Chapter 10 Bright Lights, Big City

I didn’t know where to look first. I was well aware that I was staring and probably looked like exactly what I was. A kid from the rez who had never been to the big city. But downtown Toronto was amazing. Huge billboards. Lights everywhere. A little concrete park where people were milling around or buying tickets to shows. A cool old theatre. Every kind of restaurant imaginable. People were performing on all four corners of Yonge and Dundas. One guy was drumming wildly on a bunch of plastic buckets while another guy danced in front of him. A bunch of guys from Peru were playing flutes and guitars. A man standing on a wooden crate and screaming about God was getting some weird looks. I thought it was less for what he was yelling than what he was wearing — sandals and a robe. Although as I watched him grab a girl covered in tattoos with multiple piercings and scream in her face that she was going to hell, I had to rethink that. I saw the familiar Tim Hortons logo and figured I could use something to eat. I had missed breakfast. And lunch.

My stomach growled as I held the door open for an older couple and inhaled the familiar smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries. I lined up, my mouth already watering. I ordered the soup and sandwich combo that came with a coffee and took my food to a table in the corner. It was getting late. I’d have to find a place to stay soon. A girl with a pierced eyebrow and blue hair was cleaning the floor beside me.

“Is there somewhere I could get a room around here?” I asked. She looked up at me as if she was surprised someone was talking to her. Maybe she felt that her plain work uniform acted as a disguise.

But she answered in a friendly voice. “There are a couple of hotels nearby. And a few hostels if you’re staying awhile.”

I had her write down the names and general areas as I finished eating. Then I thanked her and headed out the door, still sipping my coffee. I loved it here in the city! No one was looking at me sideways. No one cared that I had a thing for my best friend. No one cared where I came from. I was just another face in the crowd.

“Ow!” I said as someone bumped into me hard, splashing coffee on my hand. “Excuse me,” I told the man, certain I had somehow caused the collision. He nodded and rushed off without meeting my eyes. I looked for a newspaper stand so I could start looking for a job.

I walked into a store on the corner to get a paper, reaching for my wallet.

It wasn’t there.

I checked my other pocket.

Not there either.

I went through all my pockets and searched my backpack.

My wallet was gone.

I suddenly remembered the man who had bumped into me on the street. I thought about how he had rushed off, trying not to look me in the face. I ran out of the store and looked around wildly, in case he was still lurking around. I looked into the faces of everyone passing but I hadn’t really noticed what he looked like.

I was in the middle of a strange city with no friends and no place to go. And my wallet had just been lifted.

* * *

Turns out I had actually heard the advice my mother gave me when I visited an aunt and uncle in Winnipeg last summer. She had told me to always keep some money separate from my wallet. When I was packing to run from the rez, I had taken out fifty dollars and put it in one of the socks I had folded in my backpack. So at least I had something. But it wouldn’t be enough to get me a room for the night or even a bus ticket back home.

I went back into the Tim Hortons I had just left. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to accomplish there but it was the last place I had seen a friendly face. The girl, Zoey, according to her nametag, was wiping down tables. She must have seen the utter dismay on my face when she looked up, because she tilted her head and studied me for a second.

“Didn’t find a place to stay?” she asked.

“I got robbed,” I told her.

She didn’t look surprised. “Yeah, I should have warned you not to keep your wallet in your pocket. Happens a lot around here.”

I sank down into a chair with a sigh. “I’ve only been here for a couple of hours,” I muttered.

She nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. That really sucks. What are you doing to do?”

“I don’t know,” I shook my head. “I guess I’ll have to figure something out or head back home.”

She sat across from me. “Home was rough?” she asked, fiddling with her eyebrow piercing.

“Yeah, well . . . the rez isn’t too kind to gay people.” It was the first time I had said it out loud.

Zoey nodded. “Yeah. Small towns can be like that. My brother’s gay,” she admitted. “He came to Toronto about five years ago. Stayed at a youth centre nearby. They really helped him out. They can give you a room and help you land on your feet. If you want.”

“Yeah! Thanks. That would be great,” I said.

She nodded and wrote down the name and address. “Tell them Zoey sent you. They’re cool there.”

I thanked her and headed out the door. I wanted to check the place out before it got too late. And Yonge and Dundas had kind of lost its appeal for me.