A Boy at the Edge of the World

by David Kingston Yeh

  “Charles, what are you doing?”

  “Systematic self-observation. This in invaluable data. I need to document this.”

  “Charles, put that away. Stop. Charles.” Other patrons glanced in our direction. When he didn’t stop, I clamped my hand over his. “Charles, just put that down, okay? Stop being an academic, just for a second.”

  Charles stared at me. “This is what they mean by ‘lovesick,’ isn’t it?”

  “Is that how you feel? Then I suppose so.”

  “I can recall every detail,” he said, “of the very first time I laid eyes on her: her red mittens, the snow on the collar of her jacket, her clumpy, poorly applied mascara. I can even remember the perfume she was wearing. It was a quantum moment.”

  “You’re in love with Megan. You’ve fallen in love with her.”

  “I have. We both deduced that after the first night we spent together.”

  “And is she in love with you?”

  “She told me she was. She told me she loved me.”

  “Then that’s wonderful.”

  “Then why didn’t she say yes?”

  “Well. These things take time.”

  Charles sat back in his chair. “The subtleties of human courtship,” he said, “can be so confusing.” He rummaged out a ring box from his jacket pocket and opened it. “I wondered if it was too small or too big. It was an impulse purchase.” He mopped his brow with a trembling hand. “Do you think it’s big enough?”

  Before I could answer, Charles fumbled and dropped the box. He knelt, picked it up off the floor and held it out. The diamond was enormous. I stared at it in shock.

  “Yes. Yes, definitely.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Passing our table, our waitress stopped in her tracks, open-mouthed. The pool players also stared in our direction. All around us, conversation had ground to a halt. “Oh my god,” the waitress said, clutching her tray. “Oh. My. God.”

  “Wait,” I began.

  One pool player raised his pint. “Awesome.”

  The rest of the bar patrons around us followed suit. On the big screen TV, and on all the monitors over the bar, fans in their stands rose cheering to their feet. The bartender just shook his head and continued stacking glasses. Strangers came up to congratulate us. Drinks were on the house the rest of the night.

  In April, Pat and Blonde Dawn invited David and me to the Lunacy Cabaret, a monthly fundraiser thrown by Zero Gravity Circus out in the downtown east-end close to Little India. Bobby Lam played in the house band and was able to get us free tickets. The event was vulgar, bawdy, and brilliant. There was clowning and sketch comedy, juggling, song-and-dance routines, and a belly-dance-hulahoop-spinning act that was nothing short of astonishing. A tiny, muscular Asian guy performed aerial silks right over our heads. Even the obviously under-rehearsed numbers were entertaining. Many of the drunken audience members were dressed up in costumes themselves. Drink tickets were cheap and the raucous house was packed.

  After the show, the audience cleared the metal folding chairs, and a dance party ensued. The cabaret took place in the main training space, with mirrors and circus paraphernalia adorning the walls. David and Pat vanished backstage with Bobby, leaving me on the crowded dance floor with Blonde Dawn. Soon we were both pogoing exuberantly hand-in-hand. I asked her about her tattoos and she explained them to me. Each one had its own story. She pulled off her blouse (she was wearing a black sports bra underneath) to show me the ones on her torso. Then Pat shouted across the room and tossed her a top hat (I had no idea where he got it), which she caught and put on at a jaunty angle without missing a beat.

  A crash resounded across the room. Some unshaven guy in a tutu had stumbled into one of the heavy wall mirrors. There was broken glass everywhere and blood streaming down his forearm. Blonde Dawn and I pushed through the crowd, helped him up and sat him in a chair. A drag queen in a flamenco dress called 911. One of the bartenders found a towel and we elevated his arm and put pressure on the wound. Tutu Guy kept declaring his love for Blonde Dawn, eliciting laughter from his friends. To her credit, she remained professional, efficient and calm. Someone found a first aid kit, and she dressed his wound. When the paramedics finally arrived and escorted Tutu Guy away, he blew her kisses and people cheered.

  Long after midnight, the four of us strolled down the block arm in arm, and stopped for a slice at Pizza Pizza. A skinny teenager with bad acne served us, and we settled ourselves into a booth just inside the entrance. “Hey, Dan,” Blonde Dawn said, “you were good tonight.”

  “You were great. I was just your sous-chef.”

  “You both were amazing,” Pat effused. “And you were the bomb.”

  “You two were like superheroes,” David said. “You saved that guy’s life.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “It was a little risky,” Blonde Dawn said. “We’d been drinking, there was a lot of blood, and we went in without gloves.”

  “What are you guys saying? You did the right thing!”

  Blonde Dawn studied me soberly. “Would you do it again, Dan?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “of course, I would.”

  Pat crammed the last of his pizza into his mouth. “Well, shit, man, there you go. You both deserve medals.”

  “We did make a good team, didn’t we?”

  “You betcha.”

  Blonde Dawn and I high-fived each other. Someone rapped on the front window. It was Marcus Wittenbrink Jr. surrounded by an entourage of revellers. He waved and touched the brim of his top hat. When Pat waved back, Marcus conferred briefly with his companions and entered the restaurant. Tonight, he was wearing a burgundy velvet frock coat and sporting a silver-headed cane. He’d waxed his moustache into Salvador Dali-inspired points that would’ve looked ridiculous on anyone else. On Marcus, they just looked incredibly sexy. He doffed his hat and bowed with a flourish. “Madam, I believe I have something that belongs to you.” Dramatically, he produced a single glinting, golden hair. “This,” he declared, holding it up, “is yours, is it not?”

  Blonde Dawn wiped her mouth on a napkin. “That was your hat I was wearing.”

  “Guys, this is Marcus the Marvellous,” Pat announced. “Marcus the Marvellous, this is Blonde Dawn and my brother Dan. You’ve met David.”

  “You,” I asked, “were at the Cabaret tonight?”

  “I was. How did you enjoy the show?”

  “It was good. Here, I’ll take that.” I leaned across the table and snatched back the hair.

  Pat glanced back and forth between us. “You two know each other?”

  Marcus struck a tragic pose. “Once, Daniel and I, we were lovers.”

  “No shit.” Pat’s jaw dropped. “Shut the front door! You and my brother?”

  “Alas, he broke up with me on Valentine’s Day.”

  “Seriously.” Pat regarded me accusingly. “Dude.”

  I cleared my throat. “How’s Fang and that other boyfriend of yours?”

  “Fang, Joseph and I are no longer together,” Marcus replied. “I am a free agent, as they say. David here tells me you two are living together now?”

  “That’s right.”

  He squeezed David’s shoulder and whispered in his ear: “Is he treating you well?”

  “No complaints here,” David said.

  “Well, congratulations then.” Marcus straightened and adjusted his cravat. “And congratulations on saving a man’s life tonight. Blonde Dawn, your actions were extraordinary.”

  Blonde Dawn bowed her head. “Why, thank you, sir.”

  Pat beamed. “She’s a paramedic.”

  Marcus’ face lit up. “Then that is serendipity. You were heroic, madam, both you and our Daniel. This world of ours needs more heroes. I’m glad you enjoyed the show. David, if you and your friends change your mind, you know where to find us. Goodnight, gentlemen.” He put his hat back on and left.

  “Marcus the Marvellous?” David said.
>
  “He’s in character tonight,” Pat said.

  “He’s a character alright,” I muttered.

  “Is that guy for real?”

  “Dan, you broke up with him on Valentine’s Day?”

  I sighed. “Pat, fuck off. Blonde Dawn, yes, he’s for real. Here.” I handed her the strand of hair.

  Blonde Dawn made a face. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “It’s yours.”

  “It’s a hair.”

  “Well it’s your hair. I didn’t want him to have it.”

  “Just in case,” Pat said, wiggling his fingers. He flared his eyes and twirled an imaginary moustache.

  “Pat, like I said, fuck off.”

  “Captain Heartbreaker, sir.” Pat saluted. “Fucking off, sir!”

  “Pat, what part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you understand?”

  “Boys,” Blonde Dawn said, “stand down. Or I’ll have to put you down, both of you.”

  Pat barked like a dog and licked her cheek. When she turned around and smacked him, he grabbed her face and kissed her. David and I watched them making out for half a minute before we got up and went outside to share a smoke. By then, their hands were up beneath each other’s shirts. Behind the counter, the pizza guy held out his phone and took their picture.

  “That was hot,” David said.

  “That’s my brother.”

  “I know. I’ve kissed your brother. He’s a good kisser.” He lit a cigarette.

  “Don’t get weird on me please. There’s already been enough weirdness tonight.”

  “So, Marcus is single again.”

  I crushed a pop can under my heel, and kicked it across the street. “David, you even just saying that is weird. And why didn’t you tell me Marcus was there tonight?”

  “I just bumped into him backstage. Pat actually was the one who introduced me.”

  “How the fuck does he know Pat?”

  “I dunno. I think they might’ve just met? It happens. Look, Marcus and I talked for maybe two minutes. Then you got busy doing your good Samaritan thing. I was going to mention it.”

  “Well, why didn’t he come up and say hi to me?”

  “Daniel, I think you’ve been pretty clear with him about wanting some space.”

  “Then why do I sometimes think the guy’s stalking me?”

  “Fuck, whoa, Daniel, that is so paranoid. The guy’s friends with half the circus crowd. He lives just a few blocks from here. We’re the ones on his turf. And for the record, he did just come up and say hi. I thought he was pretty decent about it. I’m not sure what more you want from him.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  David leaned against a lamppost. “I am right.”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “You want to fuck him, don’t you?”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “Who? Marcus?”

  “Yeah, Marcus.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “David, don’t even go there.” I paced up and down the sidewalk.

  “Okay. I’m just saying.”

  “Saying what?”

  “That you want to fuck him.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s pretty obvious.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not denying it, are you?”

  “David, he’s my ex. It’s over.”

  “Yeah, it’s over. But it’s pretty obvious you’re like still carrying a torch for this guy. Look, don’t worry. I’m not jealous. Would you rather I was jealous? If you feel threatened by him because you think I feel threatened by him, then don’t. But I will tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “Earlier tonight, he invited all of us back to his place. He told me to tell you Marwa would be there. Who’s Marwa?”

  “Some girl. What’d you say?”

  “I said we had plans, but we’d take a rain check.”

  “Why’d you say that?”

  “I said that, Daniel, because we haven’t hung out with Pat and Blonde Dawn in like months. I want to spend some quality time together, just the four of us. Because family comes first. Is that okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  David took one last drag and flicked the butt out into the street. “Are we okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Blonde Dawn and Pat came out of the restaurant. Pat lit a cigarette, and draped himself over our shoulders. “Ready to rock ‘n’ roll, boyzengurls?”

  “That pizza guy in there took your picture,” I said.

  “No he didn’t.”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “No he didn’t.”

  “Yeah,” I insisted. “He did.”

  “No, Dan. See, here’s where you’re wrong. Pizza Guy was video-recording us.”

  “Oh.” I blinked. “Oh. Then, hey, that’s okay then. You really don’t mind having your make-out session plastered all over YouTube tomorrow morning?”

  Pat looked at Blonde Dawn. “Is that okay?”

  Blonde Dawn plucked the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Let the little cheese-faced fucker jack off all he wants to us.” Her hair was all messed up, and she adjusted one bra strap. “I really don’t mind.”

  “Alrighty then.” Pat kissed David and me both on the cheeks. “We’ve got a bottle of mezcal at home with our names on it. You gentlemen get the cab, we’ve got the rest covered.”

  David hailed a cab and we all went back to Pat and Blonde Dawn’s place where we stayed up half the night. The three of them smoked up, and we danced for a bit. Then we arm-wrestled and I beat everyone (although Liam could always beat me). Then Pat pulled out his karaoke machine and we all sang The Barenaked Ladies’ greatest hits at the top of our lungs (except for The Old Apartment, which I insisted on singing solo). After that, David and I crashed in their guest room (which was really my old bedroom). I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon, and David passed out on the floor next to me. When I shuffled out of the bedroom, Pat was in his underwear, wearing a pink, fur-trimmed bathrobe, draining grease into a mason jar. Blonde Dawn was in the washroom blow-drying her hair. There was buttered toast, Danishes, scrambled eggs and orange juice on the table. I had a killer hangover. But in the end, it had all been worth it. After all, like David said, family comes first.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We’re Here for a Good Time

  Late in April, Karen came down from Manitoulin to visit for the weekend. We met Saturday afternoon at the Moonbeam Coffee Company in Kensington Market. Our plan was to pick David up after he was done work, meet with Pat and Blonde Dawn, and step out for dinner. A recent rain shower had left the air smelling like fresh laundry. After the long winter, the sunshine on my face felt amazing. Down the street, Hasidic Jews dressed all in black and old Chinese ladies picked through the fruit and vegetable stalls. Students on bicycles rattled past. I hadn’t seen Karen since Grandma’s funeral. She looked good. Her hair was cut short in a fresh, stylish bob. She wore a T-shirt emblazoned with the yin-yang symbol stitched in red and gold, faded jeans and old hiking boots. She tossed her sunglasses and keys onto the patio table. “Wow, a whole box of your grandma’s douche kits,” she said, tearing open a packet of sugar. “I suppose that is a little weird. Still, it sounds like something your grandpa would do. They’re pretty much the same as enema kits, right?”

  “More or less.” I glanced around, but none of the other patrons seemed to be paying any attention to our conversation.

  “Did you know douching puts women at risk for cervical cancer?”

  “Daniel, a lot of things put people at risk for a lot of things. You’re a med student now. I don’t know why you of all people are being so squeamish about this.”

  “I’m not being squeamish.” A flock of pigeons rose storming from the rooftops, scattering t
he sunlight. I twisted at the fabric of my hoodie and lowered my voice. “Look, it’s just that it’s really personal, you know? I mean, what’s going through Grandpa’s head when he decides I can use Grandma’s douche kits? He’s thinking about me getting fucked up the ass, for chrissake. That’s what he’s thinking.”

  “Or fucking somebody else up the ass.”

  “Whatever. It’s like, whoa, Grandpa, don’t go there. Please. It’s worse than imagining your own parents having sex.”

  I regretted my words the instant they were out of my mouth. To Karen’s credit, she simply made a face and sipped from her coffee. “Okay, I get what you mean. Look, your grandpa’s a practical man. He loves you. He accepts you for who you are. You’re lucky to have someone like him. Most people don’t.”

  “You’re right.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “You’re right. I should just focus on that.”

  “So between you and David, who is fucking who?”

  “Karen, c’mon.”

  “Just asking.” Karen raised her eyebrows. “What? Daniel, hello, this is me you’re talking to.”

  “We’re, you know, versatile, sometimes.”

  “Versatile sometimes?”

  “Well, most of the time I’m on top.”

  Karen’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “And sometimes you’re not.”

  “And sometimes I’m not.”

  “So, do you have any naked pictures?”

  “What?”

  “On your phone. Do you have any pictures of you and your hot Italian Catholic boyfriend?”

  “I don’t have any naked pictures.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Karen, I’m not going to show you our naked pictures.”

  “Oh, so you do have naked pictures.”

  “I never said that.”

  “But you do.” Karen folded her arms and leaned forward. “Now you have to show me. Look, it doesn’t have to be anything crazy or kinky.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Just sexy.”

  “Sexy?”

  “I want to see something sexy. You and David are good-looking guys. We shouldn’t be ashamed of our bodies. We should celebrate them. Daniel, come on.”