Story of Matt, Part 10 - Conclusion

Matt did stay in Cairo a couple more days. He returned to Giza and climbed the great pyramid on his own. Afterwards, he cycled through the Sinai Desert as he told me he would. He was caught in a sandstorm and taken in by Bedouins who fed him pigeon for dinner. He continued onto Israel, passing through Gaza en route, where he was mistaken as an American and chased by locals with kitchen knives. Fortunately, he outran them. He toured Israel and then worked on a kibbutz for six months before cycling overland to India.

He was gone from Canada another eleven months after we parted in Cairo. I only wrote to him in reply to his letters, as he preferred. I received two or three while he was in Israel but I didn't receive his last one for another for six months, sent from a beach in Goa in the spring of 1985. His letters were factual and didn't ask how I was doing.

I didn't need any more proof that we would not be lovers when he returned. I stopped harbouring such expectations or intentions, but I still had a soft spot for him in my heart. I looked forward to seeing him again and very much wanted to be his best friend. I knew it might take time and I was willing to give him that.

He arrived home a month earlier than expected, at the end of April before seasonal air fares increased. I was delighted to receive a call from him the following day, asking to meet me at work for lunch. I changed my lunch time to accommodate our meeting but he didn't show up until an hour later. He had already eaten, and he was totally cold and distant with me. It was confusing why he had contacted me right away if he wasn't eager to see me. I told myself he'd warm up on his own if I just gave him space, just as he had in Greece.

He said he would be out of town for two weeks, but I saw him in a gay bar in Toronto four days later. I thought nothing of it as plans can change, but he was as icy as he had been a few days before. As he spoke with his friends, he half-turned his back to exclude me. I foolish stuck around, thinking he'd warm up after a couple drinks. He didn't. His friends offered to drop me off at my home on the way to driving him home. I asked to kiss him good night as I got out. He agreed, but at the last second he turned his face away. "You've got to be careful what you'll catch these days," he commented without looking at me.

Those were perhaps the cruelest words ever spoken to me by anyone, and they cut me deeply. I knew then we would never be friends again. It was a sad and painful time for me, plagued by anxiety and a debilitating loneliness. He avoided me all summer and I felt too betrayed to contact him.

He did try to befriend me again once he met a new boyfriend in the fall. I wasn't enthusiastic but I agreed to give it try. I met them for dinner in a local restaurant. I tried to chat up his new lover, but he was very uncomfortable. In spite of my efforts he spent most of the evening staring at his plate. Matt thought it was worth a second try and invited me for coffee at their place, but his lover busied himself doing housework around us as we talked. The three of us never met again. Time passed, but the healing was slow and my absence did not make Matt's heart grow fonder. I occasionally asked him out for coffee to keep in touch, perhaps every year or so, but he usually kept me waiting a couple months before responding to my invitation.

My life rolled on. I continued expanding my art and had many wonderful adventures hiking in the Arctic, sailing in the Caribbean and cycling through France and other places. In 1991, I cycled from Lisbon to Norway to India, a route somewhat similar to his own, but he never showed any interest in my accomplishments. I eventually gave up trying. In 1996 I moved back to Vancouver. I tried one final time to contact him when I visited Toronto in January 2001. He was cordial but he didn't want to meet me or to even know where to reach me. I heard nothing more about him until his death 12 days ago.

Recounting this story has dredged up a painful flood of memories from my past. As I said at the start several entries ago, it tells me little about Matt except what was already obvious to me at the end of our travels together, that he and I were not compatible partners. He couldn't deal with emotions of love, sadness or anger. Right and wrong no longer matter, and I suppose they never did. What I do see is how hard it was for me to shake these painful experiences, and how these feelings were crippling me at that time. I don't court them anymore, but they are still buried in my memory banks.

As much as I loved him, it was too painful to hold onto the hope that we would one day be friends again, so I let it go. If he could speak to me now he'd accuse me of still loving him, and he would be right. Even if we could not be friends, I have never forgotten what it felt like to hold him while he slept, and I always wanted to know that he was safe and fine. When love becomes unconditional, it is easier than friendship.

Perhaps he overcame some of his fear of emotions over time. Certainly he must have known considerable happiness. After 24 years, he was still with the lover who replaced me when he died, the one who was so timid when we met. I don't know if theirs was ever a richly loving relationship, but Matt had so many accomplishments to be proud of before he died. He pushed every part of his being to achieve excellence, except his heart which, compromised after years of bottling up his emotions, became his weakest link. It gave out at the finish line of the Wasaga Beach Triathlon, when it could no longer keep up with the rest of him.

I will always miss you, Matt.