Derek
Derek glides his hands across the backs of the books. “I was taking a look at your book shelf here earlier and I have to admit, I was tempted to steal a couple.” I look up from the shelf. “Oh?” “Lots of great writers here, some fine stories. I’ve been meaning to write down some of my own, eh.” He gulps the last half of his wine glass. “You write?” I ask curiously while looking out the corner of my eye at his stained mouth. After licking his lips, he rubs the corners of his mouth with his sleeve, looks up and says, “Sure, I got stories. Man, you wouldn’t believe the shit I been through. I’ve had knives pulled on me, transvestites fucking jumping me… yeah, man-oh, I got stories.”
Walking back to the kitchen to refill his glass, he continues, “Ever since I was 16, I wanted to travel to South America. I started learning the Espanola in high school. Got pretty good at it. Saved up a pile of dough waitering here and there, then caught a plane down south with nothing but a backpack, a little map book and a camera. Spent 8 months travelling from country to country, province to province, living in hostels - some real shit holes.” He walks back into the living room with a full glass in hand. “Got by pretty well - ya know, considering I was just a kid, only had ‘bout $3000 in US on me. Went all the way from Mexico City down through Venezuela and Chile to…” He pauses and looks at his wine glass. “…and Panama. Once I got back to Toronto, I knew I had to get back down as soon as possible. I tell ya I been working in the hospitality industry for years, eh? I got lots of experience. So I spent the next few years saving up. Moved over here to Vancouver 10 years ago. Had some problems back home I had to get away from.” He takes a mouthful of wine and briefly looks at the floor. “But I saved up a lot of dough over the years. I’m real good at saving money. I just always had the big picture in my head. Gotta save up. Gotta get back down to Panama City. Gotta hit the road. I’m just not built for this concrete jungle, ya know? Man, I walk around this city and all I see is people running around flustered and pissed off with their jobs, their girlfriends, just their life. I can’t live like that. I gotta get the hell outta Dodge, you know what I’m saying?” He raises his shoulders and laughs unabashedly. When he smiles he uncovers his grisly brown-stained teeth, a sight that had made me uneasy since I met him. “So I saved up about $15,000 in US — my life savings. Went down to Mexico, got a job in the hospitality industry. Actually, I plan to start my own business down there.” He looks down at his empty glass and heads back to the kitchen.
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