I recognized Cheryl from my time at the School of Fine Arts. I was working as a short order cook at ‘Bobo’s Bistro’ at the rear of the Cascade Tavern.
She smiled at me and approached. I am the furthest thing from a lady’s man as there is. I refused to use flattery as a matter of principles. I was stuck at the truth. I got that from my mother. The woman who told me my father was dead; when he was alive and well.
We ended up at her place which was the palatial log home of some absent nameless millionaire.
After a few drinks I found the courage to kiss her. She smiled and led me to a bedroom.
I settled in for a few nights until I blacked out, not remembering how I made it back to the rooming house.
Cheryl showed up at Bobo’s a week later and hissed at me. “You bastard! I was in pain for 3 days. I could hardly walk.”
“I’m so sorry Cheryl, what did I do?”
She dropped her fake rage when she saw my real confusion and hugging my neck, she whispered.
“It’s all good dear… You just gave me the fuck of my life.”
I was still apologizing.
“Stop it! I want you to come over tonight… can you?”
Cheryl had numerous lovers and I was too needy to tolerate that. She also seemed to get off on making her other lovers jealous. I didn’t play this game either.
Cheryl faded to memories… In my weakest moments I wished I had tried harder.
In reality I realized a relationship was not possible. I didn’t know how. I feel to hard. I wanted to much. No one could tolerate that much weight. Solitude wasn’t the answer however it would do until something better came along.
I knew I had to find my father. I knew he was alive. I knew he was in Toronto. I was born in Toronto. It would be like going home; I told myself. I had $500 when I arrived and headed to the nearest Tavern.