by Patrick Bard
Except my stuffed bear never said a word. And that was the last time I saw my father. He left and went far away.
For years, I blamed myself. I was sure that if I had asked for my dad to stay with us, he would have stayed. For the longest time, I believed it was my fault that he left. Sometimes, I still wonder. Even if I don’t believe in Santa Claus anymore.
Eloise
Lucas holds the letter in his hand for a while. It’s not surprising that she didn’t want—or, more likely, couldn’t bring herself—to read it. His own eyes are stinging.
He hears Eloise’s door open. She’s just come back.
Without thinking, he bolts upright, heads out into the hallway, and knocks gently on her door.
“Eloise? It’s Lucas.”
The lock unclicks. Eloise’s face appears in the doorway.
“Come in,” she whispers.
45
It’s dark in the room. Eloise closes the door and pulls Lucas to her. She hugs him tight and the jolt of electricity happens again. Feeling feverish, they press against one another and moan. Eloise puts her lips against the soft skin of his neck. With one movement of his hand, Lucas pushes his sweats to the floor, along with his boxers. Then he pushes on Eloise’s shoulders with his palms to lower her to her knees.
“What…what are you doing?” she asks, stiffening with surprise.
“Go on, suck me!”
Eloise moves away from him. “Are you nuts? What’s gotten into you?”
Lucas does not respond. She senses his hesitation.
“Well, isn’t it like that?” he says, finally. “You turn on the lights and you get undressed?”
Eloise chuckles. Lucas knows she’s holding back from laughing outright at his pitiful attempt to seem like an experienced guy. With each passing second, it’s obvious he is anything but. She comes closer to him in the darkness, rests a hand on his chest, and pulls his sweatshirt over his head, followed by his T-shirt. He hears her getting undressed and slipping into the bed.
“Come here,” she calls out to him.
He swiftly removes his sneakers and makes his way over the rug in his socks. The flame of a lighter pierces the dark. Eloise lights a candle on the night table. The meager light dances on the veneer of the headboard.
“Come here,” she says again as she gestures toward the empty space beside her.
Lucas lies down, shyly. He brushes his fingers along Eloise’s side, searches for her breasts, and starts to caress her. Starts to knead her small breasts.
“Ow, gently!”
“Okay, okay.”
He feels Eloise’s thin fingers fold around his flaccid penis.
His left hand drifts slowly toward Eloise’s belly button as she arches her back and he continues down until he reaches her pubic area. He snatches his hand back as if he just got burned.
He tries to concentrate, to summon “the best of” from all the videos he’s watched a thousand times over, but nothing happens. The merest breast on the screen used to give him a hard-on, but here, nothing. Nothing is happening the way it should.
For starters, he thinks Eloise is too thin, too hairy, looks too much like a boy and not enough like the women he fantasized over for such a long time.
Also, he’s scared to death of not being up to the deed, so he simply isn’t.
Tired of trying, Eloise sits up in bed and turns on the bedside lamp. The weak light reveals a pair of blue leather boxing gloves hanging on a wall. A raggedy stuffed bear that Lucas immediately recognizes sits on the dresser, beneath a poster of a black boxer identified as Muhammad Ali, 1942–2016.
Eloise opens her mouth to speak, but Lucas bolts out of bed.
He gathers his stuff in a pile and pulls on his sweatpants.
“Wait, don’t leave like that, Lucas, don’t be upset,” Eloise pleads.
She doesn’t have the chance to say anything else. He’s already left the room.
She hears him go into his own room, where he slams the door shut in anger.
She reaches her hand out and sighs, grabs her pack of cigarettes she knows are cancer sticks, takes one out, and shouts her own anger to the empty room.
“Piss off!”
46
Lucas gathers momentum, bounces on his heels, and leaps forward. He pierces the blue water of the pool in a perfect dive and attacks the twenty-five-meter length in such a blistering crawl that the lifeguard applauds.
“Way to go! Bravo, Lucas! Keep it up and you’ll have a shot at a championship!”
If only the lifeguard knew what was going through Lucas’s head at that instant. One—if he could, he’d rush to his computer and connect to a porn site for the rest of the day. He’d immerse himself in the only thing that he has control over in this shitty world: the cyberporn galaxy. Two—arousal guaranteed, relief guaranteed, stress-free, pressure-free, no lousy human interactions to navigate, and, most of all, nothing unexpected. Three—he’s seen millions of couplings and could keep a boner for entire days and nights when he watched them on a screen, but he was utterly incapable of one when the right moment came along. Four—what would the shrink have to say about it? She’s pretty good. Five—anyway, in this rotten prison, there’s no way to access a PC or a smartphone. Six—in fact, ever since what he euphemistically refers to as “the accident,” he hasn’t gotten an erection. Seven—are all the medications he’s taking to blame?
“Go, Delveau! Go!”
Eight—he needs to ask someone, but who is there to ask? Dr. Flohic? Desnoyers?
Nine—
He swims forty laps before he starts to tire out, and then he hoists himself onto the edge of the pool, dripping wet and out of breath. The lifeguard comes over and pokes a finger into Lucas’s abdominal muscles.
“Look at that! Damn, the girls are gonna go crazy for you!”
Lucas’s face freezes. He turns away and darts off toward the showers.
“What did I say?” the lifeguard shouts after him. “What?”
47
“I don’t get it. Is it because of the meds?”
Dr. Desnoyers reviews Lucas’s medical file on her computer.
“Possibly, at first,” she says. “When you were in the hospital you were put on benzodiazepine. One might say that the treatment rendered you impotent. But the treatment stopped when you started your rehabilitation. Neither the low-dose sleeping pills nor the equally low-dose antidepressants that were prescribed could have prevented you from getting an erection, Lucas. Sorry, but that’s not the reason.”
The doctor turns away from the computer and looks at him.
“I don’t want to know which girl at Poseidon you had this unfortunate encounter with. First, because it’s your private life, yours and hers. Second, because even if she spoke to me about it, I wouldn’t have the right to tell you. I owe my patients confidentiality.”
I’m so ashamed, thinks Lucas. So ashamed. Of course she told the doctor everything. The same sense of humiliation that he’s felt a million times since the incident with the selfie floods over him. To put an end to it, he tells Dr. Desnoyers about what happened with Samira.
Dr. Desnoyers listens impassively. She doesn’t recoil. He already feels better.
“Same cause, same effect, Lucas. I confess that I actually want to smile. It was clumsy, but, well, you were only fourteen years old, and porn was your only source of reference. Nonetheless, you were lucky that the girl didn’t blast the photo all over social media.”
Lucas nods.
“This current incident is somewhat similar. But don’t worry. Contrary to what you imagine, the problem isn’t your impotence, which I think is a temporary condition.”
Lucas lifts his head and looks at her, startled.
“So you say. But…what am I supposed to do?”
“If I understand
what you told me, Lucas, you’ve been avoiding your friend for the past three days. That’s part of the problem. But the way you told me about what happened in the room that day is another.”
“But I told you nothing happened,” Lucas says, indignant.
“According to you,” Dr. Desnoyers objects. “We’re going to refer to things properly. You said you immediately asked her to perform fellatio. Which means you had an erection, right?”
Lucas looks at her, defeated. “No. I thought if she did that to me, then I’d get hard.”
“What is the purpose of an erection, Lucas?”
“Well…” He hesitates, like he’s taking an oral exam in biology. “To penetrate a woman.”
“To penetrate a woman? Can you describe to me the way in which you would like to have a sexual encounter?”
“What? Seriously?”
“I’m not forcing you to answer.”
“Okay, well…I guess I thought it would be like what I’ve seen in the porn videos.”
“What specifically, Lucas?”
He sighs and looks at the walls around the office as if hoping to find the answers to Dr. Desnoyers’s uncomfortable questions.
“Haven’t you seen any pornos?”
“That is not the question, Lucas. I want you to tell me.”
“Well…” In one breath he speeds through a list. “BJ, missionary, riding, doggy-style, facial.”
Dr. Desnoyers looks at him triumphantly and says, “Thank you, Lucas, that’s what I wanted to hear. I needed you to tell me that in order for you to understand what I’m about to explain. I don’t judge you, not morally, not physically. I don’t judge you as bad because you watched pornos online. It’s not necessarily bad to watch porn, even if it is more of an adult entertainment that portrays women in a less-than-ideal way. The problem, your problem, though not limited to you, is that you are addicted to cybersex. We’ve already spoken about that. Pornography has existed since the time of the Romans. But with the internet, access to porn has changed—there’s immediate access to massive amounts of free videos. It’s destroyed the lives of women who are underpaid, not to mention that it’s illegal.”
Lucas jumps. “It’s not illegal to watch porn. You have the right to tell me that it’s crap, but it’s not illegal.”
“You’re correct, Lucas, it’s not illegal to watch porn. What is illegal, however, is to expose minors to pornography. That’s for starters. What is also illegal is that millions of videos are pirated. No one cares about that. And it isn’t the purpose of my comments. What I’m trying to explain, Lucas, is that the porn you’re watching has nothing to do with a genuine sexual relationship you may have with a real person. Porn has entered your head and imagination. You’re not the only one who thinks that sex is BJ, missionary, riding, doggy-style, facial. There are plenty of girls who think so too. Girls who think it normal to go from one position to another in a mechanical fashion. Girls who think it normal not to derive any pleasure of their own, who don’t listen to themselves and who don’t understand why boys want to do all that with them, who do it just because they think that’s how it’s supposed to be. And it drives them away from boys. Maybe the one you told me about isn’t like those girls.”
“Maybe she’s been with a boy who had erections, at least,” Lucas says pitifully.
“Stop fixating on that. The more you think about it, the less it will happen. Let it go. Having an erection isn’t always the goal of a relationship.”
“Really? What is the goal?”
Dr. Desnoyers explains. “An erection isn’t all there is to sex. Nor is it the only way to express desire, and even less, pleasure. You have no obligation to perform. Gentleness, thoughtfulness, listening to one another, yes. But there are all sorts of sexualities. What matters is what you feel when you’re with the other person, and even if you feel awkward, it’s not so important. The other person might be moved by someone shy and awkward, you know. Tell me, are you in love or merely curious to have sex? If you’re simply impatient, then be reassured that it’s not a big deal, it’s even legitimate. You just turned seventeen.”
“In love? How would I know? As for the rest, of course I’m curious.”
“Well then, does the girl you talked about interest you as a person?”
“Absolutely,” Lucas says without hesitation.
Dr. Desnoyers smiles. “Stop asking yourself questions. Just see what happens.”
“That’s it?” Lucas asks, thinking that his shrink isn’t giving him many answers.
“Yes, for today it is.”
Feeling put out, Lucas stands up and zips his sports jacket like he’s putting on armor. He stops by the door and turns around.
“Porn is a meat market, Doctor, and it’s easy to get served, but it doesn’t teach you anything about feelings.”
Dr. Desnoyers considers him a moment before responding. “You’re making progress, Lucas. You don’t realize it, but you are progressing. It’s good. Have you found what was missing from your life? What the void you were trying to fill with porn was?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. I’ve been asking myself that question these past few days when I’ve wanted to start up again. Was I trying to fill a void?”
He opens the door.
“You don’t necessarily need to steer clear of your friend,” Dr. Desnoyers calls out to him. “Time flies by, you know.”
48
The Saint-Quay is a lobster boat from 1947, with brick-colored sails and a white and sea-blue hull. The old rigging rocks gently in the aluminum-like swell that reflects the zinc color of the sky.
Lucas gets straight to the point. With his ticket in hand, he asks Dr. Flohic’s permission to use the telephone.
“You want to call home?”
Lucas shows his voucher for the excursion at sea.
“No, I want to call the office of tourism at Saint-Quay to buy another ticket.”
Dr. Flohic’s eyes widen. He lets out a whistle. “Well, you’re going to have a great time.”
“Is it far from here?”
“Hmmm, I’d say it’s roughly thirty minutes or so away. You can take the bus. Who are you inviting?”
Lucas does not respond.
“Sorry, I’m being nosy when I shouldn’t be,” Dr. Flohic says.
He finds the phone number on the internet and hands the receiver to Lucas.
The ticket is less expensive than Lucas expected. He doesn’t have a lot of pocket money, but he can afford that price.
His heart pounding in his chest, he goes straightaway to knock on Eloise’s door. She opens it, a somber expression coming over her when she sees him. She is about to say something when Lucas sticks the voucher for the boat trip in her hands.
“A good-bye gift!”
“In honor of what?” she grumbles as she reads the wording on the ticket.
Lucas isn’t fooled. He sees a glimmer of interest in her eyes.
“Desnoyers reminded me that time flies by….”
“What’s she butting in for?”
To appear composed, Lucas stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“Listen, I’m sorry about…well, you know. This is a gift, a peace offering. A good-bye present. We can part as friends, good friends, can’t we? Otherwise I’ll be upset, that much I promise.”
Eloise shrugs. “Okay, Lucas.”
At the same time, she doesn’t invite him inside. She finally gives a weak smile and thanks him, her voice full of sadness.
Before closing the door, she asks, “What about you? Don’t you want to go?”
Lucas’s face lights up. He tells her that he has a ticket too, and that he bought a second one for her.
“But you can go on your own if you want,” he adds.
49
The following morning, Lucas and Eloise
takes the bus headed to Saint-Quay.
“What would you have done if I’d refused?”
Eloise asks the question without looking at him, her face turned toward the landscape rushing by outside of the bus window. Lucas doesn’t answer right away.
“I wouldn’t have gone,” he finally says.
This time she’s the one who doesn’t say anything.
When they get to Saint-Quay and find the sailing vessel, Eloise’s face flushes with color. Maybe also because of the wind. She looks at Lucas like a kid on Christmas morning.
“It’s beautiful!”
They have to help the instructor hoist the sails, which weigh a ton. That’s the way it is on old boats. Lucas thinks about all the sailors who toiled on the rig, generation after generation, and their hard lives. When he turns around, he sees that Eloise is sitting on the roof of the cabin, stuffed into a life jacket, and that she looks a little green. The instructor offers to have her take the helm but she shakes her head no. Half an hour later, she runs to the railing and bends over it to vomit.
Lucas starts to think that his present is quickly turning into a bad idea.
Suddenly the wind picks up. The instructor calls Lucas over and asks him to help hoist a large white sail that immediately billows out in the breeze. It gives the lobster boat an instant kick and it sprints toward the open sea.
* * *
• • •
The proud boat heads toward the cliffs of Plouha. Lucas stands by the prow. Eloise joins him, her feet unsteady. She stands beside him. She shivers and lights a cigarette.