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The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt 3 – Betrayal and Hurts

The Days Before Tomorrow, The 10th Anniversary of Her Passing

12.30.13

by calgarydreamer

Adventures in the Spy Biz: Reflection on the Final Days

Seven years. I’ve been involved in the Spy business for 7 years, and it comes to a relative end in 2 weeks.

Always watching through the windows when you least expect it

In 7 years, I’ve been involved in at least 4-5 police investigations involving murder, assault or kidnappings. I’ve assisted in a number of child abuse cases, or at least made it possible for the parent to do the work themselves. I’ve helped prevent at least 2 child abductions, and helped family members find out if their son or daughter was into drugs, planning secret parties or being cyber-bullied. As for infidelity or other stuff, I can’t even begin to count the number of cases I’ve either directly or indirectly been involved in.

In the end, as my time here comes to an end (not 100% immediately, I’ll still do the odd case or two or assist with my successor to complete existing contracts that started in my time), I wonder what did I learn?

Well, the first thing is… unless you work for a corporation or contracted to one, it’s not exactly the most glamorous job in the world. For every interesting case involving police work, there are 10 jobs involving husbands or wives cheating. It’s not so much James Bond as it’s the cheekier side of Magnum PI. In my last entry under “Adventures”, there tended to be a lot of times that would involve long hours watching a hotel or sneaking around a place in the middle of the night to plant tracking devices, cameras and the like.

Next, you find out that Hollywood has completely misconstrued everything to be a world where there are tracking devices the size of sugar cubes that work around the world and need absolutely zero power. For example, those wireless portable cameras that Lisbeth uses in “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”. How the hell did those cameras operate? Battery power on wireless cameras work for a matter of HOURS, not days, not weeks as suggested. If they applied the real rules, then the cameras would have run out of power long ago and her journalist friend would have been murdered. There’s Hollywood, and the laws of physics. I would bet on those laws every day. One special note though, the tools and the gear has improved a lot though, even from when I first started my work.

Finally, there’s always an anterior motive. It doesn’t matter who and what case, there always is one. I won’t comment on the Police ones out of respect to the inspectors who have a hard enough time as it is, but there have been too many cases from other Private Investigators and the public at large to not have seen this. I’ve found that without knowing that motive, a client’s case would linger for weeks, even months. I’ve had cases go for over 5 years because I was directed to look in one direction without knowing the other. Sure they pay well, but you just want to have the closure eventually.

So, as my time comes soon to an end, I wonder, was it worth it? I know that a huge chunk of my soul has been bruised in ways that I can never describe. The look of horror of that woman when she found out how her child was being drugged. The knowledge that no matter what I do, often the client refuses to help themselves and endure unspeakable abuse. The regular disappointments by occasional clients that despite retrieving what they needed, they lack the courage to take it that last step. But in the end, I think yes. Despite what my family and friends who disapproved of the job, in the end, I can honestly say that I was in a position to help far more than most. That’ll be the thought that will follow me.

But if I’m so melancholy of the time I spent as a spy of sorts, how did I manage for so long? People in Calgary know me as a social media person, a regarded foodie and Calgary booster. That description probably fits me well, but little do people know that all of this wasn’t just me being a particularly involved with things, it was my life line. While the infidelity stuff can be funny, more often than not, it was simply tragic. It’s a world where there are legions of broken hearts, misplaced anger and residual damage in the lives any children involved. I needed the social media world, a dynamic arena of minds and spirits the world over to keep me engaged with the brighter parts of life. I needed to be a foodie, not simply because I truly enjoy good food and the passions involved with cooking, but to give me a means to brighten the horizons of others through the simple communion of a shared meal. As for being a Calgary booster, that was easy. For every one case I dealt with, there were 100 Calgarians making the lives of one another a better place. If anything, the people of Calgary bring me hope that there are happy families out there, lovers enjoying the simple joys and artists creating art and music. To this incredible city, thank you, and I promise to continue to serve.

06.25.13

by calgarydreamer

The New Frontiers: Repeats, Reunions and Restorations…

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” – George Santayana

I’ve got news for Mr. Santayana: we’re doomed to repeat the past no matter what. That’s what it is to be alive. It’s pretty dense kids who haven’t figured that out by the time they’re ten…. Most kids can’t afford to go to Harvard and be misinformed.” ― Kurt Vonnegut

Before I go on, I’m still not going to post any pics for the foreseeable future. Outside of their first names, I want the kids to still have a measure of privacy. I am writing this with their full knowledge and permission, but I am now trying to be a little more restrained due to circumstances.

Well, it’s happened. I’ve met my “kids”, and in all honesty, I still don’t know what to think. The first meeting I had in mind kinda went awry, as WestJet inexplicably flew well over 90+ minutes late. Add processing and the rest, and my late but still ok 9-something pm landing suddenly became one that happened a little before midnight. Needless to say, by the time I I got out of the gates, the kids were absolutely exhausted. Given that Terry had to get back for lunch and dinner service in Whistler the next day, the meeting I wanted to have with them both together pretty much was blown out of the water. Georgia just went home, and we would find a time to later meet.

Terry

Terry stayed over in Vancouver that night, and met me for a pretty early 6:30am breakfast in a Chinese café-bakery. (By the way, highly recommend New Town Bakery on E Hastings, it was simple, inexpensive, hot and simply rocked.) In the brief hour or so that we talked, he was simply a joy. Obviously a child of the 00’s, his Star Wars was Anakin Skywalker and the Clone Wars. Linkin Park was his Sting and the Police and he never even heard of The Doctors 1 thru 8. He’s bright, analytical and determined to be a chef no matter what. He’ll make it, I have no doubt. But he’s also a little awkward socially. His focus on his craft has made him appear to be a little cold, even aloof to an extent. Still, once you do get to know him, you can’t help but respect him.

Georgia

On Saturday, I had went out to meet an old friend I had never met face to face in 15 years. It was fun, exciting and a grand old trot down memory lane. But as all good things, it had to end a little early as I had promised a friend to pick up some Dragon’s Beard Candy from the Richmond Night Market. On my way there, I noticed a text from Georgia, who was already there and we agreed to meet.

Remember, until this weekend, all of my communications with the kids have been entirely on the phone or via the net. Everyone has a persona they assume online, whether it be one that’s daring, brave, meek or silent. But in person… ah, there’s the rub. The cute little 8 yr old girl I remember is a very different 18 year old girl, and one that I bet her mom would have tore her hair out over.

It’s not that Georgia is a bad girl, or some wild child who drives parents to drink. It’s that she’s so very much her mother’s daughter. I see so much of my old love in her, and so many of the special qualities that made me so charmed and enamoured even now over 3 decades.

Georgia is smart and clever, quick witted and open. She is a caring, loving blossoming woman who you can’t help but fall in love with from the start. She keeps the same insane schedule that her mom did at this age, with most of her days already prescheduled weeks to months in advance. It’s that drive that made her mom such a star to UBC, and when properly focused, will make Georgia a contender in the days to come. The problem is that just like her mom, she wears her heart on her sleeve, and is incredibly pig headed. Terry told me that once she’s made a decision, it takes a small miracle to make her reconsider. Like me, she has a flair for the dramatic, and makes life changing decisions at a whim as she will follow her heart. And more importantly, she has a sense of justice based on her own beliefs and is quite willing to defends those decisions to the death.

Unfortunately, this has led her to three decisions that I wonder how much came from me (somehow) and how much came from my old love.

– After reading “The Days” and finding out so many things about her bio dad, and my deep unusual relationship with her mom, she’s stopped talking to him now altogether. She assures me that she came to this decision herself, but I can’t help but feel that I’ve traumatized her with the truth. Problem is that, what choice did I really have as well? I wasn’t about to lie to protect the false reasons why I was abandoned the kids after the death of their mom, or my complicated feelings for her even after all of these years. Nevertheless, it’s been months since she has had more than a 3 word conversation with her dad, and I feel so horribly personally responsible for this.

– She’s about to get married in a few months, about the same age when my old love and I had once considered the future together. Worse, it looks like her taste in men is about the same. Her fiance was working at the Richmond Night Market (hense the timing), and he’s CHINESE.

– She’s asked ME to be the one to give her away. She sees it as things going full circle, and that I was supposed to be her dad. I am honored that she asked me, but it feels quite honestly wrong in a lot of ways. I don’t deserve this pedestal. I was with her mom in a quasi lost love relationship for over 7 years. Her real dad raised her for most of her 18 years. He has cared for her, loved her, and sacrificed so much for her that I can never ever repay. This is his spot, and his honour not mine.

Now let’s get back to where this mess is about to lead. I’m not going to comment much on her fiance for now, since I really don’t know the guy at all. All I know is that he’s from Shanghai, studied in western schools and is 24 years old. I have no idea if he’s getting his citizenship, or if he’s even a landed immigrant. He speaks english with a bit of an british / chinese accent, and apparently works at that market on the weekends. He seems to genuinely care for Georgia, but I can’t get over the fact that they started seeing one another only months ago…. and now marriage???

I haven’t had time to really think this all through, but this feels so wrong. I’m trying to respect her decision, but now I think I have to be her father to try to talk sense as she’s presently lacking one right now. She won’t talk to me at all abotu how her dad is, and what are his thoughts. I’m actually a bit surprised that he even let Georgia move out at this age for that matter, assuming he even had a choice.

I’ve gotten advice from a few friends here and there, but I still have to think for now. I can tell already that my wife is going to have some problems with Georgia, which is another consideration I’m will have to factor in. So many lives, so intertwined in the decisions I soon will have to make, and all from a single desperate moment based on an ill-conceived haphazard plan. Wow. If there is some sort of afterlife, I can just imagine my old love just looking on in total puzzlement and disappointment.

But there is one thing for certain… I promised someone special and dear to me that I would always be there to strive to be their father, mentor and friend. I promised her that I would always be there to try to guide them on a path that would find them their own happiness, and to avoid the mistakes that my old love and I made that will always haunt me.

“Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night!” – Margo Channing, All About Eve

06.17.13

by calgarydreamer

The New Frontiers: Courage, Children, Comical Circumstances and Catastrophes

It’s been weeks since I touched on the aftermath events since writing the Days Before Tomorrow. Where I left off, the kids and I had made arrangements to meet at the airport on Friday the 21st where they can finally have a chance to see their would be father, or at least what they once called cool Uncle Terry. Weeks since I gave the kids the total story of the events that led to their mother falling in love with me, and the catastrophic reactions that has led to the very unusual circumstances we all find ourselves today.

Since then, the countdown has only become smaller. Time has creeped up on all of us, and there’s only scant days left before I see my kids again. And yes, I still see and believe them in so many ways to be at least partly mine. As I learn more about them, I see so much of their mother in them, and how she must have tried to inject a bit of me into them despite genetics and distance.

T is 20 (almost 21 soon), and he’s studying to be a chef. To put it bluntly, their mom was never a particularly good cook admittedly. She was skilled in so many ways, such as a keen analytical mind, great dexterity on the volleyball court and a musicality on the piano and cello that had to be seen to be believed. One of my fondest memories in fact, is when we just quietly played a musical duet with her cello and my flute in a Montreal park one night.

Their dad has a great mind for organization, but he’s not much of a cook himself. But I’ve been a foodie and home cook every since my teens, and I’m betting that T’s own skills and goals must have been in some way influenced by their mom and me.

G is studying to go to law school. She possesses an empathy that goes well beyond her young years, and an equally keen mind that can bring truth from shadows with laser like precision. I’m getting close to her in many ways, as I’ve always wanted a daughter of my own, and I’ve inspired her to follow and complete the footsteps her mother started all those years ago. My first love never did finish that law degree, and I hope that G can finish that path, or if not that one, then any path that finds her happiness and love.

But my wife was right in one thing… I should have said a bit less when I wrote the Days. I was so concerned to give the kids the full story, that I didn’t give a proper analysis of the consequences.

Damn. I really am rusty as an economist. A good economist can find trends and patterns in the present and the past, and recommend a course of action. A great economist can take that same data, recommend a course, but also predict the unknown results to the best of anyone’s ability and be ready for the consequences. I once thought I might’ve had the basics to be a great one, but not having used those mental muscles for so long, I guess I’m just a 1/2 decent one. Where the heck does all this past paragraph fit in? Well….

The kids have stopped talking to their dad and their grandmother. Those two found out that 2 of the pillars of their family life was partially built on lies, and have taken it out on their dad. They didn’t know about the no contest over custody when their mom and dad divorced. They didn’t know about the restraining order about me. That and the whole story on how she and I loved and lost… and they’ve had a LOT to think about over the months.

It probably also didn’t help much that I told the both of them to take their time and try to focus on school and so on. Both of them had this burden of truth placed upon them just before school finals and so on, which was bad timing on my part. But now that’s all done, and we’re about to enter a new adventure.

Where am I? Terrified really. I’ve loved these two ever since their mom made me their godfather (despite my relatively near total lack in faith strangely enough). What if I’m not what they envisioned me to be? Despite the blog and calls, at the end, they still fundamentally have the mind’s image of me from the viewpoint of a 11 yr old boy and a 8 yr old girl. Do I have a place in their lives? Do I even have a right to even BE in their lives? So many doubts, and so many fears and worries. But I broke my promise to their mom once to be a part of their lives and to be like a father to them. This is my second chance… and whether they want it or not is entirely up to them.

So with that all now mentioned, I’m going to be a bit self-indulgent and write the following directly to T&G:

Kids. I’m not your dad. I wanted to be your dad, but it just wasn’t to be. You HAVE a dad. He was there when you first spoke, your first steps, and your first McD Happy Meal. Despite a lapse in judgement, he loves you both deeply and has been there and raised you where I couldn’t. So cut the guy a break, please? Forgive him? Because in the end, no matter what, he’s your true family who has looked over you and protected you over your entire lives. And I will always thank him for that. Today of all days, FATHER’S DAY, it’s a good day to mend these fences and be a family again. This is your cool Uncle Terry ordering you and I’ll bribe ya with sushi if it helps the process (kidding… the sushi’s mine… you can have a Japadog though).

Remember, your mom did love him, as much as she did me. And you two wonderful kids are the results of that love. I couldn’t be prouder to have been a part of even a moment of your growth, but it’s in large part due to him. I love you both, and see you soon, but give him a call now or I’ll kick your asses in the airport. Love, Terry

Ok, as for those of you following this saga… more to follow very very soon.

Fortes Fortuna Juvat. Fortune Favours the Bold. Wish me luck.

05.18.13

by calgarydreamer

How NOT to Hide from Your Mom in the Morning

Hi all, sorry I haven’t written in the last 2 weeks or so, but I’ve been insanely busy with YYC Burger Week! It’s a new food event that the fabulous Sabahat Naureen thought up, and enlisted myself and her fiancé Chris, that involved 16 top grade restaurants, all locally owned and operated and dedicated to local food sourcing. Those 16 had offered a $15 burger platter, of which $1 went to an assigned charity. We’re still tallying up the money, but it looks like over 5000 burgers were sold, and probably over $6000 was raised for 8 great charities, and we had gotten a TON of press. The restaurants all reported a boost in business, the charities had gotten more exposure, and the 3 of us had a chance to give back to the Calgary community. All in all, being our first year, it was a great success! I’ll write a blog post soon enough about the whole event, so others can see what we did to make their own event.

But in the meantime, back to the blog. There’s more news about my “kids“, and the reunion is 1 month, 1 week away. That’ll be the next entry of the “New Frontiers“, and then a new piece on “What To Do When Trust is Gone” based on my adventures in the spy biz. But before I get back to those tales, here’s a fond embarrassing memory for younger days….

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I was in my 20s, and living at home at the time. I was dating a gal I met at McGill U, Fahima E., and it was looking pretty serious. It had been a few years since the wedding from hell and I was comfortable to be dating seriously again.

She had started to spend her nights at my house, and would sleep in the guest room in the basement. I would usually sleep in my room, but … every so often, we would sneak to each other’s room to sleep together. And yes, I mean sleep, as we simply liked each other’s company a lot and if you’re making any other assumptions, that’s entirely up to you. 🙂

Of course though, mom and dad, as modern western minded as they are, there were still a few conventions they would follow, or at least liked to have the illusion of following. One of those is that if there ain’t a ring on each other’s finger, you don’t stay together in the same bedroom. Yes, it’s a bit prudish in the modern world, but you do have to admit it’s kinda cute as well.

Well, one late night after classes, we both came up fairly late to a dark home. Everyone was asleep, and Fahima and I went off to bed. I quietly closed my own bedroom door, making it look like I was asleep in my room, and she and I went to the guest room (as it was a double bed). We promptly passed out and that was that…. until the morning.

Now I’m normally a bit of a light sleeper in the AM, while Fahima was not. The vent system in my old Montreal home only made that trait of mine worse, as I usually can hear conversations in other rooms pretty well. This was no different, as I was slumbering, I suddenly heard my parents up and about and talking about going to some event later in the day.

My first thought… dammit, they’re up and there’s no way for me to get to my room without being seen. Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem as they would rarely wake me up, and would go about on their business in the morning and leave the house. But when I heard the words, “event”, my mind instantly calculated 2+2 together and came up with “freakin’ hell”. You see, my mom has so many dresses and coats and what not, that she often stored a lot of her favorite dresses in either of the two guest room closets or a 3rd closet in the basement. So what could I do then? I knew that escape was impossible, as I had only seconds to act. So with escape not an option, my tiny reptile mind went into survival “hide” mode. I leaped right into one closet, and took my chances. There was a 33 1/3 % I would be discovered, and started looking to the gods above for salvation (ok, I wasn’t an atheist back then admittedly).

Then, as mom entered the basement and approached the guest room door, I heard her tell my father, “I need my red dress with the flower design.” Well, I quickly looked around and voila… there it was next to me. I started to mentally curse the gods for their sense of humour, and heard the door of the guest room door open.

Mom was a little surprised to open the door and found Fahima unconscious in bed, but then said “Oh, excuse me,” and not missing a beat, walked straight to the closet where I was hiding in. Giving in to the inevitable, I took the dress off the rack, and when the closet doors slid open, there I was, only in my briefs, and quietly presented her with her dress.

Now the look and surprise on her face was priceless admittedly. She was startled, but I think she had a sense of humour about the event. She looked at me exactly the same way a mom would look disapprovingly at bad behaviour, while I was beet red, embarrassed, and looked like I had just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar all the while standing in a closet with Fruit of the Loom briefs. Mom then took the dress, had that odd smirk, and closed the closet door on me. She walked out, and I just stood there in the cold, dark closet stunned.

It was a lot like this…

Now I don’t know what she may have told my dad at the time, or if she said nothing, but we never spoke of it since. I had to admire her sense of restraint and discretion. It was another of those Terryism moments that I’m so prone to in my soap opera life, and as I look back, it was one of those funny memories that I’ll always love about her. Thanks mom for the giggles.

04.09.13

by calgarydreamer

The Days Before Tomorrow … Epilogue and Answers

“We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everywhere.” – Unknown

“Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.” – Dylan Thomas

“Together forever, never apart. Maybe in distance, but never in heart.” – Unknown

“Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children.” – Charles R. Swindoll

You’ve read my tale, of first love, loss and so much more. She was the first girl I ever truly loved, and she has made so many fundamental changes to my outlook on life.

I’m writing this entry to answer a few questions that I never really answered well to myself. Questions like, why didn’t I leave with her all those years ago. Why didn’t I rejoin her when the chance came back. Why didn’t I fight for her legacy harder. I can’t answer really. But it was in those questions that I found that She taught me a lot in so many ways.

Never take love for granted. Never take the time you spend with the ones you love lightly. Be careful with what you might say to those you care for. Approach life with flair when you can, for fortune does favor the bold. And the one precious gift she gave me that I hold most dearly, how to savor the thunder and the lightning, in it’s purest form in the night skies.

In the here and now, I’m happy with my wife, and I love her dearly. But she notices the ghosts behind my eyes from time to time, and the profound sadness and wondering that envelops my heart and mind in this matter. There are other answers to those questions… answers that might make the ghosts fade. But as She is gone now 9 years, and with what you’ve read, I’ve never had my chance to properly mourn her. Those ghosts will always be there in one way or another. And in all honesty, I’ve lived with them for so long that I don’t know if I can ever conceive of a time without. But there’s hope now… for the first time in almost a decade, there’s hope.

Very soon, I’m going to be back in Vancouver, for the first time since the restraining order had expired. T is 21 now. G is 18. I have not been a part of their lives for over 9 years, 11 years or so if you add the time that I hadn’t seen them in person and had only sent gifts and calls of love and encouragement.

In all of these years, I have not had the chance to tell them about my memories of their beautiful mom, and how I have to keep quiet on how much I wanted to be their father. When they last saw me, they saw me from the eyes of children, and now they’re almost as old as she and I were when this tale became something twisted and strange.

Last Christmas, they found me. We spoke, and talked, as they did haltingly and rushed and confused and filled with millions of questions and with no answers to call from. It was quick, it wasn’t much, and we haven’t spoken much since. They were calling from their dad’s place, and in a few brief moments, years of walls came crashing down. Years of stories, and myths and questions of smoke and mirrors, all brought to a crashing halt in the discovery of a few letters. There’s probably a few shadows still in place, as there will always be some secrets of Her’s and mine that I will carry to my grave.

Once, long ago, I found my dear friend Karen E. once again through a friend of hers who found the newspaper ads I placed all over Cleveland. You can read that tale, Serendipity and Valentine’s Day, as it was the first entry of this blog. But, that would have never happened , if I hadn’t learned the value of being bold from my 1st love. And just as Serendipity and Fate had played with my life then, it seems that Fate has decided to intervene again.

Not long ago, G found the notes I wrote her mom in high school. G was graduating, and she went through her mom’s storage to wear something to keep close to her heart. She found my ring, my Loyola High class ring, attached to a selection of notes I wrote.

G told me how much both her and her brother had missed me, but were too young to understand why I left them so cruelly after their mom died. I don’t know the full extent of the stories told about me, but I’m getting the impression they weren’t flattering. But more importantly, she shared to T my many letters of love, and they both understand how it was supposed to be, but not how the reality came to be. It’s in writing this, this story of love and anger, obsession, passion and hatred, of deep loss and sorrow, and most importantly through it all, how I loved her as she did me despite it all.

To T & G, as you read this all, I truly hope you understand the choices and the decisions that has come to this moment. I’ve written this all, maybe to help exorcise some ghosts from my mind, to remind me of your mom, or even as an exercise in ego perhaps, but really, I’ve actually written this for you two. I never wanted to leave you. You were supposed to be my children, born of two who were as entwined and fundamental as lightning and thunder. Don’t be upset with your dad or your grandparents, as they were only trying to protect you both and I hold no grudge. But remember, I have always loved you both as if you were my own.

In June, I will be paddling with the Red Eyes Paddling Club in Vancouver. I will spend 2 1/2 days there in my chosen athletic passion with a group of people who I care deeply for as both friends and family.

But on that first night back to Vancouver, the first … tomorrow after so many lost and wasted days, I won’t be with them. T & G will be waiting for me at the airport for answers.

And I will be there.

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Writer’s Note 12/2013: I wrote these words in April 2013, an emotional time to say the least, with no small amount of tears between myself, Terry and Georgia when we finally reunited in June 2013. It’s an ongoing saga now under “The New Frontiers”, and I invite you all to continue on my exploration with my new family. On Christmas 2013, I will be writing a special update, of events that change everything once more.

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt 1 – An Introduction

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt 2 – Shattered

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt 3 – Betrayal and Hurts

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 1
The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 2
The Days Before Tomorrow, Interlude
The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt 4 – Those Left Behind
The Days Before Tomorrow, Epilogue and Answers
The Days Before Tomorrow, Afterword

04.06.13

by calgarydreamer

The Days Before Tomorrow … Pt 3

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned,” – William Congreve

“Hatred ever kills, love never dies. Such is the vast difference between the two. What is obtained by love is retained for all time. What is obtained by hatred proves a burden in reality for it increases hatred.” – Gandhi

“I was born when you kissed me, I died when you left me, I lived a few weeks while you loved me.” – Humphrey Bogart

In all of my wildest dreams, I never saw that coming. We were close in so many ways, even though we weren’t a typical couple over the years. But, it was because we weren’t a normal couple that I had made my mistake in thinking that this was something that could be solved in a sudden dramatic fashion. To put it mildly, I was stunned, and remained so for the 2 or so hours where they both told me how they fell in love, how they both felt guilty about me, how they wanted me in their lives no matter the distance and more. To them, I was now family, like the happy go-lucky brother. In all honesty, I felt a bit like I had created a bizarre version of Frankenstein’s Monster, one that was now coming for my blood for the sin of brutal creation.

So I played the game a little further and served as their Best Man, and I think I played my part well. Should I mention about the bachelor party I hosted? The actual event at the altar where I smiled and cooed, all the while wanting to leap out of a window? How about the wedding banquet, quite modest thankfully, but still filled with those little games that everyone loves to watch. No one said if I looked upset or angry, though her parents did take me aside and told me that it was my fault that this happened and I should have been there on that altar instead. But realistically, my only thoughts were on how much I wanted this to end, and to wash my hands of everything and disappear from sight. Little did I know that even long after the night ended and I returned to Montreal, she had other plans in motion to keep me close.

A few short months later before Xmas, I was told there was a surprise coming. While admittedly not particularly thrilled, I had to admit I was a bit curious to see what she had in mind. I was pretty much expecting maybe copies of the wedding photos? A thank you gift? Maybe a visit? Who knew what it could be really? I was still feeling the sting of the wedding, and I knew in my heart of hearts that this mess was entirely my fault. I mean, I knew she would be upset with losing me, but I never in a million years thought she would rebound in such a strange and unexpected way. Little did I know, that was just the beginning.

On Xmas Eve, they came around to my door bearing gifts. I wasn’t surprised, as I expected something along these lines. The meeting was brief, as they had other doors to knock and people to see, but they did tell me to keep my New Years’ Eve free. I should have lied and said I had plans or something, but that would have been futile. All of those years of written notes and secret whispers had made her a human Terry lie detector for the most part (with of course the exception of when I shoved her). So I went about my daily holiday business of too much turkey, tons of family and friends and so on, but my mind remained a bit at unease knowing THE day approaching.

New Year’s Eve actually started to be fun. Being the geek I am, they surprised me with a private room and a few matches of Laser Quest of all things. It seemed to be a genuinely pleasant approach to that night that I never expected. There was of course a blind eye to the case of sparkling wine brought into the room, several pizzas and laughter between the 3 of us and their friends all around. We talked and reminisced, went over the elementary to college years, the disastrous first date ever, odd arguments about horror movies and so on, and I was honestly starting to relax and enjoy the company. Famous last thoughts I suppose.

Throughout the night, I noticed that while we were all enjoying the bubbly, she had stuck to apple juice and so on. She was never much of a drinker, but then, it was New Year’s Eve. And as the final few minutes of the year arrived, she stood up and poured a very small amount of wine into her glass and made a toast. First was a toast to her new husband, then her friends and family and then as she put it (and I so have those words burned into my brain in 24 point Helvetica type), “To Terry, the dearest friend, sweetheart and soon to be UNCLE and GODFATHER TO MY SON.” I so dearly wished right there and then for those laser pistols to be fully functional and lethal so I could shoot myself.

There was a lot of cheering and toasting that night. I felt sick and left the building, trying not to faint or throw up on the ground. It was a particularly cold night then, but I honestly didn’t even notice as both shock and a bit of fury had gripped me. I thought I was done and over with her, but now I saw that she meant every word about keeping me close. And as with stupid me and my code of chivalry, I felt obliged to say yes when I wanted to just scream. I looked back at the door to Laser Quest, composed myself, went back inside and apologized for my sudden reaction and accepted the honor. Months later, I got to meet my first godchild ever, and could you believe the coincidence? He was named Terry too.

By the way, did I happen to mention how unusual it would have been for me to be the Godfather? I was born and raised catholic, and lived across the country to boot. She was protestant, though He was catholic as well. Moreso, my belief in the Christian faith had already begun to wane back then (I’ve since become Atheist) which didn’t exactly make me a very good candidate. She didn’t care, and if He did, He didn’t tell me then. So annually, I would send gifts and notes to my godson to read when he was older, and every so often I would see them in Montreal or I would go there. A few short years later, Terry was followed by a second child, a sweet little girl named Georgia. I should have guessed, as my middle name is George. But if things were getting weird, she didn’t let me know. (I’m a bit thankful there weren’t more kids. My full name is Terrence George Bing Nung Lo, which incorporates my chinese name as well. Somehow I imagine in a parallel universe a kid named Bing being teased mercilessly in a playground.)

This game went on and on, and I would make my regular phone calls to the family and talk to my godkids. He had become a successful restaurant manager while the wedding and children derailed her studies in law, but still managed to get a degree in accounting somehow. I stayed in Montreal, finding new loves time and again, but somehow always watching them go up in flames in one way or another (Those tales are for another soap opera tale in the future). Still, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be, as we all found our lives going their own separate paths as they should.

It was a Saturday in July that I called to wish lil’ Terry a happy birthday. But instead of the formalities of saying hi and so on, Terry passed me on to his grandma. She was expecting my call, and wanted a chance to tell me her mind. She had told me that HE had left, and moved away with another woman with kids of her own. She, my 1st, was now a single parent to the 2 kids, and that custody was entirely hers and that HE didn’t even contest it. Her mom then told me the rest of the story, of the fights and the counselling that went on in the background. The regrets she had by acting so rashly by marrying him, and the hurt and pain behind it all. How She had insisted on naming both kids after me, and that I had to be their godfather. Her mom confirmed all of my suspicions and more, and then lectured me about how it should have been me and her daughter from the start. Many more words were passed on, but the final word was from the Court of BC. I was faxed copies of the divorce papers, and besides “Irreconcilable Differences”, there it was written in HIS handwriting just under HIS signature:

“She’s still in love with that f***** and did this to hurt him.”

End of Part Three

—————————–

03.30.13

by calgarydreamer

Interlude: Topless Revelations and the Evening in Jail

in·ter·lude /ˈɪntərˌlud/

noun – a short dramatic piece, especially of a light or farcical character, formerly introduced between the parts or acts of miracle and morality plays or given as part of other entertainments.

“What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate.” – The Captain, Cool Hand Luke

“If God wanted us to be naked, why did He invent sexy lingerie?” – Shannen Doherty

“Surprises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.” – Jane Austen

Friends who know me, also know that I’m usually not exactly at my most logical anywhere near the lingerie section of … well… pretty much any store. Just being next to the bra department in the Bay, or some place similar, is enough to make me a little jumpy with the instinctual need to run like hell.

But, this isn’t because of a matter of prudishness, or religion or just being a guy. It was because of that day I spent Xmas shopping with my first love, the one I’m currently writing our story about. You see, the mathematical equation of:

(the bra section of Eaton’s + Her)/(special event) x (Terry assumed to be a pervert) = Terry in Jail

It was near Xmas time and the town was bustling with the usual hosannas to fat men in red suits and the spectacle of 30-50% OFF signs everywhere. My parents were in Hong Kong as they often were for my dad’s immigration business. My sister was away with her friends for a sleepover, and I was more or less home alone for the weekend.

I didn’t really mind being alone at the time, as I knew everyone would be back soon enough in time for Xmas, and I had my exams to study for. And so there I was, a little bored with reading and re-reading my notes from the past semester, concentrating on the works of Ayn Rand and Charles Darwin. It was around noon, and I was already 4 hours in when I was starting to sneak the adventures of Iron Man as well out of boredom when she called. She suggested going Xmas shopping, and as I was already a bit stir crazy, gladly accepted the invite and the lovely gracious company.

We had already been dating on and off for years by then, but this admittedly was new. We had never done Xmas shopping together and I soon realized that I made the wrong choice. When she meant that she wanted the company and to see me, it was girl-speak for needing a pack mule and a yes man. Shop after shop, mirror after mirror it went on, as she would try out one thing or another, or ask my opinion if that scarf would be nice, or that top, or those stockings and so on. And with each place, Terry the kinda boyfriend was slowly being transformed into Terry the carrier of bags and opinion board to bounce ideas off only. It was NOT a great day for menfolk everywhere.

This was at a time when Quebec stores still shut their doors at 5pm on weekends and the Internet was just a glint in Al Gore’s eye, and I was looking at that magic number to come around to free me from my bondage. And it was with that deadline approaching, she decided to save the best for last. We went into the dark zone, the place that will ever be known as Hell on Earth to me in my mind’s eye, the bra department of Eaton.

Ok, I admit being a little uncomfortable around there. Well, actually a LOT uncomfortable there, as I sat there, many bags and parcels in hand, and bemused women around with smirks at the sight. The seconds felt like hours, and being left to my thoughts and devices was starting to drive me mad. And then it happened….

From the dressing room, a girl screamed loudly. It was one of panic and fear and it echoed through the whole of Eaton and to the city outside. But more importantly, it was a voice I recognized, hers. Ever the knight in training, I dropped everything like a shot and ran straight into the change room to find my girl and leap to the rescue.

Did you know the Eaton bra changing room had over 30 booths? I sure as heck didn’t until then. And panicked and worried as I was, I didn’t really care. I was screaming out her name, and went quickly from booth to booth, opening curtain after curtain trying to find her. Needless to say, there were quite a few MORE screams coming from that room.

For the alpha males who may read this, no, I did not see a lot of breasts and naked women. I was so focused in my quest for her, I honestly didn’t even notice the fact that most of these women were topless or partially nude. I was looking for HER, and that’s all that mattered. And I think it was around booth number 183 or so (it felt like it), that I DID find her.

I burst in screaming her name, asking what was wrong. There she was, standing on the little seat of the change booth, and very much topless, when she saw me burst in. And in a split second, fear became anger, pure female fury directed at ME. I didn’t even see her fist approach my face.

Well, there I was, now shocked back into reality, when I realized what I had just done. I look back and forth down the aisle, hearing the screams of other women now as well, and the eyes of at least a dozen really pissed women trying to cover themselves with the booth curtains. So with that in mind, I did what any self respecting knight of olde who believed in chivalry with all his being, I booked it for the exit at full speed.

Did you know the security office of Eaton Montreal was just right next to the bra department? I found out pretty quickly, as the minute I stepped out of the room, 2 guards tackled me and took me down. I have to admit, they were pretty well trained, as they soon had me up on my feet, restrained, and dragged into their security office. They even had their own little jail of sorts there.

Not long later, the boys in blue arrived, and took me away to the precinct. While leaving the precinct, I noticed that my gal’s boxes and bags were all gone, hopefully taken by her though that probably wasn’t my concern. It was more, where the hell was her, and figured that she was so angry that she left without me.

Well, there I was, explaining my story again and again, but not to any willing open ears. Since I had acted so rashly and quickly, no one had any reference to the timing and assumed that all of the screaming was because of my rummaging through the change room, as opposed to me reacting to a scream and THEN rummaging through the room (not that it made much difference in the dozen or so womens’ minds).

So there I was, innocent looking little me, being seen as some naughty daring pervert in the precinct office. Thankfully, everyone was pretty busy with the holiday rush of real criminals and what not, so they let me make a few calls as opposed to just one since my folks were away at the time. And hoo boy, it definitely took quite a few calls. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant stay though, as after the calls, they tossed me into the drunk tank with a few others, mostly pickpockets and purse snatchers. That stay… well… was mostly me staying in a corner, hoping to keep my rear virginity intact as I had seen way too many prison movies.

A year before my incarceration. Don’t I look all honest and innocent?

Luckily I was still under 18, so the officers weren’t as pissed at me as they would be, more like bemused if anything. More importantly, I have a fairly honest face, so people tend to take me more at face value and I couldn’t have come up with a story like this in a 1000 years. Even more fortunate for me, none of the women had made a statement, which I assume was probably because of the need to go home with their shopping and get ready for the Xmas holidays. Still, it took awhile to find someone to pick me up from the station, with the promise that I would appear for court the following Monday.

As soon as I was out, I tried to see her, over and over, but she refused my calls, my knocking at the door and so on. Her mom and dad were a bit puzzled as she wouldn’t reveal what happened, and they took it as some sort of lovers’ spat I suppose. I couldn’t really be too upset on why she wouldn’t see me, but I needed her help to stay out of 20 years of hard jail with murderers and rapists (I had a pretty vivid imagination then). In the end, it took a mutual friend and flowers to convince her to tell me the story on what happened, and with that, her own apology for thinking me to be some evil perv who tried to sneak a peak at her breasts (yes, hard to believe, but I hadn’t seen her nude ever back then).

The session later in court was probably one of the best that judge ever had. While Eaton had placed charges on me, she had approached the security manager and the clerk and explained everything that had happened just prior to seeing the judge. Eaton still had to press charges, after all, running into a change room and bursting into the change room of a dozen or so women was still… well… stupid beyond belief. But, now knowing the sequence of events, the security manager had asked for leniency from the public prosecutor and as I had a record as being a goody two shoes in general in the community, the judge (who was struggling not to laugh) was pretty lenient as well and sentenced me to a misdemeanor with community service.

Around those years, my friends might remember all those hours I was spending at NDG’s Head and Hands as a tutor and a volunteer? Well, that was the court mandated community service I had to do to atone for my act of stupidity. She forgave me for the whole transgression and we returned to our dance of are we/aren’t we a couple, and life proceeded as could be. Well, as best as it could, with her constantly holding this over my head every time I screwed up that is.

Oh, and you’re probably wondering why she screamed in the first place? She told me the following day, after I spent the time in prison. She saw a mouse.

——————————
The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 1

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 2

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 3

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 4

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 1

03.27.13

by calgarydreamer

The Days Before Tomorrow … Pt 2

“The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men,
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!” – Scottish Poet, Robert Burns

“You always hurt the one you love
The one you shouldn’t hurt at all
You always take the sweetest rose
And crush it till the petals fall” – Songwriter Alan Roberts, Sung by Peggy Lee

So there was the impasse. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to leave ME.

As we walked together after that moment, she couldn’t imagine life without my irregular notes in her door, or the awkward silences as we both danced around our feelings all of those wasted years. I couldn’t imagine the nights not spent talking on the phone as the lightning roared and the heavens thundered. Just the way she would grin silently as classical played on into the air, or the scent of her hair. So many things I realized I would miss.

The following day, I secretly skipped class and went to talk to her mom. She had long known about our almost secret relationship, and was always encouraging me to take it to the next step. In her eyes, her daughter had a boy who truly cared for her, was kind, considerate and sincere, but more importantly, one who cared enough for her girl to give up his world. And I did, so the plans proceeded.

I made myself less available day after day, and the notes became shorter and shorter. Comments on life and love, spirit and music on the page evolved into simple gossip and banter about my “brothers”, inane school events and complaints about the Quebec government. I tried to portray a callous, unfeeling Terry who was unworthy of anyone. I ceased to walk over to meet her in the mornings, and would “forget” about our rare special evenings in exchange for nights of popcorn and movies alone or with my best friends. The campaign, I knew would be long and hard, and I was going insane in thought. My spies in her midst, her mother and father would continue to argue and rant on their end to ensure her departure and feed me information. It wasn’t very successful, as she saw through the whole ploy with laser like accuracy. Worse, she tracked me down at my favorite McDonald’s (well, yes, I wasn’t much of a foodie admittedly back then), sat down, told me to quit it, and kissed me on the cheek.

Time was running short, and I really didn’t know what else I could do. The problem with having written hundreds of pages of my feelings and thoughts to her, is that she knew me fundamentally deeper than any person alive. Deadlines on events that deal with life situations weren’t really something I was particularly good at, especially when considering it was with one who loved me so well. So I went back to her parents and we talked one more time. In the end, we all agreed, there was only one action left to do… and it’s one that has always scarred and shamed me in so many ways.

The day we broke up was not a particularly exceptional day, but it’s one I will always recall. For those who know me, I have cherished in my heart the code of Chivalry and the pursuit of knightly honor to be my most highest belief. In fact, that dedication was always greater than what I once believed as an evangelized youth, my comic books, movies and geekdom highlights. As the days counted down to the final cut off to accepting the scholarship came close, all I could think was acts of desperation. My sweet girl had it in her mind that she wasn’t leaving and was just going to wait and work a bit until a time would come when we both could leave and excel. But in the meantime, the days had become a monotonous routine, where we would meet, then argue about the lack of time left, then kiss, then allow her to enrapture me with the joy of her presence and then argue again, and then have her remind me that I’ll be forced to quit it pretty soon so I might as well stop there and then, and the day would progress as it would. This time, I added a few more factors… the presence of her parents and a deliberate dedication to be ugly, to be angry and to be evil in the basest manner possible.

I won’t go through the full details, but the ambush was successful in raising the tension. Voices were loud and angry as we were pleading and begging, and then (and with prior secret approval) accusations about me would be made and so much more. But in the end, as it all came to a head, I did the one thing I didn’t want to do but realized was the only thing I could do to turn her passion away… I raised my hand, and in front of her family, shoved her hard onto the floor and started the first move to a follow up action. Her mother knew I might had to do that. Her father didn’t… and with that shove, the air in the room stood still.

I was thrown out by her dad, and justly so. He didn’t punch me, but I honestly hoped he would. Since growing out of elementary, I had never raised a hand in anger against a woman ever, and I couldn’t believe I actually did. She looked out at me from her living room window, stunned, and angry. She was always strong willed, but with that one act, I shattered every image and belief she had in me. And as dearly as I wanted to run back in to hold her, to apologize and beg forgiveness, the anger of her father had put an end to that.

She called. I didn’t answer. I wrote no notes. I never walked with her again. Camelot had fallen, and to free her, I shattered both our hearts. And in those months to come, we had no more contact no matter how much we both wanted it.

Here is where fate decided to give me a good s***kicking for my audacity to strike a woman. In those months, I got word from her mom about how depressed she was, and how all our efforts might go to naught if she dropped out instead. I had done my job too well. But to tell her that I attacked her to force her to go to school and it was orchestrated?? I foresaw a pretty angry woman getting off a plane, and then throttling her family, and then me. So what to do, what to do … when inspiration hit. Maybe if I had a friend show her around, cheer her up, maybe she’ll improve and I even knew who to befriend her. He was an old friend of mine from childhood, who moved to that city long ago but we still kept in touch. Friendly, outgoing, emphatic and simply a nice guy, I asked him to see if he could look her up and gave him the full story on the event that drove her off so he had some reference. That wasn’t a great idea in hindsight.

Months more went by, and as the days passed, while I missed the regular notes and her presence, I still did my best to go on. The first summer was the hardest or so I thought. When lightning struck, I looked up and closed my eyes trying to imagine her near me, letting the sound of thunder rumble through my body. I still wrote, but this time it was notes to no one. And as the notes piled, the amount slowed down to a smaller flow, and then a trickle, and then none.

It was in August that I got a call. My buddy who I had asked to keep an eye on her was in town. Considering that I really owed him one, I wanted to hear everything, but more importantly, offer some payback for a favour I never could really ever repay… or so I thought. So feeling nostalgic, guilty and 100s of other feelings, I met him at le Biftheque for a good ol’ fashion steak dinner.

I always loved that restaurant. The old classic wood and barn look that hasn’t changed in decades. The dim lighting and the chuckwagon red and white table clothes. The fresh bread baking all the time, filling the rooms with the scent of utter joy and pleasure. And most importantly, the booths, where I walked over to meet him… and HER. My sins had come to roost.

Awkward really doesn’t even begin to explain the next few hours. I was stunned, guilty, lovelorn, angry, sad, and probably everything else you could expect. Honestly, if I had the chance to put my fist through the wall, I probably would have gladly.

As the evening progressed, I barely heard anything they were telling me to bring me up to speed. Eating was probably the last thing on my mind, but I focused as best I could to ignore the banter… until the last few words. While he was keeping her company to cheer her up, they fell in love. And with me as a lesson for the follies of not making a final decision, they decided to get married as soon as possible and flew back to Montreal to ask for my permission.

You know, they say the road to hell is paved in good intentions? It definately is. In my “good-ness”, I was the architect of this Titanic, but now looking desperately for that chunk of ice on the horizon to put me out of my misery. And on they talked, and explained, and then came the special request, an iceberg worthy of this ocean of hell.

“Terry, we want you to be the BEST MAN.”

End of Part Two.

—————

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 3

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 2

03.24.13

by calgarydreamer

The Days Before Tomorrow … Pt 1

“Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything’s okay and everything’s going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything’s gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face” – Alanis Morrisette, “Ironic”

”They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that’s true. What they don’t tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up.” – Ed Bloom, Big Fish

“The magic of our first love is our ignorance that it would never end.” – Unknown

This will definately become a multi-part blog, as it’s a pretty long story. It’s one that’s probably worthy of a soap opera, and it literally spawns over decades.

It’s a tale never written in full, but it’s time that its told, even in summary. It’s about a pretty special girl who I will never forget, and in many ways never forgive as well. It’s about love and loss. It’s about passion and fate, pride and stupidity. It’s about obsession. It’s about hatred. It’s about the law. It’s about the moral right against the legal right, and how it’s so hard to tell where the line between the two is sometimes. And in the end, it’s simply about a girl, who loved a boy, who loved her back, and how they both lost one another.

But to tell the tale, I have to tell you a bit about how it all started. Just to let you know, because some people are still around in this whole mess, including 2 innocent kids who I still love so all names have been concealed save mine.

When I first saw her at the community pool, I think I could honestly say that I was just breathless. It wasn’t one of those teen flashes of “babeocity”, where hormones ran rampant and hearts flew. I was just stunned. There she was, in her simple 1-piece swimsuit, her smile and that look… that look that turned me into a deaf mute. Again with the buts though, this was a time when I was young, insecure and painfully shy. I aspired to be the knight of olde even then, but all I could pretend to be was the new squire to be ordered and ridiculed.

I wasn’t one of the cool crowd back then. I was the geek, the kid who was nervous and self conscious and jittery. I was the one who everyone liked, but not necessarily would invite to a night out for a drink and would be far more at home in a basement playing Dungeons and Dragons than watching a football game. So while I was struck by her, I was equally intimidated by her as well. It was like a “5” was striving to win a “10”.

So the first few weeks went, with course after course learning how to rescue dive, to perform CPR, use a spinal board and so on. There I was, longing to know her and being too shy but it took the secret “summer friend” event at the YMCA to change things.

In the day, I was working for the YMCA as a day camp counsellor and then would bike to swim classes. To promote friendship among the staff, a secret summer friend project was launched, whereas a summer friend would get to do something special for another one secretly based on names picked out a hat. Simply put, I kinda sucked as a secret summer friend. With my busy schedule, I kept forgetting to do something special for my “friend.” But my secret friend rocked! One day, I went to check my personal mailbox, only to find a bag full of fresh baked cookies! Pretty jazzed by the gift, I brought it to swim class and lost pretty much all inhibitions and offered them to HER. The cookies rocked, but what happened right after rocked ME. She kissed me on the cheek,

From thereon, we were great friends. We were always sitting together during classes, talking, joking and chatting, working out times to go out together and so on. It was a glorious summer, and as the weeks passed, my feelings grew ever more.

But as all good things, classes came to an end and I dreaded the time to miss her presence. With that, I knew I had to take one great chance. Fortes fortuna juvat. Fortune Favours the Bold.

It was the day of the final swimming exam where we had to “rescue” each other, take each other out, and perform mouth to mouth. Everyone walked in ready for the challenge. I walked in not caring at all for that one, as I had a greater challenge in my hands…. a bouquet of roses. Before class started, I faced her, and quietly gave her the bouquet, and secretly reveled in my glorious action. I didn’t give her a chance to answer. I didn’t give her even a word explaining it all. I just showed her that I really, really cared for her.

The exam went on, and we all performed as expected. Swimming a few miles in the pool in the different styles. Diving in one way or another. Dealing with panicked swimmers. But then came the mouth to mouth, and it was her turn to rescue me.

Well, here I was, “unconscious” and partially “drowned”, doing my best to pretend to be a swimmer in distress. I was partnered up with her, and I just really hoped that I didn’t have really bad breath to make her exam unpleasant. Nope. It was so far completely from unpleasant that she honestly did take my breath away.

It was a typical procedure of course. Tilt the head. Check for breathing. Clear the airway. Pinch the nose. Take a deep breath. Cover his mouth with yours. Begin to secretly give him a french kiss in the middle of a mouth to mouth exam knowing he won’t endanger your mark and hope he doesn’t freak out.

Yes people, that was my first french kiss. She knew I reveled in flustering her with the roses, so she french kissed me in a very unusual way, and in the one place where she knew I would never run. Each “kiss” had to be quick and short, but as her tongue touched mine each time, the moments lasted damn near forever.

That was that, the gauntlet was thrown, and we would become close in our own clumsy way. Over the years to come, she and I would walk together in the morning every day before she would get onto her bus to school. We were both from different school districts, so I never saw her in the weekdays much. But we would write to each other day after day, note after note found awaiting the other. On weekends, she would be with her friends, and I with mine, but still grew close through our words and our rare moments together. And… always, whenever possible, we would sit close, stare into the heavens and watch the lightning and the thunder play their dance in the night skies.

By the end of that first year, I knew I was in love with her. And I believed she loved me too.

Fast forward a few years, and as ever, we just couldn’t seem to keep a regular schedule together. We both had other boyfriends, girlfriends, dates and flings, but we always found ourselves together a few months later. Each time was chaste, honourable and proper. We loved each other, but weren’t quite sure HOW to love one another. We both kept ourselves pretty busy and just kept passing one another by like 2 ships in the night. We were young and stupid, and kept finding barriers to keep each other apart, yet would write to each other like crazy and still find ways to let our words touch the other.

We were now university students, but she was always in many ways far more focused than me. She had won a full scholarship far away, and I was so proud and happy for her. But, and again always the but, there was a problem. She didn’t want to leave.

Was it because she was afraid of leaving Montreal? Afraid of being alone in a new school? We spoke, discussed, talked, argued and communicated in every way that was possible over days with the matter going no further ahead. Her family was concerned, and I was worried beyond belief. Such opportunities rarely came, and I didn’t want her to miss out on this chance of a lifetime. And being a typical male, I saw it all in a black and white matter, when she showed me her one overwhelming argument in one burst of communication I never considered…. a kiss.

It was a long, deep kiss, full of longings, hopes and dreams. It told me everything about her, her heart and what she wanted without saying a word. I was the reason why she wouldn’t leave. No more… no less.

And with that, I started my plans to do probably the singly most noblest thing I’ve ever done, and probably the stupidest one as well. I started to conspire with her parents to break her heart and shatter this almost a full relationship for good. My logic, break her heart and drive her away to school where she can focus and become a great lawyer. The problem? Logic never really works well in matters of the heart. And from that moment, a mutual journey began. It was one that would run over 20 years and tie our lives and several others together in ways that I could have never ever foreseen.

End of Part 1.

The Days Before Tomorrow, Pt. 3