crossover considering he works a normal 9 to 5 job and for all I knew, he could’ve moved.

But, last week, at 6:25 a.m. I was crossing the street and the moment happened. I looked up and I saw him walking toward me. Good hair day? Check. Cute outfit? Check. On my way to a job I love – almost as good as saving the world. My situation was looking promising.

We stopped in the middle of the street with 20 seconds on the crosswalk clock.

We exchanged the typical how are you/long time now see/what have you been up to?

“I actually work right over here,” I say, pointing to my building. “Where are you off to, this early?”

I see him check the crosswalk clock. Eight seconds.

“Well, I’m about to go workout” he said, pointing to his gym bag and nervously checking the crosswalk clock again. Five seconds.

“Good on ya,” I say, feeling rushed. Time is winding down and I have to wrap this up. My eyes dart to the clock. Three seconds.

“Well it was really great to bump into youuu…” I slow down my sentence to buy time so I can figure out how I’m going to end this. A handshake? A hug? What is appropriate?

Oh ya. I can’t buy time because we’re in the middle of one of the biggest intersections in Toronto. I look over his shoulder. The clock has hit zero.

Ah!

I lunge for the friendly punch.

The friendly punch: to punch someone in the arm or shoulder with little to no force. A gesture used to enforce that warm “Ol’ buddy, ol’ pal” relationship.

But somehow I missed. By a lot.

I socked him in the stomach and ran away.  

There’s always the token look back that supposed to happen. That final “goodbye” nod. I couldn’t do it. And if he did, he would’ve just seen me booking it.

And no, I wasn’t running away from my problems. I was running away from the creature that now goes to the gym before he goes to work.

Damn.

~ Amanda Cupido