CHAPTER 7

THE THIRD STEP…

Before now, the healing process was way harder. which is why I have known for a long time that it must have left some permanent scaring for sure!

(breath slowly not big girl, breathe!).

And apparently, there is a high percentage of women who go through bariatric surgery experienced the same sort of backlash I did...

I long believed that I was the perfect lover (let’s laugh everyone! Especially those who shred my bed…), the pornstar par excellence! The comedian who played her role to a tea. Ya know what I mean ladies…

(Before my last lover, who, as it turned out was my first, who became my first, taming my past as it did my future…).

No one, except a few of my close (very close) friends, one doctor and one therapist… knew my secret…

After (another) car accident, this one, two days before my eighteenth birthday, a head on collision which had killed the other driver on impact, K.O.’d my best friend, my own beloved sister (who will carry since that day a constant fear of being in a car with another driver) and her best friend (both friends have permanent conditions since that faithful day).

Sorry little sis, I never wanted to hurt you ever!

***

For a very long time, I carried that burden everywhere. Imagine: not even 18 and 2 deaths plus 3 wounded… that was a lot to live with when you are a teenager and after).

I felt like I was losing my mind…

Therefore, to help me cope with the burden, my favourite uncle and godfather invited me to accompany him on a Mexican tour. I assume you gathered that it didn’t really go as plan, didn’t you?

« I will show you how to really travel » he added.

I must be dreaming! can I mom? ask your dad! please say yes dad?... ask your mom...

Ready or not, here I go!

Just before that [well, it could have been a while. In my current condition, time is relative you know], after they removed my leg cast (it went all the way up above my thigh), to celebrate, we went as a family to Jamaica [minus of course my big brother who had opted for a more exciting trip with two friends to Florida!

Our first flight, imagine the excitement! And for a teen full of hormones, a trip with his two little sisters, yuck!

[Although today, if we could turn back time, I think there is nothing you wouldn’t do to have been there with us hey? A family trip with all of us, mom and dad and the little sisters?  Big bro?

We must take advantage of the now as it will never ever come back…].

From that point on, I had the travel bug. resistance is futile as they say... that longing to continuously travel and experiment with new adventures! It will never leave me.

I could already imagine myself with a lovely summer dress on the beach watching a sunset in a “resort” somewhere. My luggage was ready. My makeup already on when he came into my bedroom full of white clouds (the “tapisserie” on the wall, blue skies with white clouds). He had been around the world my uncle. He was my hero. I could trust him and let him “refine” my luggage packing: I was therefore left with a small backpack when he was finished...

There is one detail I should mention:

after my second accident, I told my surgeon who had just “butchered” me: « OK maybe I won’t be able to sing or act with my long and ugly scar on my entire leg... However, I will be a hairdresser and you can’t stop me even though you tell me I won’t ever be able to stand upward for long periods of time ».

My stubbornness with doctors originated a long long time ago…

(Well, to be ENTIRELY HONEST, there was also another guy, the one who would continuously tell me to be proactive with my illnesses… didn’t need that so I had to dump him… if only he could see me now).

I also remember that I had surgery when I was in grade 11. They removed my goal bladder then. Just before the reverse countdown, I told the anesthetist that I would be back in time for my upcoming two shows...

(I don’t remember exactly how many days away that was but he said “no way José!”. The first show was a retake on the “Big Bazard from Michel Fugain” (Famous French show at the time) and the second one was the new Musical Comedy which was currently playing in Paris at the time: Les Misérables from Victor Hugo where I played “Éponine”.

• His answer: “don’t even think about it!”.

Well, when I woke up from the surgery, I was already practicing my songs! Unfortunately, because of the dancing and all I could not perform in the “BIG BAZAR”, the other musical I was in.

It was my last chance to perform in that show. oh well. My very last chance to sing: « LA JEUNESSE, ÇA S’EN VA... » (youth, it always LEAVES) … Maybe was it because at that age I didn’t really understand the true sense of that song? 

However, I made a very convincing Éponine! More precisely at the exact moment I was singing: « Ce n’est rien, monsieur Marius, qu’un peu de sang qui pleure... » (It ain’t nothin’ Mr. Marius but a little of blood crying!) and then I died in his arms... Well it was majestic as my scar just then decided to open a little releasing some real blood onto his white shirt!

The first “blood bursting” special effect eveeeeeer! I made a “killing” that night. Oscar worthy for sure!

---

And there we arrived in Cancún, me and my favourite uncle. I couldn’t be happier. Gorgeous four-star hotels everywhere. “We’re staying in this one! No, maybe this one? Doh! We kept on going until all the gib hotels had disappeared.

On the way there, my uncle thought me a number of useful tricks of the trade like looking « Québécois ». Apparently, when you travel in Mexico it costs a lot less if you do (as opposed to looking like an American?). We therefore tested his theory many times.

No expensive jewellery, dressing like a “commoner”. Speaking French also helped, you had arrived if you could babble a bit of Spanish as well… (or Portuguese, depending on the country visited).

Well it pays to make an effort. be proud to be a simple Québécois. it even payed in our favour!

I even bartered my skills: I exchanged numerous haircuts, toys, makeup, spray net bottles and nylons for a copious meal, or a ride, or a service [however, you are wasting your time if you try that in a « resort »!].

Next: Playa Del Carmen. How magnificent! Paradise on earth at the time. The promoters had not yet discovered it the year Haley’s comet crossed the sky. Everything was perfect. That is except where we slept. We were sleeping in homemade huts by the beach!

My parents would have tried to make me sleep there only ONE NIGHT that I would have called Social Services. But hey, I was on holidays after all and all I really needed was “my bikini and my toothbrush” as my uncle used to say…!.

There, I even tried Tequila for the first time ever: « of course uncle, I had some of that before. I am an adult now… and fully vaccinated! »… (luckily, I wasn’t Pinocchio then as my nose would have literally exploded forward!).

He even made me experiment with joints… I still remember! Never have I ever touched that stuff before, nor did I try cigarettes either. I was a little daddy’s girl who popped out of the family nest for the first time.

«I’m a slut now mommy! How will I ever be able to explain this to you on our weekly bedroom talks? ».

Then, one faithful afternoon where my uncle decided to have a siesta on his hammock (and without his sombrero…), I opted instead, as I did every day, for a walk along the beach. Because of my leg, I couldn’t go very far but yet, far enough so there would be no one around to disturb my meditation.

That day, I somehow decided to turn left. Nothing to see but the site of a future luxury hotel. I was in peace with myself. I was desperately searching, longing for a little peace.

Had decided to turn right instead, there would have been an hotel, the only one’ I think at the time. And a street, and a few shops [including a wide variety of the freshest fruit you can find, frozen on a stick). But that day I opted for the “being alone” option: « So many times have I tempted to reach the stars and so often did I fall and hurt myself! (lyrics from “seule” from the Musical “Notre-Dame de Paris”.

so, i had been walking for quite a while. I couldn’t really say how long, when i decided to stop for a quick dip in the ocean for no particular reason but to feel the warm embrase of the ocean on my feet. let’s say up to my knees…

After, as I was slowly drying on the beach, contemplating the boat on the horizon, I felt a presence. I didn’t hear anything:

He came from starboard. Nor cute, nor ugly, nor tall nor short, he avoided my eyes at all cost. As if, that way, the whole thing would just magically disappear from my mind [imbecile, on the contrary, it will forever be etched in my mind]. I didn’t see it coming…

All I can remember is that he suddenly jumped on me and inserted his sex into me [sorry but I can’t find any metaphor or anything funny to say at this time…].

my mind was going a hundred miles an hour just then.

all I wanted was to stay alive...

I struggled against him. I yelled « NON » in french, I had just learnt that it helped but not this time [I couldn’t remember how to say it in Spanish but he should have understood. They are similar languages aren’t they? In school we learned English as a second language, not Spanish. My best friend took it in school. I opted for theater instead. doh!

…I should have yelled: “fire!”, that is what they say we should do these days… (it makes him go soft apparently). But I didn’t know that word in Spanish either so I resorted to PRAY. I also told myself that these things don’t really go for that long do they? That he would soon finish?

But then, what will he do to me?

[but, on the contrary, it is like everything started to go in slow motion like in the matrix.

i was praying as hard as i could to stay alive.

I had not yet finished to say “amen” that he jumped up and ran like hell… Hiding his KNIFE in his back pocket!

that was also what i desperately wanted to do to leave this damned beach but my leg refused to cooperate.

and i have always walked faster on snow then on the sand since i was a baby. bummer!

« Wait! Did I just get raped right now? No, it can’t be. I must be dreaming! ».

I then decided to go back to only place I felt safe in that damn country: my little hut by the beach where my uncle would save me.

Well, don’t ask me why, but the first reassuring face I met in that damn country was a TV star from back home whose cabana was just across mine.

At that moment, I was so full of emotions that I forgot her name [maybe will she recognize herself if she gets to read this?]. All I know is that I found real comfort in seeing her for some reason: I felt I could confide in her right away. Come on Nat? control yourself! You can’t just go and share your deepest secrets to a pure stranger. She’s no Doctor Phil girl!

Nevertheless, the real push on the backside I needed came from JANETTE BERTRAND, Québec’s closest equivalent to dearest Oprah, last may. the 31st. I cannot forget.

I just came back from my latest trip to the hospital. First thing I do? Number one of course. Can’t do anything about it. It’s a family curse. My brother Alain has the same problem. He calls it his “walnut sized bladder” ...

And because my last hospital trip was particularly long, to regain my sanity, I jumped on the first magazine I saw in my bathroom (yeah, like my bro, this is where I do most of my “catching up” reading…  

On top of the pile, « 7 jours » informed us that Dominic Arpin, Vlog’s TV star, was fighting cancer: “How courageous. He will hopefully help others by sharing his ordeal”.

Then, just to the left of his white shirt on the cover: the inheritance of Janette: her 25 life lessons. I jumped on it and read it avidly. Again, and again! Like with Oprah, her wisdom had been transmitted to us through the newspapers, magazines and on the tele (what they call a television in Oz where my brother lives).

She enlightened us with comments like: “at birth, we are presented with a blank canvas. Some small, others large.

Then, life shows us daily an infinite array of colours, from which we can select to paint our lives.

Our parents have shown us how to select and apply the various colour without damaging the outcome of the masterpiece.

We are therefore the sole masters of our destiny.  We are the final deciders of the outcome of our painting masterpiece…

Many thanks MADAME JANETTE BERTRAND (and Oprah too. She too is a real inspiration. they are everyone’s muses in many ways…

Notes from the author: We in Québec, have been blessed with a plethora of talents when it comes to painting. The members of the “refus global”, Québec’s equivalent to the French Impressionist’s revolution, for one, became especially renowned on a global scale. But there is one in particular, maybe because he was a good friend of my uncle Alexandre, who has since passed away.

They both were highly talented with charcoal painting and aquarelles, and later with oil painting. I remember having one of his and my uncle’s first painting before he became famous. His, was a nude of his girlfriend at the time (I think, her face being talentedly veiled by her arm, my uncle’s, a self-portrait so lifelike it was like having an actual portrait of him. Uncle, if only you made the right colour selections!

His name is Tex Lecor. He is one well known Québec multitaskers. A bit like Michelangelo, he touched many of the liberal arts. He famously sang, then acted, became a comedian, then a famous radio announcer and then he went back to his first love:

painting. He is a cherished part of Québec’s artistic heritage.

And stupid little me had to one day, hurt his then young daughter once. I met her one day on a dancing floor somewhere. It was the first AND LAST time I spoke badly of someone behind their back.

As soon as I did, it fell wrong and hit me like a ton of bricks that hidden jealousy is such an ugly beast. And yet she was so beautiful, so pure and sweet.

Never again, never. As a result, ever since, as if I wanted her to forgive me, I go out of my way (and if we real want to do it, it becomes second nature…) to try to congratulate, cheer up and encourage people’s efforts. I meet with a store manager to tell him (or her) about an employee going out of his way to help, and I make sure I look at their tag and thank them by their name when I am being served with a smile.

I tell a stranger he has a great style, A lady she has panache.

Complimenting someone is a free gesture but how gratifying. We learned that from our parents, I guess. Every Christmas, they were hosting the whole family (they were big families as well in those times.

Hosting my dad’s side meant nearly one hundred people in our basement every year.

I remember my mom working all week long to prepare her famous pies, and salads, and sandwiches… Oh and desserts! I am compensating for what I did to her or was it only my true nature finally blossoming?

My brother is the same on his side of the planet. He works in a shopping centre with the security team. Every once in a while, he buys a coffee, out of the blue, to a staff member waiting to be served at one of the food outlets or even one of the customers who acknowledged him when he said “good morning” to them. He says it makes him happy every time. Same for me.

If only the rest of the World followed suit. And we never care about who they are or what colour they were given at birth. You are nice to me? I’ll be nice to you. It’s that simple…

Thanks to her, I had the great honour to have a serious conversation about my gifts with one of Québec’s legendary actors Yves Corbeil.

It didn’t feel like he was judging me but on the contrary, I felt a certain compassion, as if he was having a normal conversation with a perfectly normal individual who was experimenting with “paranottotallynormal” issues…

And I told him a secret right then, which, I am certain, will one day become reality.

I only hope he remembers when it does.

[another author’s NOTE: yesterday, 12 of July, while I was once again reevaluating my work, i suddenly remembered that i could have met much earlier:  

I once, went for an audition with the author of what was to become a very succesful sitcom called “PEAU DE BANANE” (banana peel) which featured Mr. Corbeil as the lead character. CHRISTIAN FOURNIER, The author, was then looking for a “larger” person. Unfortunately, at that time, it just so happened that I was as the low end of the yoyo. the audition went really well, I felt he (genuinely)

laughed at my replicas and even told me that if he needed a good looking “larger” person, he would definitely think of me as I had too good looking a face for the current role. It really annoyed me then.

***

... So, when I came back home from my South American trip (sorry about all my back flashes, side tracks and thoughts, I feel like Billy Connolly right now… doh!) I shared my thoughts about what happened “down there” with my uncle the policeman.

• “There is nothing you can really poor girl, forget it ever happened. We don’t even take care of these things here so imagine in a foreign country. They won’t go for the “Los Tabarnacos”, believe me”

  (nickname they call Québecers South of the border because of our tendency to swear using church related words, tabarnacle in this case…)”.

(Is it better here, even these days?).

We never spoke about the trip again.

And what a wonderful trip it was otherwise. We went all the way to Guatemala where we had the ultimate privilege to see white tigers in the flesh, somewhere near Tikal.

I even had the chance, thanks to a rich Texan and his daughter, to be a VIP guest to the “end of shoot” party given by one of the major Hollywood production firms which had just rapped up one of their movies in Belize. How good is that!

And not any movie: “The Mosquito Coast” it was called. With an actor called Harrison Ford. 

So, we made it all the way to Guatemala where, unfortunately, everything didn’t go according to plan…

IT GOT QUITE STRESSFUL THE NIGHT WE CROSSED THE BORDER INTO THE COUNTRY. WE HAD TO CROSS A BRIDGE. ON BOTH SIDES OF THE BRIDGE, MEN WITH ASSAULT RIFFLES WHO LOWERED THEIR GUNS WHEN WE APPROACHED THEM…

I was oh so scared. The customs officer waved me to go forward… I’m in trouble, I’m sure!

Then he uttered with his ratter lovely accent: “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”.

I was so stunned that all I could say was:

• “WHAT?”, while I opened my eyes real wide. He repeated, I once again repeated incredulous…

I can’t remember how long this conversation lasted but, thankfully, my uncle came to save the day and grabbed my arm to take me away. He laughed uncontrollably when I told him I thought he was saying: “open your eyes”!!! lol  

We parted way somewhere in Guatemala, my uncle and I. My holiday was coming to an end and I still had to return to Playa Del Carmen on my own in order to catch my return flight.

Then i got sick… in Mexico they call it a “tourista”, in australia, they call it “Bali belly”.

No matter what they call it, I had it for sure.

Later during the trip, in the bus which took me back to my return flight, i was somehow mesmerized by a nacre hair clip in the hairs of a lady seated a few rows in from of me which attracted my attention.

When we got to the customs, of course, I ended up having an issue with my passport. A question of an orange paper missing or something… And to add to the drama, it just so happened that it was a public holiday so they informed me that I would be staying a few extra days in their most welcoming country...

« But Senor, it cannot be, I will miss my return plane!”, crying uncontrollably… Then, when I was starting to lose it, the lady with the golden hair and matching clip appeared suddenly… to save me? Imagine my luck, not only did she speak French but conveniently, she also was fluent in Spanish!

My luck!

From what I could gather, she appeared to… TEL THEM OFF! And just like by magic, my papers just materialized right before my eyes!

• «Oh madame, how can I possibly start to thank you for your kind help? ».

• « You look a bit pale, let go get a bite… ».

- « Sorry dear Madame but I am running out of money... but she insisted. I went and freshened up. But I made the mistake of using tap water to brush my teeth».

OH what a novice mistake that was TOURISTA here i come!

I told her I had money at home. That my parents could possibly send some money over somehow… (no ATM in Guatemala in those days…), I will send you money as soon as I can promises.

It was one of those trips. I didn’t really plan properly. I stuffed up with the ever changing exchanges rates in every country we visited…In a nutshell, I suck at traveling apparently…

As I talking, I suddenly felt totally ill. Not another bite. Actually, my meal decided to suddenly leave my body in a hurry!

“Come to my hotel room” she suggested. “You will see, you will feel better after a little rest”.

then, you just need to jump on your bus to go where ever you need to go. Trust me, leave just a bit later at night, don’t worry, I’ll wake you up”. what else could i do?

I was feeling weakened and I must admit, the perspective of sleeping in a real bed sort of appealed to me just then…

When I arrived at her room, I was taken by the size and luxury which surrounded me suddenly.

There, scattered around the many chests of drawers, more jewellery than I will possibly own in a lifetime and yet there it was. Everywhere.

Oh, and money everywhere too.  And some of the nicest dresses you could ever imagine. The dresses were carefully organized on the bed and in the walk-in closet.

A rather large selection of sumptuous evening gowns was carefully aligned on the other bed and in the walk-in. She didn’t move anything (me neither) but kindly allowed me to rest after wishing me good night and reassuring me that everything would be alright. Somehow,

I trusted her implicitly. It appears that my rest was quite successful as I felt much better after.

Then, she walked me all the way to the bus stop and finally confided in me that she was in fact a baroness or a countess, I can’t remember. Pompous titles don’t really impress me but her actions did speak volume!

My parents taught me to never judged people for what they are but for what they do, and are deep inside.

The difference between doing and being.

I always thought I could do everything I wanted in life without loosing my sense of wonder and amazement with the little gems that surround us while never ceasing to dream.

From one day to the next, due to circumstances out of his control, a company president can lose everything and be forced to take the first job that comes around in order to survive.

Is he a lesser person for that?

Which reminds me, no later than yesterday, I was chatting with the man at the local convenience store (my fridge decided to stop cooling stuff all of a sudden)

who was about to finish his night shift (judging from the bags under his eyes, it was a rather long one), that a man I knew very well started his life just like him as a night clerk, selling lotto tickets at night to the sleepless crowd is today a rich and successful entrepreneur.

So, to the kind and generous lady who rescued me when I needed it the most, without prejudice against the young, I will never forget neither your face nor your kind eyes,

or the confidence and love she showed me that faithful night. You are a true angel. She replied that, from what she saw in me, my parents would more than likely have done the same thing for my kids if the situation was reversed (and she wouldn’t be wrong either) because she has had the opportunity to experience our legendary hospitality on many occasion, during her various journeys across our beautiful province over the years.

I never got to ask her name. I probably wouldn’t have remembered it since it was in English. Princess Grace maybe? My brother had a thing for her. How jealous would he be if it was…?

I ended up taking a taxi to the airport in order to be sure I wouldn’t miss my plane.

At the terminal, I swiftly made my way to the airline’s service counter.

• “The flight for Montréal, is it here that I must wait?”.

• “Yes, but hurry up, you are going to miss it, it is on its way out now!”.

A male staff nearby heard it. He grabbed my luggage and kindly offered to take me there on his golf cart throughout the endless series of corridors and tunnels leading to my gate.  

• “Move out of the way!” he yelled along the way... (I assumed that is what he was saying. Or was it “she is a friend of princess Grace! I guess we will never know).

False alarm it appears as the plane was still there waiting for me.

The poor man on the other hand was less lucky as he got yelled at by his superior upon our arrival.

My heart was beating a hundred miles a minute when the poor man approached me and offered me a rum and coke.

• “Thank you very much sir. I would really love just a coke thank you”

  (I was so thirsty just then).

However, the man kept on insisting to give me a rum and coke instead. I had no choice than to leave the area and swiftly made my way to my departure area.

My “nearly missed” departure turned out to be… eight hours later! It is then, that I realized that the man had kept my PASSPORT!

I’m am quite sure he understood when I called him a Tabarnacos!   

A great trip, I tell you. That is what I told my mum and dad…

And to myself!

As to help me cope with the enormity of the whole thing, I edited some of the details. As a result, I had a fairy-tale trip where I met “Antonio Banderas” lookalike who seduced me with his soft and suave accent… HuHum…

(for the rest you can invent your own fairy-tale. This is not a romantic novel, have some decency please! In my head, all was censored and classified. Romantic adventure with a seductive stranger, check! Making love on a beach in paradise à la “opening scene from Grease”,

check!

Time to move on with your life my dear!

(‘‘Ma vielle!’’)