Picos Gemeos

"Jean Charles de Menezes, we will never forget. Never, never, never."

- Morrissey, Brixton Academy 22 July 2009

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single gay man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a boyfriend.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a gay neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding friends, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their queer friends.

Not all that Mr. Ollie, however, with the assistance of his female friends, could ask on the subject was sufficient to draw from the gossips any satisfactory description of Mr. Kevin. They attacked the rumour mill in various ways; with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour Lady Helen. Her report was highly favourable. Mrs. Melissa had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Kevin's heart were entertained.

In a few days Mr. Kevin returned Mr. Ollie's visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in a coffee shop. He had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young gay man, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only a pale brasilian thang. His lady friends were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining, from a neighbouring table, that he wore a blue coat and rode with black boots.

An invitation to the movies was soon afterwards dispatched; and already had Mr. Ollie planned the courses that were to do credit to his housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Kevin was obliged to write an essay the following day, and consequently unable to accept the honour of his invitation. Mr. Ollie was quite disconcerted. He could not imagine what business he could have writing an essay so soon after their meeting at the cafe; and he began to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another, and never settled as he ought to be. Lady Helen quieted his fears a little by stating the idea of his being able to attend a movie during the weekend; and a report soon followed that Mr. Kevin was indeed able to attend the cinema. The female friends grieved over such a large number of days before the date; but were comforted the day before their date by hearing that, instead of watching a romantic comedy, they would be attending Bride of Chucky.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly for the two queer boyz. They returned therefore, in good spirits to Cote-des-Neiges, the condo where Mr. Ollie lived, and of which he was the principal inhabitant.

Five years ago, to this date, Kevin & I moved to Britain. It was a week after 9/11; I remember the look of fright and suspicion on the faces of my fellow plane passengers; and the phone call I made to my mom the night before, where she said a brasilian psychic had predicted the second terrorist attack would be in London. I thanked my mom for putting my nerves at ease just before my flight (like any concerned mother, she was just trying to keep Kevin and I safely tucked away in benign Canada.)

I remember the train ride from Gatwick to central London in the morning, the brown houses and grey skies, of reaching the hostel by Bayswater tube and plopping our stuff in a room with three bunk beds. For the next two weeks, we lived in hostels and spent our days looking for housemates to take us in. We ate a lot of supermarket sandwiches in Hyde Park and used overpriced internet cafes to keep in touch with our families and friends. The plan was initially for us to stay in Britain one year, perhaps two -- long enough for some work experience which could be translated into my immigration to Canada. But we allowed the years to sweep us along... we are still here.

I wonder where I'll be in five years time.

Seven years ago, in Montreal, I went on a date with Kevin for the first time. We went to see Bride of Chucky. The cinema was almost empty but I didn't dare kiss him or try to sneak my arm inside his. Outside, I asked him if he wanted to come back to my place on Avenue Côtes-des-Neiges. In the elevator, I kissed him. In my apartment, I offered him orange juice in one of my azure glasses. I put on some Chinese classical music (which I'd bought that Summer on a trip to China to visit my brother and father) and we smoochied on the couch. I had the lights off, candles burning (how smooth am I?); I didn't have any curtains on my windows, only tall plants and one tree I'd bought to serve as a barrier for any telescopes. It was a clear and warm night. He didn't go home then.

Later that year, two good friends in Brasil, Andrea and Bruno, went on a first date to see Bride of Chucky too. They became a couple and I told them that the four of us were now Friends of Chucky. A few Christmas' ago, Karla bought us a copy of the movie on DVD. It hits the right note of matinee B-movie enjoyment and cheap horror thrills (with a good dose of biker humour thrown in). I like to watch it sometimes when I'm sitting at home with nothing to do.

I haven't seen Child of Chucky yet. I'll probably only see it if it's playing on television. Halloween is in a few days, plenty of horror movies suddenly in the cinemas. It's a chilly and gray Saturday but Goldfrapp is keeping me company, warming up my insides. Natalia and I saw her last night on The Jools Holland Show and decided that we want to scratch away and find out what's the crazy life she's led and hasn't let out. Afterwards, there was a terrible, but compelling, movie with the dumb guy from Friends, when he was still half-cute, about girls sent to a woman's prison. Bad movies are only truly good when you are stoned, which we weren't, so I went to bed.

Kevin comes back from Canada on Monday. I wish he were here today. Kevin, if you are reading this, I hope you have a lovely Saturday... and weekend too... and flight back home.

Love you very much.

This is OUR journal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!