Pretend It's Not Me Page 5

I loved Manhattan of course but the Flatbush section of Brooklyn was just as exciting.

Donnie had a lot of friends, every Saturday his house would fill up with 20 or 30 people drinking and cooking and dancing, smoking weed and laughing.Those Saturday's in Brooklyn were the best. We were living in a world that hadn't been destroyed by AIDS, a world where Crack wasn't the epidemic it eventually became. Home invasions and drive by's were unheard of.

Donnie had an altar in his bedroom with candles and a cigar. I don't know what religion he was practicing but whenever something went wrong or he had a problem with someone he'd walk over to the altar, light a cigar, take a few puffs, stub it out then put it back.

As you came through the front door you'd walk under 5 or 6 ears of colorful Indian corn he had attached to the door frame. They were there to protect the apartment from from evil spirits as well as blessing anyone who visited.

He also had an interesting way of dealing with pocket change. When he got home from work and was undressing his change would fall everywhere. There were lots of quarters, dimes and nickel's all over the floor of that apartment. I think it had to do with prosperity, with financial security.

He had a hysterical way of dealing with lifes challenges. One night we were watching our favorite show, Dynasty, when the fire department showed up. They kept ringing the bell and banging on the door until Donnie finally opened it and started cussing them out for interrupting his show!

He was seeing a guy named Buzz who was in and out of jail. One night Buzz came over and started giving Donnie an attitude. When Donnie asked for his keys he wouldn't hand them over so the police were called. When they showed up Buzz still refused to hand over the keys so the cops had to restrain him physically and take them. They escorted Buzz out of the apartment and as they were leaving Donnie, using an imperial tone, got in Buzz's face and said "the police will always bring the man size down to their size". Even the cops laughed over that one!

I had to contribute to the household expenses of course, I had to pay for my share of the rent etc. Coming from Canada I didn't have a work permit or any way of making money. So I looked in the phone book and found an escort service called The Boys of Brooklyn. I kid you not, that was the name. I went over there and they hired me immediately.

I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge every night into Manhattan where I'd meet up with a client then spend the rest of the night hanging out at the clubs.

Any place I hung my hat was home. I was spending a lot of time in Montreal and worshiped that city. Montreal, back then at least, was a vibrant city of restaurants, bars and clubs that closed 2 hours later than Toronto.

Toronto couldn't hold a candle to Montreal. It never has and it never will.

It wasn't for lack of trying.

Toronto has always struggled with it's identity, it's always wanted to be Montreal or New York. You can see this in the way they label certain areas. The gay part of town is called The Village, then they've got the fashion district and the club district.

Then we come to the people. Stuck up, judgmental, and entitled.

I wish I had no basis for the way I feel about my own hometown but I've seen too much over the course of 3 decades not to know what I'm talking about. Shoes and hand bags and cars..these things matter to your typical Torontonian. The shallowness and predictability of their behavior was more than I could deal with so I got out at 14.

Arriving in that city just blew my mind. What a culture shock! The fashion, the restaurants, the clubs and the general vibe was so different from what I was use to in Toronto.

By the time I turned 16 and was no longer the responsibility of the Children's Aid Society I'd already made a lot of friends.

After I met Karen that day in Caroline's apartment we became very close, we were both products of broken homes and could identify with each other on a very deep level.

She lived in Montreal with her mother Fiona and her grandparents. Fiona was seeing a guy from Jamaica who got her pregnant and eventually murdered her.

So Karen was raised by her grandfather Tommy and his second wife Chris. Chris was her step-grandmother!

Karen's story was just as confusing as my own so I understood the unique issues that affected her so much. As time passed we became more than family to each other.

She was a gorgeous girl with ebony eyes and olive skin, but like me she was broken.

She was 8 when she was diagnosed with asthma. The doctor told Chris and Tommy it would be beneficial to her health if she were to live somewhere quiet with lots of trees. So they packed up and moved just over the border to Stowe, Vermont, a true paradise. They had a pool and a big garden where Chris grew a ton of vegetables. She also loved flower's and grew them all over the property. The way she looked after them was evident with just one look. They were everywhere, an explosion of color and beauty.

I met Chris for the first time when she rented an apartment for Karen.

We got off to a rocky start but as time passed we became really close, exchanging letters until the day she died in 2011. It didn't matter where I was living, she wrote me at least once a month. She was in her 80's but she never stopped writing me, sometimes 2 or 3 pages at a time.

Karen was always running away from Stowe so Chris decided to get her a place in Montreal.

Chris came to Montreal every few weeks to meet friends or go shopping. When she was in town we'd usually meet up for lunch or Chris would come over to the apartment and we'd order in.

Chris knew I was living with Karen but she didn't know anything about Caroline.

The three of us were thicker than thieves, always living on the edge.

Eventually Caroline would betray us but the time we spent together in the late 70's into the early 80's was unforgettable.

The day came when Karen and I decided we wanted to go to New York. We sold off some of the furniture from the apartment and bought our tickets.

This would be my second visit to New York but Karen had never been there. There was so much uncertainty about leaving the country because we were minor's, but we had to try.

We both got roomettes on the train across from each other and hatched a plan.

When we got to the border we'd act like we didn't know each other, that way if one of us got hauled off the other one would still get to New York.

When custom's was finished with their inspections and the train pulled out of the station we couldn't believe our luck. We cracked open the bottle of rum we'd brought with us and started drinking. By the time we hit Grand Central Station we were both in good spirits.