We picked up our partially eaten meals and walked out of the diner. I grabbed hold of a few extra sheets of paper towels on the way out. "We might need them to clean up," I said. Should in case we happen to spill any of the gravy from the silicone cup. The creamy, tasty poutine was beginning to get a bit cold and soggy in the sauce. But that didn't take away from my cravings for it. What had caused us to ditch the joint so hurriedly was the alarmingly loud smell emanating from the girl who had just come in and sat down at the table in the farthest (but not quite far enough for my liking) corner from us. The smell was unbearable.

"Wow! Can you believe that?" I said while we were exiting the building. "Has she not yet heard of something called deodorant?"

"Or just plain old soap and water," Libby added. "Maybe she doesn't realize that she smelled, though," she pounced in the girl's defense.

"Come on!" I countered. "How could she not know that? She's as loud as a bullhorn at the county fair."

"To us, she may be as loud as a bullhorn at the county fair, but to her. It may not be so pronounced."

"What are you saying?"

"Have you ever gone into a restroom and had to beat a hasty retreat when the smell from inside hits you? Or let me put it another way. Have you ever used the restroom yourself, and just as soon as you were done and walked out, you turn around to see someone else walking in and have to beat a swift escape when the odor you'd left behind you hits them square in the face?"

"Please, don't spoil my appetite. That's not the type of thing I want to be talking about over my lunch."

"Oh, come on, Mister Chicken-chest. Well, if you think that's too gross for your lunch-hour conversation. Let's try another analogy here. Okay, let's say it's garlic breath then. How many people are ever aware that they have that before others start resenting them? Or until someone who's kind and caring points it out to them?"

"So, what exactly are you saying here?"

"I just think that we might have gone about it the wrong way."

"And what is the right way, as you see it, Miss Lib?"

"Lib? Where did that one come from?"

"Off my tongue, it just rolled that easily off my tongue, why?"

"It's just that no one else has ever called me that except?"

"Yes? Except who?"

"Never mind that, let's get back to the point at hand."

"No, I want to hear this, except who?"

"My mother, she always calls me that. Are you satisfied?" Ugh! "Maybe we should have told her", she continued.

"Are you crazy? You mean you want us to walk up to this total stranger and say: Hey, you stink?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. Not like that, not in those words. Or even in that tone. Put yourself in her shoes for a moment here. If everybody just keeps on running away from you, beating a swift escape every time they get anywhere near you, not taking the time to talk to you (nicely). And to tell you what the problem is, you might never know. Taking the garlic analogy into consideration here."

"So you mean, you want to become her angel of mercy? You want to go save her from the demon she likely doesn't even know that she has?"

"Not really, but everyone does need a friend sometimes, and maybe we could become friends with her. Befriend her and guide her into something better than that."

"I don't want to be any sort of friends with someone like that."

"Like what? She's a human being. A living, breathing person with a beating heart, with feelings like you and me."

"Why can't her folks teach and guide her? Why has it got to be left up to others to do it? Why me, or you?"

"Maybe she's got no one here, she could be here in this city all by herself, you know. Just like many of the people whom we pass on the street. Or sit beside on the bus, or even those whom we may run into in the classrooms daily. She might just need guidance. She might just need a friend."

"What if we just give her some deodorant? You know, what if we could just stick it somewhere where she's bound to find it? She'll get the message, don't you think?"

"No, no, you don't do things like that to people. That would be even worse than if we just leave her alone and let her be, and that's what everyone seems to be doing already, as it is. That's not helping her any, right?"

"So can we just get back to doing just that: leave her alone and let her figure it out for herself? And let's just eat what's left of our meal?"

By this point, we were sitting in the car and I was starting to feel a bit cold and chilly, so I fired up the car engine, then turned the heat on, and up to the full blast. We still had lots of time on our hands, and neither one of us wanted to split and leave each other's company. Well, so it would have seemed to me, not quite yet, so.

I exited the parking spot just before the zeros started flashing, indicating the expiration of the toll.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"Somewhere nice and adorable, you'll see."

"Tell me, tell me, I don't like surprises."

"You'll love this one, I promise." I took de Maisonneuve Boulevard and navigated over to rue Guy. I then headed up C�te des Neige Road and over the mountain. You know where I was headed, don't you? Got to go see old St Joseph on top of the hill.

Libby was thrilled with the view. She was just standing there looking down on that section of Montreal, west of the hill. I had to drag her away. "Come on, there's much more for you to see." We went inside and did a tour of several of the points of interest. We were even in time to catch the day's communion service in the cathedral, or at least one of them, since they probably do several of those each day. I'm still not quite sure about that one, though. But we sat in on it.

We were trying to be as reverent and attentive as we possibly could. Yes, we took the sacrament and the cup, too. Everybody there seemingly did. The smell of all those burning candles was the next thing to hit us from the elevator. We followed our noses as well as the moving crowd into the "room of the millions of burning candles." That's what we would have named it on the spot. I managed to convince her to light a candle and say a prayer at the shrine of Brother Andr�. I whispered a small prayer to myself, too.

"What did you pray for?" Bubbles wanted to know.

"My business and mine only," said I, "thank you very much."

On the way out, I dropped a coin in the big pot (that's what I call it) and tossed a penny into the make-shift wishing well, too. Libby followed suit? It would appear as if it were all those rituals. Or at least some of them that were having somewhat of a positive, calming effect on us. Both of us. Or was it the spirit? Could have been, you know? We were feeling refreshed and much lighter as we exited the building and the compound as a whole.

"I really enjoyed it," she said while we were walking across the parking lot towards the car. "So I guess you were right," she continued.

"Right about what?"

"You did say that I would enjoy it, and I did."

"Well," I said, "we're not quite done yet, we've got one more sight to go and see."

"What is it? What is it?"

"You'll see when we get there."

I drove back over the mountain to the lookout point on the other side and stopped. Again, she was enchanted by the view. We were looking over to the other side of the city of Montreal East and north-eastward and aided this time with the magnetic lens.

"Can you believe this?" Libby chirped. "That I was born and raised right here in this city, and it's the first time I'm seeing this?"

As for me? I could believe it, alright. It was quite easy for me to believe. Her life, alongside that of her entire family, seemed to me to exist in a bubble. Where the only thing that matters to them is work, work, and more work. And money, money, money. They never seem to take a moment to just live a little and breathe. I think all of that is about to change for Libby now, though, well, I hope so.

When her phone rang, it was Kamal, her brother. Called to say that he was on his way to get her. We've got to get back down to Sherbrooke Street and McGill College soon. Preferably before he gets there. So we hopped into the car and headed down the winding road off Mount Royal to get back to McGill.

Kamal was there, alright, waiting. He was waiting there in the car when we got there. I turned off Sherbrooke and onto Union Street, then onto President Kennedy, and dropped Libby off on the corner of President Kennedy and University streets. She then walked from there to get to where Kamal was parked on Sherbrooke Street. Waiting for her. She said she just wasn't in the mood for an argument or to be answering a barrage of questions.

That was why she had asked me to drop her off on the corner and out of sight of her brother. She leaned across the seat and kissed me on the cheek before turning to leave. I grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back towards me. Then leaned in and kissed her. And then kiss her again, yes, on the lips.

I've gotta go, she said, before exiting the vehicle and briskly walking away.

Bye, Lib.

Bye.�

To be continued.�

WritingElk.