Gilles

For a few years I’ve tried to reach out to a friend I met a long time ago. His name was Gilles.

I pulled up to Cash corner in the early 2000s, looking for temporary help. My brother had just lost a finger because of my stupidity, and I needed a helper. I drove a 90s Astro Van at the time.

Before I could stop, a thin wiry French Canadian named Gilles was at my door. He wasn’t just at my door, he had it opened and was getting in.

“What are we working on today?” he grinned.

“Framing” I replied.

He was great. My brother was irreplaceable, but Gilles was the next best thing. He worked tirelessly. He also was staying with a friend close to my house. We worked together for a couple years, and I got to know him well. We both liked a drink, and often after work we’d talk. He had served over 5 years in a maximum security prison. He had made mistakes as a kid, and had been in with the wrong crowd. He was connected to, if not a member of the infamous Rock Machines in Quebec City. He had at least one child that I recall, and he loved her with all his heart. There was no work back East, so he was here, doing his best.

Hi was about 46, I was about 26. I was his boss but he kinda treated me like his kid. On a hot day I’d buy him Skor blizzards. We’d go for breakfast every morning. Every Friday we’d drink a bucket of beer. In many, many ways, we were both lost souls. We enjoyed each other’s company. It didn’t end well. I suspect he started using hard drugs again. One day he pulled a knife on me, I pulled a 2×4 on him, and he quit as I fired him. That night the cops called me, he had stolen checks and passed them at a Money Mart. Did I want to press charges? I did not. I thought about him a lot. I missed him.

It’s been at least 15 years. I tried to find him over the years. He wasn’t into social media.

My brother came to see me on thanksgiving. We started to reminisce. I told him about how I always wanted to find Gilles. Go see him. I told him I had found his profile on Facebook, but he had never responded. My brothers daughter speaks French, so we started digging on the internet again. I was so excited. I found a young woman with his last name posting pictures of him, it must be his daughter, we were getting close!

I saw a picture of him, holding her up and smiling. it made me happy to see him. I found a link to an Instagram post. We were excited. Then I saw one of the posts on Instagram. My heart sunk. My brother and niece saw it too.

It was a tattoo. It was script.

25 Octobre 1957 . 5 julliet 2017

I went silent. We all did. It really hurt. All I ever hear is how emotionally unavailable I am, but I felt emotion. He didn’t even make it to 60. He had a hard, unprivileged life. He was a really good man, and he deserved more. I’m sorry Gilles. I wish I could of come to see you. Thank you for being my friend, and helping me. Happy Birthday, I know I’m a few days early.