it was the summer of 1984. after a tough year at school filled with failed courses and failed attempts with girls, happiness had arrived. Bruce Springsteen was coming to Toronto. the Born in the USA tour. super pumped. super excited. tickets were going on sale on Friday and that meant lining up overnight on the Thursday. lining up wasn’t so bad as you were surrounded by other young fans. other young drinkers. loud music. loud discussions. loud screaming. somewhat similar to the actual concert on a much smaller scale. but fun nonetheless.
I grabbed my friends and then we grabbed our booze. Markville Mall. Thursday night. outside. hot. sunny. booze. cops. but they didn’t seem to bother anyone. we arrived early and stood in line. lots of greetings. lots of laughs. lots of music. lots of love. a great day. a great night. the day turned into night as we continued to consume booze. consume music. consume conversations and consume love. memories of youth and it’s freedom always coming back to haunt me. haunt me in a positive way.
anyway, the night was upon us as most of the people in the line were now drunk. now loud. now free. more cops but still allowing the youth to be youth. the way it should be. respect from both sides. the music got louder as we tried to stay awake. tried to hold on. some of us would try and take little brief naps while other’s continued to drink. continued to get drunk. any excuse to drink back then. any excuse to drink now. drinking has been part of my life in so many great ways but has also been a part of my life in so many horrible ways. life.
the sun eventually came up and now the drunkeness had turned into a hangover. head sore. pasty mouth. red face. red face filled with sweat. mouth filled with stench. typical hangover. but a hangover well worth the hangover as the box office opened and I picked up my four tickets. so excited. so relieved. so tired. so hungover. big happy smiles everywhere. it was now 8am and I knew that I needed to get to summer school by 9am. why did I care about summer school when I didn’t care about regular school? so many contradictions in my life. so many emotions.
I happily walked away from the crowd with my four tickets and made my way out to Hwy. 7. it was rush hour and there were many cars. i was tired but I had no other way home but to walk. i was 17 yrs old but no car and drunk. i walked. i walked. it was hot. i was sweaty. i had my Ocean Pacific beach shorts on and I was hungover. my head was down as I was, somehow, filled with self-consciousness. embarrassment. not sure why but I was. I continued to walk. head down. it seemed that I wasn’t getting anywhere. i was walking slowly. i was getting sweaty. more sweaty than before. i was going to be late for my summer school class so I decided to stick out my right thumb and hitchike. back then hitchiking was more acceptable but not sure how acceptable it was in Markham. in Unionville. a town filled with great people. great friends. but also some judgemental people. rich people. at this point I didn’t care. I needed to get home. I needed to get to summer school.
the cars passed me by. one by one. over and over. no luck. always no luck. always persistent. never give up. never give up. i continued to walk with my right hand out. my head down. when I looked up I would catch the eyes of judgemental workers off to their jobs. off to their jail cells. off to their cubicles. I was just about to put my right hand down. i was just about to put my head down. i was just about to give up when I saw an old grey car pull over in front of me. i picked up my pace with a smile and approached the car. I leaned into the passenger side window and an older man asked me where I was going. he had a heavy Greek accent. he had a dangling cross on his rearview mirror. he was wearing a dull suit.
“Get in. I take you.”
“Thanks.”
I opened the passenger door and sat down.
he looked at me with curiosity and I looked at him with relief. hungover. tired eyes. tired heart.
“where you go again?”
“Village Parkway and Carlton in Unionville.”
“Okay. you tell me where to go.”
“Okay. drive straight.”
the old Greek man pulled his shitty grey car back onto hwy. 7 and into the traffic. I wondered if anyone saw me as I stared straight ahead. quiet. still.
“where you were?” the old Greek man asked me in his heavy accent.
“I was lining up for Bruce Springsteen tickets.”
“”Who Springsteen?”
“He’s a musician. I really like him.”
“Music today no good.”
“Yeah…”
I sort of started nodding off as the man continued to talk. continued to engage. continued to drive. we passed a few traffic lights and then Village Parkway was coming up on the right hand side of the road.
“Turn right here…at the lights.”
the man turned right and we continued. little talk now. really tired now. really hungover and pasty now. summer school? really???
we drove past three stop signs and then I told the old Greek man to pull over at the next stop sign but he didn’t.
he looked at me and said, “let’s go for little drive. won’t be long.”
“No…I need to get to summer school. please.”
“no worry. won’t be long. relax.”
Relax? relax? relax?
as we drove away I looked back at the stop sign where I was supposed to be dropped off. I looked and wondered. I looked and thought. i was now silent. now stuck. now confused.
we drove north on Village Parkway and turned left onto 16th Avenue. we turned left and drove west. we then turned right onto Warden and drove north through the winding roads of beautiful Cachet Parkway. beautiful houses. beautiful trees. some beautiful people. we drove up and down hills. it was quiet. as we drove I began to notice the old Greek man staring down at my crotch. i felt uncomfortable. i twisted and turned to avoid his eye contact but he was relentless. he was old. he must have been horny. he looked and looked and looked. he then began to touch. he touched my left leg. he stroked my left leg. i did not move. i was stunned. i was stuck. i was lost. i was confused.
his right hand now moved up to my crotch. he began rubbing my penis from the outside of my grey Ocean Pacific shorts. he rubbed slowly and softly. my penis began to grow.
“nice. very nice. big. very big.”
as he touched he talked. one word descriptions. where did he have to go?
“nice. very nice. sooo big. sooo big. soo nice.”
he now pulled my throbbing penis out of my grey shorts and started stroking. one stroke. two strokes. three strokes and then BOOM. my penis exploded a white and clear substance all over his hand. all over my shorts. he erupted.
“WHAT HAPPENED? WHY YOU GO SO FAST? WHY? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
“i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”
“WHY? WHY? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY YOU GO SO FAST???”
he was mad. he was angry.
“i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”
i still don’t know why I apologized to this sad man but I did. he turned over to the soft shoulder and wiped up as I pulled my grey wet shorts up. i was sitting in cum. sitting in shame. the old man turned the car around after a few cars passed by and slowly began driving back. hopefully driving back to Village Parkway and Carlton. i stared out the passenger side window. i stared at the beautiful land. the beautiful houses. i was still wet. wet with shame. wet with shame. SHAME. GUILT. SHAME. SHAME.
The car ride back was quiet. silent. the old man stared straight ahead as I stared out the window. I hope he was bringing me home and he did just that. I started taking off my seatbelt as we approached Village Parkway and Carlton. he pulled his shitty grey car over to the side and I opened the door and got out.
“thanks. thanks for the ride.”
the old man in his old car drove away and I walked home. slowly and in shame. in pain. seven years earlier and on this same street corner I waved good-bye to my Dad for the very last time. he died later that night. he collapsed on the gym floor while coaching soccer. coaching kids. innocent kids. innocent kids.
i continued to walk home. head down. staring at my wet shorts. the grey always showing the wet stains.
i fearfully approached the front door to our house and hoped that Dom wasn’t home. my Mom wasn’t home. i knew that my Dad wasn’t home.
I opened the door and yelled for my brother and my Mom. no answer.
good news amidst the hell.
i took off my clothes and had a shower.
i washed my shorts in the sink as I never knew how to use a washer and dryer.
i then threw on my running shorts and went for a long run.
the concert was a month later.
I, sometimes, watch the concert on Youtube and reminisce.
such a great time.
such a sad time.
life.
notanotherphony. 