In 1974 when I was young and frisky, I took a 30-day road trip from Charlottesville, Virginia, to Richmond, Virginia, via Toronto, Detroit, Montreal, Rochester, Provincetown and New York City. It was glorious. In those days I was an in-shape, twenty-something queer man who could usually make a new friend in a gay bar. I counted on that particular talent as I knew no one in Toronto, Montreal or Provincetown and was on a very tight budget, with no money for lodging.
Montreal was the highlight of the trip. It didn't start that way though; I was in a bar, it was getting very late and my attempts at meeting someone had all fizzled out, either because the guy spoke only French or because he wasn’t interested (how could THAT be possible, you ask). I was getting worried; the back seat of my AMC Gremlin was really tiny!
Then I saw this attractive blond boy mouthing the words to an American pop song. Assuming he spoke English, I introduced myself. It was touch and go for a while – he told me later he was not immediately interested – but after talking a while we started to really click.
I spent four days with John, staying in Montreal about 36 hours longer than I had planned, and it was wonderful. He not only rescued me that night but he shared his great city with me over four terrific days of talking, sightseeing, relaxing and . . . well, you can guess.
This morning another Canadian saved me. This man’s name was also John, and he was from Toronto. Our relationship was very short and I didn’t get to know him at all, but I am VERY grateful that he paid me a call:
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