That Saturday, I worked a double-shift at the group home and came home exhausted just before midnight. The door to Karen’s bedroom was closed, and at first I thought McNeil-Tsao and Rachel were having a hushed, angry argument. Then I realized they were talking dirty to each other. Rachel would yelp and giggle, and McNeil-Tsao would grunt like he was doing heavy weights. After half an hour, I heard the faint whine of an electric motor and Rachel squealing and some weird, irregular slapping sounds. After another hour, I put in my ear plugs, but I could still hear the thump-thump-thump-thumping coming through the bedroom wall. It was like trying to sleep next to a construction site. Thump thump thump. After a while, I took out my ear plugs and pressed a glass up against the wall. “Deeper,” grunted McNeil-Tsao, “push it deeper, awwww, Jesus Christ, harder, fuck me sweet.” Then Rachel would say: “You like that, motherfucker? You like that? You like getting rammed, you gawddamn pussy-licking mama’s boy?” Slap slappity slap. Then I put the glass away and put my earplugs back in. Thump thump thump. As quickly as I could, I jerked off, and finally managed to doze off.
The next morning I kept expecting them to apologize for being so loud, but they didn’t mention anything. Rachel was as chatty as ever and McNeil-Tsao insisted he make breakfast for all three of us. Blueberry pancakes with soy milk, and free-trade organic coffee from Nicaragua, because it was so important to help out the little guy, Garneau. Didn’t I agree? Absolutely. I finished the banana smoothie he’d prepared for me, doing my best not to stare at Rachel’s chest. When I asked Rachel if they’d visited much of Toronto yesterday, they exchanged looks and McNeil-Tsao replied: “We didn’t really go out Saturday. We stayed in.” Rachel squeezed his arm and added: “We had a lot to catch up on.”
That summer, McNeil-Tsao and Rachel caught up in Toronto practically every other weekend. On those occasions, I made a point of picking up the unpopular Saturday nightshift at the group home. I’d bring my DVD box set of all seven seasons of The Golden Girls, make buttered popcorn in the microwave for the residents, and serve up frothy glasses of caffeine-free root beer to wash down their meds. I taught everyone the theme song, even Bill who was partially deaf (and who had a mole on his face the size of a beer coaster). They loved it. “Tank you bor bing a fand!” sang Bill at the top of his lungs. The sugar crash put them all to bed afterwards. They voted me their favourite staff, and let my housing supervisor know as much. After that summer, I stayed on as an oncall shift worker during my next two years at school. In the end, everything worked out for everyone.
It was great.
That June, Karen came down to Toronto for Pride Weekend. She’d coordinated her visit with McNeil-Tsao who was spending the weekend in North Bay. She arrived early, catching a morning bus just to surprise me. She keyed in the door while I was vacuuming and dancing in my underwear to Bryan Adams. When she snuck up behind me and slapped my ass, I must’ve jumped halfway across the living room, crashing into our bookshelf, knocking board games and DVDs all over the floor. Karen nearly doubled-over laughing. By the time I pulled on some pants, Karen was rummaging through the kitchen. “Whoa,” she said, peering into the fridge, “what’s with all this fruit?”
“We’ve been making a lot of smoothies.”
“Oh right. Derrick’s kind of a health nut.”
“More like a full-blown junkie. You know he’s pescetarian and doesn’t drink at all?”
“Is that like Presbyterian?”
“No, Karen. He only eats fish.”
“Sounds healthy.”
I pinched my stomach. “Compared to him, my body’s a toxic waste dump.”
“You’re body’s not a toxic waste dump, Daniel.”
“Well, not anymore.”
“Don’t sound so excited. Where are all your Creamsicles?”
“Gone. I stopped buying them.”
“But you always have Creamsicles. You love your Creamsicles! C’mon, Daniel, it’s the one thing gay about you.” Karen narrowed her eyes. “Derrick?”
“What’s gay,” I asked, “about Creamsicles?”
“Do I need to spell it out?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The next time you have a Creamsicle, Daniel, I’ll show you.”
I did my best to change the subject. “So how was your aunt’s farm?”
“Awesome. Anne hated it. My parents had to come pick her up early. I got to drive a tractor. They have four horses. I’ve been learning how to ride. I can’t believe you don’t have any Creamsicles. Liam came up to visit.”
“Liam?”
“He’s still there. He and my aunt totally hit it off. He says he might try to find work on Manitoulin. He might even move out there.” I thought about Grandpa in Sudbury living on his own. “We’re taking a break, by the way. It’s not really working out.”
“Who’s taking a break?”
“Liam and me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s just a break. Fuck, who am I kidding? I don’t think Liam ever even thought we were together. How pathetic is that? I feel so stupid.”
“Aw, Karen.” Tears had welled up in her eyes. I hugged her long enough for my shoulder to get damp. “Liam’s a complicated guy.”
She sniffed and wiped her nose on my sleeve. “Yeah, right. He’s a regular Henry David Thoreau.”
“Who?”
“This guy. Never mind. Christ, look at you.” She poked my chest and squeezed my arm. “You getting ready for the Ironman or something?”
“I’ve been working out with M.T. It’s like having my own personal trainer.”
“I told you, Derrick’s a good guy. So he hasn’t given you any problems?”
I filled up a watering can at the kitchen sink, and told Karen about Derrick’s fiancée and Thump Night. “Oh my god, Daniel,” said Karen, “I am so sorry. Why didn’t you say something?”
“What was I supposed to say: ‘Hey kids, keep it down’? It’s okay. He alphabetized our CD collection by the way. He also scrubs down the washroom at least twice a week. I think he’s a little OCD. Anyway, after that first night, I’ve been pulling Saturday nightshifts at the group home. The pay is good. They like me there.”
“You’re in your element, aren’t you?”
“At the group home?”
“Yeah. You get to be in charge and take care of everyone.”
“I suppose so. Except the sheets all have cum stains all over them, all the time.”
“Really? And you’re not used to this?”
“Ha-ha. Funny, Karen.” I misted the giant fern Karen and I had bought our first week in Toronto. “You know, Pat once said I was like Winston Churchill. Pat’s always been this huge goof-off, right? But last Christmas, he actually thanked me for taking charge and keeping us in line. I never thought he noticed.”
“Of course he noticed, we all did. You were always kind of like an uptight parent around Liam and Pat.”
“What do you mean, ‘uptight’?”
“That’s why I’m so good for you. We complement each other. We balance each other out.”
“I’m not uptight.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
I spritzed her with the mister. “Don’t do that. You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Patronizing me.”
“I’m not patronizing you. I just said you were uptight, and you don’t think you were. And that’s that. It wasn’t an insult. Uptight is good, sometimes. It’s being responsible. Taking charge, like you said. Mist me again, it feels good.”
I spritzed her again. “‘Uptight’ and ‘responsible’ are not synonyms.”
“Fine. Daniel, whatever you say. So are you going to make me a drink or what?”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
“It’s Friday. It’s Pride Weekend. I just got off a five-hour bus ride. I’ve been living on a farm on a rez on an island these last six weeks. I’m here to party.”
“Next summer you�
�re staying in Toronto.”
“We’ll see. First things first. There’s still this summer.” Karen rummaged in her suitcase and pulled out a box of Vachon cakes and a 60 oz. bottle of vodka. “Happy Pride, sexy guy.” She threw the box at me. “That’s for you. This is for me. You ready to rock ‘n’ roll?”
“I was born ready.”
“Bring it.”
In Toronto, people would regularly ask if Karen was my girlfriend. When I said no, sometimes they’d ask if I had a boyfriend. Then I’d also say no. When girls flirted with me, I was friendly but never flirted back. When boys hit on me, sometimes I’d sleep with them. But it was never the same as it’d been with Stephan Tondeur.
Pride that summer with Karen was fun but a little underwhelming. I realized I wasn’t into crowds of a million people decked out in Speedos and feather boas, water-guns and ear-piercing whistles. That Sunday after the Yonge Street Parade, we ended up in a beer garden in Cawthra Park next to the AIDS Memorial, with a bunch of straight friends Karen had made during her first year of school. Like McNeil-Tsao, they were all students at OISE studying to become teachers. When I went to line up for more drink tickets, a stocky bleached blond named Chris chased after me. “This is fuckin’ crazy, eh?” he whooped. His face was all sunburnt, and he was wearing rainbow tattoos on his forehead and cheeks.
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“So, how long have you two known each other?”
“Karen and me? Since we were seven.”
“Wow. It’s like you’re soul-mates.”
“Sure.”
“Did the two of you, like, play with Barbies together when you were kids?”
“Well. Let’s just say I started surfing gay porn around the same time you guys starting surfing straight porn.”
“You don’t look gay. I mean, you know, like gay. I mean, you know what I mean, right?”
“No, Chris, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Aw, come on, buddy. You know what I mean.”
“No, really, I don’t know what you mean. Unless, you’re talking about those flaming faggots over there.” I pointed out two topless twinks decked-out in pink leotards and faux-fur leg-warmers. “I suppose I’m not that into the glitter. Did you say you’re going to be a teacher?”
“Yep,” Chris said nodding, “that’s the plan. I’ll have the children of the future in the palm of my hand.” I’d paid for my tickets and now he was following me towards the bar like a big, blond St. Bernard. “That DJ’s the bomb.” He snapped his fingers and thumped his chest. “He’s amazing! I can feel it right here. It’s kinda like tribal what he’s spinning, you know what I mean?”
I paused and watched the DJ for a moment. About a hundred people were dancing around the raised booth and speakers set up beneath the trees. “That’s a woman.”
“Oh shit, right. You’re right. Wow. She’s pretty cool.”
“Yes. She is.”
“Hey, so like, I’ve seen some gay porn too, you know.”
“What?”
“You were talking about surfing porn, straight porn gay porn popcorn.” He laughed at his own pun. “I’ve seen some gay porn.”
“You mean lesbian porn.”
“No, I mean, like, gay porn. Guy-on-guy stuff.”
“Okay.”
“It’s hot.”
“Alright. I’m glad you think so.”
“You’re pretty hot.”
“Thanks.” I pretended to puzzle over this for a moment. “So, are you into the glitter?”
“No.” Chris blinked. “I’m not into the glitter.”
“Oh, well. I guess that’s settled, then.”
“Well, hold on. Just cause I’m not into the glitter doesn’t mean twat.”
“Doesn’t mean what?”
Chris hiccoughed, looking confused. Abruptly he burst into laughter and clapped me on the shoulder. “You are so fucking with me, man!”
“No. You’re fucking with yourself.”
“Hey, look, did I just offend you? If I did, Daniel, I apologize. I’ve a few drinks. I also dropped some E. I’m sorry. Honest. Really, I am.”
“And what are you apologizing for?”
He stared at the DJ, and then back at me. “I don’t know. Is that really a woman? Here, let me get that for you.” He slapped three drink tickets on the counter. “Seriously, buddy, it’s on me. Let me make it up to you.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“C’mon, man.”
“No, really.”
“I absolutely positively insist.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“No problem. It’s all Happy Pride, right?”
“It’s all Happy Pride.”
“Happy gawddamn fuckin’ Pride!” Chris stuck out his elbow, almost hitting me in the face, and downed half his plastic beer cup in one long quaff. I picked up my two drinks and started back towards the others. “So Daniel, how come a guy like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?”
“I guess I haven’t met him yet.”
“Hey, how would you know him if you did meet him?”
“I guess I might not know right away.”
“So you might really have met him already, and you just haven’t realized it yet.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you look for in a guy?”
I stopped and turned to face Chris. I imagined punching him hard in the head and songbirds circling as he went down. Instead, I shrugged. “The same thing straight guys look for in girls, Chris.”
“Fuck off,” Chris grinned. “A big ass and big tits?”
“That’s right. And don’t forget nice teeth. And really nice toes.”
“Nice teeth. Right. Nice toes, I never thought about that.”
Someone bumped into me and beer sloshed over both my wrists. I closed my eyes momentarily and drew a breath. “Chris, you seem like a nice guy.”
“Thanks. Look, can I kiss you?”
“What?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Okay, just asking. I really. Wow. I can’t believe I just said that.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not offended. As I was saying, Chris, you seem like a nice guy.”
“I am a nice guy.”
“I believe you.”
“I’m not an asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole.”
“I’m not.”
“I never said you were. You’re a friend of Karen’s.”
“Kind of. I’m actually with her friend Megan. That’s my girlfriend. I don’t think Karen actually likes me very much. I think it was something I said about Indians in class once. But I love the Indians. They’re the First Peoples, right? Rock on, First Peoples. Number One People.”
“Right. Look, Chris, I need you to focus. Look at me. I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I have a brother who’d love to meet you. Karen knows him. His name’s Pat. I think the two of you would hit it off.”
“Does he look like you?”
“He’s my triplet brother. I have two brothers. We’re fraternal triplets.”
“No shit! I didn’t know that. Are you all gay? That’s freaky.”
“No, Chris, just me. Karen’s dating my other brother.”
“Pat?”
“No, my youngest brother Liam. Or she used to. I’m the oldest.”
“You’re the oldest. Fuck, buddy, that’s funny.”
“Fuckbuddy, I’m glad you think so.”
“Fuckin’ A!”
“Fuckin’ A. Happy Pride, Chris. Cheers.”
“Cheers!”
He leaned in to kiss me and I barely sidestepped in time. As it happened, we knocked heads. At that moment, Karen appeared. “Hi!” she said brightly. “Is that my beer? Thanks. Chris, Megan wants to talk with you. She’s over there. Go. Bye-bye. Go.”
Chris stumbled off through he crowd.
Karen peered at me over the rim of her cup. I shaded my eyes, taking in the mass of half-naked people drinking and dancing and having a good time. Nearby, the two twinks in leg-warmers were blowing whistles as loudly as they could, pumping their fists and bouncing up and down like they were on invisible trampolines.
“I’m sorry about him,” Karen said.
“So am I. What took you so long?”
“You seemed to be doing fine.”
“Right.”
“You wanna get out of here?” I just stared at her. Karen nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”
And so we did.
On a Saturday early in September, I sat in the waiting room of the Hassle Free Clinic. I’d known about this place for a while, but this was my first visit. Other guys were sitting around reading magazines and trying to look casual, checking each other out without making it look like they were checking each other out. I was one of them. I kept worrying I might recognize someone or someone would recognize me. But that didn’t happen. Thirty minutes later, someone called out my first name and I was escorted down a hall into an examining room. A male nurse sat me down and closed the door. He glanced up at me soberly. “So, Daniel, it says here you’re nineteen years old.” His name-tag said FRANCISCO.
“Yes, I am.”
“You look older.” He set aside my chart. “You can call me Frank. I’m a nurse here at the clinic.”
“Hi Frank.”
“You’ve scheduled an HIV test with us. You’ve also indicated you think you might have an STI?”
“I’ve been having these symptoms. It hurts every time I urinate. It’s like a burning sensation. It’s been going on for about three days now. I think I have chlamydia.”
“How long have you been sexually active?”
“Since I was seventeen.”
“And this is your first visit to a sexual health clinic?”
“That’s right.”
“I see your family doctor’s back in Sudbury. Okay. Well, this should be no problem. We can open a file for you. We’ll test you for all the STIs today. We’ll just need to take a blood and a urine sample. We can also treat you for your symptoms. You’re likely right about an STI. It could be either gonorrhoea or chlamydia. It sounds like you’ve done your homework, so you’ll know both are treatable with antibiotics. Was there a particular reason you’ve requested an HIV test?”
A Boy at the Edge of the World Page 3
