Tales from the Bottom of My Sole

by David Kingston Yeh

  “Booga?”

  “That’s me.” It raised its goggles. “I’m Tank Girl’s boyfriend, but we’re open. We’re an inter-species couple. Ai Chang’s friend Jayden did my makeup. What do you think?”

  “Honestly? It’s freakin’ amazing.”

  “I know. He’s a professional makeup artist. Everyone kept stopping us to take our pictures.”

  “Did he paint your chest too?”

  “Yeah.”

  Scalpel nick against my throat. “Where’s Anne?”

  “Anne went home. Her Tank Girl outfit totally rocked.”

  “I didn’t know you were dressing up.”

  “Yeah you did, I told you all about it. You just weren’t listening.”

  “Was there some costume event?”

  “It’s called cosplay, Daniel. Fans have been doing it forever.”

  “Oh, alright. Did you have a good time?”

  “It was awesome. Anne’s hilarious. She stayed in character practically the whole time we were there. You should’ve seen her. I can’t remember when I had so much fun. Next year, we’re getting the whole weekend pass, and you’re coming with us. Oooh, I have something for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  David straightened, and slowly unzipped his cargo shorts. He pushed down the front, just enough to reveal he was wearing a pair of athletic jockstraps. I could also tell he was super excited to see me. “Ta-daa. Now if you’re really good, mister, Booga might serve you tea and crumpets.”

  Houdini jumped up next to my head. Meow.

  “Holy shit,” David said.

  “Booga, meet Hairy Houdini.”

  “That is a cat. Why is there a cat in our loft?”

  “I’ll tell you in a moment. But first,” I said, pulling the big mutant kangaroo down on top of me, “let’s see about those tea and crumpets.”

  Years ago, on my first date with Marcus, I’d run into Gary Kadlubek, the bully from my high school days in Sudbury. He’d been in a costume then too, an elaborate drag queen get-up complete with a fox stole and fishnet stockings. Since we were kids, Karen and I’d dress up for Halloween together, long after we’d given up trick-or-treating, well into university. I was always fascinated (and turned-on) to see how certain super masculine jocks would regularly get drunk and deck themselves out in women’s clothing this one night of the year. At Vazaleen, Pussy Pierogi was more alive and joyful than Gary Kadlubek had ever been. Later that evening, I made a point of introducing Marcus to Kadlubek. By then, it was closing in on 2 a.m. and the whole crowd was rip-roaring drunk and high.

  I was holding my dick in my hand at the washroom urinal when I heard gasping and grunting coming from one of the stalls. I couldn’t help but crane my neck. It wasn’t hard to figure out some guy was getting fucked. An empty condom packet lay on the floor by the toilet. I shouldn’t have been shocked. I’d gotten a blowjob from a complete stranger once in a public washroom. Still, I felt like an intruder, finished my business and retreated as quickly as I could.

  I found Marcus by the DJ booth along with his circle of friends. I was pretty sure he’d introduced me already to most of them. The guy in the shaggy mohawk was Mitz; he’d won the Bobbing-for-Butt-Plugs contest earlier that evening. The beauty queen in the sparkling corset was Julia.

  “Daniel.” Marcus waved me closer. “It’s Reginald’s birthday today. We’re going to celebrate at Julia’s. You’ll come join us?”

  “Of course he’ll come,” Julia said. “We’re all coming back to my place. Isn’t that right, Reggie?”

  Reginald scowled. “It’s my birthday. I gets to say whether anyone comes or not.” His Limp Wrist T-Shirt had a wet stain all over the front.

  “He can come all over me if he wants,” Mitz said, grinning.

  “Our love,” a girl in a furry Tigger onesie said, “is all-encompassing.”

  Reginald grasped me by the shoulders. “The Lady Julia has baked a cake. Let us all eat cake. May I compel you, comrade, to come?”

  “It’s compulsory he not be circumspect,” a tall redhead said, draining her beer bottle.

  “Um, sure.” I hugged my chest and peered about, wide-eyed. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  Reginald flung his hands in the air. “Oho, he succumbs completely!”

  “He shall receive his comeuppance,” Big Red said.

  “I,” Tigger Girl said, “am craving a kumquat.”

  “Have you seen my cummerbund?” Julia said.

  “Why, I do declare,” Mitz said, “I have been circumcised!”

  “With mirth,” Marcus said, “and laughter.”

  Reginald stabbed a finger at him. “Let old wrinkles come!” he shouted.

  Marcus nodded in approval, eyes bright. “Wild Things,” he said, “gather yourselves.” He put on a tattered top hat. “I’ve received news from the Maleficent: The wild rumpus is about to begin.”

  After that, we abandoned Vazaleen and piled ourselves into two cabs. Someone thrust a flask into my face and I took a swig. Somehow we were on a sidewalk, and then clambering up a crooked flight of stairs where we huddled beneath a single red light bulb while Julia searched for her keys, during which time someone shared their Jolly Ranchers and I was so happy to get orange tangerine. Then we all tumbled inside and I was sinking into a purple couch that was the softest, most comfortable couch I’d ever sat in in my entire life. I counted seven people in the tiny apartment. A cork popped loudly, someone handed me a glass of bubbly, then everything went dark (except for a tangle of fairy lights and a blue and pink lava lamp glowing in the corner). And a sparkling birthday cake floated into the room buoyed by jubilant singing, and I was singing just as loud if not louder than anyone. After that, someone put on a scratchy mixtape of punk rock, and people were dancing, pouring drinks, eating cake and smoking outside on the fire escape.

  Marcus sat down next to me and squeezed my knee. “You okay?”

  “Yep.”

  He took the paper plate of unfinished cake from my lap and set it aside. “You want to go home?”

  “What? No, I’m—burp—great time!” I searched Marcus’s face in horror. “You want me to go home?”

  “Of course not. I’m just checking in.” He wiped my chin with his hand. “I’d like you to stay. We’re just getting started.” He licked the frosting from his thumb. “But I can also call you a cab anytime you want, alright?”

  “Alright.”

  “I just want to make sure you’re feeling taken care of.”

  I felt a lump rise in my throat. Tigger Girl and Big Red were shrieking with laughter in the washroom. Ever since my parents died, I’d never felt taken care of, not by Grandpa or Grandma, not by anyone. Except maybe Karen. I had the impression that Marcus and all of his friends were at least three or four years older than me.

  “What is it?” Marcus asked.

  “Nothing.” I wiped at both my eyes. “What’s that smell?”

  “I believe our Reginald and Mitz are doing hot knives in the kitchen.”

  “Oh.”

  Julia bent over us both, hands on her knees. From this angle, I had the most magnificent view of her cleavage enthroned within her rhinestone-studded corset. “Marcus, does your boy need a pick-me-up?”

  “Daniel,” Marcus said, “would you like a pick-me-up?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re falling asleep, sweetie,” Julia said. “How about a little bump?”

  “What?”

  “Something to get you back on your feet.”

  “My feet?”

  “Jules.” Marcus made a face. “Would you be a darling?”

  Julia winked. “No worries. Marwa’s taken care of everything. One moment, please.” She tapped me on the nose and strutted out of the room like a cocktail hostess.

  “Who’s Marwa?” I asked.

  “A special friend.” Marcus brushed my bangs aside. “Except, she’s out of town this weekend.” His mouth continued to move, but I was no longer listening. I was just wishing h
e would kiss me. I was wishing it as hard as I could in case I had dormant psychic powers and could influence the thoughts and actions of other human beings around me but only if I wished it hard and long enough. I supposed if I was religious one might call it fervent prayer, but I’d stopped believing in higher powers long ago.

  Marcus stopped talking and still I kept wishing. The corner of his mouth turned up and still I kept wishing. And then, to my astonishment, he did. First he kissed me on my forehead. Then he kissed me on my lips. It was a wonderful kiss. Warm and not too wet. It was a perfect kiss. He tasted like watermelon. How could the inside of Marcus Wittenbrink Jr.’s mouth taste so good and delicious at this late hour of the night? He drew away, still smiling.

  Julia poised above us. “Et voilà.” She leaned over, presenting an elegant round mirror with three lines of white powder, and held out a rolled bill. This was blow, I realized. This was cocaine. I’d seen how this was done in the movies. I’d seen Scarface. I sat up and hiccoughed.

  Then I sneezed.

  “Oh.” I blinked and swallowed. “Shit.” Julia and Marcus stared. “I’m, I’m so sorry.” I opened and closed my mouth. “I can pay for that.”

  Julia shut her eyes and bit her lower lip. “Not to worry, sweetie.”

  “Jules,” Marcus said.

  She breathed deeply through her nose. “Yes?”

  “That,” he said, pointing with his baby finger, “really shouldn’t go to waste.”

  She looked down at herself. “You think?”

  “Should it, Daniel?”

  I winced. “No?”

  I was still snorting blow off Julia’s boobs when someone shouted from the kitchen. A large cat padded through the living room with a white square of rolling paper stuck to its tail. Reginald and Mitz, both shirtless now, stumbled in pursuit. I was beginning to feel more awake.

  “Better?” Julia asked.

  “Better,” I said. “Thank you. And really I’m, like, I’m so sorry about that.”

  “Well.” Her brow furrowed. “You can make it up by bringing me a coffee in the morning. There’s a Timmy’s around the corner. Extra-large double-double.” Then she winked and walked away.

  “What did she mean by that?” I asked.

  “She means,” Marcus said, “you get to stay overnight.”

  “I do?”

  “Only if you want to. Everyone else is.”

  “They are?”

  Marcus nodded. “And to cure your hangover, Lady Julia will make you the most superlative Caesar you’ve ever had in your entire life.”

  I sniffed and wiped my nose on the back of my wrist. “I can crash on this couch?”

  “No. Reginald’s called shotgun on the couch. I’ve got Marwa’s room. You and I can share her bed if you like.”

  I raised my eyebrows, slack-jawed.

  “Marwa lives here. She’s Julia’s roommate.”

  “But she’s gone for the weekend?”

  “She has.”

  “She wouldn’t mind?”

  “Marwa? No.” Somehow, magically, Marcus produced his top hat, which he carefully set down atop my own head. “I don’t think she’ll mind at all.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Queen of the Broken Hearts

  On the first day of May, Parker Kapoor’s mother fell and broke her hip. This was Parker’s birthday, and he cancelled our dinner date in a text message while on the GO Train to Brampton. When I asked him if there was anything I could do, he said no thank you. His father and two of his sisters were already at the hospital, along with an auntie and three cousins. Another auntie was booking a flight from Vancouver to spend a month to help with caretaking. Surgery was scheduled for the following afternoon. A third sister remained in Calgary working on a case in the Federal Court of Appeals. They were still trying to reach Parker’s fourth sister who was somewhere outside Inuvik studying Canada’s melting permafrost.

  “We Kapoors,” Parker said a few days later, “are not your typical Indo-Canadian family. We grew up on Christmas sleigh rides and moshing at the Sarnia Bayfest. We love our poutine as much as our pakora.”

  We were sitting by the fountain in the Toronto Eaton Centre, at the midpoint of the vaulted, glass-ceiling galleria. On this Sunday afternoon, hundreds of tourists and shoppers milled around us, brand-name bags, Frappuccinos, and cell phones in hand. Five storeys above, Michael Snow’s sixty geese soared suspended in perpetual glorious flight.

  “Parker, I always thought your family was from Brampton.”

  “My parents moved to Brampton after I left for U of T. But my sisters and I, we were all born and raised in Sarnia, Ontario.”

  “Sarnia? How was that for you?”

  “You mean how was it growing up in a community that was ninety percent white?” Parker sipped from his Booster Juice Breezy Banana smoothie. “Well, I never quite got along with the other kids playing in the sandbox; I was that boy off by himself dropping bits of potato paratha on an anthill. I didn’t mind. My closest friend was this little girl named Karenjit whose parents were Sikh Punjabi. In a town that small, you get to know the other brown people pretty quickly.”

  Water jets formed a ring of glimmering parabolas filling the massive, turquoise fountain bowl. A woman in an African headdress sat nearby, her three kids clearly fascinated by the entire process.

  “Karenjit actually went to a Catholic school but she and I got to know each other through skating practice. When she was thirteen, her family moved away to the States. I miss her a lot. She’s really famous now, but we still keep in touch.”

  “She’s famous?”

  Parker nodded. “Although now she goes by her professional moniker. A couple years ago, she was named Penthouse Pet of the Year.”

  The glass elevator nearby descended, and two men pushing a baby stroller emerged. “Parker, your childhood best friend is a porn star?”

  “Her name’s Karenjit,” said Parker. “Or you can call her Karen if you ever meet her.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. She was a tomboy and loved her G.I. Joes as much as I loved my Barbies. I think the two of us really bonded over that. She was also afraid of bugs and I’d protect her from them. I remember we had the same lime green fanny packs. She was small but tough and always stood up to the bullies. Really, it was Karenjit who helped me get through my childhood. I owe her a lot.”

  “She sounds like a great friend.”

  “She was my best friend. I wish her all the best, whatever she does. She deserves it. She even sent flowers to the hospital after I told her my mother broke her hip. I love my Karenjit.”

  The splashing fountain abruptly fell still. The bowl of water was filled to the rim.

  “How is your mom doing?”

  “She’ll need five to six weeks to recover, but knowing her, she’ll probably manage it in four. She takes on a lot of responsibilities. Honestly, the hardest part for her will be just resting.”

  “Both your parents are doctors, right?”

  “Well, mother’s Chief Medical Director of Ob Gyn at Brampton Civic. She also chairs the Board of the South Asian Women’s Centre. Father just sticks to his family practice. He used to give all of us kids our flu shots every year and then take us out to Swiss Chalet. He’s Guy Ritchie to her Madonna.”

  The water drained out of the bowl. Teenagers in backpacks pointed. Strolling past, an old man in a kippah paused and watched expectantly.

  “Parker, you haven’t started your blog yet, have you, the one about your family?”

  “No. I meant to, I just can’t seem to get organized. I’ve got a plethora of ideas and notes written down. But I doubt it’s going to happen, not in this lifetime.” Parker sighed and hung his head. “Maybe you can publish them for me posthumously, like The Diary of Anne Frank.”

  “Parker, your mom’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Oh, no, Daniel. It’s not that at all. I know she’s going to be fine. I’m just upset. Maude died.”
>
  An enormous plume of water shot twenty-five metres straight up, causing the littlest kids to jump in delight.

  “Maude?”

  “It’s all my fault. When I heard about Mother’s accident, I panicked. I packed a bag and headed straight to the train station. I was only gone three days, but when I got back, Maude was belly-up in the fishbowl. I forgot to leave any food and I think she starved to death. How awful is that? Can you imagine how traumatizing that must’ve been for Harold? Now he just sits on the bottom of the bowl and barely moves. How do you console a goldfish who’s just lost his life partner forever?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Parker, I’m pretty sure a goldfish can’t starve to death in three days. She probably just reached the end of her natural life. I think it was just bad timing.”

  A second and then a third powerful jet of water shot into the air. Parker raised his head. “You think?”

  “I’m sure of it. I’m sorry about Maude. For what it’s worth, she lived a good life.”

  Parker’s big eyes widened. “Daniel, you predicted this.”

  “I did?”

  “In my betting pool, three years ago, you predicted Maude would die in May.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Do you know what that means?”

  “No.”

  “Daniel, you get to come with me to the pet store to help find her replacement.”

  With a sparkling rush the fountain started up again, and the empty bowl began to refill itself. “We’ll need to go to Big Al’s Aquarium Supercenter,” Parker said, “out in Scarborough. Can you come on a Tuesday? They have a live Shark Feeding Frenzy every Tuesday evening at 7 p.m. sharp. It’s really quite thrilling. I can come pick you up. Oh, do you think I should bring Harold?”

  “What? Bring your goldfish to the store?”

  “OMG, you’re right. The shark feeding would probably terrify him. I suppose we can find him a suitable partner on our own. I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “Yes, Parker. I think we can.”

  “Of course we can. I mean, my parents met through an arranged marriage, right? And look at them. They’ve been together thirty-five years.”