The Prologue of Liam Chandler

The Prologue of Liam Chandler

My name is Liam; son of Pastor Michael and Mary Chandler.  We live in a world where a question is the only truth of knowing the unknown. One that defines my life; that boggles me throughout time and is simple yet complicated.  When has love been a crime to the world that gave it life? Till the moment I say this till the day I will die; I answer “Only when it’s ahead of time.”  - Liam Chandler

This is my allegory;

I was born in a city known to be cold geographically but ironically enough; its hospitality was quite warm and welcoming to the people within. Toronto was home to Pastor Michael and Mary Chandler. A perfect urban Caucasian family with high Christian values. Since the day I was born I could remember my family going to church. I was the eldest with two younger siblings that were twins Fredrick and Gregory. The Chandler family was a loving and well-respected family; a family you’d never expect to voice their opinions aloud. But I was different. I was known to be an isolated child out of the rest of my family. My Aunt Julie from my mother’s side would call me “the adopted child” because I wasn’t like my siblings.

As a child I would stay in my bedroom staring at the window watching the other kids coming back from school as I drifted within my thoughts. I wasn’t anti-social, shy or depressed; it was just a moment for me to know myself. My thoughts consist substance of what I like; what I hate; who is my truest friend or why did I keep having the sexual urges for Jenny Lewis; the girl in my grade 10 science classes. People are incredible beings. We feel as if we know ourselves so we try harder to know others; when in fact it’s harder to truly know the person staring back at you in the mirror. I would joke around from time to time in my thoughts and tell myself “maybe I’m like this cause I was born 6 years after the Beetles broke up or one year before Elvis’s death.” Those were the artistes that made you listen to the lyrics.

Years have passed with the same common statement from my mother. She would always tell me how she can’t wait to see me bring home a Caucasian woman with blonde hair and green eyes with thin lips. Nothing was wrong with that. This was the norm a child grew up in; to accept their parent’s opinion without saying the word ‘why’. As I grew older attending high school, and interracial relationships became a hot topic in the community. I began questioning my mother. “Mother, if I fell in love with a dark color girl would you accept her?” In those days her answer changed and she replied “you can love whoever you want Liam”. Throughout high school I went on small movie dates with all kinds of girls. My first serious girlfriend was Winnie ji Yun. She was a Korean girl who had recently arrived from South Korea and attended my church. It was odd because she couldn’t speak English well yet we would always cuddle on my bed as if our bodies understood each other thoroughly.

The year 1994 my mom had gotten her wish. I was at prom with the girl named Jenny Lewis. She was probably the hottest girl in science class. I had fantasied about her since the beginning of grade 12.She had the blonde short hair that dropped to her jaw. Her eyes were piercing blue and her lips were thin. Of course my mother would prefer longer hair but in the 90’s short hair was in thanks to Madonna. My prom night helped me become who I am now. What I felt, and what I saw was (something to make me stand up for).  It began like all prom nights in the 20th’s century. I was standing beside Jenny in her parent’s living room as they took pictures of us with the new digital camera. I wore a black tuxedo with my brunette hair gelled upwards but Jenny was the spotlight. She stood beside me with a pink silk dress with white silk sleeve gloves. I couldn’t help but think of the after party we planned to attend. My adolescent thought of trying to get laid was pre-dominating my mind.

After what seemed to be a never ending cycle of standing still while the word “smile for the camera” was being overly used; we finally left into a limo to get to prom.  Prom was held at a hall at Sheraton hotel downtown Toronto. It was quite elegant with a twilight theme.  Jenny and I were slow dancing to All for One’s “I swear” slow jam. I felt myself begin to get hot as she placed her forehead on my shoulder. She pressed against me and all I could think about was pressing forward. I was in a trance when I notice a dilemma broke out on the dance floor between Andy Tinkon and our high school’s football star corner back; Tyler Mitchell.  People on the dance floor crowded the area to watch. This prevented the teaching staff from breaking up the scene. Tyler was a muscular bloke but he had a peanut size of a brain. I wondered how someone so unintelligent could have read football plays in the first place.  Andy was called the school’s “red-neck”.  He wasn’t prowess in white supremacy. It was simply the fact that he was the school’s only red haired kid since grade nine.  Thus with the beard on his neck he was given that nickname.  

I felt awful for Andy. There were rumors circling around about his sexuality. Tyler kept on bullying him throughout the four years. He was a guy who I felt should have stood up for himself more often. As I watched Tyler push Andy onto a round dinner table I couldn’t help but want to help. The problem was that I didn’t.

“Don’t ever come up behind me while I’m dancing you f*g!” shouted Tyler.

I watched the crowd and mostly everyone from every color united were smiling and laughing as oohs and wows were repeatedly being heard. Only a few felt disgusted as I did. Andy launched his body towards Tyler throwing a left hand punch. Andy missed and Tyler punched him in the face with a right hook. I watched Andy get knocked down to the dance floor. He looked up at everyone in the crowd as if he expected them to stop the fight. His eyes were watering as he stood up fast and ran out the hall. Tyler’s cliques were laughing. I noticed that Jenny beside me was laughing as her she face had an amused expression of entertainment.  From that moment; I lost all attraction towards her. She tugged my right arm sleeve as she indicated to go back to our dinner table to hang out with her friends. I stared at her and looked into her eyes and she knew I lost that lust in my eyes for her.

Why would I want to spend the rest of the night with her? I thought to myself.

“C’mon it’ll be fun!” She voiced over the sound of the music.

Of course my teenage sex drive kicked in again with images of me having hot steaming sex in the back of a limo with Jenny.   

“No; it’s ok. I’m just going to head home now.  I don’t feel so good”.  I lied to her.

To be honest I really don’t know why I lied. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her how disgusted I felt by her amusement.  I guess I just thought if I did; I may have lost any chances with her.

That night I came back home.  My father was watching the recap of the “1994 Gay Games” which was held in New York. Although he was a Pastor and a preacher of God; he was conservative. He would ask my mother “how can they show this on TV; isn’t it going to cause corruption?” My mother never answered. She simply nodded as she knew it was a rhetorical question.   I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling and I thought of my Aunt.  She may have been right about me. I was different from my family. That night my guilty conscious over powered my dream. Over and over I painted myself as a hero stepping up for Andy at Prom. No one has to live like this. Sadly 1994 was only the beginning. Just a year before US’s President Bill Clinton passed the “Don’t ask; don’t tell” policy into law which prohibits openly gay or bisexual people from serving in the military.

In 1996; at that time I was in my second year as I changed my major from chemistry to political science at York University. I lead the debate club alongside my cousin Cece Chandler. She was a year older and was dating an African-Canadian guy who was two years older than me. His name was Jerome Baker. Cece was short with curly brunette hair and with freckles that adorned on her face. Jerome was tall and slim. He wore squared glasses every time of the day and he had his hair nicely cut constantly.  I thought they looked lovely together. The most obvious mystery about love is that jealousy always comes in its baggage. Cece would always tell me how people would give them uncomfortable looks.

At first; I was dull-witted to those ‘looks’ that she was talking about. Overtime I became more aware of it. Whoever tells you that says racism is gone; you should reply and shout,” That’s a lie.” As I hung out with them. Jerome and I became great friends. I would notice the whispering or the pointing and the far distant shout on the street shouting “Stick to your kind!” They both use to get pissed and slowly I have to admit I think it got to them. They were fighting constantly and throwing harsh verbal words at each other. I felt as if society had won at this point; until Jerome went on his knees and proposed to her on that sunny spring break evening in front of Eaton Centre.

As I try to recall I can tell you that a woman being asked to get married by the man she loves is probably her greatest joy. It must be. Men are competitive but I believe women are more competitive in nature. It’s in their genes to win a man’s heart from three to five other ‘wifey’ candidates.  As I sat on my bed watching romance movies; I realized this could be the reason why most girls jump when a man pops the question. The phrase ‘I won b*****s!’ could best describe their joy.

A couple months passed since the proposal and Cece invited Jerome to the thanksgiving dinner party. My family was excited to meet Jerome but they didn’t know he was black. Cece who is just like me never thought color would be an issue. On the other hand; our parents never asked because we rarely questioned them when we were kids on their preference for who they wanted us to date. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. Aunties and female cousins were chatting with Cece and eye-candying her engagement ring with jealousy. It was huge and sparkled even in the absence of light. Cece had a glow on her face while she was speaking to everyone in the kitchen and saying good things about Jerome.

“He’s attending Law school” she told them.

“How’s his teeth?” one cousin asked

“Hun, its model perfect” she replied with a grin on her face.

I stared at her glow from afar as I chuck my beer down my throat as we caught each other’s smile. The doorbell rang and Cece’s father Uncle Sam ran ahead to greet Jerome.

“Where’s the son-in-law that I never met?” he grinned as he opened the door.

Everyone looked at his face to see the okay sign. To my surprise the grin faded and Cece noticed it as well. We heard Uncle Sam ask the man outside if he needed any help. The person laughed and greeted himself. It was Jerome. Uncle Sam invited him but left the door open. Jerome entered the kitchen where Cece was standing and walked over to her and they hugged and kissed each other passionately. A few elderly family members flinched or quickly glanced away at the sight. I overheard one not-to-bright female cousin of mine whisper to another.

“I thought he was a lawyer?” She said in confusion.

“Shh”replied the other.

“But he’s black? Could you imagine what Auntie Margret’s thinking?” Said another.

“We should have known with a name like Jerome.” A younger aunt said.

Throughout that night I was having a beer with Jerome to keep him company. From the outside looking in I saw the discomfort from most of the elder’s expressions. I could see Aunt Margret’s nose flair up as if she was suffering from a mild disappointment.   No one said a word; no one greeted him much as they were expected too. Everyone was desperately eager to head home and gossip about Cece’s relationship behind closed curtains. You can say my family and Jerome resembled a group of mouse staring at a cat with a bell on its neck.  My thoughts were disrupted due to the yelling that was occurring in the house.

Cece shouted: Damn it Dad!!! Screw you!

THUD!

We heard a door slam and Jerome and I began to walk towards the front door.  Before I could place my hands on the door knob it flung wide open. There were ruffles of angry parental shouts towards Cece. I caught Cece’s furious hair spun back at the family as she produced an aura of heat.

Cece- I’m ashamed at this behaviour.

Cece spun towards us and demanded Jerome to take her to his place for the night. He seemed kind of reluctant and wanted to stay to resolve the matter. Nevertheless, He glanced at me and shrugged his shoulder as he chucked the beer down. I smiled and gave him a hand shake.

“We’ll continue the conversation next time. Take it easy and be good to my Cece for me!” - I told him with a smile.

I watched the car drove off as I waved them off with the beer in my hand. That night in my parent’s car driving home Frederick and Gregory were sucking up to my parents about claiming they would date the most whitish girl possible. I listened as they laughed partly at these teenage jokes they knew.  Knowing how much Jerome and Cece helped me with my assignments and helping me not make their mistakes in University. I blurted out “For f*****g sakes dad you’re a f*****g pastor!”

The family’s black 1993 Toyota 4runner pulled to the corner on a block near Birchmount and St.Clair. My father was pissed. It seemed as if he was now placed in a spot where he now has to justify himself. He basically kicked out the race card and spoke about his love for his niece.

He firmly said: Listen to me Liam; it is not wrong to wish the best for your family. That man looked like a thug who carries a gun with him.

Gregory’s snide comment: Apparently a black rapper got shot in Las Vegas this year.

I stared at my father’s eyes from the rear view mirror.

I rescinded: Not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation (there was a pause as I noticed my mother’s head flinched) a quote from Martin Luther King Jr. dad.

My mother nodded and I knew she was impressed. My father must have looked pissed and uncomfortable to reply back since he usually quoted Martin Luther King Jr. in his sermons.

The Toyota drove off and we headed home silently. Later past midnight my father was grumpy; my brothers were sleeping as I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling pondering when I will propose and to whom. The idea had me thinking of potential girls in my program or debate club. I suddenly heard a noise from down the hall. I noticed the lights were switched on from the lights piercing through the creeks of my door. My mother sounded heart broken. I jumped up to open the door. I jogged down the stairs to catch my mother gasping for air as she held her heart and squeezed it. She gave the kitchen phone to my father.

My father repeated: Sammy! Sammy! I’m here for you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you sure?

Strangely the barring of bad news can be felt before being revealed. I felt those words and knew it would be poison to my heart. My mother noticed me and turned towards me. She approached me and hugged me as tight as she could. It was tight enough for me to feel her heart beating against my chest. I tried to wipe her tears away as she mumbled the words: Cece died in a car crash.

Despite the crying of my mother, and the reassurance from my father to his brother Sam over the phone; everything became silent. All I could hear was a buzzing noise and the image of Cece and Jerome getting into a car crash. 

The next two more years were busy for me.1998 opened with the Great Ice Storm that hit Toronto. By then I left my home and lived in a rental downtown. I was 22 years old and I became an advocate for interracial and homosexuality relationships. In honor of Cece and Jerome I became the leader of their political club at York University. I won’t lie and tell you every school knew my name but every school in fact did know the name Liam Chandler. Young articling students were spreading my name. My Political and Criminology professors were inviting me to their seminars. Since my fame of an advocate prodigy bloomed through debates so did my popularity with the ladies at York. I kept it simple, I had regular one night stands but never turned it into anything serious than that. I was flirting with this girl Nikola Bruskwi a Russian hottie in the Criminology degree program.  She had pale skin and deep black hair with dark sparkling hazel eyes. She had a C cup breast and an a*s on a slim body. She was also my editor for all my speeches that I presented on behalf of our debate club.  People would have my name on card board during debates.  I stood on the podium as the chairman William Armstrong looked up at me. He tilted his head as he picked a question out of a black box.

William Armstrong: How are immigrants important for a Torontonian’s future?

I responded with �" I believe immigration is not just getting people in Toronto but rather bringing in the best of every culture in Toronto. We can learn from what they bring and vice versa.

*Cheers, and Cheers and followed by applauses. A few further questions where mentioned.

William Armstrong:  What is your take on Homosexuality within the Torontonian community?

“Look; whatever you do in your bedroom doesn’t affect me. I embrace the idea of homosexuality as a right. Here in Toronto we don’t produce animosity.”

The crowd stood up and applauded as Nikola escorted me off the stage.  I relished with the thought of receiving a positive response from the crowd. Other debaters were shaking my hand informing me that I responded well for my district. Nikola turned around and gave me a naughty look as she told me to meet her at the York candidates lounge. She walked away as she looked back at me twice. I felt sort of thirsty and proceeded towards an Italian Cafe corner store downtown. As I walked through the entrance door, I noticed it open and an Indian girl around my age came out of it. She was alluring, radiant and graceful as I watched her hair being blown by the breeze of the wind. Her hair was black however in the sunlight it turned brown. The eyes on this dazzling figure were marble cream greyish. She had her hair tied but left two strings of hair on the side of her face. Her body was fit and symmetrical from head to toe. Before I knew it I bumped into her. I spilled her cappuccino on her exotic red and gold Lasenga Choli outfit. I looked at her as my stomach felt like it flipped upside down and inside out.

F**k my choli, watch where you’re going, man- she had a British accent.

I bluntly blurted �" let me get you another one. I’m truly sorry.