Wendy McConkey

In 1976 I was 23. I had a friend who died of a drug overdose in Alberta - it was methadone (synthetic heroin). A year later, I was living in Montreal, trying to transcend the grief state i was stuck in...one day, I went Christmas shopping in a blizzard. I desperately wanted to get my father some real snowshoes for Christmas. I was to get on a train home to Toronto that night so I had to go out in the blizzard if i wanted to get the snowshoes - so I went. I was plodding through hip deep snow downtown Montreal. The street had not been ploughed and the snow was coming down in heavy blankets. I decided to stop into the only cafe open on Cresent St. and just as I was making my way there, a junkie came up to me with an armload of, what looked to be; stolen sweaters. "Wanna buy a sweater?" he said, " real cheap - 7 bucks." I looked at him, at the sweaters and in a flash, I said to him, "I'll buy one of your sweaters if you come and have breakfast with me." "I'm not hungry", he said. "Coffee then," I said. He followed me into the 'Coffee Mill'. I bought him a coissant and a cappuccino. He didn't touch the coissant but had a couple of sips out of the coffee. I described the experience with my friend who'd died the year before. I told him how much I loved my friend and how the vomit in his lungs sounded when we turned him over and found him blue. He suffered through my story, eying my wallet all the while. Eventually, I bough a sweater for 7 dollars. As he fled with the money, I called after him; "Is that the price of a hit of junk these days?" "What's it to you?" was all he said as he darted back out into the storm. I got my snowshoes for my Dad, got on teh train that night and went to my sister's for Christmas. I gave my older sister the sweater. She really liked the sweater but she was very uncomfortable when I told her the story about the junky. A year later, I was living back in Toronto. One evening I ducked into a restaurant on Yonge St. where I used to go with my first boyfriend every Sat. I sat in the same seat i always sat in, facing the street. It is a big place so I was quite some distance back from the window facing the street, at least 50 feet. I was praying into what I refer to as 'the Silence', because there's a definite and almost deafening 'silence' that surrounds me in these moments. I'd asked the 'Silence' why i hadn't married that sweet boy I knew in high school. Everyone, including us, had thought we'd marry one day. Suddenly, I looked up and a young man stopped on the street outside the restaurant and stared in at me. I lowered my head not wanting him to hit on me (I was young and pretty then). I had noticed that he was familiar looking. He came into the restaurant and walked right up to my booth and said; "Do you remember me?" "You look good." I said. "You saved my life." he said. "I just told you a story." I said. "Was it true?" he asked. "Every word." I said. "I cleaned up after that day at the Coffee Mill'." he said. "That's great!" I said. He left. I've never seen him again. He didn't hit on me. I felt I had my answer, somehow...