A Boy at the Edge of the World

by David Kingston Yeh

  Mike and Melissa, who were a couple living in the apartment above us, were the first to arrive. Melissa was a tall blonde, and a technician with CBC Radio. She was also five months pregnant. Mike was a supervisor in a youth shelter. When Charles came over, he brought a bottle of wine with an unpronounceable name which he took three minutes to explain standing in the doorway, before handing it over to Karen. Then he presented her with a vase of mixed flowers.

  “Look at that,” Melissa said, draped over Mike on the couch. “He brought a vase. That’s so thoughtful. Don’t you think that’s thoughtful, Michael? When you’re a host and people just bring cut flowers, and you’re up to here in the kitchen, it’s nice not to have to scramble to find a vase. It’s nice.” Mike nodded brightly and gave Charles a thumbs-up sign.

  Charles gave me a sideways hug, appraising the apartment which I’d spent the afternoon tidying. He held up his arm and checked his watch. “Am I late?”

  “No, you’re right on time.” As I hung up his overcoat, Karen’s classmate Megan appeared. Charles sidestepped and stood at attention while Karen introduced her to the rest of us. “We’ve met before,” Megan said, shaking my hand. “At Pride last year.”

  She was a short, mousy-looking girl with bright red lipstick and bright red mittens. “Of course,” I said. “That’s right.” Then we gave each other an awkward hug. Silently, like a well-trained butler, Charles took her jacket.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “about what happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “Chris, last summer, he was acting like such a jerk. Karen, he’s such a jerk. Don’t you think he’s such a big dumbass?”

  Karen made a face. “Chris has issues.” She served a glass of sparkling water to Melissa and a beer to Mike. “Classmate of ours. Megan and Chris used to date.”

  That evening, when the conversation turned to dating and relationships, Charles remained unusually quiet. Eventually, Melissa leaned across the table and squeezed his arm. “So Charles, you’re the PhD psychology candidate. What do you think of all of this?”

  Charles finished chewing and swallowing, and put down his knife and fork. “Well, as you’ve noted,” he said carefully, “much of it is hormonal and biological. In many ways, we are slaves to our bodies. Take your pregnancy, for example. Your breasts are getting bigger and more sensitive, your vulva is becoming engorged from extra blood flow. With all that increased sensitivity, your sex drive could be fired up just about all of the time. This is not a choice, but a physiological state of affairs every pregnant woman has to cope with.”

  “Oh my god,” said Melissa, sitting back in her chair. Michael’s expression had gone blank. Karen cleared her throat. Megan let our a nervous twitter. Melissa looked from one of us to the other. “It’s true,” she declared. “My sex drive these last few months has shot through the fucking roof, pardon my French. Michael here can barely keep up. Isn’t that right, Michael? It’s like I’ve regressed to when I was a slutty teenager ready to sleep with the entire senior boys rugby team. And the senior girls rugby team, for that matter. Thank you, Charles.” She gripped Mike’s arm. “I’m pregnant, see, honey? I’m pregnant. I’m not crazy. This is normal.”

  Mike smiled in a tight-lipped fashion, and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  Charles sipped his wine. “This is a very nice wine, Karen.”

  “Why, thank you, Charles.”

  Charles set down his glass. “Have you tried a cock ring?” Mike’s eyebrows rose. Megan choked on a piece of bread. Charles rested both palms on the tabletop. “If you’re having a difficult time performing, Michael, certain drugs can help, but a cock ring might be a simple solution.”

  “Charles,” I said, “I don’t think anyone wants to hear about cock rings right now.”

  “Hold on,” Melissa said, “I want to hear about this. What exactly is this?”

  “Chris uses a cock ring,” Megan declared breathlessly. “He’s always had a hard time keeping it up. I always thought it was me, but then I heard his ex say the same thing.”

  “Oh honey, it’s not you,” Melissa said. “It’s not you. You’re beautiful, you’re a sexy girl. If that boy of yours has a problem keeping it up, then that’s a problem that boy’s needing to work out. Of course, this doesn’t apply to you, Michael, honey. I’m pregnant. This is an extraordinary circumstance you and I are dealing with. Now this cock ring device, you slip it on over the penis, isn’t that right, to keep it erect?”

  “You can do that,” Charles said. “Although I’d recommend securing it around the base of the penis and the scrotum. Here let me show you.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin and reached into his pants.

  “Daniel,” Karen said.

  “Charles,” I said.

  Charles withdrew his smart phone and spent a moment surfing the Internet. “Here, like this.” He handed the phone to Melissa. Her eyes widened and she started scrolling down. Charles glanced at me. “Wikipedia.”

  “Have you actually tried one of these?” Melissa asked.

  “I’ve never needed to use one myself. My erections have always been quite healthy. Although, Michael, at your age, I’m sure yours are too. It’s just that—”

  “I’m pregnant,” Melissa said. “That’s what it comes down to. People don’t talk about it, do they? But pregnant women become like whores. Honestly, I can’t get enough. Look at this. We’re getting one of these. Either that or a dildo. I used to own a dildo, back in college. It even had a vibrator built into it, and this thing that curled around.”

  “Oh,” Megan said perkily, “I have one of those.”

  “Michael, what do you think? Look at this, it says here sometimes cock rings are even worn as genital jewellery.” She handed the phone across the table to Megan. “Genital jewellery, who would’ve known? Well, Michael doesn’t wear jewellery of any kind, but we’ll make an exception in this case, won’t we, honey?”

  I counted to three, and Michael made his thumbs-up sign.

  Later that evening, as the guests were leaving, everyone gave everyone big, long hugs. Dinner had been delicious. Charles offered to stay behind and help with the dishes, but I assured him Karen and I were fine to manage on our own. He kissed me on the cheek, and announced he was going to walk Megan to her streetcar stop. They left holding hands. I closed the door behind him.

  “Well, for a first effort, I’d say that was a success,” Karen said, pouring two large glasses of wine. She handed one to me and flopped down on the couch. “I’m exhausted. We’re doing the dishes tomorrow.” I lay down with my head in her lap. After a moment, Karen remarked: “He’s nice.”

  “I’m breaking up with him.”

  “You’re breaking up with him? Daniel, I just met him. I just cooked an entire three course meal for him.”

  “I’ll do the dishes.”

  “He’s nice.”

  “Then you date him.”

  “Or Megan can date him.”

  “He is bi, you know.”

  “Is he? I didn’t know that. I’m not sure Megan knows that. He seemed kind of asexual to me.” Karen wiped the pale lipstick from the rim of her glass. “He could use a different haircut. Does he have a big dick? He looks like he has a big dick.”

  “Yes, he has a big dick.”

  “He brought a vase.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You’re really going to break up with him?”

  “I’ve got you to be comfortable with, Karen, haven’t I?”

  “That’s true.”

  “He’ll be fine. He won’t argue, he never does. I figure we can stay friends.”

  “Or friends with benefits.”

  “With Charles? I doubt it.”

  “If you say so.”

  The next time I met Charles, he told me he was breaking up with me. He and Megan had ended up sleeping together the night of the dinner party, and they were in love. He couldn’t, in good conscience, continue to see me when he was in love with somebody else. He apologized for hurti
ng me, and asked me if we might possibly stay friends, but if I needed time to think about it, that I should take all the time I needed. I let him know my feelings weren’t hurt and congratulated him on being in love. I told him I thought Megan was a nice girl and wished them the best. Then Charles did something completely and utterly unexpected. He broke into tears and draped his big cannelloni arms around me. “I love you, man,” he said. “I love you.” Then he said: “Thank you” over and over again. I never would’ve guessed he had it in him. I patted him on the back, and told him he was a good guy and that he was probably the best thing that ever happened to Megan.

  And I meant it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  High For This

  After school ended that year, I started working full-time again at Toronto Community Living. Karen moved back to Manitoulin where she’d gotten an internship at the Ojibwe Cultural Foundation. Both she and Liam were living on her aunt’s farm. Pat moved in with me for the summer. He and his matzah ball girlfriend were apparently on a break. He said he needed to get out of Sudbury, and practically begged me to let him sublet Karen’s room. He arrived on my doorstep in his battered backpacking gear, with his guitar in one hand and a case of Moosehead in the other.

  That first weekend I figured I’d show Pat around town, and we made plans to go out Saturday night for a drink. I came home from work to find Ricky Martin’s Greatest Hits cranked on the stereo. Two girls were dancing in my apartment, slicing avocados and going through my DVD collection.

  “Who are you?” I asked, standing in the doorway holding my keys.

  They immediately turned down the music and introduced themselves as Carolina and Yuko from Colombia and Osaka (respectively) and friends of Pat, and I must be his homosexual brother Dan. They were to have an extravaganza bonanza movie night and wanted to know if I would join them.

  “Where’s Pat?”

  As if on cue, Pat arrived hefting two grocery bags, accompanied by a statuesque brunette balancing a two-four of Corona on her shoulder. “Hey big brother! I see you’ve met Yuko and Carolina. This is Sindija. She’s from Latvia. Girls, meet my brother Dan.”

  I waved. “Hi.”

  Pat dumped the groceries on the counter. “When I spotted these beautiful ladies, I just had to help them out. I ran across Dundas Street and practically got creamed by a streetcar, isn’t that right?”

  “Creamy by streetcar.” Yuko nodded emphatically.

  “Help them out?”

  “They were lost downtown looking for the Eaton Centre. And get this.” Pat clapped me on the shoulder. “They all go to U of T.”

  “We are international students,” Yuko explained, “in summer intensive at University of Toronto English Language Program.”

  Pat flung open his arms. “Dude, they’re your classmates!”

  “Pat, seventy thousand students go to U of T.”

  “Dan, Pat tells to us,” Sindija said, handing me the two-four, “you are very good ice hockey player.”

  “Um, I used to play hockey, that’s right.”

  “Sindija played goaltender two years,” Pat said, “at the Latvian women’s national level. Dan here was almost captain of his team. Isn’t that right?”

  “Sure.”

  The truth was, Sindija looked more like a fashion model than a goaltender. When I set down the beer case, she reached out and ran her painted nails through my hair. “I love to play,” she said, “good ice hockey.”

  “Well.” I blinked and swallowed. “Welcome to Canada.”

  “Thank you, Dan,” Carolina exclaimed, washing her hands at the kitchen sink.

  “Thank you so very much, Dan.” Yuko giggled. I noticed she had a red streak in her hair, and a tiny skull tattoo on the side of her neck.

  Pat tossed limes and salsa chips onto the counter. “We’re having an extravaganza bonanza movie night. Their instructor wants them to watch English-language films so I told them about your famous movie collection and here we are about to taste the best, kick-ass guacamole in the entire mundo, because that, big brother, is what Carolina has promised us.”

  “Hola,” I said. “Gracias.”

  “De nada.” Carolina smiled sidelong at me, sorting through her ingredients. “That is very good. Do you speak Spanish?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Carolina winked. “I will teach you. I am very good teacher.”

  “Did you know,” Pat said, “that ‘avocado’ comes from the Aztec word for ‘testicle’?”

  “No, Pat,” I said, “I did not know that.”

  Carolina crushed a garlic clove with the flat of a knife. “This guacamole, it is very special recipe by my mother. She teach us how to make with love.”

  Sindija dabbed on some honey-coloured lip gloss with her pinkie finger. “Yuko, Carolina and I, we meet one week ago. Now we are best girlfriends, jā?”

  “Sí!”

  “Hai!”

  The girls high-fived each other. I half-expected them to break out pom-poms, but instead they just grouphugged and kissed. “We,” Carolina declared, “are the Three Amigas!”

  That evening, Pat and I squeezed onto our couch with the Three Amigas and watched Charlie’s Angels and then the sequel Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle back-toback. The girls fed Pat and me Carolina’s mother’s guacamole, and it was the best, kick-ass guacamole I’d ever had in my life. Matt LeBlanc was cute, but I’d forgotten just how hot Justin Theroux was as Drew Barrymore’s evil ex-boyfriend. When Yuko told us she actually had her brown belt in jujitsu, Pat insisted on pausing the DVD and moving the furniture just so she could teach us all exactly how to immobilize a larger assailant in real life. The girls enthusiastically practised their moves on Pat and me. After each take-down (resulting in one broken lamp and more than one rug burn), Yuko and the others would shout: “And that’s kicking your ass!” By the time we were done, we’d polished off all the beer and the girls were feeling festive and wanting to go out. Like Pat, they’d just arrived in town, so by default, I was their point man. Then I figured I’d take them all down to Little Italy to check out El Convento Rico.

  My ex, Sean the DJ, had introduced me to El Convento which, he explained, always offered up a worthwhile mix of Top 40’s, hip-hop and Salsa, Merengue and Chacha with a bit of Bachata. I really had no idea what he was talking about, but the drunken bachelorette ensembles that night were amusing, as was the midnight drag show. Half the guys in the club were straight Latinos, but the other half were gays. Something for everyone. Since then, I’d never thought to go back on my own. But I figured at least Carolina would feel at home, and the club was a five minute cab ride away.

  When we finally got in, it was getting on towards 1 a.m. and the venue was packed. All three girls were delighted. As it turned out, Carolina was an excellent dancer, and immediately attracted a colourful entourage. She took it upon herself to teach us the Merengue. She had both her hands on my hips, helping me move to the rhythm, which the girls thought was hysterical. I did my best to be a good sport, but balked when she tried to take off my shirt. Then Pat cut in and cheerfully whipped off his own shirt, and soon there was a small cluster of dancers grinding, at which point I bowed out and headed outside to get some fresh air.

  Because of hockey, I never did get into social smoking, but tonight, on an impulse, I bummed a cigarette from a passer-by. I was puffing away, enjoying the cool breeze, when I observed a man in a Second City tank top give the bouncer a fist bump. When he noticed me looking, he strolled over and asked if I was looking for any favours. I asked what he had and he rattled off an impressive list. Apart from pot and poppers (and acid once at a bush party), I’d never tried recreational drugs in my life. I told him thanks I’d think about it, and he told me where I could find him. I tossed aside my cigarette butt, headed down the block, took some money out of an ATM, returned, showed the bouncer the stamp on my hand, and went back inside. If at all possible, the venue seemed even more packed than before. I found Pat and the girls on a leather couch
in the back doing tequila body shots. “Pat,” I said, “I need to talk with you.” In the alcove to the washroom, I told him I wanted him to buy some drugs. I described the dealer, and gave Pat the cash I’d taken out.

  “You sure about this?” he shouted in my ear.

  “No, but fuck it. There’s a first time for everything, right?”

  Pat laughed in my face. “Alright. What do you want?”

  “I don’t know. Surprise me.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Pat shouldered his way back through the crowd and pressed up next to me. He palmed into my hand a tiny plastic Ziploc bag. The girls waved to us from the dance floor. “What is it?” I asked, scanning the mass of patrons.

  “I got us MDMA, five caps.”

  “You swallow it?”

  “Yes, you swallow it. Here.” He handed me a beer.

  “I can’t do this here. Let me go to the washroom.”

  “Yes, you can. Give me the bag.”

  I gave him the bag and after a minute, I felt him press a single capsule back into my palm. I felt subversive, energized and absolutely thrilled, like I was some covert operative in a spy thriller. “Where’s yours?” I asked. Pat opened his mouth to reveal a capsule already on his tongue. He raised his bottle in salute and took a swig.

  “Cheers.” I followed suit. Down the hatch. There was no turning back now. All the bridges were burning, in flames. After a moment, I leaned into him. “How long is this going to take?”

  “I dunno. I guess we’ll find out.”

  “Well, what’s this going to feel like?”

  “I dunno. We’ll find out.”

  “Look, Pat, what’s this going to do to me?”

  “It’ll make you feel good. Just go with it.”

  “Well, how good?”

  “Dan, freakin’ chill. I don’t know. I’ve never done MDMA before.”

  “What? Pat, I thought you had.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I just assumed you had.”