Those moments in life that stay with you ...

On the way to Montreal for the Out Games I called my friend who lives less than two hours away from there to invite her to the opening ceremonies. I knew the entire week was going to be filled with an incredible number of moving moments. How could it not be when 40,000 plus gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender people from all over the world gather in one place for a week of Olympic style athletic competition, professional level artistic performances, and heavy duty partying, in one of the most beautiful cities of North America. I had decided to attend at the last minute. I hadn't made hotel reservations, and here I was driving across the border. My ace in the hole was a friend from Chicago, who was the only person I knew who would be at the Out Games, might know of a place to stay. I call his cell phone only to catch him walking by the desk of the McGill University dormitory desk where he is staying, they have an extra room in the basement next to his, cheap, I'm in! I arrive at check in for the games four hours before the opening ceremonies which goes smoothly and quickly. The dorms are fine, friendly, clean, and quiet. I unpack two road bikes, a mountain bike, clothes, and stuff, settle in and still have time to spare. My friend arrives on time and with a smile. She's been to Montreal a few times with not so great experiences. Off to the Olympic Stadium via the very clean and convenient subway which is free to all the OutGames guests. After an hour of organizing outside the Stadium, home of the 1976 Olympics, we enter into an incredible giant womb of loud music, screaming people, waving athletes ahead, flashing laser light show, and the beginning of and incredible week. We're here, we're queer, and we're ready to play! The ceremony was more of a celebration than a formality. The variety of speeches were enthusiastic and brief, music was accented by Cirque du Soleil, the partying has begun. We watched, listened, enjoyed, participated, danced, and left for the next part of the journey: The Village - Saint Catherine Street, with block after block closed to traffic. Hundreds and hundreds of people walking from one end of St. Catherines to the other, every cafe and bar filled along the way. It was midnight or so before we headed back to the dorm, eventually ending up sharing a single bed like two freshmen after meeting at their first keg party. I woke up to my cell phone ringing to hear, "Liz, I'm down in The Village having breakfast at Expresso Net and checking my email". I respond that I'll be down by bicycle in a while. After getting my world together, stopping at the desk, meeting a few people, talking too much, I'm on the bicycle riding down, actually coasting down at walking pace with someone I met in the dorm. I find her, we sit on the edge of the sidewalk leaning against a building. She's saved a beautiful piece of wide fresh bread thickly spread with herb butter, and a salad, for me. We sit and talk for a while, I'm not yet hungry for food, but am for conversation, comfort with my surroundings, and people observing. The 'highway traffic' of thousands of Out Gamers going back and forth is perpetual. Fascinating to watch the variety of tell tale personalities exhibited via shirts, shorts, hats, and spirit. The Germans stand out from the Americans, who do not look like the Spaniards, nor the Japanese, or the South Africans. All are wearing the tell tale Out Games badges proudly, myself as well. We're here, we're proud, we're ready, we live, we stand, we are not in the closet. You could almost tell the soccer players from the swimmers, or the softball teams from the tennis players, each had an identifying 'tag' in the type of clothing or hat or shoe. Typically there would be something. I was sitting on the sideline getting comfortable with my surroundings, watching the people, the ones moving, and the ones not. To my left a presumed homeless man standing taking in all that was going on around him. He was a bit fascinated as well. But his mind was not as distracted with the people as mine. In front of me a woman knelt in front of a bench talking to or should I say listening to a man in his sixties who had been sleeping. She was petite and pretty, being helpful, and I thought a social worker of some sort, but on a Sunday? He was talking and talking, she was listening and talking. I watched the 'traffic', talked to my friend about her morning, took a bite of the incredibly tasteful large piece of bread with the lovely rich flavored butter, followed the eye of the distracted man to my bread. "Would you care for this" I asked. As I lifted the bread up to him. His eyes never left the bread, he moved without thinking and said yes, and thank you and continued past me to the curb. He stopped, to truly enjoy bite for bite perhaps the first meal in a bit. I asked my friend if she was upset by that, she hesitated and replied "no Liz, I'm glad you got at least one bite of that wonderful butter." I finished the remnants of her tasteless salad, it was enough for me. The 'social worker' was gone, the prone man was standing, but completely hunched over. His back was curved to the point that he could not look up. He had once been 5'10" minimum but now couldn't be any taller than 4'. He was next to us about to sit. He leaned down further picking up paper and trash from the previous night 'games' partying, walking to the barrel to toss it out. Intuitively, I stand, walk over and have put enough American money in his hand to feed him a meal. With one hand gently on his back, he looks over not able to look me in the eye, he starts to tell me his story and say thank you. I try to bend down further to face him, uncomfortably, I'm using my hand on his back to keep myself steady. For ten minutes or more we talk. He was originally from Lebanon, a businessman, he was wealthy when he came here 25 years ago, he drove to Boston in a Cadillac, he did this, he did that, god loves me, I listened. He asked what he could do for me. He told me he could get me food at all the best restaurants. I know he could. I told him I didn't need anything. I told him that I did not do this because I felt sorry for him. I did this because I could and because he would have done the same for me. In the first 24 hours of being in Montreal I went to an incredible opening ceremony had a wonderful time with great people. I can't recall much of the music or the speeches, but I can recall every second of the 15 minutes sitting with my friend watching the 'traffic' and every word of my conversation with the gentleman from Lebanon. That was a moment that will stay in my life forever. ___________________________________________ [ The thought arises about where the money will go, towards beer, a bottle, or food. Frankly it's not my nature to judge how anyone gets through the day. Each of us will do whatever we have to get to the next day, it could be a drink, drugs, food, hours online, frivolous luxury things, or savings. Whatever it takes is what it takes. To each their own. ]