Friends II
The very same time I needed heart surgery, one of my lifelong friends, Natalie, was diagnosed with stage four cancer.
My other lifelong friend, Blair—I was doing her lashes at the time, for a few months actually—when told me about the cancer.
There were four of us—lifelong friends who grew up together: Natalie, Blair, Molly, and me.
We all went to the same public school together, we didn’t all really know each other too well in those days, I never hung out with Molly back then. Blair and Natalie were a couple of years older than us. Those two were tight from day one.
When I left home and went back to the hood, the girls and I became tight and stayed tight—the four of us—for 30+ years.
There were a few others who came and went, but it was always the four of us. I lived with Molly, her mom, and her brother Mark after my suicide attempt for over a year. Molly and I are the same age.
Natalie was just up the street, and Blair was just around the corner. We were all in the same hood.
Those people were my family—their family, their kids, their moms—they were my family too. That’s how I felt when I was around them. They felt like home to me.
Natalie was the first one of the bunch to birth a daughter, then Blair with a son, Molly with a son and then me with Kayla, In that order.
After I left Molly’s house, I had an apartment just around the corner on Dingwall. Molly moved to a new hood with her mom.
The very same hood I said I would never fuck with—I was only there once when in my teens, and it was to visit her. I came, I saw, I partook, and I never went back. That was enough for me. I had already passed that phase in life. That put distance between Molly and me for years to come. She went down a dark, quiet path, and I was headed in a different direction.
Blair and I started hanging out and getting tight after her first son was born. She was living in the basement at her mom’s in the hood.
Blair and I got up to all kinds of mischief back in those days. I was probably 16 or 17. I tell ya, looking back now—from 14 to 17—so much shit happened in my life in those three years, it's unfucking real!
I’m not sure I can recall all the events in chronological order, but I’m gonna try. I lived a lifetime in three years. I had done so many things, had so many experiences—to know all of it would blow your fucking mind—I shit you not.
Blair and I used to party together. It’d start with drinking. There was a spot on Gerrard and Parliament called 'The Gerrard Tavern.' That was the spot. A huge ass dive bar—a grimy hole in the ground indeed. It was notorious back in the day. Pretty sure a pint or a half-pint was $2 back then. Cheap!
We would always start there and end up across the street in the Park, at someone's apartment, doing crack. It was the ‘80s. It was the thing. It was new and it was called freebasing cocaine back then—before it had the name ‘crack.’
Those were my Regent Park freebasing days with Jamaicans and Blair.
There would always be a point in the night when we lost each other, separated into different rooms or she left me. When I came out to find her, she would be gone. And I would leave.
I was never hooked on the drug, any drug— Blair was. When it ran out, I’d leave. I wasn’t doing favors or even paying for it, so when it ran out and everyone was scrambling to get more, I was out the door. Usually broke, trying to make it out of the building and through the Park, home in one piece in the middle of the fucking night, high as a kite—alone.
I didn’t always make it home unscathed. Regent Park—aka The Park back then—was, let’s say, the toughest, scariest hood back in the day. You couldn’t call a cab there and couldn’t get food delivered there. It should have had a sign at both ends: 'Fuck around in here at your own risk, especially after dark!' Those that knew—knew. It was chock full of Jamaicans, guns, and drugs.
I would eventually make it home, and she wouldn’t. She’d be gone for two or three days. I pretty much stayed in my apartment hiding because her mom had her son, and I didn’t want to be seen and have her mom or her sisters ask me, ‘Where’s Blair?'—because she was last seen with me days ago. And I didn’t know.
This went on during the summer months that year until we got arrested and taken to jail. I got out. She didn’t.
I think that was a wake-up call for me—with her and that scene. She and I drifted. I moved on, and Blair became a full-on crack addict, which ultimately consumed the majority of her life.
Once she finally got out of the Park, she tried to get clean. Then she would ‘relapse.’ This went on for years.
She and I would still cross paths here and there, as Natalie would always fill me in on her condition—be it good or bad.
Natalie and Blair had an undying bond. They really were sisters from the beginning, right till the end.
Natalie always bragged about Blair when she got clean, about how good she was doing. She always had faith that Blair would become clean and stay clean. That’s when I’d come around Blair again. Natalie would pass on to me that she was doing well, so I came around.
Sometimes she was, and we’d have a relationship again for a bit before she ‘relapsed.’ And other times she wasn’t good at all. I think Natalie was just hopeful. She couldn’t see what I saw.
Natalie didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, and most definitely didn’t do drugs. She was the cleanest of the bunch.
While I was doing my thing, making money back in those days with Kayla’s godmother, Natalie would babysit Kayla. By this time, Natalie had two kids. She and I became pretty close, and so did our kids—we were family.
We were all close in different pairs at different times, since I returned to the hood at 14.
Blair and Natalie were besties in public school, and they were tough—pretty much bullies, if I’m being honest—not to be fucked with. They were two years older than me. It wasn’t much of a difference at 14 but it sure as hell was when I was 8! I remember them both—well.
Blair would clean up and be cool for a few weeks, then take off for a week.
Blair had kids—she birthed four kids throughout her addiction. I was close with her first born son from when he was born until Blair and I went our separate ways when she moved into the Park. Her second daughter—I didn’t know. Her birth wasn’t a pretty situation. I wasn't around for it, only heard about it.
Her third daughter, Ciara and I bonded. At that time, Blair was officially off drugs and out of the Park, and she had a man. I was seeing Chet at that time. That man helped Blair a long way—well, from what I saw.
Kayla was two, and Blair and I would see each other here and there. She was clean, for the most part. Or at least, that’s what I thought at the time. Blair had gotten really good at hiding her addiction.
Ciara was just a few days old when Blair called on me to watch her, so they could shop for the baby. She was healthy. I saw her, held her, and fell in love.
The whole back and forth with Blair was tiresome. When Natalie would inform me she was clean and well because of our past history, I really didn’t wanna come around at first. I had long passed those dark, scary days. But she was ‘clean’ and Natalie kept telling me she needed support so I was there. I would always come back to support her and encourage her to stay clean. I won’t lie, it was hard to watch. She even accused me of calling the CAS on her. I did not, but I was glad someone did.
When I moved out west, Blair was the only friend who visited me and Kayla. I also met up with Natalie once while she was there for a business trip—we made sure to connect. I went back and forth to Toronto a few times, and one trip was specifically for Blair’s wedding.
Blair was doing well. I was in Vancouver, but from what I saw during her visits and her wedding, she seemed to be in a good place. Even with 3,000 miles between us, our friendship remained strong.
When I came back from Vancouver and Kayla’s dad fucked me over—I had nowhere to go, I was hanging out at Blair’s house in the beginning. I was also around my uncle Gary. He had just recently divorced and bought a house on Mortimer. The plan became—I was going to stay with Kayla’s godmother until I found my own spot.
It was the second or third night back from B.C. We were hooking up, going out—the whole crew—Blair, Molly, Natalie, Kayla’s godmother, and me. All five of us. Blair and Kayla’s godmother had quite the past themselves before I came back to the hood.
Molly ended up marrying a great guy, having a couple more kids, and moving to Oshawa. Natalie and her husband also lived in Oshawa. So we were all going out to a club in Oshawa.
At the end of the night, I was ready to go home with my homegirl, Kayla’s godmother, when Blair and Natalie looked at me and Blair said, “Are you sure you wanna go with her?” They both had a fucked up look on their face. I was like, “What’s up?!”
I had been off the scene living in Vancouver for seven years, and honestly, I had no clue what everyone was really up to. When I came back, everyone seemed good, and if they weren’t, they put on a good show. Natalie was always giving me the scoop on Blair whenever we spoke while I was in B.C. Apparently, everything was good. So, either Natalie truly didn’t know—because, I won’t lie, Blair kept her shit hidden, low key—or she did know and didn’t want to acknowledge it or speak on it.
I already knew all about my homegirl’s dark side—fucking dark. I’d been on the other side of her wrath. She’d have these random violent outbursts and not remember them. Once the whiskey hit, you had to be on the look out. It was scary as hell. I hadn’t seen her in action in years—not since Kayla was born—but she had that glint in her eyes. I knew exactly what they were referring to. I just said, “Nope, I’m good,” and went back to Blair’s house that night.
Blair offered me to stay there if I wanted, till I got back on my feet. I couldn’t stay there. I didn’t want to stay there. She was one week cracked out, one week clean. She was off and on with her husband, and some other slimy cracked out dude was on the scene. There was too much shit going on there.
I honestly kept my distance for the longest time during her off and on crack shit because I couldn’t watch it anymore. It was fucking heartbreaking. Fifteen years later and she was still sucking the devil’s dick! The last time I did crack, it was 1987! It was 2001!
I wanted no fucking part of it—any of it! That life wasn’t mine anymore. Thank God my uncle made me that offer. We moved in with him.
I came back from B.C. with a little something, something, myself though, on the DL. I was doing it for a few months until it ran out. When it ran out, it ran out. I never looked for it again. I never tried to get it again. And I’m not saying my choice of drug was any better than Blair’s, but I wasn’t junked out. I was holding something for someone at that time. Once I let that go, I didn’t hold anything for anyone anymore, not ever again.
I just came home, back to Toronto and there was all this fucking chaos. It was a shit show really. I was still trying to process Kayla's illness, and what her dad did. I was all fucked up by myself, messy. It was a very fucked uptime for me. I needed an escape. I was doing it every now and then to keep me going. It started when I found out Kayla got sick actually. I met somebody in the building who introduced me to it and I liked it. It was suppressing my sadness or at least it felt like it at the time.
My face at 29 had changed. I used to have a full face not round but full. I have a square face. I had a youthful, full face—by the time I finished those drugs I brought back from B.C., which was probably two months after we got back–I had already been doing it for a month or so in B.C. my face didn’t look the same. It was almost like it sucked my face in. My jawline got sharper and my cheekbones became more prominent. Like everything I had been through over the last 15 years including that drug had taken its toll on me. Whatever youth I had left in my face was gone.
Nobody ever knew what I was doing, not even Blair, she was too busy doing crack to notice. We weren’t doing the same drug but we both were hiding it. I never did tell anybody what I was holding or that I was even holding.
All four of us had our own lives. Natalie and Molly were the most stable. Blair was still a mess—not like her Regent days, but still a mess. We were older, we had our own lives—well, they did. I was trying to get mine together from fucking scratch, again. We still talked to each other—were in touch, but we all had our own lives.
Blair ended up getting clean for real, real. She took a bunch of courses. She became a sexual abuse and violence, worker or counselor—whatever her titles may be. She acquired legitimate skills.
We were all proud of her. It was a big, huge deal. We all knew it had been a long, tough battle for her with crack cocaine, and we stood by her. In the beginning, I was reluctant to come around—I won’t lie, because there was always a 'relapse' story around the corner, which somehow made it acceptable, but she stayed clean, and I came around. She was a completely different person sober—altogether. Which I can now only semi-relate to.
Natalie had a husband who we all knew from the hood, Martin. They were together from when they were 15 years old—or at least he was. They had five kids together. When I came back from Vancouver, within four months I was pregnant with Trent, and then Blair got pregnant, and then Natalie got pregnant, and then my homegirl Kayla’s Godmother got pregnant. We all had ‘gap’ kids. The gap between Kayla and Trent is 12 years. Our kids were all born within months of each other. This brought us closer.
I was still hustling with my homegirl when I came back. Even though I didn’t live with her or drink with her, we were still on the road. Natalie’s daughter Karica would watch Trent and Kayla. She was just a few years older than Kayla. Karica was lovely. I always loved her. She was a very well brought up, well-mannered girl. I was happy to see she had blossomed into such a smart, lovely young lady. We were family.
When I put the hustle down, Natalie had a few suggestions for me to make money—big money—legitimately, an area I was well-suited and qualified for. So I did.
When I left my uncles and moved into my own place, I took a few courses in computers. My uncle Randy came over with a computer—hooked it up and said “Here ya go—learn it.” I was pregnant with Trent. I fucking hated the thought of a computer. I hated it mostly because Chet used to always say “I’m going to the office” and he talked about all this computer mumbo jumbo shit that I didn’t understand. It all sounded very complicated to me. Meanwhile, he was talking shit doing fuck knows what while he was at “the office.”
That year, I learned to navigate the web real well—on my own.
When Trent was born, I signed up for a few Microsoft courses Word Excel PowerPoint the standard programs back then and to my surprise, I was pretty good at it. I caught on quick.
I also took another course to re-enter into the work world. I was out of it for sometime, a couple years at least. Things had changed. I ended up getting a job as a supervisor at Pizza Pizza head office on Church St. A job was a job, no job was ever beneath me.
I was making three dollars more than minimum wage, and I worked Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, from 7 PM to 3 AM, which seemed perfect for me. Trent went to bed, Kayla was at home—it was night time. I went to work, and I was home before they woke up.
I took that job as a starter job. I needed any job to get back in the work world. The next job I applied for was with Airmiles. This job paid handsomely and offered full benefits. I wanted it badly. I showed up to the interviews and did all the tests. It felt like a real privilege to work there; I never had a gig like that before.
I got a call and didn’t pick up. I let it go to the answering machine. The message was, 'Everything looks great. You’ve passed everything. We just need to wait for your criminal record to clear, and you’re good to go.'
Well, I had myself a little anxiety attack because I didn’t really know about my criminal record shit or how it worked. I knew my charges were not supposed to be there, but I also remembered that time I got arrested with Blair in Regent. The cop rudely called me out on one of my other charges that was supposed to have been discharged and not in the system, but clearly, it was. So, I was nervous.
I ended up getting the job. My first real job. One I could be proud of.
I remember taking a bath that evening and crying, saying, “Thank you, thank you, God, thank you.” I got that gig, and there was no way in hell I was going to do anything to fuck it up it! My hustle, drug-dabbling days were done done.
During my time at Airmiles, out of the three, I probably talked to Natalie the most. She and Martin loved my son. They knew the situation with his dad, and I pretty much considered them to be his godparents, and I think they liked that. For a while, there was a real closeness. Nat’s family and my trio, I knew both their parents; her husband’s and hers. They always felt like home for me.
Blair and Natalie were still close; they were always close. Blair was doing her courses and her sobriety thing. If you ask me, she became a bit obsessed with Facebook and having an audience. And if I’m being honest, Blair had developed a 'greater-than-thou' complex. She was somewhat self-righteous and was annoying at times to be around.
I mean, she was sober as a board for real, which was amazing to see. It was a big deal for her—and everyone around her. She confronted her demons and was on a healing journey. I knew her lifelong struggle with drugs firsthand. The road she got on to sobriety, I’m sure, was tough and difficult to say the least. She did it though—she had put in some serious work.
Her son Kevin and Trent were the same age. They became friends. They would have sleepovers and playdates. Kevin is a good kid, very sweet. I liked that they had a relationship.
My relationship with Blair at that time was just there. We were cool, but I wouldn’t necessarily say close. She had a new man and a new life. She was a mother—had been since she was 18 or so—but now she was being a mother, a good mother. She was taking her courses, taking care of her kids, staying sober, and pretty much being a wifey. That was her life. Oh, and Facebook.
The four of us were still very much friends and in touch. Blair started hosting events at the Legion every now and then—it became her thing—and that’s when we’d reconnect. We all made it a point to be there when we could.
