A New Beginning 38

The sun rose over Ontario, bathing Canada's most populous Province with its pale light. I rose with the sun, as I always did. It's a habit I had since my days in Florida. I grew up in the Little Haiti area of metropolitan Miami, the son of proud Haitian immigrants David and Marie Saintil, a corrections officer and a cab driver, respectively. My name is Jacques Jerome Saintil, by the way. A year ago I moved to the City of Toronto, Ontario, armed with my bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice from FAMU, which stands for Florida Agricultural & Mechanical University. I couldn't find any work in Miami and I always wanted to live in Canada. The country has fascinated me ever since my first visit in the summer of 2007, right after I graduated from high school.

More than half a decade later, I am in the City of Toronto, the biggest metropolitan area in Canada, and I'm studying for my Law degree at the University of Toronto. It's been a tough week at school, exams and all, but I'm dealing. Life isn't easy for newcomers in Canada, even if you're an American. The media would have you believe that Americans and Canadians are the best of friends, until the hockey games start, of course. It hasn't been a bed of roses for me. Getting into the University of Toronto's School of Law wasn't easy. It's by far the most racially diverse school in Canada, with tons of African, Arab, Chinese, Indian and Aboriginal students on campus. Still, I miss my alma mater, FAMU. The best HBCU out there. Um, HBCU stands for historically Black college or university. We have a ton of them in the U.S. They were created in the days when white people prevented Black folks from having equal access to higher education, so we built our own schools.

I'd like to think the African-American community and indeed the rest of America have come a long way since then. A black man got elected President of the United States of America in 2008. I like Barack Obama, but I really don't approve of how he basically bowed to the Arabs on September 11, 2012, after they attacked our embassies in Egypt and Libya, and killed several American diplomats, because of something the American public and our government didn't even condone. Obama should have punished those who murdered the American ambassadors, not apologized to the Arabs for the American principles of free speech and religious freedom. That's just my two cents. I don't like Mitt Romney but I can't imagine a guy like him bowing down to the Arabs after they've launched unprovoked attacks on our people. It is simply not his style. Barack Obama on the other hand seems incapable of standing up to anyone from the Middle East. I'm honestly starting to think there's something wrong with the guy, for real. Why bow down to people who what America stands for? We stand for democracy, religious freedom, capitalism, racial equality ( though it's a work in progress) and women's rights. If you don't like it, kiss our collective asses, thank you very much.

I get up from my bed, taking great care not to wake up its other occupant. I look at Anneke Dover as she sleeps. That's my lady. Gently I run my hand through her short, spiky blonde hair. God she's beautiful. Wearing my old FAMU football T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, she looks better than any supermodel I've ever seen. She moves in her sleep, and I smile as I gaze at her rear end. My lady has the best booty I've seen on a white gal since the legendary Coco, Hollywood actor Ice-T's wife. Born in the City of Montreal, province of Quebec, to a German father and English mother, she's a newcomer to Toronto just like me. It's been a year since she came into my life. I was walking around suburban Mississauga, trying to catch a bus back to downtown Toronto. I'd only been in Canada for a few weeks and I didn't know jack about transit in the City of Toronto and its environs.

I was getting seriously frustrated walking around Mississauga, and quickly found out that Canadians weren't as polite and friendly as most of us Americans think they are. A chubby red-haired white guy who had a "I love Mississauga" T-shirt on him dared to look me in the eye and he told me with a smile that he wasn't sure where the bus station was. I looked the little ginger moron up and down, and sneered derisively. Whatever, I said as I walked away. The next person I asked proved to be a bit more helpful. I wandered through the streets of Mississauga and finally stopped at this park. The only helpful person I talked to since the crimson-headed idiot was a Hispanic guy, who genuinely didn't speak English. He didn't speak Spanish either, hailing from Brazil where they speak a dialect of Portuguese. Growing up in Miami I knew some Spanish, but it proved useless in conversation with a Portuguese speaker. I sat in the park, wishing my iPhone had GSP in it. I was still with T-Mobile's pay-as-you-go plan at that point. I sat there, looking at the darkening sky as people walked by, wondering how in hell I was going to get back to the U of T campus.

Finally, someone came walking by. A tall, good-looking and somewhat curvy Caucasian gal with an impressive butt. She walked by clad in a red tank top and blue biker shorts, and she was accompanied by a big Doberman with oversized balls. Gulp. I looked at her and smiled. The dog shot me a look. I held his gaze. Surprisingly, the animal walked up to me and started licking my hand. The Doberman's owner seemed puzzled, and told me that "Monster" really didn't like most people he met when she walked him. I smiled and patted the dog's head, wondering aloud how someone could name such a beautiful animal Monster. The lady grinned and told me that her brother Hans owned the dog, not her. Hmm. Makes sense. Guys prefer large-breed dogs far more than women did. I had a female pit bull named Marquise in Florida. I left her with my parents when I moved to Ontario.

The lady smiled after I shared this, noted my accent and asked me whether I came from the States. Grinning, I introduced myself and told her I was a proud son of the South, most specifically Florida, born and bred. She seemed really surprised to meet an American in the flesh, and introduced herself. Anneke. She came from Quebec. I had no idea where that was but I smiled politely. I asked her if she knew where the bus stop was. Smiling, she told me to follow her, apparently she was heading to the pet food place near the station anyway. I smiled at her and thanked her for her kindness. We walked for a good twenty minutes together, and I learned a bit about her. She was French-Canadian. I assumed she was a French immigrant and she laughed, telling me that there were lots of French people who had been in Canada for centuries. Hmmm. I didn't know that. She shook her head and told me I had a lot to learn about Canada. I definitely did.

Anneke led the way and soon we came within view of the station, which looked busier than I thought it would. Mississauga looks like a small town compared to the rest of Toronto. Having arrived at my destination, I thanked Anneke for her kindness, and patted Monster's head. The Doberman licked my hand once again. This seemed to impress Anneke, and she surprised me by giving me a brief hug before wishing me good luck and walking away. I stood there, mesmerized. What a woman! She had to be at least five-foot-eleven, thick and sexy, but fit, and with a lovely face, really nice hair and a fantastic ass. Had I known they had women like that in Canada I would have moved here a long time ago. I walked to the bus with a big grin on my face. Damn. How was your day? Mine was fantastic.

I got to my dorm safely, and thought about Anneke. I didn't have her last name and even an exotic-sounding name like hers returned too many hits on Facebook. I stopped browsing after the fiftieth. Just my luck. I meet a really gorgeous lady, don't get her number or her last name, and I start looking for her. I'm a bloody genius. As in not. As luck would have it, I would run into Anneke at the University of Toronto. Wow. I was walking through the library one morning when I saw a familiar-looking, um, ass. A lady had bent down to tie her shoe laces and I just happened to be walking by. I noticed the great height, the impressive curvy but fit physique, the short blonde hair and ample derriere. Could it be? Oh yes it was. I grinned and walked up to the mystery lady, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw me. Small world, I thought to myself as I shook her hand. Anneke seemed really surprised to see me. I showed her my student ID, and she grinned, wishing me a warm welcome to U of T. We stood there and talked for a bit. She was in her fourth year of undergraduate studies in civil engineering.

I've always been impressed with people with study certain fields, like medicine, mathematics and civil engineering. I'm in Law school and it's not a cakewalk but it's all academic stuff rather than hands-on stuff like engineering and medicine. I shared that with Anneke and she proudly told me she always had a head for numbers. Apparently her father, Gunther, was an engineer. Nice. She never knew her mother, Chantal, who died giving birth to her. My dad works for the City of Miami Department of Corrections and my mother is the manager of a small cab company. Anneke and I were all smiles as we talked, and people walking by in the library looked at us because, well, we're a tall black guy and a tall blonde white woman, and I wasn't phased by it. She looked at her watch, and was about to say she had to go when I whipped out my phone. I flashed her a confident smile and asked her for her digits. To thank her properly for helping me out, I said. She locked eyes with me for a moment, and I held my breath. She nodded, and told me her number. I smiled and happily punched it into my phone. She smiled, and told me she really had to go. Brief hug, which I found a bit awkward, but honestly didn't mind. I watched her go. Damn. Is it me or is her butt keeps getting better and better?

I sent Anneke a text right away, for two reasons. One, I don't believe in waiting too long to get in touch with a lady I find interesting. Second, a lot of chicks who seem interested in you still give you fake numbers so you got to make sure. Don't count your chickens before they hatch, you know? I smiled when I got a text back from Anneke, saying that I had to get rid of my American cellphone immediately. When I asked why, she told me she knew a place where I could get a Canadian cellphone for a good deal. Hmmm. And where might this place be? The Wilfred Eaton Center, came her answer. Apparently she worked there as a sales associate for the Canadian cellphone company Bell Canada. Hmmm. Sounds good to me. I ended up meeting her at the Wilfred Eaton Mall, where I got myself a brand new iPhone and ended up grabbing a bite with her during her lunch hour.

Sitting across from her inside the crowded food court, eating some delicious Chinese food from Manchu Wok, I felt almost giddy. It's been a while since I met a lady I felt excited about, or should I say since I allowed myself to feel excited by a lady. My last relationship didn't end well. Well, if a relationship was good, it wouldn't end, right? Sorry to sound a bit redundant. I'll keep this brief. In my senior year at FAMU, I met this tall, beautiful sister named Lynne Anne Cortez. A tall, beautiful young woman from New Orleans, Louisiana. Born of a Haitian mother and Mexican-American father. I have always liked tall ladies with booties and Lynne Anne was everything the doctor ordered. I pursued her doggedly, and finally she relented and agreed to go out with me. We had a whirlwind romance, becoming one of the most well-known couples on campus. I was still playing in the running back position for the FAMU varsity football team, and even though NCAA glory eluded us, some of the guys hoped to make it to the NFL. As did I. Guess who came calling after I helped FAMU cream Savannah State University? None other than one of the NFL's most famous scouts, former NFL player Douglas Howard Connelly. The man who did for the Dallas Cowboys and Cincinnati Bengals what Michael Jordan did for the Chicago Bulls, back in the day.

I had the world on a string, ladies and gentlemen. I was on top of the world at the time. I had a wonderful girlfriend, I was graduating with honors in the Criminal Justice program at FAMU and I was one of NCAA football's top guys. Unfortunately, like all good things, it came to an abrupt end. I got injured. Nothing permanent, just enough to make the team put me on the injured list, and the NFL dreams vanished. When they did, so did Lynne Anne Cortez. She dumped me for Troy Wynters, the blond-haired white dude who became first-string running back after I got cut from FAMU. Last I heard, he not only made it to the NFL Draft, but he was playing for the New England Patriots, side by side with Tom Brady, a man I always admired. Oh, and Lynne Anne Cortez is his fiancée. Isn't that nice? I guess that Kanye song was right. She's not messing with any broke brothers like me. She traded up. I guess she was a gold digger after all. Or maybe some of you reading this might be foolish enough to think it's true love between her and Troy. Whatever. Sorry if I sound bitter.

Anneke's voice snapped me out of my reverie, summoning me from my dark thoughts, back to the present. Smiling coyly she asked me where my mind just wandered. I took a deep breath, and told her that I was just enjoying the present moment with her. She smiled politely, the kind of smile you reserve for someone you know is bullshitting you but you don't want to call them on it. Yet. Later, I would share with Anneke my tale of woe featuring the treacherous Lynne Anne Cortez and Troy Wynters starring as my own personal Delilah and Judas Iscariot, respectively. But not now. Anneke and I were just getting to know each other. And I did want to get to know her. My instincts proved to be right, for once. The woman I met seemingly at random was nothing short of amazing. Anneke was lively, vivacious and open-minded. More so than I would have thought. She even spoke some Haitian creole, if you can believe that.

I was really surprised to be having dinner with a white lady who spoke Haitian creole and Anneke smilingly told me that she grew up around Haitians in the environs of Laval, near metropolitan Montreal. I was impressed! Now I definitely wanted to know this Montreal she spoke so fondly of. Anneke gently touched my hand and told me she'd be my guide. I smiled and told her I'd like that very much. I looked into her eyes as she looked into mine. Neither of us said anything for a long moment. There was nothing to be said. I've always believed that people choose their own destinies but after meeting Anneke the way I did, I'm honestly starting to believe in fate. After concluding lunch, we shared a brief hug and I told her I wanted to see her again. She smiled and told me she'd like that. This time, before I left, I gently kissed her on the cheek. I'm not as connected to my Haitian heritage as I'd like to be. I barely speak Haitian creole and all, but a kiss on the cheek is the traditional way us Haitians say both hello and goodbye to one another. Anneke didn't seem to mind. She touched my chest and nodded, then said goodbye before walking away.

That night, as I lay in my bed, I thought about the events of the day. I was smiling from ear to ear. I decided to call Anneke, and this time, I got the balls to officially ask her out. She said yes, and that's how it all began. The relationship destined to change my life forever. Anneke and I started dating, and she is one of the most wonderful people I know. Ours is a passionate relationship, but we get along in and out of the bedroom. I've got no complaints. Like everybody else, we have our ups and downs but that's normal. I cherish my lady and I'm thankful to God that she came into my life. We live together now. I've decided to stay in Canada to be with her. I met her father Gunther Dover and her brother Hans. They're both nice guys, actually. I was worried about nothing. I did worry about meeting them because, hey, I'm a black guy dating the treasured lady of their house. Next Christmas, we're going to Florida so she can officially meet my parents. They've already spoken through Skype, and she took a liking to my mutt Marquise, but it's not the same thing as a face to face meeting. Yeah, we're both looking forward to it. Wish us luck, ladies and gentlemen. Good day and God bless.