A Morehouse Man in Winnipeg

"Get out of my bar, you frigging Indian bitch, as I told you before, we're closed," said Bill Hughes, owner of Hughes Pub in the west end of Winnipeg, Manitoba. The towering, silver-haired and blue-eyed barkeep glared angrily at the short, round Aboriginal woman who stood defiantly before him, simply refusing to back down. She'd been coming around the bar for a while now, always getting in trouble with other patrons, and Bill had seen enough of her.

In drinking establishments across the breadth of Canada and indeed the world over, there is always that one patron who doesn't understand the meaning of last call. That one person who thinks he or she could hang around even after the bar, pub or restaurant declared themselves closed for the night. People like that are the reason why such establishments have taken to hiring bouncers. Bill Hughes had seen enough of these people to last him a lifetime...

As Bill Hughes confronted the Aboriginal woman, he was well aware of the fact that he had to tread carefully, even though he and the unruly woman were the only ones on the premises. Once upon a time, Bill wouldn't have had to deal with a hard-drinking Aboriginal woman in his bar who refused to leave. In the good old days, the frigging Indians were kept out of Canada's big cities and in the frigging reservations. Now, thanks to those Liberal namby-pamby types, the damn Indians were everywhere!

The new Mayor of Winnipeg was an Indian, or Aboriginal, as such people had taken to calling themselves in recent times. Bill Hughes didn't give a rat's ass about local politics. He typically voted conservative, since the Liberals wanted to change his beautiful homeland of Canada into a third world nation by inviting every type of outsider to immigrate and risk changing the nation's character.

Oh, well, it is what it is. Let the Liberal elitists do what they want, they'd get voted out of power soon enough. Bill knew that Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his diverse cabal wouldn't last. As far as Bill was concerned, everything was business as usual in Winnipeg. He had a business to run, and this meant sometimes dealing with undesirables...like this feisty Indian dame here. Bill considered himself an old-fashioned gentleman, but he didn't believe in letting dames with unladylike mannerisms walk all over him. No sir, that simply wouldn't fly...

"Fuck out of here with that bullshit," Helena Durocher said angrily, and she got in Bill's face and shoved him. Grunting in frustration, Bill grabbed her and proceeded to drag the troublesome little Aboriginal woman toward the door. Normally, Bill wouldn't be handling such matters himself, but Troy and Evan, his favorite bouncers, both had the night off. The bar wasn't doing too well and Bill's place was understaffed, leaving him to take care of certain unpleasant tasks all by himself.

"Get your hands off of her, dude, that's no way to treat a lady," came a voice, and Helena and Bill both looked up as a tall, dark-skinned man stepped forward, having quietly entered the bar moments before. The man who spoke was clad in a Black leather jacket over a muscle shirt and blue jeans, and an Atlanta Hawks tuque covered his head. There was a look of barely concealed fury on his smooth-shaven face, and his full lips were pursed in anger. Balling his fists, the stranger glared angrily at Bill Hughes.

"Mind your own business, boy, this isn't any of your concern," Bill Hughes said angrily, and he let go of Helena and squared off against the stranger. The other man closed the gap between them and swung his fists, connecting swiftly with Bill's jaw. The bar owner was sent sprawling to the floor, landing flat on his ass. Bill lay there, eyes closed, knocked out cold as if he'd taken a hit from world heavyweight boxing champion Anthony Joshua himself.

"Damn, dude, you knocked him out cold, who are you?" Helena asked, and she looked up at the tall, dark-skinned stranger after nudging the bar owner with her foot. The towering Black man looked at the fallen bar owner, then at the woman standing before him, her mouth agape with astonishment over what he'd just done. I wouldn't want to make this one mad, Helena thought warily as she looked the stranger up and down.

"Dammit, I just came here to pee, this fool attacked you and I just reacted, I'm Antoine Dwyer," the burly Black man said, flashing Helena a bright smile and extending his hand. Helena blinked, surprised by the man's manner. Indeed, this brother was behaving as though knocking out redneck bar owners in their own establishments was something he did everyday. As in no big deal...

"Well, Antoine, I'm Helena, thanks for your help but we got to skedaddle before the Winnipeg Police Service gets here," Helena said, and she looked at him, shook her head and made a mad dash for the door. Seconds later, Antoine did the same. He ran for a few blocks, and then began walking normally as he made his way back to the Fort Garry Hotel on Broadway Street. A native of Atlanta, Georgia, this was Antoine's first trip to Winnipeg, but to a brother, the police in general were something best avoided. Whether in Canada or America, some things never change...

Helena Durocher took a cab home, to the North End of Winnipeg, also known as Indian Town. She got home, took a shower and sat on the couch, taking a few calming breaths while sipping tea. On TV, a multi-ethnic group of Marvel superheroes including Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Iron Fist and Daredevil fought against various enemies in the Netflix mini-series The Defenders. Helena liked Luke Cage and Jessica Jones, they made for one hot couple, but the storyline wasn't that great. Nevertheless, it distracted her from her current problems...

"Who was that guy?" Helena asked herself, thinking about the stranger, Antoine, who stormed into Hughes bar, and rescued her by knocking out a certain redneck. The dude wasn't local, that's for damn sure. Antoine didn't look like or carry himself like the Somalis, the Jamaicans, the Nigerians and Kenyans who made up the bulk of Manitoba's Black immigrants. Hope he stays out of trouble, Helena thought, but she wouldn't hold her breath about that.

Helena Durocher thought about all the twists and turns that her life had taken. She'd been born in a settlement called Rapid Roseau, part of the Roseau River Anishinabe First Nation of southern Manitoba. Her father Joseph Harden was a survivor of the Residential Schools who married a French Canadian woman, Jeannette Durocher. After her parents divorce, Helena's mother took her to the City of Montreal, Quebec, where she was raised.

Two years ago, Helena Durocher came back to her birthplace of Manitoba, armed with a Master's degree in business from Concordia University. Helena got herself a job with the downtown Winnipeg branch of the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, where she was the only Aboriginal person on the fifteen-person team. It soon became clear to Helena that in Winnipeg, White folks, and even some minorities, had a low opinion of Aboriginals, First Nations people and Metis folks.

In the City of Winnipeg, Helena saw so many Aboriginal people who were homeless, affiliated with gangs and drug-addicted that she soon became depressed. When Helena came out of her depression, she became more determined to fight for her people than ever. The Winnipeg police force treated Aboriginal people with contempt, and some of the local minorities, especially the Chinese and the Indians, did the same. It was heartbreaking, but only strengthened the young woman's resolve.

When Helena's mother Jeannette Durocher came for a visit and pleaded with her to return to Montreal, the young woman refused. As mother and daughter hung out, shopping at the Portage Place Shopping Center, people stared at them. It occurred to Helena that in Winnipeg, it was common to see White men with Aboriginal women, but one seldom saw White women with Aboriginal men. As the daughter of an Aboriginal man who married a White woman, Helena was an exception with a capital E.

After eight months, Helena quit working for C.I.B.C. and began working as a manager with Assiniboine Credit Union. Her new job only paid eighteen dollars per hour, a big drop from her twenty-two-dollar-per-hour gig at C.I.B.C. but she didn't mind. Helena liked nothing better than helping young Aboriginal people set up new bank accounts, help Aboriginal small business owners get loans, and the like. She was determined to help her people, and it felt good.

Nevertheless, there was something missing from Helena's life. She hadn't had a lover in quite some time. While at Concordia University, Helena dated quite a few guys. She was really social in those days, volunteering at the First Nations Student Center, and the like. Her first boyfriend was Nathaniel Luther, a handsome young man of Jamaican and Irish descent whom she met in Accounting 101. The two of them hit it off, and ended up dating for a couple of semesters.

There were a few guys after Nathaniel, notably a young international student from Japan named Jason Fukuda, and Helena had a lot of fun with that one. Yeah, Helena missed those halcyon days at Concordia University, when dating was so easy. In the City of Montreal, everyone hung out with everyone, and interracial couples were everywhere. Haitians, French Canadians, Arabs, First Nations people, Chinese, Indians, and mixed-race people, they were all part of what made Montreal a great place to live.

In the City of Winnipeg, things were different. Manitoba was a world unto itself, and even though Manitoban blood flowed in Helena's veins, the place still seemed strange to her. The raw hatred that White folks in in the City of Winnipeg felt for minorities, especially the ones of Aboriginal/First Nations origin, was palpable. Helena had never experienced anything like that, having grown up in a multicultural metropolis helmed by liberal politics.

In Winnipeg, Helena felt that she and her fellow First Nations people were unwanted. They were like refugees in their own homeland, so great was the class divide between them and everyone else. Helena couldn't imagine dating someone from this place. They were too bigoted for her liking. Yet, nowhere else in Canada could Helena see so many people who looked like her. What was she to do? Helena finally fell asleep, hoping for a better, less eventful day tomorrow.

Antoine Dwyer lay in bed in his plush suite at the Garry Hotel, and sighed deeply. Trouble just seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Antoine was born in the City of Atlanta, Georgia, to hard-working immigrant parents originally from the island of Jamaica. He was no stranger to adversity, having worked two jobs to pay for his studies at Morehouse College, where he graduated with a degree in Criminal Justice. He hadn't come to Winnipeg for fun, but to explore his options in Canada, after things went south back in Atlanta...

"You don't need this kind of heat, this female is trouble, you need to get out of town for a while," said Antoine's father, Leon Dwyer. The tall, dark-skinned, silver-haired, sixty-something Jamaican American looked at his son, who was all of twenty three years old, having graduated from Morehouse a few months ago. Antoine was gifted, and handsome, but he was also a magnet for trouble, and Leon feared for his safety.

"Pop, I'm not the type to run," Antoine protested, and his father shot him a look which silenced him. During his final semester at Morehouse College, Antoine met a beautiful, blonde-haired and blue-eyed young woman named Cynthia Mattingly, the daughter of a wealthy White businessman from Fayetteville. Cynthia was attending Spelman College, part of a growing number of White girls flocking to predominantly Black schools. Antoine and Cynthia began dating and he thought she was cool, but he was wrong...

"Son, we might be living in the Age of Obama but them rednecks haven't changed, Cynthia and her family are trouble," Leon Dwyer said angrily, grabbing Antoine by the shoulder. Antoine took a deep breath, and nodded at his father. He thought about Cynthia, and how sweet and funny she was, and how great she looked on his arm. They looked good together, the tall, handsome, educated brother and the blonde gal with supermodel-type looks. Sadly, it wasn't meant to be...

"Antoine, I love you but if my father finds out about us, we're both dead," Cynthia Mattingly said to him, as they lay in bed together in a plush hotel, during their getaway to Miami, Florida, shortly after his graduation from Morehouse College. Antoine looked at Cynthia and took her chin in his hand, then kissed her passionately. Cynthia kissed him back, and Antoine then looked into her lovely blue eyes.

"Cynthia, if you're ashamed of me, just say so," Antoine said challengingly, and Cynthia swiftly backtracked, and mumbled apology after apology. Antoine relented, and that night, they made passionate love. The sultry blonde rolled on top of the tall, muscular young Black man, eager to feel him inside of her. Antoine's hands roamed all over Cynthia's body, caressing her breasts, and those round buttocks of hers. This White chick from Fayetteville had one hell of a booty, and Antoine wanted some of that...

"Oh yes, eat it up," Cynthia moaned softly, loving what Antoine was doing to her. Moments prior, she got on all fours, face down and ass up, and Antoine caressed her big butt while eating her pussy from behind. Afterwards, Antoine gripped Cynthia's hips and banged her, slamming his hard Black dick into her pussy. Cynthia squealed as she got fucked, and afterwards, she grabbed Antoine's dick and polished it until it was bright and shiny. It was a great night.

A few months later, Cynthia Mattingly and Antoine Dwyer split because her father, Don Mattingly, found out about their little campus romance. In the City of Atlanta, Georgia, it's not uncommon to see interracial couples, both the Black female/White male variety and the Black male/White female variety. The rest of the state of Georgia, however, is quite different.

Fayetteville is a small, southern town with deep redneck roots, like the bulk of Georgia's small towns. The locals don't take too kindly to Black men going after their women, and Old Man Mattingly sent some goons after Antoine. A street fighter as well as a scholar, Antoine fought off the two White dudes that Old Man Mattingly sent after him. Leon Dwyer, however, wasn't about to take chances with his only son's life, and encouraged Antoine to spend some time in Canada until things cooled down. That's how Antoine ended up in Winnipeg.

"Life will show me the way, I'm in Winnipeg for a purpose," Antoine Dwyer thought to himself. The burly young Black man said his evening prayers, like the church-going gentleman that his father raised him to be. He prayed for his safety in the City of Winnipeg, Manitoba. He thought about that Native lady, Helena somebody, and that old White dude who attacked her, and said a prayer for her as well. Without further ado, Antoine went to sleep, dreaming of a better future.