Chapter 37: “Merry Christmas, Graziano.”

CHRISTMAS DAY, 2009

“Our top story on this Christmas Day continues to be the incredible events surrounding a Christmas Eve kidnapping. Graziano Buonfiglio, a 28-year-old from Toronto, had been kidnapped outside the Metro supermarket on College Street. Five hours later, he was found in High Park alive. In a bizarre twist, his parents and sister had planned and financed the kidnapping. But that’s only part of an even wilder story. For more, we go to 680 News’ Anna Townsend outside the Toronto Jail. Good morning, Anna.”

“Good morning and Merry Christmas, Shane. Joseph and Nadine Buonfiglio, along with their daughter Charlotte, had been out on bail after they were arrested on attempted murder charges. The intended victims were all friends of Graziano Buonfiglio, estranged from the family for months. During a tense standoff at High Park, they, Mr. and Mrs. and Ms. Buonfiglio respectively, admitted not only to staging the kidnapping, but they also admitted to the murders of four family members and Graziano’s fiancé.”

“Anna, where is Graziano now?”

“He is currently at home with friends. He was released from Toronto General Hospital late last night and, miraculously, suffered only a few bruises. Graziano is a former Canadian junior bodybuilding champion who is still in good physical condition. According to his boyfriend, Mykhaylo Karbanenko, Graziano has elected not to speak to the media on this matter until tomorrow.”

“Who did his family claim to murdering?”

“According to Mr. Karbanenko, Joseph murdered his wife’s parents, Raymond and Mary Grace degli Angeli. Nadine confessed to murdering her parents-in-law, Peter and Nancy Buonfiglio. Charlotte said that she orchestrated the murder of Graziano’s fiancé Evan Smart while she was living in New York. Those cases have yet to be re-opened, but it is likely that they will. Shane, this is a very complicated story, but at least Graziano is home safe.”

“I understand that several other people have been charged in connection with this crime.”

“Yes. Earlier this morning, Nicholas and Denise Buonfiglio were arrested for supplying the van that was used in the kidnapping. Nicholas, a car salesman, is Joseph’s brother and Denise, who works for Service Canada, his sister-in-law. Also, Sissy Vandenbroucke, a preacher in Oakville and a family friend, was arrested this morning as an accessory to kidnapping. She was also out on bail, and was awaiting trial for fraud.”

“All right. 680 News’ Anna Townsend. Thank you and Merry Christmas.”

I heard that on the radio as I drove all the way up to Prospect Cemetery. It was not what I had expected to hear on Christmas Day, but then I didn’t expect everything to happen like they did.

When I arrived at the cemetery, everything was covered in a light blanket of holiday snow. The tombstones looked like bases on which to build Frosty the Snowman clones. When I walked up the slushy path to my grandparents’ graves, holding four bouquets in my hand and a small foldable chair in another, I noticed that there was virtually no one around. Not one person. Not even someone to tend the lawns.

I wiped off the snow from each of the graves and laid flowers at each. The pictures on the graves had dulled somewhat with the passage of time, but I could still see their faces. Finally, I sat on the chair, facing them.

“Buon Natale,” I said. “I guess you heard the news. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

It was eerily quiet in the cemetery. I couldn’t even hear birds chirping, or even the wind. And then, I heard some twinkling sounds, like a harp or a bell or something. Suddenly, I saw Evan, and only Evan. He was in a white suit, of course, because he was coming from heaven, after all. He was standing right next to me. My heart began racing like hell. He never looked more beautiful.

“Evan!” I exclaimed.

“Hey, buddy,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Where are my grandparents?”

“Princess Diana is throwing a Christmas bash, and they got tickets. They told me to wish you a Merry Christmas for them, and that they’ll never be mad at you. And also, they want justice.”

“Thanks. I intend to get it for you and them.”

He took my hand. An angel taking my hand. It felt as if he was still on this earth. “I miss touching you,” he said. “I didn’t know what it felt to be loved until I met you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Hey, about Mykhaylo: I like him. He seems like a great guy, and I hope you two make it work.”

“Yeah, Mykhaylo’s been good to me. What about you?”

“Well, I’ve had my share of offers. But I wanted to see you happy before I could get some, you know.”

“Can angels have sex?” I asked. What a weird question that was.

“I haven’t seen anyone’s wings fall off. It’s not an orgy kind of place, but romance is alive up there.”

He looked at his watch, which was gold, of course. “I should be going. Vasiliy Nidzhinskiy is having a party, too.”

“Evan?” I asked, grabbing him gently. “Can you do me a favour? Actually, two.”

“Yeah.”

“First, tell my grandparents that I finally got the money. And second, keep being there for me.”

Evan smiled, and kissed me on the lips. “You know I will, Graziano. Always.”

We hugged each other hard, as hard as an angel and a mortal can hug together. And then I heard the twinkling sound again, and I was again all alone in the cemetery. But I was no longer disappointed. I looked up to the sky and gave it a quick air kiss. I’m sure that Evan got it.

I drove back to the apartment building, listening to Christmas carols on the radio. As I parked my car, I saw Brandon standing at the entrance. He waved to me, and I waved back. I got out, and walked up to him.

“How are your grandparents?” he asked.

“Let’s just say that everyone’s fine up there,” I replied. “Can I show you something?”

“Sure.”

We crossed the street onto Waterfront Trail and stopped along the railing, next to the City School. “After Evan was cremated, I spread his ashes here,” I said. “He liked coming to this place. Often, after a hard day of dancing, he’d come here and feed the pigeons and seagulls. Every year, after he died, I’d come here on his birthday and Christmas and throw a bottle cap in the water. He liked bottle caps.”

I took out a cap from my pocket. It came from a bottle of Stella Artois. I flipped it into the water, and it made a soft plop sound and floated away. I then looked at 600 Queens Quay West. “It wasn’t until I moved here that I realized where I had been going to all this time. I didn’t even pay attention to my surroundings. I was just so zoned in on honouring him that the surroundings didn’t matter.”

After I turned back, Brandon asked, “So, how does it feel to be the last person standing in your family?”

I shook my head. “Honestly, Brandon, I’m scared. Now that the ordeals for the most part are done, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“At least you now have a home. And you have Mykhaylo, you have Claire, you have Britney, you even have Aparecida… and you have me. We’ll be your family, Graziano.”

I looked at him and said, “That is the corniest thing anyone could say. But I’m glad you said it.”

Brandon chuckled. “Thanks. I didn’t tell you this, but a few nights ago, I called my family in Regina. It was the first time in almost twenty years that I was in contact with them.”

“How did it go?”

“Better than I expected. We had a nice conversation, and they want to reconcile with me.”

“Do you want to reconcile with them?”

Brandon nodded. “I’ve always wanted to. Would you ever reconcile with your parents?”

“No.” I said it rather quickly. “They never were my parents, Brandon. They never were my family, because I was never made to feel like I was part of theirs. My grandparents, my aunts and uncles and cousins who still talk to me, Evan, Claire, Mykhaylo, Aparecida, Britney, and you… you and them made me feel like family. For that, I’ll be forever thankful.”

Brandon smiled, and then we hugged for the next minute. It was bitterly cold, and snow was falling gently, but it was such a beautiful feeling to be hugged in such an Arctic atmosphere. After we let go, Brandon said, “We should get started on Christmas lunch, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I’m in the mood for a delayed Feast of the Seven Bitches.”

“Don’t you mean Seven Fishes?”

“I brought down my father, my mother, my sister, my paternal aunt, my paternal uncle, and two Albanian thugs.”

“Don’t forget Sissy Vandenbroucke.”

I thought for a moment, and then said, “Okay. It’s the Feast of the EIGHT Bitches.”

We both laughed, and walked back to our apartment. There was no fish to be had at our Christmas lunch, but there was a plethora of food nonetheless: Christmas turkey with sausage and apple stuffing, panettone, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, glazed carrots and parsnips, and pumpkin pie, among others that we made and that our guests brought. And let’s not forget the platter of fine meats and cheeses, along with the pastéis de nata.

And our guests came fast and furiously: Mykhaylo, Claire, Aparecida, Deirdre from the 519 Centre, Marie-Lourdes, Carolina, some of Brandon’s colleagues, even Niamh showed up. It felt great to see my friends and my new family come together, especially after all that we had been through in the past few months. Britney was especially welcoming to everyone, and that’s not something you see in cats.

Just before we were ready to tuck into our buffet, however, amid all the chatting and the clinking of glasses of sparkling non-alcoholic apple juice, the doorbell rang. I volunteered to get it. I looked through the peephole, and it was a blonde guy who appeared to be in his early 30s. I asked, “Who is it?”

“Graziano, it’s me. Ryan.”

WHAT. THE. FUCK? I hadn’t heard that voice in over a decade. I thought that he had vanished off the face of the Earth. I thought that my mind was jerking around with me. So, I slowly opened the door to make sure that I was hearing and seeing what I exactly thought that I was hearing and seeing. Sure enough, it was my older brother, Ryan James Buonfiglio.

I closed the door behind me, and it was just the two of us in the hallway. Ryan was thinner than I had expected, especially compared to me, but he looked like a hybrid of Ryan Gosling and Ryan Reynolds. “Oh my God,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. Only this time, they were joyful tears, but even still I took out a hanky and wiped them away. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything ever again.”

We just stood there, looking at each other for a moment. I can’t imagine what he must have been thinking. And then, we just exploded into a warm hug. Ryan, the only person in my immediate family who had my back no matter what, whom I thought had vanished forever, was back in my life.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“You want the Cliff Notes version or the Wikipedia version?” he replied.

“Cliff Notes. I’m already overwhelmed.”

He released me from his embrace. “I didn’t go to Notre Dame. I never got accepted into Notre Dame, anyway. I went backpacking around Europe for a year, and then went to Oxford. Afterwards, I came back to Canada and I’ve been living with my boyfriend here in Toronto.”

“You’ve been living here? Why didn’t you find me?”

“I didn’t know where you were. I haven’t spoken to Mom and Dad in years. And then Aunt Kendra called me and told everything, and I heard about what happened last night, and I decided to look for you.”

“Do you hate me for putting them away?”

Ryan shook his head. “I just wish that they had been put away sooner.”

“I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you too. Goddess on a wheel, you’re so big and buff now. You’re no longer my little brother.”

I chuckled. The door opened, and Mykhaylo emerged. “Graz, is everything all right?” he asked, touching my shoulder.

“Yeah, everything’s great,” I said. “Mykhaylo, this is my brother, Ryan Buonfiglio. Ryan, I’d like you to meet Mykhaylo Karbanenko, my boyfriend.”

They shook hands. And then Mykhaylo said to him, “So, you’re the guy who fucked my boyfriend.”

I nearly froze in fear. Ryan had a puzzled look on his face. It was an awkward silence between us three. But then, Ryan said, “I never fucked my brother. I just made love to him, that’s all.”

“Oh. Okay,” Mykhaylo said.

“Ryan, would you like to come in and have Christmas lunch with us?” I asked.

“I’d like that.”

Ryan came in with us, and the party continued. We tucked in to the buffet, and soon presents were being opened. I gave Mykhaylo an Italian-English dictionary, which only seemed fair as I had learned a bit of Ukrainian. I gave Claire a box of artisanal chocolates. I wasn’t sure what to give Brandon, especially since he had been so good to me, so I got him a Chia-Pet. The funny thing was, Brandon always WANTED a Chia-Pet. He was so happy to get it.

What did they give me? Mykhaylo gave me a DVD of Céline sur les Plaines, that concert Céline Dion did up in Quebec City in 2008. Claire gave me $200 worth of iTunes Gift Cards. Ryan gave me a framed picture of me and him eleven years earlier, back when he graduated from secondary school. He had found it in a box after moving back to Canada. I was initially reluctant to accept some of these gifts, as I spent considerably less on presents for others. But everyone assured me that it was alright.

And then Brandon pulled me into the room. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Brandon simply smiled and took out a small, folded piece of paper from his desk. “Do you remember when I told you that I won the lottery?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, unsure about what was to happen.

He took the paper and placed it in my hand. “Merry Christmas, Graziano,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. He walked toward the door, and said, “I know that you have more than a bit of money already, but some more couldn’t hurt. I’d keep this between us for the time being. And don’t worry; it won’t bounce.” He left to join the other partiers.

I looked at the piece of paper, and opened it. It was a cheque… for $1 million. The amount shocked me, but then in the memo, Brandon had written this: “because you’re a saint among men”.

A saint among men. I never thought that I was a saint to begin with. Still, I was deeply touched by Brandon’s more-than-generous gesture. He never asked for any financial help from me. He never asked anything from me, other than to be happy. And for the first time in my life, I was. Nadine, Joseph, Charlotte, Aunt Denise, Uncle Nicholas, Sissy… they were all in jail and facing multiple charges. They could no longer hurt me. Nonna Annunziata, Nonno Pietro, Nonna Maria Grazia, Nonno Raimondo, and Evan were looking after me from their celestial abodes. Ryan was back in my life, and I was looking forward to strengthening my relationships with everyone else in the family.

I still had a lot of therapy to get through, but Claire assured me that the people at CAMH would take good care of me. Even if Brandon hadn’t given me the money, the fact that he gave me a home and love was more than enough. And Mykhaylo… he had been with me every step of the way, and I was beginning to envision a future with him. Marriage, adopting children, growing mature together, being active in our communities, the whole shebang. I was finally happy.

Britney walked in and nuzzled at my feet. I put the cheque in my pocket and picked her up, cuddling her. She smelled so clean and fresh. Her fur was soft as snow. As she licked my face, we left the bedroom and rejoined the party. It was a Merry Christmas, and I looked forward to a Happy New Year.

Chapter 36: “Why? Because I’m Graziano Giancarlo Marcello Buonfiglio, THAT’S WHY!”

THURSDAY, 24TH DECEMBER, 2009 (CHRISTMAS EVE)

Joseph was wearing a white suit, similar in cut and tailoring to the one he wore on the fateful night of my birthday almost three months ago. Nadine, whose hair had been turned into a chic bob, was to his right, wearing a green pantsuit. As for Charlotte, she wore a figure-clinging red dress, exposing her arm and breasts to the elements, with only a gauche black bolero keeping her from frostbite. They resembled the Italian flag, and I thought it an insult to Italy.

“You fucking bastard,” Joseph said. “You thought that you could get away with it, didn’t you?”

“I could say the same of you three,” I replied.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Nadine screamed. “I knew that we shouldn’t have hired those Albanians.”

“Did you fuck them?”

“That’s not the point, bitch.”

“She fucked them,” I muttered under my breath.

“I’m so glad that you four are here tonight,” Joseph continued. “This is the Dream Site, where the finest Shakespearean plays are performed in the summer. Tonight, we have a treat for you. William Shakespeare Presents: The Death of Graziano Buonfiglio and His Friends.”

“Shakespeare never wrote such a play,” Brandon said.

“OH, FUCK YOU!” Charlotte snapped.

The terrible trio walked off the stage, their guns at the ready, and came within ten feet of us, even as we took a few steps back, clutching each other.

“I know you killed my grandparents!” I yelled. “I also know you killed Evan! And I know that you all tried to have my friends killed, too!”

“Oh, and we did a damn good job of it, didn’t we?” Charlotte replied. “And you thought that all I was good for was being kicked off of the Next Top Model franchises on either side of the 49th Parallel.”

“Whatever, bitch!” Mykhaylo snapped.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you Slavic slut-puppy. I was too kind, putting in just those tablets of GHB. Had I added one more, you’d be dead, motherfucker.”

I looked at Mykhaylo, and he looked like he was about to rip her head off. “YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!” he roared, lunging toward Charlotte. But Charlotte aimed at him… only for her gun to jam.

“Jesus H. Christ,” she muttered, opening the chambers. There wasn’t a damn bullet inside. I pulled Mykhaylo back as Charlotte looked at the gun. “FUCK!”

“You’re worse than a serial rapist, you fucking whore,” Mykhaylo sneered at Charlotte.

“Can we get on with this execution?” Nadine replied nervously. “We have a party to attend at 9PM.”

I rolled my eyes. Once again, they were more concerned with their appearances and social calendar than anything real humans talk about.

“Oh, you’re going to hell, asshole,” Nadine said, aiming her gun at me. But she, too, fell victim to nothing coming out of it. She opened the chambers to reveal several marijuana joints inside.

“You put your joints in a gun?” Claire laughed.

“At least I’ve had children,” Nadine retorted.

Even with her arm in a sling, Claire came close to decking the bitch. But we pulled her away, gently as to not harm her arm.

“God, you women are ridiculous,” Joseph scoffed.

“Hey, bastard!” Nadine snapped at him. “Don’t blame us. You were the one who doled out the guns. Wouldn’t it have hurt you to check for bullets beforehand?”

“Mom! Dad!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Remember what we’re here for: to take these bitches out. We don’t need guns.”

Oh, this was just getting so annoying. As they bickered, I looked at my friends and we slowly walked backwards toward the entrance. But then, Joseph looked at us and fired his gun. We all ducked at the same time. And then, Joseph opened the chambers in his gun to reveal… rubber bullets. This had turned into a farce. Joseph screamed and threw his gun onto the ground.

We walked back towards them. “Ha-ha!” I said in my best Nelson Muntz impersonation. And then, with all three members of the Buonfiglio family looking at me like they wanted to tear me limb from limb right there, my tone turned serious. “I want to ask all three of you a question: what did I ever do to merit what you did to me?”

No response from either of them. “Well?” I asked again. “Non parlate inglese? (You don’t speak English?)”

“YOU WERE BORN, THAT’S WHY!” Joseph screamed.

“Excuse me?”

Joseph calmed down. “You… were… born.”

“We never planned on having you,” Nadine added. “We wanted to wait until 1982 before we had another kid. But no, your fucking aunt Tatiana had to marry some Tuscan dork and invite us to the damn wedding.” She walked towards me. “And then, all it took was a bottle of wine and some Barry Manilow, and we ended up doing it. Frankly, the sight of him naked makes me sick. Nine months later, you came.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. “You could have had an abortion,” I said, “or at least given me up for adoption.”

“Oh, that would have been too easy. No, those nine months of pregnancy were the worst of my life! They were the worst of your father’s life, too! I was experiencing the most excruciating pain imaginable, and your father was losing clients faster than some people lose their minds!”

“All this because of some fucking superficiality reasons?” Brandon replied. “Wow, you are one fucked-up bitch.”

“WAS ANYONE TALKING TO YOU, ASSHOLE?!” Joseph snapped at him. “NO ONE WAS!”

“Oh, get bent, Tony Soprano!” I interjected.

“Anyway,” Nadine continued, “when you were born, everyone was oohing and aahing on how special you were. You weren’t. You were a fucking nightmare! Do you think that I enjoyed drinking and drugging? NO! YOU drove me to that!”

I was unmoved. “Babies are born all over the world, and women go through labour all the time, and rare and messed-up is the woman who blames her problems on that,” I said. And then I walked up to her and slapped her clear across the face. Surprisingly, she didn’t fall back on her ass. But when she lunged at me, she fell face-forward. As she got up, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Do you want to know why we killed your grandparents?” Joseph asked. “Well, it’s pretty simple: when it came to you, they were always in the fucking way! Always inquiring about you, always looking out for your interests, always taking you someplace special, and NEVER leaving us alone! They weren’t your parents. WE are!”

“Then you should have acted like them, and not like a bunch of terrorists!” I screamed. I was slowly getting riled up. “You should have taken a number from them, instead of spoiling Charlotte and Ryan and leaving me not even one miniscule scrap.”

“So what? I deserved the spoils!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Speaking of Ryan, we know that you two did the Jerry Springer thingy.”

Now, things were getting serious.

“What Jerry Springer thingy?” Brandon asked.

“INCEST!” Joseph yelled. “This faggot fucked his older brother!”

Yes, that’s right. That’s my big secret, people. For much of my teenage years, I had a sexual relationship with my older brother Ryan. It started one night, after Joseph beat me up again, and I was crying in my closet. The door suddenly opened, and Ryan pulled me out. He held me in his arms as I cried, and after ten minutes, I stopped crying. We looked into each other’s eyes, and suddenly he was on top of me, on my bed. He was the first guy that I ever kissed. And it didn’t stop. It went on from 1996 until 1999. At least once a week, he would come into my room, even on the nights that I had avoided Joseph and Nadine and Charlotte, and we would make love. We never engaged in penetrative sex, however. It was mostly making out and oral. That’s why Ryan left: Joseph and Nadine found out, they had a big argument, and he left home that night, never to return.

I turned to my friends, who had inquisitive looks on their faces. I nodded, acknowledging what I had done. And then I turned to the terrible trio, and calmly said, “And I’d do it again.”

“Excuse me?” Joseph replied.

“Yeah! I slept with Ryan, and I would do it again! And do you want to know why? Because he loved me. He truly loved me. He never made me feel bad, he never took me for granted, and he always made me feel better after all you bitches went to town on my ass!”

“Did you sleep with your grandparents, too?” Nadine sneered. “If you love them so much…”

“Nadine, you fucking bitch…” I shook my head. This was the first time that I had ever referred to Nadine by, well, that: Nadine. “Credit me with some discretion.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Nadine snapped.

“You heard me. You never were my mom, so I refuse to call you ‘mom’ or ‘mother’. To me, you’re Nadine Buonfiglio, the mother from hell to end all mothers from hell.” And then, I glared at Joseph. “Joseph, you’re a terrible lawyer and an equally worse father.” Finally, I looked at Charlotte. “Savannah doesn’t deserve you at all, harlot.”

For the first time, in a long time, they looked as if they were on the defensive. Their faces, previously facades of conceit mixed with indifference, were now visages flush with fear. I now had the power, and I was not going to waste this opportunity. My physical strength was coming back, as well.

“I have been wracking my brain for most of my life, wondering what I did or said that compelled you to subject me to some of the most inhumane activity a person could endure,” I said. “And now, you tell me that I was the arbiter of your failures as human beings, so I deserved to be beaten up. Even if I died, it wouldn’t change things at all. You’d be still miserable pieces of shit looking for the next person to blame. Well, that all stops here.”

I looked at my friends. They gave me looks of encouragement. “You were so bent on destroying me that you decided to destroy ANYONE who blocked your path. You killed my grandparents, you killed my fiancé, you drove family members away, and you threatened to do the same with Mykhaylo, Brandon, Claire… even Aparecida was a hurdle that you had to eliminate, didn’t you?”

I looked directly at Joseph. “You had some of your goons rape her! She gave you her time and attention, even if she didn’t give you her pussy, and THAT is how you repaid her?! All the women you’ve fucked over the years; did you dispose of each one of them like you disposed of Aparecida?”

“You tell him!” Claire cheered.

“I may never understand fully what compelled you all to do what you did,” I continued, “but I can live with that. I can live with the fact that Evan and my grandparents are in a much better place. And I can live with the fact that I now have friends and family and my cat to help me make it through life. And I hope that you can live with what you did. Because what you did is sickening. What you did is so horrible; there are mass murderers who would be offended!”

At that moment, tears began to well up in my eyes. But I decided to let them flow, rather than wipe them away. “Do you see these tears?” I asked, pointing at my eyes. “I’ve cried more in my lifetime, than the combined lifetime tears of ten random people on the street. You’ve caused these tears to flow! And you know what? I’m glad I’m crying right now, because it shows that I have feelings! It shows that I have a conscience! It shows that I am a MAN!”

I took a deep breath. “You’re not going to get away with what you did. You took the lives of five innocent people, people whose only ‘crime’ was to love me! You tried to take the lives of four others who loved me! And now, you want to take MY LIFE too! Well, guess what? It’s not going to happen, you fucking wops. Because much to your dismay, I’m still going to be here, surrounded by love and happiness, while you bitches rot in prison for all eternity! Why? Because I’m Graziano Giancarlo Marcello Buonfiglio, THAT’S WHY!”

That felt great. I turned and saw Brandon, Claire, and Mykhaylo applaud. They had smiles on their faces. And then, Claire’s face turned from happiness to fear.

“LOOK OUT!” she screamed.

I turned and, in the blink of an eye, I saw Joseph with the gun in his hand. He had picked it up, and was taking a bullet out of one of his jacket pockets. He slid the bullet into the chamber, closed it, and said, “That was a wonderful speech, Graziano. Such wonderful, final words.” And then he aimed the gun at me, and then…

“FREEZE!!!”

Suddenly, the gun dropped from his hands, and fell onto the cold ground, and the bullet popped out of the chamber. And then, a bunch of police officers stormed the Dream Site. I don’t know how many of them were present, but it was certainly more than enough. They swarmed us, and before I knew it, Joseph, Nadine, and Charlotte were in handcuffs. At that moment, snow began to fall on us.

The police led us from the Dream Site to the parking lot outside the Grenadier Restaurant, where a flotilla of police cars, an ambulance, and plenty of media awaited us. With all the lights and snow, it was clearly a dramatic sight. The police swept Joseph, Nadine, and Charlotte into separate cars. As she went in, Charlotte turned around and screamed this at me:

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! SAINT GRAZIANO THE GOOD?!”

I simply turned to her and said, “No. But at least I’m not the Devil.” And then, I turned to Joseph and said, “By the way, that $500,000 you hid at the old house? It belongs to me now. Merry Christmas!”

And within moments, they were gone, heading for jail, cold and unmoved to the bitter end. Meanwhile, as a precaution, the paramedics loaded me into the ambulance and I was off to Toronto General Hospital. Brandon, Claire, and Mykhaylo soon followed. At the hospital, after over two hours of examination, the doctors cleared me to leave, as I had held up remarkably well under such excruciating circumstances. I gave the police my statement, and around 11PM, we all left the hospital. After Claire and Mykhaylo hugged me, they went back home to resume celebrating Christmas with their families. Brandon and I went back to our apartment.

After we entered our apartment, Brandon and I hugged again. This time, no tears and no “I’m sorry”. We sat down on the sofa and watched Christmas Eve from St. Peter’s Basilica. We watched as some Swiss lady jumped Pope Benny the Dict XVI, much to our amusement. As the clock struck midnight, signaling the arrival of Christmas, we exchanged Christmas greetings and more hugs. The telecast of the glorified drag show from Vatican City ended around 1:30AM, and by that time, Brandon was fast asleep.

I turned off the TV, and walked into my bedroom. Britney was on the bed, and she leapt into my arms. I had never been happier to see her. We snuggled on my bed for a few minutes, and then I got undressed. I went into the kitchenette and found a tin of Danish butter cookies on the counter. I popped in a Brent Everett DVD, sat down with my tin, and for the rest of the night, engaged in an early Christmas gay porn marathon.

Chapter 35: “THIS IS FOR JOSEPH AND NADINE AND CHARLOTTE!”

THURSDAY, 24TH DECEMBER, 2009 (CHRISTMAS EVE)

My life had changed so much since I left Joseph and Nadine’s madhouse in October. Within almost three months, I had gone from spending most of Thanksgiving weekend in my car, to living in a swank condo on the Waterfront, to uncovering some painful secrets that no one should ever have to know, to having real friends and real family in my life, to having $500,000 in my possession. I had made so much progress in such a short amount of time, especially with the first decade of the new millennium rapidly heading for the archives of history. When I woke up on the morning of Christmas Eve, I looked out the window, and despite it being snowy and cold, my heart and outlook were warm. I didn’t know that, by the time Christmas Day came around, everything would change.

Like many people, Brandon and I had a lot to accomplish on Christmas Eve. We spent most of the morning putting the last-minute touches on our Christmas feast and tidying up the apartment. I called Aunt Kendra, Aunt Tatiana, and Uncle Wayne and Aunt Elfriede to wish them all a Merry Christmas. I called Mykhaylo and Claire to do the same. Mykhaylo was spending Christmas with his family, and they too were running around the house in anticipation. Claire’s arm was healing rapidly, and she was staying at her sister’s house in Etobicoke being a doting aunt to her nieces and nephews.

Around 2:30PM, Brandon realized that there was no eggnog in the refrigerator. He wanted to make a batch of eggnog like the one that he saw Martha Stewart do. Since he was still recovering from the attack twelve days earlier, I told him that, to be on the safe side, I would go with him. He didn’t put up a fight. And after I gave Britney her lunch, we left.

Arriving at the Metro supermarket on College Street, we were lucky to find a spot at all. The parking lot was packed, and so was the store. Left, right, and sideways, people from all walks of life, even those who weren’t members of any Christian denomination, were going up and down the aisles, getting their hands on last-minute holiday foods, drinks, and other accoutrements.

Brandon finally got the eggnog that he so desperately wanted, nay, craved. We also picked up a few more items, including paper towels and paper plates. As we headed for the check-out counters, I heard someone call out my name:

“GRAZIANO!”

I turned around, and there was Marie-Lourdes, pushing a cart full of food. “Merry Christmas!” she exclaimed.

“Hi, Marie-Lourdes!” I said, hugging her. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks. I see you’re finishing up your Christmas shopping,” she said. And then she looked at Brandon. “Professor Gutensohn!”

“Hey, Marie-Lourdes,” Brandon said, giving her a hug. “How’s everything?”

“Great. My girlfriend and I are having a Christmas Eve lesbian potluck later tonight, and I’m so behind!” she exclaimed. “I was lucky to find some turkey. They’re disappearing!”

“Aren’t most of your friends vegan?” I asked.

“I’m not. I love animals, and I’m all for animal rights, but I also want protein, and peanuts aren’t going to cut the mustard. Besides, I got humanely processed turkey.” She noticed a line open up nearby. “Gotta go. Keep in touch, guys, and Happy Holidays!” she cheerfully said, speeding towards the check-out line in question.

After we made our purchases, Brandon and I walked out into the cold, late afternoon. Already the sky was darker than before, and the sun was barely visible in the clouds. We crossed the parking lot to Brandon’s car, and we loaded the trunk. Just as we were about to enter the car, a van suddenly appeared out of nowhere, right next to us. The windows rolled down, and two men got out and approached us. Both of them were muscular, a bit hirsute, and sported tattoos of the Albanian eagle. I could tell because they weren’t as bundled up as we were. One of them wore a red cap, and the other wore a black cap.

“Are you Graziano Buonfiglio?” asked the guy in the red cap, in a thick Albanian accident.

“Why do you ask?” I replied.

“Get in the van.”

“Hell no.”

The guy in the black cap suddenly grabbed me and SLAMMED me against the van. “GET IN THE FUCKING VAN!!” he screamed, his breath stinking of vodka.

“Brandon, help me!” I screamed. Brandon tried to force the guy off me, but the bastard in the red cap shoved him towards his car. And within a few seconds, the asshole in the blue cap had opened the back door of the van and thrown me in. I looked out the window, shaking like a building in an earthquake, and screamed, “BRANDON!!!” I saw Brandon run after the van, and soon he disappeared from view.

The guy in the black cap shoved me to the floor and screamed, “THIS IS FOR JOSEPH AND NADINE AND CHARLOTTE!!!” And then it hit me: these Albanian sons of bitches had been hired by the Buonfiglios to kill me. And then, the black cap bastard delivered the first punch against my temple. I immediately fought back, and for the next fifteen minutes, it was me and this brute asshole in the van, punching and slapping and rolling in the van as the fucker in the red cap drove along on a seemingly random route through Toronto.

I fought for fifteen minutes, but my aggressor was, despite being slightly smaller in weight than me, too fucking strong. I began to drift in and out of consciousness as the asshole continued to pound mercilessly. My body was burning in pain. My insides seemed to turn into liquid. The last thing that I felt before I completely blacked out was a hot tear run down my left cheek. And then, nothing.

LATER THAT NIGHT

When I woke up, the first thing that I saw was the night sky, and it looked like a bunch of cotton balls dyed purple. My body was still aching, but I could still feel every part of it. I slowly got up, and realized that I had ended up in a snow-drenched forest, near a frozen brook. I had no idea where the hell I was.

Everything was quiet. Nothing was making any sound, not even the chipmunks and squirrels in the trees, if there were any to begin with. I could feel my cell phone in my jacket, against my chest. I turned it on, and not only did I get the time (6:30PM), but there were no fewer than 10 phone messages, most of them from the past two hours. I pulled up Google Maps on my phone, hoping that there was a clue to let me know where I was. Alas, there was no Wi-Fi connection to be had. Google Maps could not find a location.

I was beyond scared. I was beyond petrified. I don’t think that there is a word in any language to describe the level of fear that I had reached. I sat down against a tree, and dialed Brandon’s number. But I could not get a connection. The network didn’t work. I got up and walked around, trying to get a signal. My heart was pounding loudly. With each step, I was getting more and more nervous and scared. Plus, the temperature was getting colder.

It wasn’t until the clock on my phone read 7PM, that I finally reached a path. And not just any old path. I had come across a picnic area with wooden benches and tables. And then I saw a map nearby. I walked up, and I soon discovered that I was in HIGH PARK! I felt somewhat better, but still scared as fuck. I checked my phone. The Wi-Fi and phone networks were active again. I promptly dialed Brandon’s number. A few seconds later:

“GRAZIANO?!”

It was Brandon, and his voice was shaking in fear. I immediately burst into tears.

“Graziano, it’s going to be alright. We’ll get you home soon.” I continued to bawl, even as the frosty winter air made my tears turn into stinging, frozen balls. “Where are you?” he asked.

Through my tears, I said, “High Park.” I looked at the map. “I’m… scared.”

“Graziano?” This time I heard Mykhaylo’s voice, also rich with fear. “Where in High Park are you?”

“I’m at a picnic spot.” I looked at the map further. “Number 26, at Centre Road and Spring Road.”

“I know that area,” Mykhaylo replied. “Okay, Graziano. Whenever I go to the park, I always like to go to the Dream Site. It’s just up the road. I want you to get there as fast as you can. We’ll meet you there soon.”

“Okay.”

“It’s going to be okay, Graz. I love you, buddy.”

“I love you too.”

As soon as he hung up, I began my trek up Centre Road toward the Dream Site. Again, I was growing more and more scared with every step. Plus, my bodily pains were acting up. Every part of my body was in pain, and it hurt just to walk. I had to steady myself against trees along the way, until the pain had subsided enough.

I arrived at the Dream Site, an open-air amphitheatre which I had never been to, even in the summer. By then, the pain was lessening, but not by much. I sat close to the stage alone, freezing and crying. The Dream Site, from any angle, looked imposing and foreboding. I was worried that no one would ever come. And then, I heard someone call out my name.

“GRAZIANO!”

It was barely audible at first, but then it got louder. And it kept getting louder and louder until I looked behind me and saw Brandon, Claire, and Mykhaylo at the entrance. I immediately got up, and walked to them slowly. They were fast and I was slow. And then, we finally met, and I collapsed into Brandon’s strong and gentle arms.

“I’m so sorry,” I bawled. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Brandon whispered. “You’re safe. The police are on their way.”

And then, suddenly, the lights around the Dream Site turned on with a dramatic flourish. “What the hell?” I replied. My eyes, already red with tears, ached even more under the bright lights. The four of us walked toward the stage, and as the immediate brightness subsided, three figures appeared on stage. And those figures were, dressed in their holiday finest, Joseph, Nadine, and Charlotte Buonfiglio. And all three of them had guns in their hands.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered, my fear turning into annoyance.

Chapter 34: “Ti amiamo, carissimo Graziano.”

MONDAY, 21ST DECEMBER, 2009

I filled in for Deirdre at the 519 Centre. She had a doctor’s appointment and a meeting with her lawyer, and I was the first person that had come to her mind. I didn’t mind coming in on such short notice; I needed a break. The excitement around my family’s arrest was too much even for my own good. I actually planned on going to the courthouse for Joseph, Nadine, and Charlotte’s bail hearing. After my shift, I found out on the radio that Joseph had posted bail for all three of them by putting up the house in Brampton as collateral.

Before I went home, I checked up on Mykhaylo at his apartment. A week after his release from the hospital, he was feeling much better. He was working on some exams. He missed the ones in class, so his professors allowed him to do them at home (with open notes) before Christmas came. A lot of the material was a bit over my head. Mykhaylo was quite the student, however, and knew the material front and back. But then, I wasn’t the one aiming for a graduate degree in communications at York University. Nonetheless, Mykhaylo appreciated my company.

TUESDAY, 22ND DECEMBER, 2009

When I woke up on Tuesday, I again had the sensation that my old neighbourhood was calling me. This time, however, I fully embraced the opportunity to go back. I took one look at Britney and decided that I should show her a part of my life, however painful it was. So, just before lunch, I put Britney into her carrier and we embarked on our journey to Corso Italia.

A subway ride and a bus ride later, Britney and I were at the snowy intersection of St. Clair Avenue West and Nairn Avenue. It was quiet. Either everyone was inside, or they had flown to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic or something for Christmas. I’ve never been to the Caribbean before. Britney was meowing loudly. I took out a piece of salmon jerky from my pocket (I always bring some with me when I’m out with Britney, because she fucking loves it) and fed her some through the carrier’s gate. She snacked peacefully as I, carrier in tow, walked up the street to my old house.

When we got there, I noticed that the house was already decked in Christmas lights and decorations. Growing up, Joseph only strung up a few multi-coloured lights around the front door and that was it. He made a lot of money, but when it came to holiday decor, aside from the tree, he was cheap as fuck. I took Britney out and gently held her in my arms.

“Welcome to the place that I called hell for so many years,” I said to Britney. Even in the cold, she didn’t mind because she was snuggled up against me.

And then, the door opened. It was Carolina Mantovani, dressed in a chic red Christmas sweater. I had done a reverse lookup on the Internet, and that’s how I found her last name. “Graziano!” she exclaimed. “What a surprise.”

“How’s your father?” I asked.

“He’s fine. He’s staying at my sister’s in Barrie. I’m getting the place ready for Christmas.” She approached me. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Britney, my cat,” I said. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

“Are you kidding? I love cats,” she said.

“You can pet her if you like. She’s a bit shy around other people, but she eventually warms up to them.”

Carolina gently stroked Britney’s fur, and my pet purred softly. “Hey,” Carolina said, “would you like to come in and have a look around?”

I nodded, even though I had some reservations about coming in to my old house. I picked up the carrier and with that and Britney in tow, I slowly walked the short path up. The moment Carolina closed the door behind me, I could feel the screams, the beatings, the attacks… everything bad that had happened to me at this red-brick two-storey home, came flooding back to me. Goosebumps spread all over my body like a tsunami.

The living room, aside from the flat-screen television and leather sofas, wasn’t that different from my youth. I could still picture Nadine, draped almost lifelessly on one of them, a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“I’m just going to check on the cookies,” Carolina said. “Feel free to roam about.” She went back into the kitchen. I set the carrier next to the door, and we went up the stairs to where my old room was. Along the way, I saw pictures of Carolina’s extended family. There had never been those kinds of pictures on the stair walls. Instead, there were icons of saints. As a kid, it was creepy watching Saint Teresa de Avila and Saint Lawrence seemingly watching me climb the stairs.

The upstairs floor had three bedrooms. Ryan and Charlotte’s rooms were to my left, the bathroom straight ahead, and mine to the right. I remember Charlotte’s bedroom being a mass of pink and white and full of dolls, pageant crowns, and so much fluffy things. It was a scary sight. Now, it was Carolina’s father’s room, painted in an austere shade of blue. The bed, the drawers, and even the altar were fucking austere. Was her father a priest or something? Did he try the priesthood and decide that celibacy wasn’t for him, but the decor was? I wasn’t sure. As for Ryan’s room, what had once been full of sports trophies and books had been converted into a cozy guest room. The walls, once covered with posters of Wayne Gretzky and Joe Carter, were now a warm green colour and had framed paintings of flowers.

And then I checked out my former bedroom. Growing up, my room was almost always organized. Everything was nice and tidy, and on my walls were posters of Celine Dion, Madonna, George Michael, and Cher. The room had since been converted into a hybrid sewing/craft room, though a bed had been placed gently into a corner so whoever was hemming clothes or making scrapbooks could take a nap afterwards. I put Britney on the floor, and she went straight for the bed. I opened the closet door. On the top shelf were boxes of sewing and craft supplies, but there were some clothes hanging. This closet was where I spent my nights crying, often bleeding. The day that I moved out of the house, I noticed that I had left enough blood in the closet to merit the cast of “Law & Order” coming over. I cleaned it up minutes before I finally left the place. Now, the room, including the closet, had wall-to-wall carpeting, which we never had. It was wooden floors all the way.

I’m normally an emotional person, but this time I didn’t react emotionally to the changes in the house. I had goose bumps, but it wasn’t like my heart was pounding in excitement. Nonetheless, as I walked down the stairs with Britney, I felt satisfied having come back to what had been my home for 18 years.

I went into the kitchen, which had been completely fitted with brand-new appliances and painted a bright shade of white. It used to be the ugliest shade of orange you’d have ever seen; it was almost blood-like, and not like a blood orange. In fact, Joseph and Nadine did almost NO reno work in the 20+ years that they lived in the house, nor did they call anyone to do said reno work. It was a miracle that nothing malfunctioned or crashed down on us.

Carolina was at the table, putting the finishing touches on some cheery Christmas cookies. She had already set a plate out for me, along with a glass of milk. “I’m making organic cookies this year,” she said. “Do you think anyone will notice?”

I took a bite of one of the cookies. It tasted a lot different from what I had been used to. They were sweet and creamy, but had a touch of savoury taste, which I attributed to the wheat germ inside. “They’ll notice, but they’ll still eat them up,” I said.

“Thanks. So, how did the tour go?”

“It brought back a lot of memories,” I said. And then, I changed my tone. “Carolina, can I level with you?”

“Sure,” she replied, caressing a cookie with frosting.

“The reason why Joseph and Nadine didn’t tell you about me is that… well, they were abusive to me.”

Carolina put down her knife. “Oh,” was all she could say. A few moments of silence later, and she asked, “How?”

“They beat me up, they called me names, and they did everything short of string me to the fence and allow the crows to pick at my flesh.” I was beginning to boil inside just thinking about what they did to me. “It went on until I left for university.”

“I’m…” Carolina stammered. “I’m sorry. Why did they do those things to you?”

“It’d be easy to say that they’re assholes,” I replied, “and believe me, they are. But I don’t know exactly why they acted the way they did. But we may soon find out.”

“Why do you say that?” Carolina resumed spreading icing on the cookies.

“You didn’t hear the news, did you?” I replied.

Carolina shook her head. “I haven’t even read today’s paper. What happened?”

“Joseph, Nadine, and Charlotte tried to kill my friends over a week ago.” I took another cookie and ate it. “They were arrested Saturday night, and on Monday they posted bail.”

Carolina shook her head. “Oh my God,” she muttered. “Oh my fucking God.”

“And it’s not the first time. I found out a few weeks ago that they killed my grandparents and my fiancé years ago.”

“Why would they do that?”

“You’re looking at the reason,” I replied. “They want me dead.”

“Oh, Graz,” Carolina sighed. She stood up and hugged me. “I am so sorry.” Her hug was strong and comforting.

“Thanks. Look, like I told you last time, if they show up, don’t say that I was here.”

“Well, they have been here,” Carolina said.

“WHEN were they here?” I had half a mind to destroy a cookie at that moment.

“The night before they were arrested.” Carolina got up and paced frantically around the kitchen. “I didn’t say a damn thing about you to them.”

“Did they suspect anything?”

“They only wanted to see how things were going,” she said. “You know, I actually hate it when they pop by.”

This was getting stranger. “They come here often?” I asked.

Carolina sat down again. “Every fucking month, your parents come here. It’s been that way for seven years. They don’t own this house anymore. They don’t even live in Toronto anymore!” She tore into an innocent Christmas cookie shaped like a snowflake.

“What do they do?” I asked, stroking Britney’s fur. Britney was now asleep in my lap.

“They ask ridiculous questions, and they often leave things behind,” she replied, tearing into another cookie. “Before I went to church on Sunday, I found a metal box in my bedroom. I didn’t open it, but I could tell that there was something substantial in it.”

Carolina got up and fetched a tin black box from the counter. It was about the size of a giant tin of Danish butter cookies. It looked weather-beaten, but was otherwise intact. There wasn’t a lock at all; the box had been sealed tightly with electrical tape.

She handed me the box, and I shook it. I didn’t hear anything except the sound of rustling paper. I set it down and peeled off the layers of tape, and when I took the lid off, I discovered two bags filled with what appeared to be money. Tucked in between them were two folded pieces of paper. I took out one of them, and I immediately recognized the handwriting as that of Nonno Pietro.

“This is from my Nonno Pietro,” I told Carolina, who was enraptured by what was going on. I then read the letter aloud:

“My dear grandson Graziano, your other grandparents and I have been saving money for you ever since you were born. Your parents have obviously provided well for your siblings, but not for you. That is completely unfair, not just to you but to everything that is good and decent in the world. So, on the occasion of your graduation from secondary school, here is something that we hope will set the foundation for a successful, fruitful, and ultimately stable life. On behalf of your Nonno Raimondo, your Nonne Annunziata and Maria Grazia, I wish you love, health, and success from here on out. Ti amiamo, carissimo Graziano.”

I started to cry. The letter was dated the 1st of June, 2000, weeks before Nonno Pietro and Nonna Annunziata were murdered. Carolina squeezed my hand. I put the letter down and opened one of the bags. Inside, I found wads upon wads of slightly crumpled and aged, but still legal tender, $100 bills. Each wad had $2500, and by the time Carolina and I had counted the money, the total was $250,000. My heart stood still for a moment after I realized how much was in that bag. I didn’t think that anyone, much less four immigrant grandparents from southern Italy, could have saved up that much money over the course of 18 years just from running a deli and a bookstore. That they did this for me was even more special.

And then I saw the other letter. I opened it, and it was printed on stationery belonging to Joseph. It read, “The contents of these bags are only to be used in the event of the death of Graziano Buonfiglio.” My mouth dropped. Those fucking bastards! I opened the second bag, and there was at least $300,000 in it! And the bills were more recent, meaning that Joseph and Nadine had not only stolen what was rightly mine, they were adding to it! Over half a million dollars were in this giant tin. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing.

Neither could Carolina. She had probably never seen this much money in her life either. “What are you going to do with all this money?” she asked.

I thought about it for a few moments, and then took out $50,000 from the second bag and gave it to Carolina. I figured that since the money was found on her property, she should get a share, and $50,000 seemed like a fair amount. Carolina’s eyes lit up. She screamed in delight and hugged me so tight that I almost couldn’t breathe. But it was the least I could do after she was so nice to me.

When she had calmed down, she said, “Thank you.”

“No, Carolina,” I replied. “Thank you.”

“And don’t worry, honey. If they show up next month, I’m not telling them shit.”

After we finished off the plate of cookies, I bid Carolina a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, and soon I left my old house at the intersection of Ascot and Nairn, with Britney in her carrier and half a million dollars in my backpack. I had decided to keep both bags, however heavy they were. I figured that Joseph and Nadine had stolen too much from me for too fucking long. Turnabout’s fair play.

The sun had peeked out of the clouds by the time we arrived on St. Clair Avenue West. I noticed Scavotto Fine Foods, which had been my paternal grandparents’ deli, across the way. The last time I was in the neighbourhood, I couldn’t bear to step foot in it. This time was different.

I walked right into the deli, and it felt like old times. The cheese, the meats, the side dishes… they all looked and smelled just as fresh and delicious as they were when I was a kid, helping out after school. Of course, there were plenty of newer items, but the essential items that I had grown up with were still there. The walls were painted a rich, deep blue, and those that were having their lunches, were savouring every last bite. The workers were much younger than my grandparents, but they were working as hard and diligently as those who came before them.

After purchasing a platter of holiday meats and cheeses, along with some other things, I walked up the street to A Confeitaria Betancourt, the Brazilian/Portuguese bakery that had sprung up after arson had claimed my maternal grandparents and La Libreria Dante Aligheri. Inside, I purchased a box of pastéis de nata (Portuguese custard tarts), but not before introducing myself as the grandson of the former tenants.

Despite the seemingly heavy load, I managed to carry a cat, a holiday platter, a box of tarts, and half a million dollars all the way home. When I got back to the apartment, I put everything away, gave Britney her lunch, and soaked into a nice and warm bath, listening to Kathy Griffin’s Suckin’ It for the Holidays.

Chapter 33: “I’m sorry that you got dragged into this.”

MONDAY, 14TH DECEMBER, 2009

The hospital released Mykhaylo on Monday afternoon. When I arrived to pick him up, he was tired as fuck. He dropped to the ground a few times as we headed for my car. I put him in the backseat, and as he dozed off, I headed straight for his apartment.

At 250 Jarvis, I dragged him out of the car, and a short elevator ride later, we were back in his apartment. As I carried him to his bedroom, he moaned softly. When we got in, he collapsed right onto his bed.

“Can you take my shoes and jacket off, Graz?” he asked, ever so groggy. I quickly obliged, and soon, he was tucked into bed, even though it was only 5PM.

“Would you like something to eat?” I asked.

“Soup,” he replied before dozing off.

In his kitchenette, I found some cans of President’s Choice Organics Bean Medley and a box of President’s Choice Organics Chicken Broth, enough to make some nice soup. Raiding his fridge, I came across plenty of leftovers, as well as some Ukrainian condiments and thingies. Fortunately, there were some carrots and a bag of President’s Choice Mushrooms Ravioli. I decided to add those to the soup as well. I called Brandon to tell him that I would be home later, and then I began to make dinner.

Within an hour, the ravioli, bean, and vegetable soup was ready, and Mykhaylo was up as well. In the living room, I laid out two bowls of the soup on the coffee table, along with some crackers. Mykhaylo and I sat on the couch and tucked in to what turned out to be a rather delicious soup. Soon, Mykhaylo was feeling a lot better.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked afterwards.

“Yeah.”

“What exactly happened that night?”

Mykhaylo sat straight up almost immediately. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Yeah!”

He took a deep breath. “My friends and I were at Bymark, having a few drinks. We were going to a party later. This woman came up and started to flirt with us. I didn’t really like it. Then, I realized that I needed to take some TUMS, but I didn’t have any on me. So, she offered me some out of her bag. Being a gentleman, I took them.”

He shook his head, and tears began to form in his eyes. “I had no idea it was GHB, Graz. I didn’t even think that they could make it into a fucking tablet! All I remember was that I felt so sick afterwards, that I had to go home. And when I got home, I just blacked out.” And then, he sobbed, “I’ve never been so scared in my life!”

I held him as he bawled into my coat. Ten minutes later, he stopped. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, wiping his tears with his sweater.

“What did this woman look like, Mykhaylo?” I asked.

“Oh, she had big tits, brown hair, and wore really dark red lipstick. She said that her name was Charlotte–”

“CHARLOTTE?!” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“That fucking bitch!” I snapped. “I knew she had something to do with this.”

Mykhaylo was confused. “That woman is your sister?”

“Unfortunately,” I nodded furiously. “Mykhaylo, there’s something you should know. My grandparents and Evan died because of my parents and Charlotte. Charlotte arranged Evan’s murder when she was in New York.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Claire’s been using a private eye, and he secretly heard Charlotte talking about it rather cavalierly with Sissy Vandenbroucke.”

“Sissy? The girl who tried to beat you up a few weeks ago at the ice rink?”

“The one and the same, that bitch.”

Mykhaylo couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and I didn’t blame him. “But why would Charlotte want to poison me? And how the hell did she even find me?” he wondered aloud.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents hired their own private eye beforehand,” I said, sinking back into the sofa. “Charlotte’s boyfriend is a private eye, but they wouldn’t dare use him because they prefer to ‘outsource’ people like that.”

“That’s all very well,” Mykhaylo said. The fear in his voice was thick. “But why would she do that?”

“Because you and Claire and Brandon are the portals,” I said, taking his trembling hand. “I’m the one they’re trying to scalp.”

Mykhaylo looked at me, his eyes widening in horror. “Claire and Brandon?” he asked. “Someone tried to kill them?”

I nodded. “I ran into Claire at the hospital. She had been involved in a car accident earlier yesterday. She’s okay. Earlier, in the waiting room, I saw on the news that Aparecida, my dad’s ‘companion’ for lack of a better phrase, had been beaten up. She’s also okay. I’m going to visit her tomorrow. But when I got back to my apartment, I saw Brandon, and someone had beaten him up in the parking lot. Mykhaylo, it may seem bizarre, but I doubt that what happened to you and all my friends is a coincidence.”

And now I was getting emotional. “I’m sorry that you got dragged into this,” I said.

“Don’t be,” Mykhaylo said, finding some strength. “You had no idea that your family was that fucked up.” He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.

TUESDAY, 15TH DECEMBER, 2009

Hospitals have become my second home, so even though I was tired of being in them, even as a visitor, I had to see Aparecida. So, after lunch, I drove up to the Scarborough Hospital to check on her.

When I walked into her room, she was sitting up in her bed, reading a magazine. She looked like absolute shit, but she was still alive. When she looked up at me, her eyes lit up. “Graziano!” she exclaimed.

We embraced gently, and I was careful not to compress any part of her fragile and still-healing body. I pulled up a chair. “I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling,” I said.

“No,” she said. “You’re my first visitor today. How did you know I was here?”

“I saw it on the news. Anyway, that’s why I’m here, not just to check on you.”

“I’ll save you the trouble, Graziano. Your father had some fucking goons beat me up,” Aparecida said rather casually. It confirmed my suspicions, but it was still rather hard for me to hear. However, Aparecida came across as not that surprised.

“What happened?” I asked.

Aparecida then launched into an explicit and detailed account of the attack. She and Joseph had an argument a few nights earlier, and I was the subject. She couldn’t take it anymore and gave him the riot act about how lousy a father he was. They bickered all night, and before long, their “relationship” was over. She thought that she would never see him or his likes again, but when she went for a walk in Scarborough on Saturday night, well, she was proved wrong. Some Albanian dudes cornered her in the park, and for the next thirty minutes, they gang-raped and assaulted her like you wouldn’t believe. They thought that she was dead afterwards, so they put her in an inconspicuous part of the park, pissed on her, and one of them said, “This is for Joseph Buonfiglio, you fucking bitch!” The truth was that she simply passed out.

It took fifteen minutes for Aparecida to relay the story of her experience to me. When she was finished, she was surprisingly stoic and resilient. I could have never been like that, if I had to tell a story like that to anyone. I’d be a blubbery mess.

And then I told her about what had happened to Mykhaylo, Claire, and Brandon, and that my family was out to get me. Aparecida looked at me and said, “Call the fucking police. Those bitches need to be fucking destroyed.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. But there was one thing that I needed to do before I could talk to the police: I needed to talk to Claire. I bid Aparecida goodbye and a good recovery, and a half-hour later, I was at Claire’s apartment in Kensington Market.

This was the first time that I had ever been in Claire’s apartment, and Claire welcomed me with an open arm (her other arm was still in a sling). Her place, however, was less than welcoming. There were piles of papers and books everywhere.

“Your place looks like a hoarder’s paradise,” I said.

“Okay, it does,” Claire said, “but there’s a reason. Until the day of the accident, I was in the middle of re-organizing everything. I can’t do it again until my arm heals. I’d ask you to help, but my way of organising things is rather complicated.”

We sat down in her kitchen, and she offered me some dark hot chocolate, which she was able to make despite using only one free arm. It tasted pretty good, even if she didn’t have any marshmallows to top it with.

“Claire, can you tell me about the accident?” I asked.

“What do you want to know?” she responded.

I put down the mug. “How did it happen?”

Claire finished her hot chocolate and sighed. “I had just left the neighbourhood, and I was driving along Yonge, when in my rear-view mirror, I saw this yellow Hummer come towards me. I couldn’t recognize the driver, but the Hummer kept following me. Whenever I sped up, the driver would speed up. Whenever I slowed down, the driver would slow down. It went on for twenty minutes, and then, just like that, I found myself right against a telephone pole.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t see the car after that. I did see the licence plate, though. It read ITA-LIA.”

I froze. ITA-LIA was the license plate number on Joseph and Nadine’s Hummer! Now, all the pieces of the puzzle had fit.

“Graziano?” Claire tapped my arm.

“Sorry,” I said. “Claire, I hate to break this to you, but that van belongs to my parents.”

“Oh, shit,” she muttered. “You mean to tell me that they were trying to kill me?”

“And Mykhaylo. And Brandon. And Aparecida. You and they were attacked within 24 hours of each other.”

I expected Claire to shake her head in disbelief. Instead, she poured herself another cup of dark hot chocolate and sat there for a few moments, thinking to herself. And then, a look of absolute fear emerged on her face. She turned to me, trembling, and said, “They want to kill us to get to you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, young man,” she replied, giving me a reassuring grasp with her free hand. “I suggest you go to the police immediately. Goddess knows what shit your family’s about to pull next. And if they want to interview me, let them.”

I nodded and gave her a gentle hug. Twenty minutes later, I found myself in front of the Metropolitan Toronto Police Headquarters on College Street. I wasn’t really sure if that was the actual place to go to, but I had to get help somewhere. Eventually, I found a detective who agreed to hear my story.

For the next two to three hours, I explained everything in great detail, from my familial history to the events of the past 72 hours. I left no stone unturned. I made sure that everything that needed to be said was said. I made it quite clear that these four incidents were not random, but instead were part of a conspiracy to attack me.

When I got back to the apartment, it had gotten dark, and Brandon had just returned home. Despite his injuries, he had vowed to continue working as if nothing had happened, which I thought was a bit foolhardy at first, but ultimately I agreed with him. I told him about my interview with the police, and that he should go down and tell his side of the story. Brandon agreed.

That night, I watched TV in my bedroom, with Britney snuggling next to me. As I looked at my cat, I thanked the gods and goddesses above that no one had tried to harm her. Had Britney been the fifth victim, I really would have shut down. It’s bad enough when you go after the people who I love, but when you go after my pet, it’s a line that you dare not fucking cross, lest you want to get your ass whooped.

SATURDAY, 19TH DECEMBER, 2009

By the time Saturday night came, things had simmered down in my life, as far as personal dramas were concerned. Life had to go on in some form. Aparecida, Brandon, Claire, and Mykhaylo all went to the police and told their sides of the story. I knew that it was the right thing to do.

On Saturday afternoon, Brandon and I picked up a faux Christmas tree, complete with lights, from the Wal-Mart on Lawrence Avenue, one of the few times that we had ever been to a Wal-Mart in the first place. At our apartment, we set up the tree in less than five minutes. We then began to decorate it with a hodgepodge of holiday baubles and trim, almost all of it Brandon’s. I added a few of my own, which I had made in school as a kid. Every year, I’d tuck them someplace in the tree so that it would remain there, but also so that Joseph and Nadine wouldn’t look.

As we finished, I caught a glimpse of the television. To my surprise, there was a live shot of Joseph and Nadine’s house on Oakridge Court in Brampton.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, turning up the volume.

“Is that where you lived?” Brandon asked.

“Unfortunately,” I replied.

The headline on the screen read: BRAMPTON FAMILY ARRESTED FOR CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MURDER. I could see that the house was decked in Christmas lights, and that apparently there was a party going on, as plenty of confused guests were in the driveway, talking to each other. And then, they cut to footage of Joseph, Nadine, and Charlotte being arrested and led away. All three of them were screaming as they headed for the police cars. The fact that they were arrested in their holiday finery brought a smile to my face. I felt like I had opened one of the best Christmas presents ever.

Chapter 28: “KICK THAT BITCH’S ASS!”

SATURDAY, 28TH NOVEMBER, 2009

I love ice skating. I have over 200 pounds of solid muscle on me, and if I were skating on thin ice, I’d fall through. But I still love skating. For me, it’s a freeing experience. Even as I’ve grown up, I’ve never lost the carefree joy of going around a rink for ninety minutes. I always look forward to when the rinks would open up, and I’m always sad when the season is over.

I never had formal lessons. Despite my family’s relative wealth, they could only afford to put two of their kids into classes. Guess who got the short end of the stick? Despite that, I taught myself how to skate through watching how other people did it at ice rinks, watching figure skaters and speed skaters and ice hockey players on television, and reading books. I like to watch speed skating in part because the male skaters tend to have big, round asses, and their spandex outfits accentuate them to near pornographic levels. You don’t see that in short track, though. South Koreans aren’t known for having booty. I like figure skating, but I wish that people took more chances with choreography and music and skating moves. One gets sick of Carmen and Scheherazade. I do like Johnny Weir, though, despite his fetish for all things Russian.

Friday was the first time in weeks that I didn’t see Claire. She called me on the morning of and told me that she wouldn’t be able to see me. Something important had come up, though she didn’t elaborate on the subject. I figured that she was up to something with her private investigator, or a doctor’s appointment. I didn’t think about it much that day. I just worked out and ended the night snug in Mykhaylo’s arms. It was the first time that he came over to the apartment.

Anyway, Brandon and I went out the following night: the last Saturday in November. It was the first time that we had done anything recreational outside of the apartment together. And we went to the ice rink at Nathan Phillips Square, right in front of City Hall. When we got there, there were so many people and there was so much excitement in the air. People had been waiting weeks for the rink to open, and when it did, people didn’t wait. To me, the first night of skating at the Square is analogous to the day after American Thanksgiving: the start of the Christmas season.

As we waited for the next session of leisure skating to begin, Brandon and I put on our skates. His pair was jet black with silver laces, and mine was blue and white with red laces. After that, Brandon poured us some hot cocoa with marshmallows from his Thermos.

“Where’s Mykhaylo?” Brandon asked.

“He’s in Mississauga, visiting relatives,” I said. “Isn’t this exciting, though?”

“Yeah. I haven’t skated in a while, though. I may need some practice.”

“When was the last time?”

“I don’t remember. Every year, I make a resolution to go skating again, and I never follow through on it.” He handed me a cup of hot cocoa, with two giant marshmallows bobbing at the top. “Speaking of which, have you made your resolutions?”

“We haven’t even reached Christmas yet, Brandon!”

“Come on. You must have something you want to accomplish.”

I sipped my cocoa, which was quite good. “I haven’t made any New Year’s Resolutions since 2004. Since then, I’ve never seen the point. I figured, what’s the point of resolving to make your life better, when it gets worse with the passing of time?”

“Graziano, let me ask you this: Has your life gotten worse?”

“Yeah.” I took another sip. “At least, it was getting worse until you came back into my life. I know that this is going to sound ridiculous, but I feel that every day, things are slowly but surely improving.”

“It’s not ridiculous. I’m glad things are improving.”

We tapped our plastic mugs together and finished the cocoa. Soon, the next session opened up, and we were soon on the ice. Brandon suddenly slipped his hand into mine. He appeared nervous.

“It’s okay, Brandon,” I said. “I got you.”

He smiled back at me. “Thanks.”

For the next forty-five minutes, we skated clockwise around the rink, along with singles and couples and families of every configuration. As we skated, they played Christmas songs on the P.A., with contemporary pop hits thrown in for good measure. Brandon held my hand for the first fifteen minutes. It didn’t feel strange at all. On the contrary; I felt that he was guiding me as much as I was guiding him, and it felt good. Eventually, we decided to take a breather, and sat on one of the nearby benches.

We watched as everyone glided around, or at least tried to stay upright. There were a few falls and a few cries. Nonetheless, Brandon and I were having a good time. I even found myself snuggling up against him. And then, he put his arm around me and drew me in closer. I could smell the Davidoff Cool Water scent that he had put on, and it smelled good. Now, I must tell you, there was not one sexual thought going through my brain at that moment, other than that of me and Mykhaylo back in cottage country, making love on a warm bed with a crackling fire in front of us. But I simply enjoyed being with Brandon. It felt like a father gently holding his son. Joseph never did that to me. But Brandon did, and it felt good.

And then, I saw HER. Sissy Vandenbroucke was back. She had a long red coat and a black beret. I sat upright, in mortification. It wasn’t just that she was in the same place as me; she had left the rink and was walking towards me! My heart began to pound at a high level.

“Oh, shit!” were the only words that I could form at that moment.

“Graziano? What’s wrong?” Brandon asked.

I didn’t give him a response. I simply got up and walked hurriedly towards City Hall. Brandon caught up with me after a minute.

“Could you tell me what’s going on?”

“Sissy Vandenbroucke!” I exclaimed. “She’s HERE.”

I had told him about Sissy in a previous conversation. “Okay,” he said. “Calm down. I’m sure that there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Well, well, well…”

I turned to my right, and there stood Sissy in her devilish finery, quite ironic for a self-professed Christian.

“Go away!” I exclaimed.

“I don’t think so,” Sissy snapped.

“Seriously, lady, go away,” Brandon said, trying to pacify the situation as best as he can.

“Shut your mouth, faggot,” she retorted.

While Brandon remained stoic, I suddenly shifted from outright fear to outright outrage. It’s bad enough that people call me names, but when someone uses “faggot” towards other people, I take issue. “What did you say?”

“Faggot!” she screamed. “Faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot!”

“Don’t you dare call him that!” I roared, defending Brandon.

“What’s it to you, faggot?” she asked me.

“Seriously, is that the best you can do, Reverend Hot-pants?”

And then, she slapped me clear across the face. I fell back towards the steps leading to City Hall, and only Brandon pulling me forward was enough to save me from bashing my head in. Sissy then began wagging her finger at me. I could feel her rage.

“You don’t want to mess with me, Graziano Buonfiglio,” she sneered. “I’m more powerful than you could imagine. I run a church with five thousand faithful; nay, PIOUS congregants. I could hire any of them to kick your repugnant, heathen ass and no one would be any the wiser. And yeah, I sleep around. I’ve banged more than a few of my flock. I’ve earned that right, buddy. I can do whatever I damn well please because I have Jesus Christ on my side.”

Oh, this bitch had gone completely off the deep end. “No one gives a fucking damn about you, paisano,” she continued. “No one. Not your mama, not your daddy, not your sister, not anyone in this city, not anyone in this province, not anyone in this country, not anyone in the Western Hemisphere, not anyone on the planet, and NOT ANYONE IN THIS OR ANY GALAXY! The best thing that you can do for everyone is to just fuck off and die. And when you do, I will personally lead a piss and dance on your grave en masse. You want to know why? Because you, Graziano Buonfiglio, are nothing but a rotten, heathen, stupid waste of space.”

A small crowd had initially gathered around us, but it was getting bigger and bigger. I saw them whip out cameras, like they were expecting something to go down in hopes of it living in infamy on YouTube, unless TPTB had it removed.

“Are you done?” I responded.

“Not in the slightest,” she said.

And then, I slapped her so hard that she fell on the ground almost instantly. “Well, you are now.”

This time, as she got up, she was no longer the hard-as-nails Christian bully who had been an intermittent but always profound presence in my life. She was a monster about to be destroyed, and I was the one who would do it.

“Listen, bitch!” I exclaimed. “You have been harassing me for far too long. You have no right to treat me like shit. You cannot get away with things just because you’re white, female, heterosexual, and Christian. It’s bad enough that there’s a Sarah Palin in this world. I have had to put up with shit every day of my life: from my so-called family, from people at school, from people I’ve worked with, from random people on the street, from whores for Jesus like you, from the federal government of Canada all the way down to the City of Toronto, FROM EVERYONE!!!”

“Graziano, stop it!” Brandon said, trying to calm me down.

“NO!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “NO! NO! NO! I’ve had it, Brandon! I’ve had it up to here with people trying to bring me down, especially people like Sissy Vandenbroucke the Saviour Slut! I want to be happy, okay? I want to have a good life. I cannot have a good life as long as THIS CHRISTIAN BITCH and MY FUCKING WOP FAMILY want nothing more than to see me suffer in private and in public!”

“Oh my God, did he just say wop?” I heard some woman ask among the murmurs. Sissy had by then found the strength to stand up.

“Yeah, I said wop. I’m Italian, but I’m not a wop. My family is. My mother is an alcoholic bitch from hell! My father is a crooked lawyer who bangs women left, right, and sideways! My sister is a conceited cunt who leaves her daughter at home and parties with the best of them! They’ve beaten me up, they’ve called me names, and they’ve prevented other people from reaching out to me! I have done nothing but try to be a good person, and my reward is 28 fucking years of PAIN! 28 years of DISAPPOINTMENT! 28 years of BEING CONSIDERED LESS THAN! I WON’T HAVE IT ANYMORE! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!”

I exerted all of my bodily strength at that point, screaming so loud that you could hear me in and then I collapsed onto the cold ground, and into a tearful fit. The whole of Nathan Phillips Square was eerily silent. All eyes, and there were thousands of pairs of them, were fixed on me. I had never in my life been this ANGRY and UPSET. Even by my standards, this was beyond extreme. I had taken my frustrations out into the world, and thousands of people who were just out for a night of ice skating had to bear witness.

Brandon bent down and held me in his arms. As he stroked my hair, he whispered softly, “It’s okay, buddy. Let it out.” I howled in pain and agony.

“Bitch, please!” Sissy exclaimed.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch” some guy in the crowd said.

“WHO said that?!” Sissy steely glared at everyone in the crowd, which was getting bigger and bigger. “WHO the hell told me to shut the fuck up?!”

Suddenly, I heard someone exclaim, “SOMEONE STOP HER!” And then, I felt a sudden pain in my stomach. A sharp pain. And then a loud gasp from the crowd. When I looked up, I saw that Sissy had kicked me in the stomach… as I was crying.

That was enough. I summoned some super-human strength, and before you know it, I was whooping Sissy’s ass. We punched, we pulled, we kicked, we screamed, we slapped, and as we were doing this, I could hear the crowd cheer… for me.

“KICK THAT BITCH’S ASS!”

“YOU GO, BOY!”

“KILL THE BITCH!”

And a lot of those voices were from women.

Five minutes into our fight, the police showed up and pried us apart. It wasn’t long before something strange happened: they handcuffed me, and they let Sissy off with a warning. I was irate, and so were Brandon and most of the crowd. They booed as the cops dragged me to an awaiting car. As they drove me off to the police station, and as I saw Brandon’s worried face fade into the night, I broke down in tears again.

After processing me, they threw me into a solitary cell and I screamed and hollered all night long. Worse, they held me without bail. No one told me to shut up, though. It’s as if they wanted me to scream, so they could be satisfied that they took down an alleged brute. I had never been in jail before, and it felt like the bullies were at it again. Only this time, the number of bullies had expanded to include the Toronto Police Service.

SUNDAY, 29TH NOVEMBER, 2009

I woke up Sunday morning, still wearing my clothes from last night, and with my eyes and skin red and sore. As I sat up in my cot, a female police officer approached the cell. “We’re releasing you,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” I responded.

“We’re releasing you,” she repeated. “Someone posted a video on YouTube, proving that you weren’t the instigator.”

She opened the gate and led me out. I was relieved that people actually captured the event. “What about Sissy?” I asked.

“We’re charging her with assault,” the officer said, much to my relief. “You’re a very lucky young man. Just try to keep yourself out of trouble, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I said.

After I was formally released from jail, I walked home. When I got back to the apartment, I noticed that Mykhaylo and Brandon were waiting for me in the living room. I didn’t know what to say to them. I had felt empowered that night, but now I felt that I had failed them both. They both wanted the best from me, and the best I could do was beating up a bully in front of City Hall. I looked at them for a few moments, and then I tearfully walked to my bedroom.

I collapsed onto my bed, crying again. Brandon and Mykhaylo entered the room and silently kept vigil over me. Britney jumped on my bed and snuggled against my chest. After about an hour, I stopped crying and sat up. Mykhaylo and Brandon hugged me, and Britney jumped into my arms and licked my face. After those heartwarming moments, Mykhaylo broke the silence with:

“I saw the video. I thought you were spectacular.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. The rest of the day went a lot better. The three of us went out for brunch at Le Petit Dejeuner on King Street East, and as we feasted on scrambled eggs, bacon, and omelettes, we chatted about everything and anything. It was a welcome respite after the previous 12 hours or so in hell. During brunch, Mykhaylo showed me the YouTube video on his laptop. Watching it was very unnerving, to say the least. I noticed that before she kicked me, Sissy had wiped her pumps. The video already had about a thousand views. Strangely enough, the bitch didn’t leave a mark. Having a six pack saved me that night.

On the way back, I heard on the radio that they arrested Cecilia “Sissy” Vandenbroucke for assault… and embezzlement and larceny, to name a few charges. Hallelujah.

Chapter 01: “I love Christmas, don’t you?”

FRIDAY, 25TH DECEMBER, 2009

Christmas morning. I was on my bedroom floor, sitting in front of the television. In my lap was a tin of Danish butter cookies, with one solitary confection remaining in the first layer of fluted paper cups. I picked it up, and examined it. It was rectangular, with small diamonds of sugar on the top. I popped it in my mouth and washed it down with some non-alcoholic eggnog. Delicious.

I had spent all night awake, not waiting for Santa Claus, but watching a marathon of Brent Everett movies. For those of you not in the know, Brent is a Canadian gay porn actor who looks like Taylor Lautner from the Twilight movies. I fucking hate Twilight. I don’t see anything worthwhile about vampire fiction. And Taylor Lautner isn’t even that cute. But Brent… in my opinion, he’s right up there with Celine Dion, Pamela Anderson, Wayne Gretzky, and Sarah McLachlan (among others) as contemporary Canadian royalty.

Britney, my cat, got out of her bed and nuzzled against my leg. I picked her up, and she gently purred as I stroked her fur. I got up from the floor and carried her to my bedroom window. Outside, dawn had broken, and a layer of snow draped my view of Little Norway Park and Queens Quay West. Lake Ontario stretched out in front of me, a mix of black and blue water against a grey sky.

“I love Christmas, don’t you?” I whispered to Britney. She meowed quietly. I don’t speak the language of cats, whatever that is, but Britney understands everything that I say to her. Even when I got her five years earlier, she understood me. Not once did she judge me, and not once did she hire someone to kill me.

I set her on my bed and started tidying up the room. Swivel Sweeper in tow, I made the crumbs and other stuff on the floor disappear. I followed that up with a quick fix of the bed, and a spray of Febreze. I put the Danish butter cookie tin on my dresser, and slid the Brent Everett DVDs back into the media cabinet. You’ll be glad to know that my Brent collection is made up of films that he did AFTER he starred in bareback porn. All the movies in my porn stash are condom-only. I once turned down a one-night stand with a really hot guy because he wanted to do it bareback. And seriously, he was FINE as hell. But I value my health and self-respect, and if that means not getting plowed by an Adonis, so be it.

After the room had received its Christmas cleaning, I took a shower. My muscles were still aching from the night before, so the shower massage did a world of good. After that, I picked out my Christmas ensemble: long johns underneath, followed by a red sweater and black jeans, all made of the finest cotton. I even put on a green tie, one with hollies and bells on it. Yeah, it’s a little cheesy, but Christmas is made for cheesy things.

As I got dressed, I played my favourite Christmas album on my iPod: The Kinsey Sicks’ Oy Vey in a Manger. I enjoy the irreverent side of the holidays, and nothing says “irreverent side of the holidays” more than a barbershop drag quartet (as they call themselves) singing naughty holiday tunes.

I began to think about Christmases gone by. And they were terrible memories. Well, not all of them. Growing up, I would sneak out of my house in Corso Italia at the break of dawn, and just walk around for two to three hours. Me, alone, but enjoying whatever came my way: the fresh snow on the sidewalk, exchanging holiday greetings with neighbours in Italian and English, and particularly, the smell of fresh-baked panettone resting on Signorina Tiziana Cannavale’s windowsill. She lived on the corner of Via Italia and Rosemount Avenue, just across from the park. She always spotted me and invited me in for a slice of feathery panettone, studded with bits of apricot and even chocolate, and a $20 bill. She didn’t have kids, and her English, while improving over the years, was thick enough that I barely understood her, but she always counted me as one of her own. Signorina Cannavale is no longer with us. She passed on from cancer in 2004. The smell of panettone from her windowsill no longer exists.

My morning ritual would be the highlight of Christmas for me. Because when I got home, it was hell. Joseph and Nadine, my parents, did not give me any presents at all. While my siblings Ryan and Charlotte were spoiled beyond belief, especially on the holidays, I got squat. It fell upon my grandparents to give me gifts. Initially, Nadine intercepted them and gave them to charity, “for those who really deserve it”, as she would say with eggnog on her breath. After I reached adolescence, my grandparents got better at sneaking presents in. But Christmas was still a terrible time. I was forbidden from joining the family in the festivities, and instead was confined to my room, crying my eyes out as everyone else took part in singing carols and feasting on Christmas turkey. I was only able to eat when everyone else had either left, passed out or was asleep.

Around 9 a.m., after watching the morning news, I left my bedroom and saw Brandon Gutensohn, my roommate, sleeping on the couch. The Christmas tree, which we decorated together, was already off. I bent down and rubbed Brandon’s right shoulder.

“Good morning, Graz,” he drowsily said, awaking. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Brandon. I’m going to the cemetery.”

Brandon grabbed my hand. “Are you sure?”

I gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be okay. No one’s going to hurt me.”

Brandon nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

I stood back up and left the apartment. On the ground floor of 600 Queens Quay West, I wished the security guard a Merry Christmas. He smiled and replied back in kind. As I exited the building, snowflakes and a windy chill greeted me. I let out a yawn, because I couldn’t stay up all night without feeling the least bit tired, and headed for my car. In the driver’s seat, I looked in the mirror and saw a young man, 28 years and 80 days old, beaten and bruised over time, but by the grace of God or Goddess, alive and happy.