A Boy at the Edge of the World

by David Kingston Yeh

  “Karen.”

  “Yo, just chill uptight boy.”

  “‘Yo, just chill?’”

  Karen leaned back, cradling her coffee. “I work with a lot of youth on the rez.”

  “Don’t call me uptight. I hate it when you call me that. You told Megan you thought we were both uptight.”

  “I told her, Daniel, that I thought both of you could learn to relax more.”

  “Okay, fine.” I took out my phone and flipped through my albums. “Hold on, let me see. Oh, here, okay. I’ll show you this one.” Discreetly, I held it out. It was a selfie I’d taken of David and me on our backs on our bed, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Oh my god. Are you two covered in shit?”

  “What? No! Karen, Jesus Christ. That’s sugar pie. We were eating Grandpa’s sugar pie off each other.”

  “What are those chunks?”

  “That’s cannoli, and Rocky Road ice cream.”

  “Oh, okay. For a minute there. Whoa. I’m all for kinky shit, but hey.”

  “It’s not shit.”

  “Alright, okay. Well this is romantic then. You two boys look happy together. You really do. David’s also a lot less hairy than I thought he’d be.” Karen tilted my phone sideway. “Now that is one sexy treasure trail. Does he trim his chest?”

  “No, he doesn’t trim.”

  “What about down there?”

  “Down there, maybe just a little bit.”

  “I thought so. All you gay boys trim.”

  “Karen, that’s so not true. And straight guys trim too, you know. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Daniel, I tell you everything Liam and I get into. I trim, and I shave my pits. I really shouldn’t. It’s all this internalized white oppression. Liam never trims. He’s a shag rug down there. And have you seen his ass lately? It definitely was not that hairy five years ago.”

  “Karen, I don’t want to hear about my brother’s ass. Anyway, I thought you two broke up again.”

  “We did break up.” Karen handed me back my phone. “We’re broken up.”

  After a moment I asked, “Is he okay?”

  “Liam? He’s fine. He’s doing his thing. He spends his time between your family cottage and my aunt’s farm. My aunt’s practically adopted him. Oh, and I’m fine too, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “When am I not? Look, Liam and I, we’re still friends. This winter we went through a rough patch. He’s back on his meds. He’s doing fine now. I’m there if he needs me, and he has other people in his life too.”

  “Liam’s back on his meds? What kind of meds?”

  “Zoloft.”

  “Fuck.”

  “It’s an antidepressant.”

  “I know what Zoloft is.” I massaged my temples. I’d sensed something wasn’t quite right with Liam back during Christmas. But with all the drama around Grandma and the funeral, I hadn’t bothered to check in with him. Liam always played his cards close. “He doesn’t talk to me about these things.”

  “He doesn’t talk to anyone about these things.”

  “I’ve tried in the past, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “How bad was it?”

  “Bad enough that he agreed to go back on meds.”

  “Does Grandpa know?”

  “No.”

  “And he’s better now?”

  “He’s better now, Daniel.”

  You were the one who convinced him?”

  “And my aunt.”

  “Really?”

  “She’s been a big influence in Liam’s life.”

  “I’d like to meet her.”

  “She’s an amazing woman. She’s the one who taught me how to drive a tractor. She competed in the 1972 Olympics in women’s cross-country skiing. She’s also the only Elder on the Band Council with a university degree.”

  “She sounds amazing.”

  “I’ll introduce you one day. You should come up and visit this summer.”

  “How is life on Manitoulin?”

  “It’s a whole different world. I get a lot of respect. There aren’t that many young people who stay on the Island anymore. But just between you and me, the truth is, the main reason I moved out there is to be closer to Liam. How ironic is that?”

  “Karen, maybe you should start dating other guys.”

  “Who says I’m not? Who says I don’t have some perfectly nice Manitoulin boy on the go, who opens doors for me, speaks fluent Ojibwe, tags me on Facebook, and actually answers my phone calls?”

  “If you did, Karen, you’d tell me.”

  “I would?”

  “Yeah. You’re my best friend.”

  Down the lane, a dreadlocked busker started belting out an old Ronnie Hawkins tune. “I am your best friend, Daniel Garneau.” Karen put on her sunglasses again. The clouds in the sky floated past like giant cotton balls. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  She raised her face to the sun. “I do declare, I am looking forward to meeting your shuga-pah boy.”

  “Karen, you cannot tell David I showed you that picture.”

  “But, darling,” she drawled, peering over her sunglasses. “It’s sweet.”

  “Karen.”

  “No pun intended, honey.”

  “Don’t. I’m serious. Promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Alright. Chill. I promise.”

  That evening, after three rounds of boilermakers, David remembered the sugar pie pic and insisted I show it to Karen, Pat and Blonde Dawn. The five of us huddled in a booth at Sneaky Dee’s, sharing photos on all our phones. Karen had pictures of her and Liam smoking salmon they’d caught out on Providence Bay. Pat and Blonde Dawn scrolled through pics of the two of them hefting steak stroganoff poutine at a Rush concert at the Air Canada Centre. The waitress arrived with our fajita orders: sizzling cast-iron skillets loaded with thick slices of chicken, red and green peppers and caramelized onions, with sides of refried beans and rice, warm tortillas, guacamole, sour cream, salsa, mole and fresh-chopped tomatoes with cilantro and onion. After that, the topic of conversation turned to food and one thing led to another. Karen stayed the night at Pat and Blonde Dawn’s, since they had the extra guest room. The next morning, the five of us met again on the patio of Aunties and Uncles with its quaint décor and white picket fence, which I must’ve walked past a hundred times. According to NOW Magazine, the tiny restaurant served up one of the best brunches in the city, and we weren’t disappointed (they even made their own ketchup in-house). After five years in Toronto, I was still making amazing discoveries within blocks of where I lived. After that, Karen hugged us all goodbye, and hit the road for the long drive back home to Manitoulin.

  “She’s great,” David said, keying back into our loft.

  “You think so?”

  “Of course she is.” He flopped down on the couch and opened a copy of Pedal Magazine. “She can drink, she plays a mean game of pool, and she laughs at all my jokes.”

  “I’m glad you two hit it off. Karen’s like family, her and her little sister.”

  “Who’s her sister again?”

  “Anne. Anne Fobister. If she gets into OCAD, she’ll be moving to Toronto this fall.”

  “You know Karen’s in love with your brother Liam.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Is it?”

  “It’s just the way she talks about him.”

  “Well, they’re not together anymore.”

  “That’s beside the point. A lot of people who love each other don’t stay together. And a lot of people who don’t love each other, well, they end up staying together their whole lives. It’s fucked up, but that’s the way it is.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “It’s pathetic, that’s what it is. Now Pat and Blonde Dawn, they make a great couple. Those two were meant
for each other.”

  “Even though they’re having sex with other people?”

  “Pat’s told you that?”

  “Yeah, he’s told me.”

  “Well, maybe it’s because of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  David sat up. “Just because two people are in love doesn’t mean they’re not going to be attracted to other people. It’s human nature. Those kind of feelings don’t just suddenly stop. We’re told that if we’re truly in love with someone, we’re not going to want to be with other people. But that’s bullshit. That’s a myth. It’s a myth that’s ruined a lot of good relationships.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “What I’m saying is that monogamy is way overrated.”

  “We’re monogamous.”

  “We’ve acted monogamous, Daniel. But we’ve talked about opening up. Negotiating an open relationship takes a strong bond and a lot of trust. I’m in love with you. I’m crazy about you. Just thinking about having sex with you makes me hard. You’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. At the same time, face it, you and I both also think about screwing other people. Why? Because we’re healthy, normal young guys, that’s why.”

  “But do you want to have sex with other guys?”

  “Of course I do, and so do you. But we don’t because we’re afraid of what it might mean to our partners. But the truth is, a lot of couples you think are monogamous are negotiating non-monogamy all the time. They just don’t talk about it.”

  “We’ve talked about it.”

  “Yes we have. We just haven’t done anything about it. Don’t get me wrong, Daniel. I’m happy with you, more than happy. I’d also be happy eating Italian food the rest of my life. I love my Italian. You know what I mean?”

  “Except you’re not going to be eating just Italian the rest of your life.”

  “Exactly, given the option. Opening up should never be black-and-white, but it’s all about negotiating options. For instance, Pat and Blonde Dawn have a don’t-askdon’t-tell policy. That wouldn’t work with me. I’d want to know. Hell, I’d want to be there. This morning, at Aunties and Uncles, Karen asked if we always eat off each other’s plates. Have you noticed we do that? It’s true.”

  “I suppose we do.” It was true. David and I shared a lot of things. Some things we’d negotiated (like where I’d shelve my textbooks and ginormous DVD collection), and other things we hadn’t (like wearing each other’s socks and underwear). It just worked out that way. “So, is there someone else,” I asked tentatively, “you want to have sex with?”

  “You mean specifically someone I’ve been thinking about? Apart from you, Dean Winchester, and Tyler Durden,” David said, laughing, “no. No there’s not.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Daniel. Let’s just say, out of those three people you’re the only one who’s actually real, okay?”

  I sat on the armrest of the couch. “But you think I want to have sex with Marcus.”

  David put down his magazine. “Don’t you? C’mon, seriously. Don’t you ever fantasize about him?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because you say his name in your sleep.”

  “Fuck off. No I don’t.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “The hell I do.”

  “You want me to record you the next time it happens?”

  “The next time? Really?”

  “Daniel, it’s okay. It doesn’t bother me. I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not the jealous type.”

  “But what if I am?”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “No you didn’t. I did.”

  “Are you?”

  Three heartbeats passed. “I don’t want to be.”

  “Then that just takes practice. C’mere.” David pulled me down next to him and wrapped his arms around me. “I love you so much, Daniel Garneau. I love the sound of your voice. I love how you smell. I love the way you bite your lip when you cut my hair. I love sticking my tongue in your belly-button. I love downing tequila shots with your brother Pat and his girlfriend Blonde Dawn and your best friend Karen. I love the look on your face when you’re inside of me. I love the way you eat your Creamsicles, and I love the way you snore.”

  “I snore?”

  “No one’s ever told you that before?”

  “What do I say?”

  “What?”

  “When I say Marcus’ name.”

  “Nothing. You just mumble his name sometimes. He’s important to you. He’s on your mind.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I trust us.”

  “He’s like a ghost.”

  “Your relationship with him is a ghost. The guy is real.”

  “He’s complicated.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said sighing, “I want Marcus Wittenbrink Jr. in our lives, David.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave this up to you. You know how I feel.” His ran his fingers through my hair, and kissed the side of my head. “We have a whole Sunday afternoon to ourselves, mister. What do you want to do?”

  “Why don’t I take you to my gym and I’ll teach you how to play squash?”

  “Can I blow you in the sauna afterwards?”

  “It’s not that kind of gym.”

  “Can we shower with other naked men?”

  “Probably.”

  “Alrighty then. I’m in. Let’s do it.”

  And so we did.

  At some point during the winter, Pat and Blonde Dawn had formed a band called Three Dog Run. Bobby Lam on saxophone (and half a dozen other instruments) and a bass player named Rod Rodriguez filled out the roster. They practised out of Rod’s garage up in the Annex. Rod was a short, balding thirty-something who sported an enormous, ZZ Top beard. The four made an odd-looking ensemble, but they sounded terrific. On more than one occasion, they’d used the Free Times’ Monday Nite Open Stage to fine-tune their act. By May, David was designing a press kit and creating a Facebook page to promote the band.

  “So what are you, like their publicist?” I asked.

  “No,” David said, bent over his laptop, “not even. I’m just helping out.” He printed out an image and thrust it at me. “Here.” It was a black and white, stylized silhouette of three puppies inside a spiral circle. “What do you think?”

  I sat up on the couch, and sipped my Sunday morning coffee. “I like it.” I examined it at arm’s length. “I really like it. You designed this?”

  “Of course, I designed it. I’m more than a pretty face, mister.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  David leaned over my shoulder. “It’s playful. It’s cute but not too cute. I just added the studded collars to give it an edgier look.” He jumped the couch, pushed aside my textbooks and sat down next to me. “See here, the swirl, it kinda hints at a Seventies groove. Their band, it’s all about fun and feeling good, right?”

  “Pat’s going to love this.”

  “It’s going to have to go through Blonde Dawn first.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “I’d originally designed this three-headed dog logo, but Marcus said it looked too much like Cerberus, this monster that guards the Greek underworld. Way too heavy metal. Blonde Dawn agreed.”

  “Marcus?”

  “He’s been helping get the demo tape out. He knows people. Pat needs all the help he can get.”

  “Since when has Marcus been involved in this?”

  “Daniel, you’ve been really busy with school. Look, it’s not a big deal. We met at Lunacy Cabaret, remember? We’re all friends on Facebook.”

  “Fuck this Facebook crap!” I stood up. “Why didn’t you tell me Marcus was friends with Pat? Pat’s my brother. Marcus knows that, he knew that from the start. I swear, I bet he lent Pat that hat on purpose.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I told you I thought Marcus
was stalking me, and you told me he wasn’t.”

  “He’s not, Daniel. Get a fucking grip.”

  “So like have you been hanging out with him, and Pat and everyone?”

  “Daniel, the last time I saw him was the last time we both saw him.”

  “And what about Pat?”

  “What about Pat? Pat can be friends with whoever he wants.”

  “Obviously.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Well, since you asked: Three Dog Run cut its demo tape at Marcus’ loft a few weeks back.”

  “What?”

  “They needed a space to record.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “When was anyone going to tell me this?”

  “Daniel, relax.”

  “You know, when you tell me to relax, it doesn’t help. It actually has the opposite effect. That’s just an FYI. I don’t need another person in my life telling me to relax.”

  “If you have that many people telling you, maybe you should start listening.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck yourself.”

  I threw the print-out back at David and retreated to the bedroom where I flung open the closet. David followed me. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m changing. I’m going out to study. Some people are in school.” I pulled off my sweatpants and threw them in the hamper. “Some people need to study.”

  “Stop,” David said. “Stop.”

  I sat down on the bed, breathing hard, my T-shirt still wrapped around my arms. My bangs were in my face. I could feel the heat in my cheeks.

  David stood uncertainly in the doorway. “What,” he finally said, “just happened there?” I tossed my shirt on the floor. After a moment, David knelt on the bed behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest. “Daniel, what just happened there?”

  I shook my head.

  “I think I know what happened.” He pressed his mouth against the back of my neck. “I think,” he said, “my Daniel got jealous.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “It’s okay. You’ve been busy. You’re in med school for chrissake. It doesn’t get more busy than that.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Mm-hm.” He squeezed me and massaged my shoulders. “But it’s all good. Cause there’s absolutely nothing to be jealous about, okay?”