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The constructor

The constructor - Vincent Thomas

When I first moved to Ontario, I lived in Scarborough for a few years. I contacted one of my old school friends and told him I needed a place to stay. One day later he kicked out his roommate and invited me to move in. It seemed a bit weird, but I did not question much his reasons. I was happy I had a roof over my head. I never liked running around looking for apartment, dealing with picky landlords or anything like that.

At that time, back in the late ‘90s, my friend was doing Waterproofing Toronto. He was working with his uncle and making good money. He used to tell me quite often that I was wasting my time doing a white collar job. That the real money was done by the city workers. As much as I wanted to prove him wrong, I could not. Not when he was bringing back home couple of hundreds for a four hours job.

Once I got promoted and the company I was working for moved their office to Mississauga, I had to move as well. It did not make any sense at all to spend so much time commuting. Though G. was really sad to lose me as a roommate, he recovered easily.

Two years later his uncle passed away and he inherited the business along with its clients. That was the last time we met, at his uncle’s funeral. Whenever I had the chance, I recommended his services. Except that, I did not do a good job at keeping in touch. I admit, I could have done an effort, but I didn’t. Maybe I was too lazy to do so. Maybe because we ran in different circles. Or we had become men and left things to destiny. It if was meant to happen, it would happen.

We both got tied up in our new lives and moved on.

This year my partner purchased a townhouse in Toronto. He had bought it for cheap (if anything can be called “cheap” in Toronto), and hired a contractor to do a massive renovation job. He was planning to put it back on the market and sell it, but his wife fell in love with the final result. Thus he decided to keep it and move in.

Yesterday I attended their house-warming party. Me and thirty other people. Among them, the constructor, who turned out to be my old friend. What were the odds?

I could not believe my eyes when I saw him. He looked as fit as he was fifteen years ago. No white hair, no belly. We had a really long chat and exchanged phone numbers. This time, we both promised to keep in touch.

 

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