“I fucked your mother.”
It’s what a lot of people say as a mean joke. So it’s got a funny ring to it, even when it happens for real. When we were fucking last night, I had to try hard to keep from laughing. I don’t know if the pain in my stomach was from holding in my laughter, or from cumming for the fourth time in one day.
Probably if I told Bill right now that I fucked his mom last night he would start punching me in the eye for putting such a picture in his mind. He wouldn’t think it really happened though. If he knew it really happened, he wouldn’t get mad. He would start to cry. It’s because his parents are married and he would be sad to think they might get a divorce over this.
“Hi Bill.” No one thinks it’s weird that he’s only fourteen and already his name is Bill. I used to think it was weird, but now I don’t care.
“What are you doing after school?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably play Zelda and then I’m going to mow the Duplessis’ lawn.” He’s always mowing people’s lawns for like twenty bucks. I work at Tim Horton’s on Guy. I don’t know why he doesn’t get a real job.
He sucks his cigarette. “What did you do last night?”
But I don’t think I’ll tell him because his mom might go to jail for statutory rape since I’m fifteen and she’s like forty-five. But it wasn’t rape. I wanted to fuck her and it was me who did the fucking. She just laid there on her back. It’s weird how you never hear of women raping men. It’s because you can’t rape a man. He needs to have a boner in order for a woman to fuck him, otherwise it’s physically impossible. And no man who is old enough to have a boner would ever say no to a woman who is willing to have sex with him. Besides, it’s always the woman who gets fucked and the man who does the fucking.
“Nothing. Just my homework.”
I guess the only way a woman could fuck a man is if she tied him down on his stomach and strapped on a rubber dick and then fucked his asshole. That could be rape. The guy probably would not consent to it. But what woman would feel the need to do that? Maybe a lesbian would if she saw herself as a man in her mind. But she would have to be a lesbian who saw herself as a gay man.
“Hey man, did you see that video I posted yesterday? ‘Show me your genitals, your genitals.’ So fuckin’ funny.”
“No. Let’s go in.”
I thought it might be weird to fuck such an old woman but she is still hot. She doesn’t look like my mom. Her tits are smaller and she’s shorter and just little in general. She only comes up to my shoulder. And she always smells like vanilla. Everywhere.
“Danny, the national anthem is playing. Stop rummaging through your locker.”
I wonder if Mrs. Pappenheim shaves her pussy. She’s the nicest teacher in Secondary two. And that makes her kind of hot.
“Shit Dan. You pitching a tent?”
“Shut up Bill.”
“Yeah, see ya.”
* * *
“Danny! The phone’s for you!”
I knew it would be Bill. He calls every day at six because they all eat supper at five like clockwork and he can’t stand to be alone afterwards. He’s such a baby sometimes.
“Want to come over?”
If he wants to play Wii all night I’ll kick his ass.
“Ok. See you in a few minutes.”
* * *
Maggie lives between me and Bill and used to be a real pain, but for the last two summers she’s become hot. Right now she’s laying out in a light blue bikini, which looks really good. I look quickly between her legs to see what’s there and it’s as smooth as butter. The girl takes care of herself. I wouldn’t have looked if I were walking closer to her though. From this distance she can only see that I’m looking, not what I’m looking at.
Calling girls by their last name is a habit I’ve carried over from hockey. It shows them that I don’t care too much.
* * *
“You want something to drink?”
“I’m going to get a fruit punch.”
Bill’s room smells a little like his mom, but not enough to make my dick hard. She said it can’t happen again, and I was worried it was because I came too fast and maybe she was disappointed. But then she’d said that I was really good.
“What are you doing? Can you move over please?”
Bill shoved his bedding over a black binder so fast I almost didn’t see that there was a binder lying there. I almost fell off the bed.
“What the fuck man?”
* * *
“Do you like that?”
I seem to be swallowing a lot. Well, when I remember to close my mouth. I never saw a pussy so close up before. And now that I’m touching it and watching my fingers go in and out of it, my mouth seems to be salivating at a disgusting rate.
“Do you want me to kiss your dick a little?”
I am at Bill’s again, only I’m supposed to be at school. I’m cutting. I didn’t plan it. I just couldn’t bring myself to sit through math this morning, so I knocked on their back door instead. She answered it wearing tights and a long shirt.
* * *
“Listen, I have to go to the grocery store, but you can let yourself out. It looks better anyway if we leave at different times.”
I’m in the shower.
But instead I go into Bill’s room and look for his black binder. Turns out it’s a diary. A fucking diary. Maybe he keeps track of his Zelda clues or whatever. At least I hope that’s what he uses it for.
…I wonder if he thinks about this stuff? Does he think about me too? Does he know how I feel? Has he ever…
I stop. The book falls to the floor. By accident-not because I’m shocked. I’m not shocked. Just a little queazy. I’m not going to pretend I don’t know who this mysterious ‘he’ is even though I’d be willing to bet seven Mario lives on Wii that ‘he’ is me.
* * *
I’m sweating. Then again it’s a 30 degree day in June. I treck across Bill’s lawn to my place.
“Hey Dan, shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I’m sick. I was just taking a walk.”
“A walk? Inside Bill’s house?”
“What about you? It doesn’t make sense to spend everyday sunbathing if no one at school gets to envy your tan, Coop.”
* * *
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Why weren’t you in school today?”
“My throat. It hurt this morning. Then-I don’t know what happened to it. Got better I guess.”
“Well your voice does sound funny. Anyways, want to come over? We can play Mario this time.”
“You don’t want to come over? You always come over.”
“I mean, no I don’t want to play Mario. I want to play that golf game. You know, the one where you can choose golf or tennis or whatever.”
“I hate that game. Whatever. Ok fine.”
I have to go over. Even though I know he’s in love with me. Otherwise he would suspect that I’m on to him. And besides, how would he spend his evenings if it weren’t for me coming over every night after supper? I can’t bear the mental image of him retiring his cigarettes and Wii in favour of a cup of herbal tea and a hot soak. Also, other images are flooding my mind, namely: he came out of the same place that I go in and out of: his mother’s vanilla-scented muff. It’s a twisted circle, he came out of there, I cum all over it, after going in and coming out several times, and then he cums privately in his room from thoughts of me coming over.
Then there’s the dreaded capital ‘c’ Coming. The Coming out of the closet. Why is there even a closet to come out of? Why do we assume someone is straight and if they are gay it’s a big secret? Same reason why we assume doctors are men and nurses are women. Because most doctors are men and most nurses are women. It’s not because we assume women can’t be doctors or men can’t be nurses, it’s just a question of probability-mathematics. We have more chance of being right if we assume someone is straight.
* * *
“Hi. Come on in.” I hadn’t even thought about Bill’s mom for two straight hours. She is now wearing a purple bath robe. It’s hot, but I can’t think about her now. I can only think about that diary and Bill and how things are different now.
“Bill’s upstairs, but before you go up, I think you should know something.”
“Bill is not normal, I mean he’s not like other boys. He’s not like you.”
“Whatever. He’s my friend. What do you think I want all my friends to be clones of myself? I hate myself. Jesus!” It isn’t really true. I don’t really hate myself. It just bugs me that she would try to tell me Bill’s secret before he had the chance to. As though he were nothing more than a piece of juicy gossip to her. How did she even find out that he’s gay in the first place?
* * *
I’m in his room now with him and it feels like the walls are caving slowing in on us. It feels dark and shadowy. I sense the need to crouch and whisper. I feel elderly. This has to stop.
“Listen Bill, I feel like we’re in some kind of make believe world here.”
“What are you talking about? It may be virtual, but it is still real.”
“No, not the game you idiot. You and me.”
“Same as always as far as I’m concerned.”
“Bill I know you’re gay. I read your-your diary.”
“Oh.” He lights a cigarette. I hate it when he smokes in his room. Right next to his old mantle-perched stuffed animals.
“Well whatever. You were bound to find out sometime. We-”
“Look, there is no ‘we’ anymore. You and I, we don’t exist in the same pronoun. Me and you don’t take up the same kind of space anymore. It’s like if Zelda suddenly appeared in a sports game, out of nowhere. It can’t happen. Zelda and sports, you and I, everything is its own separate entity now.”
“No, but we can. We can still be friends like always. If I made my avatar look and dress like Zelda, then who’s to say she couldn’t play sports?”
“What? No man. That’s the thing. It wouldn’t really be Zelda. It would be a fake Zelda. It would be you pretending to be her and that’s not fair to anyone.”
“I told you! There is no ‘we’ anymore. You and I are two different people, two different ‘i’s.”
“I just want to play Wii with you man. Like always. I don’t know what I’d do if you never came over again.”
“Listen man. I’m sorry, you’re right. Me and you will always have Wii.”
What is happening to me? Words are just coming out of my mouth at their own will. How can I play Wii with Bill as though nothing ever happened? As if I didn’t know he loved me? How can I not? We are too different now. We are two different ‘i’s who still play together in an animated fantasy game. I guess that’s why there are two ‘i’s in Wii. In real life, he and I can’t exist as ‘we’, but at least we can always be two separate ‘i’s in any given game of Wii.
* * *
“What are you running from?” Holy shit! What is she nocturnal now? Did she discover a new way to tan from moon rays?
“Beat it Cooper.”
“It’s awfully late for you to be coming from Bill’s. Why not just sleep over? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” What is that winking of the eye? How does everyone know that he harbours a gay love for me? Or maybe the question is, how could I not have known? In any case, I don’t like her smirking lips. I hate them. I think of a smart answer and when one doesn’t come to me, I punch her square on her mouth. She smooshes downward like a startled Goomba. What have I become?
* * *
“Hurry up.” Yes, it is 7:30 in the morning and I am in Bill’s room, but I didn’t sleep over. We always walk to school together. I came today out of force of habit.
“Hey come on. It’s the last day of school and I’m going to sit down during O Canada.” “Whatever man.”
“Are you still feeling weird about yesterday? I told you, we’ll just play Wii from now on. I’m going to throw out that stupid diary.”
“Oh man. It’s worse than that. Irreversible dammage has been done.”
“Jesus, you are so melodramatic. What could you have possibly done?”
I wanted to say that I may be melodramatic, but that he was the only drama queen around for miles and then we would laugh over cokes and Wii, but instead:
“I punched a girl, I daydream about Mrs. Pappenheim’s pussy, I fucked your mother. I’m a first class jerk is what I am.” He is looking at me with eyes that say ‘I love you unconditionally.’ I tear my gaze away. I swallow several times.
“Punching a girl is no big thing, you’ve punched me thousands of times. Mrs. Pappenheim’s pussy, who cares? I wet-dream about Mr. Albinger in a speedo singing along to the soundtrack of Mama Mia! Like eleven times a math class.”
“Really? Ok, yeah I guess I’ve been stressed out about nothing. So you want to play-”
“Wait a minute, you-you fucked my mother?”
Again with the swallowing. I’m always gulping down my own dignity.
“M-more than once.”
His response is quick: a crimping of the face, a darting of the eyes. Panic. Unbridled adrenaline.
“What the fuck man? The age difference is one thing, but she’s been married to my dad for 21 years! I can’t believe you would fucking jeopardize their marriage. Leave me the fuck alone.”
Bill crying is a sight I haven’t seen since intramural soccer last fall when he was the last kid picked by a team captain. It hurt me then just as it hurts me now. I beat the shit out of anyone who laughed at him then, but who do I beat up now? Myself?
“Go on, leave! I never want to see you again.”
I leave. And I never see my gay friend Bill again.
* * *
“Go on, leave! I never want to see you again.”
Then I turn around and walk straight back into Bill’s room where he lay still crying on the bed. I sit down and stroke his hair on the back of his head. It is weird, but also weirdly appropriate. He gets up and lights a cigarette. Through his blown-out smoke I can still see his glistening cheeks, wet with tear tracks. We both say nothing for a while, and then:
“Hey listen, what if I never fucked your mother but just, say, fucked with her head one time. Like I lied to her. That’s not so bad is it?”
More smoke blowing.
“I mean, I could pretend I never read your diary. Or that I read it and ‘he’ is really some weird name you gave to your Zelda game. Or ‘he’ is Mr. Albinger, I don’t care. Maybe you’re still gay. Just as long as you’re not in love with me.”
“Wait a minute, you think I am in love with you?” And, laughing: “I’m not in love with you. I’m in love with the video game store guy. We talked for like 17 minutes straight yesterday.”
“You are? No wait, are you sure it’s not me?”
He shakes his head and blows smoke over his shoulder.
“Do you know what this means?”
“We can still be friends and play Wii and hang out at school. Everything.”
“So you want me to forget that you fucked my mother and instead pretend that you fucked with my mother?”
“Well okay. But only if we can be ‘we’ again and not the one with two ‘i’s.”
“The original ‘we’? The ‘we’ who play Wii?”
* * *
“Hi. Do you guys have Super Mario Galaxy for Wii?” I already own it. I came to the video game store to size up that guy Martin who works here. The one Bill is so flipped over. What kind of a name is ‘Martin’ anyways?
“Yes. Do you want a copy?” Instead a girl with orange hair is answering to me. She is ugly. She is what I imagine is the girl version of this Martin asshole.
“Actually is that guy Martin working today?”
“Martin? No, he moved to Winnipeg with his family last January.”
I feel like my face evacuated all of its blood. Bill and I have agreed to be ‘we’ once again. But now I find out that I am the ‘he’ of his dreams. Funny thing-it feels kind of good. Maybe it is possible for me to be ‘he’ and for us to be ‘we’ and for me to pretend that I don’t know what he doesn’t want me to ever find out. We can pretend until the end. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…
Natalie Pendergast was born and reared on Prince Edward Island and now lives in Montreal. She is a deep-feeling, vibe-getting type of person with lots of sensitivity. Since many of her reactions to life’s experiences are subtle and emotional, putting them into words has always been a challenge. In those rare gems of moments when she is able to articulate just what these texture- and odor-less frequencies that she feels are, she writes it all down.