A Boy at the Edge of the World Page 2

  The flash went off on Karen’s phone. “What, that you’re a queer?” Pat said. “That you’re a limp-wristed fag? That you’re a cock-sucking poof? We know that already. You have something else to tell us?”

  The Christmas lights strung up in the pine trees and all around the back deck took on a sharper focus. My breath formed frosty clouds in the air. Karen raised both hands and backed away. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Dan, dude, we’re your brothers,” Pat said laughing. “We know. We’ve always known.”

  “I didn’t know,” Liam said.

  “Of course you knew, Liam. We all know. Grandpa knows. Even Grandma knows! That’s why you’re her favourite.”

  “I’m not Grandma’s favourite,” I said. “She doesn’t even remember my name half the time.”

  “Seriously, Dan, she doesn’t remember our names most of the time. Why do you think she keeps groping your ass? Why do you think she keeps wanting to watch re-runs of The Golden Girls with you? She’s spending quality time with her favourite gay grandson.”

  “I just thought she was crazy,” I mumbled. But in that hazy moment, what Pat said made bizarre sense.

  Liam looked sideways at me and then back at Pat. “Really, Pat, I didn’t know.”

  “Liam,” Karen said, taking his hand, “weren’t you going to show me that moose skull you found?”

  “Hold on, wait a minute,” Pat said. “Before you two go off and shag like rabbits, I’ve got something to show everyone.” He pulled off his coat, tossed me his toque, and pulled his T-shirt off over his head. “Check it out boys and girls,” he exclaimed, turning his back. “Pretty nifty, eh?” Just below the base of his neck between his shoulder blades was a palm-sized tattoo of the Union Jack.

  “Whoa.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I see you had a good time in London,” Karen said. “London, Glastonbury, Dover. I had a bloody brilliant time. Thanksgiving in Ibiza was sick. I missed you guys.”

  I’d thought the stamp on that Big Ben postcard had looked funny. I took another swig from the bottle. “Oh my god, what the fuck is that?”

  Pat blinked. “Oh this? This. This is a nipple ring. I had it done in Amsterdam. The girls love it. What do you think? You can touch it if you want.”

  “No. No thanks. I can see it, plain as day.”

  “It’s midnight, guys,” Karen said. “Merry Christmas.”

  Pat slapped me on the back. “Merry Christmas. I’m glad you finally came out to us, dude. Props to you. You rock. You’re tied in first place as my number one favourite bro.” He grabbed my face and kissed me hard on the forehead. “We love you, man.” He draped his arm over me and turned to Karen and Liam. “Go, forest children,” he commanded, pointing straight-armed. “Go make beautiful love. I want to bond with my out-and-proud gay brother. And don’t forget to use a johnny.”

  “Honestly,” Liam whispered to Karen as they tramped back into the house, “I didn’t know.”

  “Pat,” I said, “put on your clothes. It’s freezing out here.” Obligingly, he put on his toque and lit a cigarette. He held out the pack, but I grimaced and backed away. I was starting to feel a little sick. “No thanks. What’s a johnny?”

  “A johnny’s a rubber, a condom. Hey, if you’re gonna banger, cover your wanger.”

  “Oh, right.” I’d just come out to my brothers and it was like it was nothing. Maybe it was nothing, but I wasn’t so sure. “So, like, when did you start smoking again?”

  “Since I quit the band. Since I started hanging out in British pubs.” (He pronounced the word poobs.) “Since I spent the last five months in Europe. Marlboro. Disgusting. But it’s what everyone smokes out there. You’d love England, Dan. Very British, very proper. I actually bought that T-shirt for you, but I liked it so much I kept it for myself.”

  I held up his T-shirt which had a picture of Winston Churchill and the caption IF YOU’RE GOING THROUGH HELL, KEEP GOING. “You’re kidding,” I said.

  “Why would I be kidding? See, Dan, you’re like Churchill, you’re our big brother. You always take charge. Grandpa did his best, but, well, you know Grandpa. You’ve gotten us through a lot since Mom and Dad died. Growing up wasn’t easy. I’m grateful and proud to have had you leading the way.”

  I’d never heard Pat talk like this before. “Okay. Thanks for at least thinking of me.”

  “Naw, I’m just pulling your leg. Someone at a party gave me that shirt after I lost mine. But it does suit you, Dan. You can have it if you want. In fact, I’m giving it to you. Merry Christmas.”

  “Thanks.”

  Pat fiddled with his nipple ring. “Look, let me tell you something, just between you and me. I kissed a guy once. It was nice. Scratchy but nice. We were playing Truth or Dare. I’d do it again you know. Not with you though. That would be wrong.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “But sex and love, really, it’s all fluid. Its all in here.” Pat rapped the side of his head. “Biggest sex organ in the body. In Camden Market, I met this guy and two girls. They made these rockin’ belts and purses. They told me they were poly. I thought that was the name of their band. Here I was this ignorant hick Canadian straight out of high school, eh, from northern Ontario. What did I know? Let’s just say poly did not want a cracker.”

  “So what’s poly?”

  “Poly. Polyamorous. Having multiple, equally-loving partners.”

  “You mean they were a threesome.”

  “Better than that. They were an open threesome.”

  “You slept with them?”

  “We played Truth or Dare. Yah, I slept with them. It was hot. I’ve been thinking a lot since then. With dudes, I figure anything above the waist is fair game, you know what I mean? I loved making out with that dude. It was such a turn on. The truth is, no one’s really straight. No one is. I thought I was, and look at me. Who’s that Green Day guy who said that, Billie Joe Armstrong. Think Morrissey and Molko, and all the greats, Bowie and Jagger. I figure it’s all good, man.”

  Pat finished his cigarette in silence. It was starting to snow, but he didn’t seem to be feeling the cold at all. I hated to admit it, but his nipple ring looked good, it suited him. His tattoo also looked good. I had a hunch it was the first of many. Karen was right, I shouldn’t have smoked that joint. I was definitely feeling nauseous.

  “So,” Pat said, tossing his butt into the barbecue, “how many guys have you done it with?”

  “A few.”

  “Have you gotten it up the ass?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  ‘You’ll tell us if you did?”

  “Sure.” I leaned against the railing, feeling dizzy. “Why did you say Grandpa knows?”

  Pat snorted. “Oh, I don’t know if he knows. I was just messing with you. Everyone thinks you and Karen are an item.”

  “Karen’s with Liam.”

  “You know that. I know that. Although I’m not sure Liam knows that.”

  “Liam’s a little freaked out, isn’t he?”

  “You want me to talk to him? I’ll talk to him if you want me to. Let me talk to him.”

  I put down the scotch bottle. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Hey. What are brothers for?”

  “What are brothers for.” I gave Pat a high five, grateful for having pretty much the coolest brother in the world. Then I threw up all over him.

  On New Years Eve in Toronto, I got raped. Technically, that was what happened. I woke up on my stomach, and someone was on top of me, and inside me. It took me a few seconds to figure out what was actually going on. I must’ve yelled something awful, because the guy jumped up and staggered back halfway across the room. By that time, I’d rolled over and grabbed the first thing I laid my hands on which was a huge, black, double-headed dildo. I blurted something which must’ve been incomprehensible, because the guy kept saying, “What? What? What?” over a
nd over. Then I noticed he wasn’t wearing a condom and I started to freak out. I recognized him as the guy I’d been flirting with all night at Fly Nightclub. He was a nice guy, really cute. I’d just forgotten his name. It took a while before I registered what he was saying. Then I reached around with one arm, felt with my fingers and pulled the condom out of my ass, slick with lube. It must have slipped off when he jumped off of me. He’d been fucking me. I’d never been fucked in my life. I shouted something and threw the dildo at him as hard as I could. I was so terrified and angry. The dildo bounced off the wall and hit him in the shoulder. You’d think I’d just whipped a crowbar at him. He crouched, cowering, with his hands over his head and actually started to cry. That changed everything. My anger cracked in half and crumbled off me. I was left breathless and dishevelled, standing naked on some bed with Star Wars sheets. A model of the Enterprise NCC-1701 hung from the ceiling next to a Tardis propping up some psych and computer textbooks. I was dizzy and sweatydrunk, covered in sparkles in some fanboy’s bachelor apartment. I stepped off the bed and set the condom down on the night table where my wallet, phone and keys were neatly placed. I’d done that. I’d put them there. The time on my phone read 2:46 a.m. I’d left Karen at Fly and gone home with this guy. “Brent,” I said. “Your name’s Brent.”

  “No. It’s Brett.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Can you please leave?”

  “Wait.”

  “Leave.” He couldn’t look me in the eye. “Just leave.”

  I put on my clothes, gathered my stuff and left. It was snowing hard outside and I had absolutely no idea where I was. I started to panic. Then a cab rounded the corner and I ran in front of it, waving like a crazy person. It was 3 a.m. on New Year’s Day. What were the chances a cab would cross my path when I needed one the most? Someone was watching over me. Suddenly I skidded, slipped and fell in the salty slush. It was like something straight out of a Buster Keaton movie. It was a miracle I didn’t get run over. I leaned on the bumper, hauled myself to my feet, felt my way around the vehicle and got into the back. As it turned out, I was a five minute drive from home. Karen was still up, listening to Sarah McLachlan and eating cold pizza, when I limped in through the door. “Hey,” she said, “didn’t you hook up with that Brent guy?”

  “Brett. His name’s Brett.”

  “What happened? You okay?”

  “Yes, no. I’m not sure.”

  “Shit, Daniel, have you been smoking pot again?”

  “No. I think I just drank too much.”

  “Okay. Oh, sweetheart, Daniel, what’s wrong?”

  I’d started to cry. “I went home with him and it was really great. We made out on his couch, then we started playing with these toys. Then he offered me something called poppers. And then he asked me if I could top him and I said yes but then I couldn’t get it up, so and then he asked me if he could top me and I said yes, but then I must’ve passed out for a few seconds and then when I woke up I didn’t know where I was except there I was and I panicked and I kind of went all psycho crazy and threw this really big dildo at him and totally freaked out. Oh, I am such an idiot. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.”

  Karen knew when to joke and when to be serious. She stood in front of me. “Did you hurt him?”

  “No, I didn’t hurt him.” I wiped the snot running from my nose.

  “Okay, just asking. Did he use protection?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “You’re sure sure?”

  “I’m sure!”

  “Okay. You’re all wet. You need a shower.”

  “Help.”

  Karen led me by the hand to the washroom where she undressed me as I stood leaning back against the sink. We’d seen each other naked lots of times over the years, during sleepovers and camping in Killarney. I’d never felt this way before in my entire life. “Daniel, where’s your underwear?”

  “Aww.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Those were brand new. They were Calvin Klein.”

  “Okay, out of those pants. The truth is, you were never a Calvin Klein kind of guy.” Karen ran a hot shower and drew back the curtain. “More Fruit of the Loom. Now get in. Oh my god, look at your leg.”

  The side of one knee was red and purple. “I slipped on the street. It looks worse than it feels.”

  “Tell me that in the morning. You’re not going to fall down and hit your head and have me call 911 are you?”

  “Maybe.” I clambered into the shower. “Karen, don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Come in here with me.”

  The steam was filling the room. Karen opened her mouth, her hands on her hips, then closed it again.

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay. Hold on.”

  She left and came back with a bottle of Diet Pepsi and the pizza box which she set on the toilet seat. She took off her PJs and got into the shower with me. The hot water felt good. I let her wash my hair and then my back.

  “You want some pizza?” she asked.

  “Okay,” I said. I was starting to feel better. She got us both a slice and we took our time eating in the shower, passing the big plastic Pepsi bottle between us. “Thank you, Karen Fobister.”

  “You’re welcome, Daniel Garneau.”

  Afterwards we both got into our PJs and put on the Season Three of The Golden Girls DVD, which was our favourite season. We fell asleep on the couch before the first episode was over, and as the snow kept falling all the while, silently and gently, blanketing the city.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Working for the Weekend

  That spring, I applied for a position with Community Living Toronto, an organization that supported people with intellectual disabilities. In the interview, they asked about my experience living with my grandmother who had dementia. “It was hard at first,” I reflected, sitting straight-backed in my chair. “But structure and routine are key. And patience, a lot of patience. It was important we got the homecare staff to see her as a human being.” The three interviewers just nodded, heads bowed, checking boxes on their clipboards and scribbling notes.

  Later, when I told Karen they’d offered me the job, she laughed in my face. “You guys never had homecare. Your grandma’s lived in a nursing home since you were ten. You’d visit her, what, like once a week?”

  We sat on a concrete bench in front of City Hall, wearing our shorts for the first time that season, soaking up the sunshine, and sharing a carton of sweet potato fries. “I know,” I said, “but they don’t know that. And it’s not like I was lying, not really, not about what really counts. Right?”

  “Fine, whatever it takes to pay the rent. Congratulations on your summer job. I’m sure you’ll be great at it. I still think you should come back to Sudbury.”

  I dipped a fry into a side of spicy mayonnaise, and observed the flow of human traffic all around us: businessmen in their suits, scruffy skateboarders, tourists boarding their buses, homeless people with their entire lives in their bags. Toronto was almost twenty times bigger than Sudbury. White clouds reflected in the gleaming curved towers of City Hall rising over Nathan Phillips Square. “We’ll visit each other,” I said. “You’re coming back down for Pride Week, right?”

  “Definitely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “You’re sure about this Derrick guy?”

  Derrick McNeil-Tsao was a senior classmate of Karen’s who’d sublet her room for the summer. He sported a military haircut, had calves like softballs, and was studying to be a math and Phys-Ed teacher. He was also engaged to his high school sweetheart back home in North Bay. He showed me pictures of her within minutes of meeting. She looked like a cheerleader. “Captain of her squad, Garneau,” McNeil-Tsao announced proudly.

  “Don’t worry,” said Karen, “He’s a good guy. I told you, his little brother’s gay, or at least the family thinks he’s gay. The kid’s five years ol
d. He might be transgender. The parents let him play with Barbie dolls. They’re really progressive. The point is, Derrick’s an ally. He’s just like me.”

  Alright. I’m going to miss you.”

  Karen tossed a fry at a seagull strutting nearby. “Just promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t contract anything horrible.”

  “Oh, that’s nice, Karen. Really nice.”

  She took off her sunglasses and squinted at me. “I’m serious, Daniel. Be careful.”

  “Okay, I’ll be careful.”

  One week after her last exam, I saw Karen off at the bus station. I told her to pass on my regards to her parents and little sister. Karen and Anne had been invited to spend the summer on their aunt’s farm on Manitoulin. Pat was gone up north planting trees. Liam was still living at home with Grandpa. The bus pulled out in a puff of grey exhaust. I was on my own.

  As it turned out, Derrick McNeil-Tsao was businesslike, tidy, and an amazing cook. He paid for his sublet in advance with four post-dated cheques and left me smoothies in the fridge every morning. He also got me a discounted membership at his gym and introduced me to squash. I was an athletic person, but McNeil-Tsao ran circles around me. For such a big guy, I couldn’t believe how fast he was on his feet. That summer it became our Sunday afternoon ritual: chasing that little black bouncing squash ball like it was a puck on the ice. “It all has to do with spatial orientation and geometry, Garneau,” he declared, which was why he was convinced men would always make better squash players, architects and fighter pilots than women. With his coaching, I quickly lost the extra weight I’d gained over the school year. He also announced he liked to be thorough with his hygiene and preferred waiting until he got home to shower. Secretly, I wondered if this was for his benefit or really for mine.

  His fiancée’s name was Rachel, and the first time she visited, she brought me a loaf of home-made banana bread and a big pop-up thank-you card for allowing her to stay the weekend. She missed her Der-Der so much. The pictures on McNeil-Tsao’s phone hadn’t prepared me for the size of her breasts. They were enormous. She told me she was a youth leader at her church which fully supported LGBTQ people and same-sex marriage. I thanked her for her loaves and told her to make herself at home.