The Big Black Hole Cont...

She and my fa..., my..., her husband, they decided the only thing to do really, would be for her to get herself a small bachelor apartment in Toronto, near the campus. Ha! Ha! You might not think that’s funny but it is! That’s funny, you see, because my mother, well, she got herself a small bachelor and a big bachelor too. Ha! Ha! My da..., I mean, the big bachelor, he used to come and visit her at the small bachelor. Now, he, (I mean Bernard, the big bachelor) wasn’t my dad yet either, you see, so that’s why I hesitated there, because not only had he not told me to call him Dad yet but I still had not been born or even conceived. It only happened later. I was an accident.

Anyway, Mom (Cynthia) was shuttling between Toronto and Kingston for a few years, however long it takes to get a law degree. Well, actually, perhaps not that long, because things (this whole confusing mess) started happening during her years at U of T. I couldn’t tell you after how much time Bernard, the big bachelor, no, I couldn’t tell you how long it was before he discovered my mother and her small bachelor. I hope you don’t mind my lack of precision here, but you see I wasn’t even born yet, probably not even conceived. I’m just working with the pieces of the puzzle, my puzzle, and although my mother has tried to explain it all to me so many times, although she has, a million times, laid down each piece in front of me, moved them around, sort of, in their right position in front of me, I still find it all too confusing. I don’t think I’ll ever get it straight.

So, what happened, as you’ve probably guessed, is that when my father (I mean, when Arthur) found out about my mother’s big bachelor, they had a big fight and then he dumped her, my father, I mean, you know, Arthur. At that time, I had not only already been conceived but I was born as well. I apparently lived in Kingston with my dad (Arthur) and attended Queen’s Daycare. My mother came on the weekend. A series of huge fights followed (so I have been told - but it’s hard to figure out exactly what happened, you know: one story; two, sometimes three people to tell it). Mom sneaked me out into the car after one of the fights. Then, I suppose I must have attended the U of T Daycare if there was one, or some other prestigious daycare nearby. Anyway it doesn’t really matter, does it?

I don’t remember anything about those days, thank God! I don’t actually remember my dad’s face either though. I mean Arthur’s face. Around the time when I was three years old, I think, Bernard and my mother and I, we moved into a three bedroom house. It was then that Bernard told me to call him Dad. And I did.

I only saw my real dad (Arthur) once in a while by then, and as time went by, I saw him less and less, and once when we were eating our fries at McDonald’s at the zoo, on our way to Kingston for the weekend, I told my dad (Arthur) that Bernard had bought me a nice tricycle for my birthday but I forgot to say “Bernard” and I said “my dad” instead, and my dad (Arthur) got pissed off. When he drove me back, after the week-end, he shouted at my mother and at my other dad and then he even cried, (I remember that for sure). After that, he didn’t come very often to Toronto and one day, after I had not seen him for a long time, I almost forgot that he was my dad.