A Boy at the Edge of the World

by David Kingston Yeh

  “You looking for a pardner?”

  “What?”

  “A squash partner,” he said. “I’ve noticed you playing by yourself. You’re pretty good.”

  “Thanks.” I wondered how long he’d been watching me. Out of politeness, I asked: “Do you play?”

  “Since college, on and off. It’s been a few years.”

  “I just started two summers ago.”

  “I just moved to this gym, closer to work. I’m looking for a partner myself. We should go a few rounds.”

  Something in his tone and choice of words made me meet his eye. He seemed friendly enough, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. He had the broadest shoulders and the most perfectly defined arms. He was also pulling a Sharon Stone. I couldn’t be sure if it was on purpose or not. What was sure was the fact that I was getting a hard-on, what with him sitting there like that on full display. I saw naked guys in the showers all the time. I wasn’t even really attracted to this man, but it made no difference. Barnum and Bailey had pulled into town. I was mortified. I thought of icebergs and road-kill and Grandma in the nursing home. Nothing worked. I was trapped. There was no way I could stand up without it being obvious if it wasn’t already obvious. If I was Harry Potter I supposed I could’ve simply disapparated. But I wasn’t. I was Daniel Garneau, muggle ordinaire. I thought of Grandma naked in the nursing home. I thought of Grandma naked taking a dump on the can in the nursing home.

  “You okay?” Moustache Man asked, looking concerned.

  “Um,” I stammered. “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe you should get a drink of water.”

  I wasn’t about to miss my cue. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Thanks. I’ll do that.” I got up and turned my back and shuffled sideways out of the sauna. By the time I got to my locker, I was in better shape. Normally, I would’ve taken another shower, but this time I towelled myself off and changed as quickly as I could. Just as I was leaving, I bumped into Moustache Man weighing himself. “Hey, how’re you feeling?” he asked.

  “Better. Yeah, thanks. It was, it just got a little hot in there.”

  “Obviously.” Ninety-eight-point-five kilos of raw, seasoned steak. His steely eyes crinkled in a smile. “Let me know.”

  “Let you know?”

  “Let me know if you want to go a few rounds.” He stepped off the scales. “Squash?”

  “Squash. Right.”

  “My name’s Richard, by the way.”

  “Daniel.”

  “Nice to meet you, Daniel.” When I shook his hand, his grip was like a bear-trap. “Cheers.” He draped his towel over his shoulder. I couldn’t help but stare at his enormous hairy bubble butt as he walked away.

  Later, when I told Parker Kapoor what had happened, he made a face like he’d just sucked on a lemon, and nodded knowingly. “He definitely was having his way with you,” he said. “These older muscle marys, they’re dangerous. They’re like large cats toying with their prey. You can’t be too careful around them.”

  “Large cats?”

  “Large predatory cats.” Parker clawed the air and bared his teeth.

  “C’mon, Parker, we don’t even know if he was gay. He could’ve just been this friendly straight guy looking for someone to play squash with.”

  Parker leaned against a magazine rack, watching me play Street Fighter II. We’d come across the old game in a Mac’s corner store, and I couldn’t resist sticking in a quarter. Pat and I had put in hundreds of hours working up to fighting the Four Grand Masters.

  “Was he hung?” asked Parker.

  “Like a horse. His nuts were like these over-sized golf balls. I’m not kidding.”

  “That is impressive. I have to confess, Daniel, I didn’t know you were a size queen.”

  “Parker, I am not a size queen! Look, I wasn’t attracted to this guy. Just because I happened to get a hard-on doesn’t mean I was attracted to this guy.” I drop-kicked my opponent Blanka, winning two rounds easily, and moved on to the next challenge.

  “Still, I’m impressed you got one in a sauna. That’s not an easy achievement.”

  I threw up my hands. “Okay, maybe fine then, maybe I was turned on. But not for any obvious reason.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was just the fact that we were two guys sitting in a sauna and his junk was all hanging out when, hello, it really wasn’t supposed to? And see, if he was doing it on purpose, then that’s hot, right? And if he wasn’t doing it on purpose, well, then that’s also hot, for totally different reasons.”

  “In other words it was kinky.”

  “Kinky?”

  “Kinky. If Moustache Man was exposing himself on purpose, then he was being an exhibitionist. If he was exposing himself unintentionally, then you, my friend, were being a voyeur. Either way, it’s kinky. It’s all about sexual transgression. Of course, probably the most common kink is sex in a public place. It’s exciting. We’ve all done it. Try to find a gay boy who hasn’t. When was the last time you had sex in a public place?”

  “That depends on what you count as sex.”

  “Cockandballs, Daniel. Anything involving cockandballs.”

  “Cock and balls?”

  “No. It’s one word.” Parker’s mouth formed into a round O. He drew a breath and exhaled: “Cockandballs. That is the Zen pronunciation. Cockandballs. It is a state of oneness. Now you try it. Like this.”

  I formed my mouth into a round O. “Cockandballs.”

  “Well done, Daniel. You’re a natural. The Force of Faggotry runs deep in you.”

  “Parker.”

  “Just saying.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Why are you smashing up that car?”

  “It’s the Bonus Stage.”

  “I’ll be right back. You want anything?” I shook my head. “Creamsicle?”

  “No thanks.”

  All four tires went flying. PERFECT. Eleven seconds to spare. Yes. I still had it.

  Parker returned after a few minutes slurping on a super-sized slushie so ginormous he needed to hold it in both his hands. Now I was flying on to Japan to fight against Ryu. Pat always played Ryu. It was a rivalry that went back to when we were kids. “Attack me if you dare,” I muttered, “I will crush you.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Parker said. “Never mind.”

  “Public sex?”

  “What? Oh, um, let me think. I suppose it was a month ago.”

  “And?” Parker worked his straw up and down like he was breaking up an ice jam.

  “David gave me a hand job.”

  “And where was this?”

  “In a greenhouse.”

  “A greenhouse?”

  “Yeah, there were palm trees, fountains and everything.”

  “That sounds romantic.”

  “I suppose. Except I kept worrying someone was going to walk in on us. Some people did walk in on us. We never finished.”

  “And how was that?”

  “It was okay. He was also talking dirty, kind of. We were pirates. Or I was supposed to be a pirate, and he was my prisoner.”

  “Kinky.”

  “No, Parker. No. It wasn’t like that.”

  “Yo ho ho. Aaarr.”

  “No.”

  “Cockandballs! Three sheets to the wind!”

  “Look, we weren’t role-playing. It was more, like, he was telling me a fantasy of his. It was kinda hot.”

  Parker nodded. “Pirates rock. Did you know pirate society was democratic and egalitarian, inclusive of queers and women, and had health insurance?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “So, what’s the best public sex you’ve ever had?”

  “The best I’ve ever had?” I thought of my first Halloween in Toronto. I thought of the High Park hook-up-that-never-happened. I didn’t count Marcus and Fang. I thought of Mohawk Guy. But then I thought of something even better. “I did it in a Zamboni once?”

  “You’re not sur
e?”

  “I did it in a Zamboni once.”

  “Daniel, are you making fun of me?”

  “No, Parker, I’m not. I lost my virginity in a Zamboni.”

  “And how was that?”

  “It was awesome.”

  “Enough said.” Parker slurped from his slushie.

  “Don’t you want to know what happened?”

  “No. Unless you want to tell me.”

  “It was my assistant hockey coach, Stephan Tondeur.”

  “You got fucked in a Zamboni by your assistant hockey coach?”

  “No. I fucked him.”

  “I am impressed.”

  “Stephan was the first person I ever did it with. He was my first, actually, for pretty much everything. He was supposed to be grooming me for team captain. One night, I said I wanted to take the Zamboni out for a spin. I was joking, but he actually let me. He knew where they kept the keys. He could’ve gotten fired just for that. Then, while we were still driving around out on the ice, he started to blow me. Then he took out some lube and a condom, pulled down his pants, bent over the steering wheel, and got me to fuck him.”

  “I need to take up hockey.”

  “Parker.”

  “This was grooming you for team captain?”

  “I never got to make captain. The head coach kicked me off the team.”

  “Because of what happened with the Zamboni?”

  “No. No one ever found out anything about that.”

  “But it was because you were gay.”

  “Yes. Well, no, not directly. Because I got into a fight with three other teammates. Because I broke Gary Kadlubek’s nose and knocked another player’s tooth out. They were harassing me and saying I was gay. I’d had enough and just lost it. I’m not proud of what happened.”

  “Aaaaah!” Parker cried out.

  “What?”

  “Brain freeze.” He clutched his head. “I’ve never thought of you as a violent person, Daniel.”

  “I’m not. But Sudbury’s a rough town, and we went to school in a rough part of Sudbury. If anyone ever messed with us, me and my brothers, we’d kick the shit out of them.”

  Parker studied his high tops. “I don’t approve of violence.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t have made a very good pirate, then, would you?”

  GAME OVER. M. Bison had demolished me with his Psycho Power. I’d gotten rusty. Good thing I wasn’t playing against Pat. I straightened and turned to Parker. He stood looking downcast, wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Mahatma Gandhi decked out like a DJ in front of a console. “Parker. Listen to me. The truth is, I’ve only seriously gotten into three fights in my life. But I’d do it again if I had to. Grandpa taught us to stand up for what we believe in. My brother Liam, he got his black belt in kung fu by the time he was sixteen. We Garneau boys had a rep. We’d stand up to the bullies. Look, if someone ever messed with you, Parker, I’d kick the fucking shit out of them. You can count on it. Grandpa was a fighter, an amateur boxer in the merchant navy, back in the day. Are you okay? Hey, what is it?” Tears had welled up in Parker’s eyes. He didn’t wipe them away but let them roll glistening down his cheeks. “Parker, what is it?”

  “No one,” he said, “no one’s ever said that to me before. Thank you. Thank you, Daniel.” He flung his arms around me. I stood with my arms pinned to my side. Eventually, Parker disentangled himself. “I still don’t approve of violence.”

  “Okay, Parker, I hear you. I hear you.” In the end, we agreed to disagree on the matter. After that, the topic never came up again. But I wondered to myself if my life would’ve been different if I’d just known Parker Kapoor when I was still in high school. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten into that fight, then maybe I would’ve made team captain and ended up staying in Sudbury. Or maybe I wouldn’t have thrown that big black dildo at Brett and we would’ve actually gone on to become real boyfriends, holding hands at Fan Expo dressed up as gay superheroes. But there was no point thinking about all the what-ifs. So what if Daniel Garneau had grown up during the golden age of piracy? Maybe then he would’ve made team captain. Maybe then he would’ve sailed the high seas, embarking on wind-swept adventures, swashbuckling and drinking and revelling with his comrades-in-arms. Yo ho ho. But that was a fantasy. The reality was here and now. I remembered Gauguin’s man reaching for the apple. I reminded myself: Just keep your eye on the ball.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Your Ex-Lover is Dead

  I met David’s mother a week before Thanksgiving. She was an art critic for the Globe & Mail, and lived on her own in a elegant, Victorian semi-detached. I’d come over one Sunday morning to help clean out her rain gutters. Afterwards, she had us move the piano in the sitting room, and rearrange some furniture in the guestroom which had been David’s old bedroom. She was a petite, severe-looking woman with impeccable make-up. Of course, I was obligated to stay for Sunday lunch. Three of her neighbours joined us, bringing over a plate of antipasto, fresh-baked focaccia and dessert. We ate with silverware off fine china, beneath a gold-framed portrait of Pope John Paul II. Mrs. Gallucci remarked how my parents must be proud I was applying to med school (I didn’t mention this was my second go at it) and that I would make a good husband one day. Then someone asked me what I thought of Italian girls, and I replied I thought they were very beautiful and wonderful cooks. David had warned me not to mention his sister, so I didn’t. I also remembered to twirl the spaghetti on my fork and not to put Parmesan on my fish, and to let the women clear my plates. We had a little wine and a lot of water. By the time we were finishing dessert and fruit and coffee, it was mid-afternoon and we managed to excuse ourselves with just a moderate amount of fuss, with some cannelloni and roasted lamb and tiramisu in separate sets of Tupperware.

  “Ma thinks I’m a Don Giovanni,” David said as we cycled south side by side down the tree-lined street, “which is why I don’t have any steady girlfriend. She likes to tell me I’m just like my pa.”

  The sunlight flickered through the boughs. “How long were your mom and your dad married?”

  “Two years. He was her third husband. My sister remembers him. I was still a baby when he died. We had a nanny who home-schooled us for a while. You know that framed print of Michelangelo’s David in the front hallway? I used to imagine he was my pa. Then when I got older, I used to think of him as a big brother.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah, well, after a couple more years, I’d think about that print whenever I whacked off.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “Ten, eleven maybe. Sometimes I’d do it right at the dinner table, at least until my sister caught on. I’d get off on all those Greco-Roman and Renaissance male nudes: Ganymede, Antinous, Saint Sebastian, you name it. Ma kept art books and magazines right in the washroom. We went through a lot of toilet paper.”

  “Your mom mentioned a lot of the girls you dated. Did you actually date them?”

  David laughed. “Of course, I did. I’d take them out dancing, buy them stuff. I even had sex with them. I was a horny little bastard. Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “So you’ve never slept with any girl before?”

  “Um. No.” I figured I’d tell David later about the Three Amigas. In that moment, I didn’t think they counted.

  “You’ve never even thought about it?”

  “No, not really. Karen suggested it once, just to see what it’d be like. I’m glad we didn’t.”

  “You sure she’s not in love with you?”

  “What?” I swerved to avoid a pothole. “What? Oh, god, no. What? No. I mean, no. Karen and my brother Liam have been together since high school. They’ve been on and off, but, Christ, David, why would you say something like that?”

  “Just asking. Why on and off?”

  “What?”

  “You said Karen and your brother have been on and off.”

  “Liam’s not the easiest person to get along with. He was on antidepressants a c
ouple years. He was just a kid, but they were shelling out Prozac back then like there was no tomorrow. I think the forest saved him.”

  “The forest?”

  “Being out in nature. Every springtime, Liam he’d be running around barefoot, and camping out back in our tree house. For a couple years he was obsessed with casting animal tracks, then he got into collecting skulls. Karen would hang out with us, we’d all go camping together. Grandpa would call us the Four Musketeers. But then Pat started up his band, and I started playing more hockey. After that, it was just Karen and Liam. They’d go off camping weekends, in Killarney or up around the Good Medicine Cabin, just the two of them. Liam’s hardcore. I think he’d live permanently out in the bush if he could. You know how some people cope with stress by hitting the gym or playing video games or partying? Well, Liam copes by being in nature.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Me? Well. Like I said, it was hockey for a long time.”

  “And now?”

  “I dunno. Sex works.”

  It was my attempt at a joke, but David regarded me thoughtfully. “You think so?”

  “I like sex. I love sex. I mean, who doesn’t? Sometimes it’s not so great. But sometimes it’s amazing.”

  “What’s sex with me like?”

  “Sex with you? Sex with you is amazing.”

  “You’re not just saying that?”

  “No, I’m not just saying that. You’re amazing in bed. You’re beautiful. You’re one of the best lovers I’ve ever had.”

  “One of?”

  “Aw, c’mon, David.”

  “I’m not jealous. I’m intrigued. What other amazing lovers have you had?”

  I braked and pulled over to the side of the road. “Look, I really haven’t had that many.”

  “Well, tell me about the ones you have had.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious.”

  “Tell me about yours.”

  “I asked you first.”

  “Okay. Alright.” We got off our bikes and started walking east along College Street past Italian bakeries and cafés. “Okay.” The sidewalk and patios were bustling this Sunday afternoon, and I spoke lowly, discreetly. “There was this one guy. We met at a bar. He was from out of town. He took me back to his room. He was an average-looking guy. He said his name was John, but he was really sweet and he had a great laugh. He took his time and really paid attention. It was like he was actually interested in me, and not just in getting off. It was different from any hook-up I’d ever had up until that point. It was, I dunno, erotic. I still get hard thinking about it.”