"Finding Father."

I knew next to nothing about Victor's father, which was hardly surprising because he had never spoken about him before and as I later learned, he knew almost as much. His sudden emotional rush towards a journey of paternal discovery, coupled with an urgent need to board a Greyhound bus, immediately set alarm bells ringing. Earlier, a lot earlier in our fraught relationship, I would have bought him a return ticket. Indeed, his 'finding father' theme had barely preceded that of finding fare. At this juncture I seriously considered the potential merits of a one-way ticket. Winnipeg suddenly seemed a suitably distant destination and a little time-out would do nicely just now. Six months of unhealthy intimacy had left me highly suspicious of anything Victor said, unless of course he said it in his sleep.

We first met in the Dufferin, which no doubt was mistake number one. The bar was getting busy when a new boy, Victor, brushed past, pausing long enough to flash a fishing line smile straight at me. "Cute but trouble" was my intuitive assessment. Not bad for a relative greenhorn, who could hardly have known then what urgent errands kept Victor in and out of the bar all night. Just one week later I learned he had adopted me as his new boyfriend. I thought it a little sudden but decided to give it a try. Happily we went home, my home of course. Victor didn't have one.

Our honeymoon period lasted long enough to leave me a few sweet recollections. After nights of gentle passion we lingered in bed until Victor fell asleep and for an hour or two I would stroke his head, soothing him through his session of moaning and occasional kicking. I began to think it a little odd how he slept early and woke late. Very late! One could probably drive a bus through the bedroom without waking Victor, although it has to be said I've also known him sit bolt up-right in bed at the sound of a twonie falling from the dresser.

Initially Victor laid claim to some Italian ancestry. In good humour I mentioned my years living in Tuscany and conceded his dark Native hair reminded me of Italian men I had known. I believe that was the extent of exploring his lineage until finding his father became an issue. He now assured me his sister, another recently resurrected family member, had only just given him a telephone number. With this incentive his bags were packed. It remained only for me to dig deep in to my wallet and set him on course for a family reunion. Victor claimed it would help heal his deep wounds of child abuse and abandonment. But I wasn't buying it. His increasingly erratic behaviour, his entrenched denial of any substance abuse and mysterious midnight missions had brought things to a head. Expensive gifts given him were routinely stolen. I began to think he walked around town with a sign saying, "Please rob me. Valuables in right hand pocket!" Surreptitiously I searched his pants seeking pawn slips. I found only business cards and dirty scraps of paper bearing phone numbers, some with cryptic notes like, "Joe, bald guy. Room 96. 8.30." I had tried to explain, albeit through the folly of ignorance, that I could cope with him being an addict. Naively I assured him we could work it out together, assured him I would always be there for him. But I wasn't about to hand him more cash for his habit. Undaunted, Victor wangled a compromise. With forty dollars, enough for food and water, he would hitch his way to Winnipeg. I decided the moment of truth was at hand and played along.

Next day, a bright Saturday Vancouver morning, loaded with Victor’s ridiculously heavy backpack, we set out for the nearest bank machine. I laid two nice new twenties in his open hands and he hugged me. He had a little speech ready. So did I. I said I would miss him, which was not a lie, and that I may as well walk with him, it being such a lovely day and me with nothing better to do. Victor's smile sagged a little but he could handle minor amendments to his schedule. He thought it appropriate now to mention his plan. He would ride Skytrain out to King George and start hitching from there. I thought this very practical and it being such a lovely day and me with nothing better to do, I decided to give him a run for my money.

There was a pained expression on Victor's face as he frantically figured out new tactics. Salvation came to him, he thought, in the form of his mother. Dear God, it seemed his whole family was suddenly alive and kicking. Amazingly mother lived not far away. In fact, as we left Stadium he announced he could get off at Main, drop in on mum and get an up-date on father's vital statistics. An address would be handy he thought. I wondered whether the shock of seeing him might give his mother heart failure or indeed, whether she really existed.

One thing I can say about Victor, life was never dull with him around. In my wildest dreams it had never occurred to me finding his father would result in a real live mother. I suspected he would dash in to the first open apartment building and bid me farewell on the grounds this was a family matter now, no place for me. We seemed to traipse for miles before Victor buzzed the bell on a surprisingly respectable looking door. It was around noon but the woman who answered had clearly been having an early liquid lunch. A rather rounded figure duly appeared clad in pink dressing gown and no slippers on her feet. She embraced Victor like the prodigal son he clearly was, and then threw her arms around the stranger standing next to him. Victor was visibly mortified. His blood pressure must have shot into the hemisphere when she invited us in. This was too much and even I felt I had I hung on beyond reasonable limits. As I bowed out gracefully, Victor ducked in to the sanctuary of the building barely saying goodbye.

I hardly needed to hide. Victor emerged fifteen minutes later, no back pack and looking desperate with forty bucks burning a hole in his pants and his next fix by now long over due. The street topography was in my favour. We both arrived on Main simultaneously, one bus stop apart and the number 8 conveniently pulling over to pick up Victor. Next stop me, and by now he wasn't bothering to pretend. He called me a "persistent little bugger" but breathed the biggest sigh of relief I ever heard when I waved him on to Skytrain.

I figured it would be about ten minutes before he got back from Broadway. He must have seen his bus as the train pulled in and shot out the station. I don't think he would have noticed even had I held the door open. The game was almost up but whether I could clinch it now hung in the balance.

It seems to me some things are meant to be. The surreal world of our false union was tearing me apart. These days I found myself questioning me more than Victor. Habitual lying can seriously undermine one's grasp of reality. I needed closure and the gods smiled down on me one last time. I caught up with Victor on East Hastings, as he turned away from his dealer, and found me, not his father in his face.

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