But within weeks, you're beginning to wonder. There's something about his manner that seems... wrong. He has dangerous eyes and cruel lips and he's always trying to pressure you into coming on holiday with him. "Hey," he says with an urgency that seems unneccessary, "let's book a trip to Canada."
"But I was saving my money for a surfing trip to the Swiss coast next spring," you protest.
"No," he insists. "Canada. It has to be Canada. Soon."
Eventually, it all gets too much when he turns up outside your work one day in a van and says he's leaving for Canada right now. No, you say. You want some space, you say, some time apart to think things over and maybe get through a week without any arguments about the cost of accomodation in Toronto. "Fine," he says, and drives off.
Months later, you still think about him all the time. Every minute of the day, you wonder where he is. After the vanishing of Canada, you became obsessed, stalking his Facebook page for signs of activity, lurking around all his old hangouts in the hope of catching a glimpse of him (maybe he never made it? Maybe a Mountie turned him away at the border?). It consumes your waking hours. You lose your job. Your life falls to pieces.
You're still thinking of him on New Year's Eve, as a noise of thunder tears the world apart and the sky burns bright white, blinding you instantly, rendering you incapable of ever seeing Michael Bay's Pooh: Origins. As the meteor slams into the ground, the last picture seared onto your now-useless retinas is an image of Tyler, riding a moose, laughing a carefree laugh with his thin, cruel lips.