STEFANOS SINGELAKIS - QUESTION MARK

Stefanos Singelakis lives in Montreal and is an author of short stories and novellas. In 2019, he completed an MA in the History and Philosophy of Religion at Concordia University. He likes writing stories that engage topics that are important to him and that often deal with issues surrounding identity and human behavior.   

Question Mark
​

People say that Mark is good looking. More than that. Apparently, he’s beautiful. I am not so sure. Or at least, he’s not for me. That’s what I keep saying. Am I lying to myself? But anyways, what is the point of me telling you all this? I will let you decide. I will paint you a picture. This will be made all the easier since he is near me now. Actually, at this very moment he’s lounging on his bed waiting. Waiting and growing playfully impatient. I have yet to decide if I will go to him or not. Maybe I’ll just make another drink. Put it off for a while. Or find a way to make it all go away. At least for tonight. I can do that. It doesn’t take much to turn a person off. But sometimes, if they want you bad enough, they’re prepared to put up with just about anything. I don’t know if Mark is. He’ll certainly put up with a lot. He is ready to put up with me making him wait. There are other things too. You’ll see. But now I must keep my word and let you see what I see. 
Jordyn says that Mark is “a catch.” She’s an expert on this sort of stuff. Or to put it differently, she has an appetite for romance. But Mark “the catch” is not the way I’d describe him. Mark is like a Florentine statue. One that walks, talks, laughs, eats, shits and farts and all the rest of the stuff that humans do. But his admirers rarely think about things like that. Sometimes he reminds me of an attractive youth that is now twenty-six, but has retained his boyish charms while having acquired a masculine exterior. His voice has a bounce to it. It reminds me of the voice of a stage actor. He has pale skin, not unlike a marble statue, but with the fleshiness that shows he’s alive and full of amorous energy. I would describe him as slim but in shape. He has just enough of a natural build to make it look like he worked out or maybe swam a lot. Mark’s fingers are long, his hair is dark and curly, he has high cheekbones, as well as large, ocean blue eyes and a medium sized aquiline nose. This is what Jordyn would describe as “a total catch.” I prefer to think of him as Florentine or neo-classical.   
Under any other circumstances I should feel attracted to him. What a lie. I am attracted to him. And this would be fine if Mark were anybody except Mark. He is or maybe was or maybe still is my best friend. He’s also like a brother to me. Leastways, that’s how I see him and until recently that’s how I thought he saw me. I imagine he still does. But I would never fuck my brother or my best friend. At least, that’s what I’ve thought and that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I’ve also been telling myself that I am not gay. After all, I like to sleep with women. But on the other hand, I find certain men to be attractive. But I’ve never liked having anal sex with someone, whether a man or a woman. I also have no interest in sucking cock. But still, I find some men attractive. I just like to look at them; particularly their faces. My second favorite thing to look at is their upper body, which has to be muscular or at least not flabby. I also think about kissing them. That’s typically about as far as I’ll go. But on certain occasions I go further. Usually everything else is brought on by their actions. I literally don’t have to do a thing and before you know it some guy is trying to suck me off. But it’s rarely my idea. And then there’s Mark. Whatever will I do with him? 
“Bas, are you coming or not? And bring me an Old Fashioned. I can hear you making one.”
That’s right! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Bas, which is short for Sebastian. My father is Dutch and hence the name Bas. That’s what they would call me over in the mother country. Mark is right and as I’m talking to you right now I’m actually making a drink. It’s called an Old Fashioned. I learnt how to make it today. I discovered it two years ago while I was addictively watching Mad Men on Netflix. Don Draper always had one and since he did, I knew I needed to try one and until now, I’d completely forgotten that I wanted to try it. And so here I am. I have the bitters, the sugar cube, the Woodford Reserve and a scotch tumbler. I know that if I make Mark a drink that I’m going to have to bring it to him, and that he is in the bedroom and if he has one and I have another, there is the distinct possibility that I will sleep with him. But, I don’t want to. I don’t want to fuck Mark. At least, part of me doesn’t. And part of me does. The thing that needs answering is why and why not. And that’s no easy answer.    
***
I can’t remember when I started thinking about men. It was probably sometime in my early twenties. But, that is by no means the period during which I had my first homoerotic experience; that is, if I can describe what I am about to talk to you about as being homoerotic. Now to talk about that, I need to take us all the way back to kindergarten. 
The boy was a blond with a bowl cut. His name was either Jamie or Jeffrey. In school back then everybody except my parents called me Sebastian. I remember standing with this boy and a couple other kids in the schoolyard by a corner next to a big maple tree. The blond boy was acting very excitable. I remember him looking at me and saying, “You want to play doctor?” 
I didn’t know what he meant but instinctively said “yes.” Then he told me, “Ok. I’ll be the patient and you be the doctor.” 
Then before you know it he dropped his pants down to his knees and continued to look at me with an impish smile. I don’t know what came over me but before I knew it I had reached forward with my right hand, which was pudgy with baby fat, and began fondling his penis. As I experimented with the plumbing, Jamie or Jeffrey proceeded to look at my hand then back up at my face. Then he started to giggle as he directed a big, open mouthed, toothy smile in my general direction. His little, white baby teeth kept shining as he laughed. This game that he’d initiated had lasted for about five seconds and then he pulled up his pants and ran off to the other side of the school yard. Once he made his way over there, he started to kick around a soccer ball with a couple other boys as if nothing had happened. And that was that.  
My next sexual encounter wouldn’t occur for another six years and it wasn’t with a boy. For a couple years during the period in which I attended elementary school, my father thought it would be a good idea to send me to some kind of Christian sleep away camp. Nothing overly religious. We mostly just played and every once in a while, I’d see a cross on a wall or have to attend a short lecture on Jesus or the Bible. It was there that I met Julie. She was a year younger than me. Her older sister introduced the two of us. This is how it went. One day in a small auditorium after a lecture on sin, her older sister Lizzie walked up to where I was sitting and asked me point blank: “Do you want to go to the dance with my sister?”
The dance was a big event that only took place once every summer. The adults would usher us into this building and would then leave us alone to hang out and dance with each other as a DJ would play 90s radio hit tunes. There was always an adult standing somewhere by one of the exit doors, but they never paid any attention to us. Not at the dance. This was when we got to act like adults or teenagers. 
Lizzie was an older version of her younger sister Julie. They were both short, skinny, freckled brunets. Just like with the blond boy’s doctor game I found myself acting on instinct. When faced with an invitation to go on a date with Lizzie’s little sister, who I had never seen by the way, I responded in the affirmative with a quick “yes.” As it turned out, Lizzie had asked Julie to point out which boy she’d like to go to the dance with and Julie picked me. After my “yes” Lizzie came back with a simple “good” and then walked away. 
The dance was the next day. I hadn’t yet seen Julie up until the moment I was about to enter the dance hall. Then as if out of nowhere her sister walked up to me with her little sis in tow and like a messenger declared: “This is my sister Julie.” Lizzie then took Julie by the shoulders and directed her towards me. When Julie set eyes on me she started blushing. The whole thing was kind of embarrassing for the both of us. It felt like an arranged marriage. Then before we knew it, Lizzie was gone and it was just the two of us. We didn’t end up dancing much. And by the end of the evening we had gone outside and talked for an hour while holding hands. When our four weeks away from home were finally up, Julie said bye to me and then snuck in a kiss. She pecked my lips the way that little kids do when trying to imitate what they saw on TV. That was the first summer of knowing Julie at summer camp.       
After the following year’s summer camp ended, I started getting invited over for sleep overs. Both our parents assumed that Julie and I had formed a happy little friendship. Julie’s sister Lizzie was the only one that really knew what was going on. She was the mastermind. Before one of our sleepovers Lizzie had decided to give Julie the teenage version of sex-ed. Her instructions were simple. Don’t have sex until you have your period. If you want to make him feel good you have to suck the tip of his dick. If you want him to make you feel good he has to kiss you down there. And if you want to make him excited you should turn on some soft porn on my TV. Back then soft porn would play on certain cable television channels after eleven. Lizzie then told her that she would go sleep at a friend’s place so that the two of us could be alone. And that’s how it happened.  
On one of these nights after everyone had gone to sleep, Julie turned on her sister’s TV and introduced me to porn. As we sat there watching the TV on Lizzie’s bed, Julie hopped up on her knees and pulled down my sleeping shorts. I wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath. I remember her looking at my dick with her face half a foot away from my genitals and grin as she said, “You have a boner!” If I had to describe Julie back then I’d say she was the opposite of shy. Without any prompting or hesitation, she leaned forward and put the head of my penis in her mouth. This lasted for about ten seconds. Then she flopped down on the bed next to me and removed her own pajama pants. 
I have to be honest. When I saw hers, I was grossed out. It was my turn and I knew it. I got up on my knees and asked her “What do you want me to do?”
Julie made kissing gestures with her mouth. I got the message. I remember fondling her barely existent tits. Then there was the other part. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. All I saw was hair and weird extra skin. I remember thinking: “There’s no way I’m doing that.” I needed a compromise. And so instead going down on her, I went with my finger and fooled around with it for a bit. While I did this, she was making noises. Just like her, after about ten seconds I was done. That was the most I could stomach and I didn’t understand how adults could find a girl’s parts to be attractive. 
We saw each other a couple more times throughout the year but never experienced that hyper sexual situation again. A kiss here and there and lots of hugging. But that was it. The next summer I didn’t go back to camp. I couldn’t stand having the councilors tell me what to do all the time. And plus, the Jesus stuff was getting to me. That was the end of Julie and me. 
When I hit puberty, things changed. I was girl crazy but didn’t have much luck with the ladies. This led to a short-lived boy phase that petered out when I met my first real girlfriend at fifteen. This time we really did give each other oral in her parent’s basement next to the pinball machines and record player. This girl liked her vinyl. But even then, I didn’t enjoy eating pussy. The whole thing kind of grossed me out. I’ve only ever given oral to one other girl and I must admit, it was tolerable. Mostly because she had a super small clit and that’s when I realized it was the hood that bothered me. It was just too much for me to stomach.  
***
My first guy on guy encounter occurred in my early twenties. I’d just finished my undergrad and had managed to get hired at my first adult job and was partying a lot. I met this dude called David. As it turned out, David wasn’t sure he wanted to be called David. A couple months into knowing him, David started to wear women’s scarves and then women’s clothing. And then the drugs started. Lots of M, E, Coke and monstrous doses of Estrogen. He still didn’t readily identify as a woman but it was strikingly obvious what direction he was heading in. I didn’t judge him. I’d often go out drinking with David when he was fully dressed up as a girl. The regulars would give us funny looks as we’d sit together at the bar drinking the house wine. It was David who introduced me to drugs. Before him I’d barely tried anything. I simply didn’t know anybody who had anything stronger than weed and I didn’t like smoking since the one time I tried it when I was fifteen and coughed my lungs out in a shopping mall parking lot. But with David, if he was doing something that meant that I was doing something as well. And like I said, at the time, I was burnt out from three years of school and from the juggling act of having to now balance multiple projects at work, while partying to excess. Coke didn’t seem like such a stretch once you get into the habit of drinking a bottle of red a couple nights a week.  
Six months into knowing David our friendship came to an end. It was a Friday night and as could be expected of the two of us, we were together and were in the process of getting royally fucked up. For about two hours we had been working through a case of ten-year Cabral Tawny. We’d gotten as far as the second bottle. Every time David finished his drink he would slam his glass down on the table and shout for another one. The first time he did this he actually broke the glass he was holding. After that, I decided that it would be best if he drank from a plastic cup. This humiliation had put him in a mood. 
“I don’t feel like staying here any longer Bas. Let’s go back to my place and get something to drink.” 
“But we have alcohol here.”
Looking disgustedly at the remnants of the Porto in his plastic cup, he blew out his lips. “I don’t want to drink any more of this piss.”
“Then what do you feel like having?”
“I have a nice bottle of Chardonnay at my place.”
“You really want to drive all the way over to your apartment for a bottle of wine?”
“Half a bottle of wine actually. But it’s so good!”
“That good uh?”
David gave me a look as he rearranged the scarf he was wearing. 
“You know Bas, I spoil you.”
On hearing this I started to laugh. David continued to talk: “I also have something else we could do.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
“I have three hits of M I was saving for New Years. We could take them tonight.”
This brought things to a pause. I was looking at David as he proceeded to rub his smooth, freshly shaved chin and cheeks. 
“See, I’m spoiling you rotten.”
“I don’t know. I’m already pretty high off the drinks.”
He then scrunched his nose. “Come on Bas. It’s Friday.”
David had just used his extra whiny voice, which was typically only used when he really wanted something. I didn’t want to be a downer and so for the sake of our friendship I decided to be accommodating. 
“Sure, what the hell. Let’s go pick them up.” 
David then smiled. “Great! I’m going to take a piss and we’ll go.” 
As he went to the washroom I put on my shoes and waited for him by the door. Before you know it, we were in his car and buzzing down the highway to his place. After eight minutes of driving we had arrived in front of his building. He left the car running and turned off the music. 
“You know, I just realized Sidney is here tonight. I’ll get the stuff and we’ll head back to your place.”
Sidney was David’s roommate. She was a nice girl who was in the habit of mothering him. She regarded David as a kind of naughty young man, which he was, and usually David didn’t mind the doting, but not tonight. And so, he vaulted up the stairs and was gone from sight. Two minutes later he reappeared sipping his Chardonnay from the bottle and got back in the car. Then we were off. 
Once we’d arrived back at my place he started to fish around in his handbag until he pulled out a pill container holding three hits of M. I was sipping another glass of Cabral Tawny. 
“Give me your glass.”
I could see that he was holding one of the capsules between his thumb and index finger. I handed him the glass.
“I’m only going to give you half because it’s strong stuff.”
“You’re the boss.”
David winked at me. 
“That’s right.” 
Then I watched him fumble with the pill as he tried to pry it open. When he finally managed to pull it apart he began to curse.
“Oh, fuck. Shit.”
“What?”
“I accidentally poured the whole thing in.”
I felt annoyed. 
“Great.” 
David heard the tone of my voice and felt sorry. 
“Fuck Bas, I’m sorry.” Then he tried to put a positive spin on things. “I guess you’re going to have one hell of night. Ladies and gentlemen, buckle your seat belts. Lift off in five, four, three, two.”
His clowning had dispelled whatever annoyance I was feeling. He was really cracking me up. We both had that mischievous glint in our eyes. David had already poured himself a glass of wine and downed his pill whole. Then he clinked his glass with mine. The Porto went down smooth as I swallowed its contents. Before I knew it, I was fucking flying. I felt out of my skin in the way that a big dose of M can make your body feel all weird and alien. After about an hour of this I got really tired. David was dancing around the living room to the music playing on his phone. We both couldn’t stop laughing. When the fatigue got to be too much I headed for my bedroom, undressed and went to sleep. 
During the night something woke me up. I felt an incredible sensation in the lower half of my body. When I opened my eyes, I saw that someone else was in the bed with me. It was David. He had my cock in his mouth. I could see that his shirt was off. I looked at his smooth, hairless chest. I continued to feel the sensation and I must have made a noise because David looked up at me with his mouth still on my dick. Then I felt really tired again and passed out. 
The next day we made like nothing had happened. I got up and went downstairs to make a cup of coffee. David was already awake and had made himself a glass. He looked a little disheveled. Another way to put it would be to say that he looked more like a man. I looked over at him as I poured myself a cup from the French press, “Good morning.”
He peaked at me between texts. “Good morning.” 
As I sat there getting my caffeine fix I watched David play on his phone. Then I started to flip through that month’s issue of The New Yorker. Someone gave me their copy at work. We both acted like nothing had happened. However, we both knew some line had been crossed. Something that could not be undone had occurred. After that we occasionally messaged each other. But we never hung out again. There was guilt. We both had our own type of guilt. David knew that he’d broken the bonds of our friendship by taking my cock in his mouth while I lay asleep in my bed. I felt ashamed for having had oral sex with a man. I also felt anger at this violation. But there was something else that had stirred inside of me. I didn’t fully appreciate what it was at the time.
***
    With David gone I distanced myself from the drug scene. This wasn’t a hard thing to do since he was my only connection to that world. It felt like a weight off my chest. But I wouldn’t say it was easy. For one, it made me sick. Never in my life did I have an ear infection, an eye infection, a bloody nose and a cold all at the same time. One day when I was visiting my father I told him about how I wasn’t feeling well. On hearing the news his usually warm demeanor had turned frosty: “That’s what you get for abusing your body.”
His response had caught me off guard. 
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?”
I could see that he’d taken my denial as a slight. Or more likely, He was upset because he cared about me. After all, I was his only son.  
“I didn’t know you knew.”
He was still holding a severe expression but I could see his kindness creeping up at the corners of his mouth and then he tapped the side of his greying head. 
“I might be getting old and losing my hair, but I’m not blind.”
Then I felt self-conscious.     
“I’m taking better care of myself now.” 
Now his frosty expression was really melting. He couldn’t keep up a mean face for the life of him. 
“That’s good Bas. Some things can’t always be undone. You don’t want to wear yourself out.”
“I know.” 
***
The week after the conversation with my father I decided to sign up for some evening university courses. Just to change the scene. At first, I wasn’t really into it but Jordyn, who also worked at the same company as me and who was also taking night courses, told me it would be fun. “Plus, you might meet some interesting people.”
“You think?”
“Of course. At least it’s much better than hanging out in bars with people like David.”
She knew about David. After the incident I had filled her in on all the details. I knew I could trust her. She was the first person to befriend me when I started working for Ubisoft. 
“Yeah, but what if I don’t meet anybody?”
Jordyn then gave me a funny look. She was an expert in the delivery of funny faces. It had something to do with her big glasses, cute, upturned, elf nose, and small puffy lips. 
“All you have to do is talk to people.” 
“It’s as easy as that?”
It was time for another funny expression. She raised her eyebrows and nodded her head. 
“As easy as that. Easy peasy.” 
“Alright.”
She raised both her arms in an exaggerated gesture of triumph, “Sold!”
This caused us both to break out in laughter simultaneously. And that did it. I was going back to school. Well, not for a degree or anything. Just to change the air. Make a fresh start.  
I decided that I needed to do something completely out of my comfort zone. When I was a student I managed to squeeze by with an undergraduate degree in history. Now I thought I’d try my hand at English literature. How hard could it be right? Just read a bunch of stories. As it turned out, I had to give the class material a hell of a lot more thought and head scratching than I had anticipated. I took a class on short fiction and found myself diving into stories like Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which is actually a novella, but who gives a fuck. And then a wide selection of American and British short fiction. The thing that impressed me the most was hearing the authors discuss their own process in essay form. Hemingway was the one that really got me. I liked the iceberg theory. It was there that I met Jean, Leandro and Mark. But let’s begin with Jean. 
Jean was the first serious relationship I had ever been in with a woman. Things kicked off when she asked me to study for the midterm exam. Honestly, I hadn’t intended on taking the tests that seriously. I was doing it more for the experience. You know, as Jordyn said, to get to meet some new faces. Our first study session took place at the Concordia University SGW campus. For the second session, she suggested that we go to a coffee shop. After about forty minutes of reviewing notes we both decided to put down our papers and just talk about shit. The coffees had us both feeling over caffeinated and all we felt like doing was chatting about our favorite books and composers and small Montreal restaurants. She told me about how she was going to stay in Rome for four weeks in the summer with her cousin who received a post doctorate fellowship over there. I told her that a year ago I had spent two weeks exploring the city and living it up. As it turned out, we were both huge Roman History fans. She did her BA in archeology and was telling me all about it. Then one chat lead to another and as the weeks passed by I eventually ended up at her place in Mile End and then we were together. It was great. The sex was exciting. I felt good just being around her. 
After that first semester we decided to take another class together. We thought of it as our thing. We’d go to class and then head back to her place to spend the night. It got to the point that I’d leave a couple things at her place since I was there so often. After the winter semester she went on that summer vacation to Rome. We kept in touch. On the third week I flew over as well and we took a trip up to Florence. She said that she needed a break from her cousin Holly anyways. That was the best time. We took walks at night, ate, drank coffee, went shopping, read poetry books in an effort to be overly romantic, which only made us feel silly and ridiculous and then there was always a bottle of wine at our hotel and then bed. On one of our evening strolls we asked a stranger to take a photo of us with Jean’s phone. I was worried we’d get robbed and that the person would run off with it. They didn’t. Then I asked the man to take one with my phone as well. When we were looking at the photos later that night I called the one I had “my special treasure.” Then we drank and went to bed. I felt amazing. Complete. When the week was up I flew back to Montreal and Jean took the train back down to Rome. She told me she loved me and said that she’d see me soon. 
When she got back things were good. Work was getting busy again. Jordyn and I were assigned to work on a big new project that was to be run at a pretty breakneck pace. When our boss gave us his version of the “no prisoners” and “full charge straight ahead” speech, we knew what we were in for. This meant that neither of us would be able to attend any more courses in the summer or the fall. The way I saw it, it didn’t really matter though. I had my friends. I had Jordyn, Jean, Leandro and Mark. Leandro and Mark had moved on to other things as well. Leandro took up badminton of all things and Mark was Mark. He was everywhere but alone in his own world all at the same time. Almost every week I’d meet up with him for a drink. And with Leandro it was every second week. And of course, I was always around Jean. But things had become a little different. Unlike the rest of us, Jean continued to sign up for classes. She was even talking about maybe doing a second degree. She said that she liked the experience. Our little circle wasn’t enough for her, but I didn’t hold it against her. She wanted to meet more people and learn more things and I figured that was great. Except she didn’t meet new people. Only one. Aaron.   
At first, he didn’t have a name. He was merely “my study partner.”
 When I asked about him she’d tell me: “Oh, he’s just a guy from class. Nothing for you to worry about.” 
Then she’d kiss me and on special occasions she’d look deep into my eyes as if she were peering through them into the deepest recesses of my soul. And that’s how it was for a while. But then she began spending more and more time with Aaron; I’d learnt his name by then. At first it was once a week but afterwards it became twice a week. And I was totally trusting. Jean would never do anything to hurt me. She couldn’t. We were together. We had Florence. We had each other. Despite my confidence in the status of our relationship, Jordyn wasn’t so sure. She’d heard something from Leandro, who tended to pop in for a lecture here and there. 
“Leandro says Jean is spending a lot of time with that guy Aaron.”
I sensed the worry in Jordyn’s voice. 
“Don’t worry about it. Jean is fine. They’re just friends.”
When I said that, Jordyn dawned her worried expression. 
“Bas, Jean is great but no one is perfect. You have to protect yourself. Leandro says something is going on.”
“Well maybe Leandro is misreading the situation.”
“Leandro wouldn’t tell me about it if he wasn’t concerned.”
I wasn’t about to call either of my friends out. I knew that in any other circumstance Jean’s behavior could be interpreted a certain way. But I also wanted the conversation to stop.
“I trust Jean. If she has a guy friend, well that’s her choice. Am I supposed to get mad at her?”
Jordyn then gave me a soft smile. 
“Of course not Bas. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I promise I won’t.”
“Ok.”
And then the ball dropped. If any of you think that walking in on your girlfriend fucking another guy in her apartment, an apartment that you have the spare key to, is as bad as it looks, you are wrong. It was way worse. I knew even before I stepped through the door that something was up. The lock to her front door gets a little jammed up some times and on its worse days you need to work it with your key back and forth to make it open. The day I caught them together was one such day. I remember hearing shuffling and scrambling noises as I wrestled with the key hole. Then something fell with a loud thump and I heard a man’s voice groan in pain. I figured something bad was up and maybe the house was being robbed or something. However, when I finally managed to open the door all I saw was a dude’s bare ass hop out of the fire escape window. I wondered what the fuck was going on. A second later Jean walked out of the washroom trying to act all casual about everything. I looked at her. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her t-shirt was inside out and on backwards; a detail she’d overlooked in her scramble to get dressed.  
The first words out of my mouth were “what the fuck.”
My exclamation was swiftly countered by Jean’s gut reaction which was to say: “I can explain.” 
“What the fuck Jean.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” 
She didn’t know what to say. I’d caught her in the act.
“Maybe it is what you think it is.”
“Un-fucking believable.”
I went into her room and started to grab my stuff. 
“Bas, I can explain.”
I was bunching my clothes under my arm. “You already have Jean. You already fucking have!”
“Wait. Listen to me. It was a mistake.”
“No shit.”
By then I was headed for the door. She raced to the entrance and stood in front of me.
“I didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything.” 
This last comment really sent me into a fury. “So, you fucked this up over nothing?!”
The neighbor began banging on the wall. “Shut up or I’m calling the cops.”
Jean shouted back at him through the thin layer of gyprock wall, “Shut up Frank! Mind your own business.”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“Fuck you!”
She was still standing in front of the door and I really needed to leave. My anger and sense of outrage had fizzled out. All I felt was pain. 
“Please move. I want to leave.”
With my change in tone Jean began to cry big, giant tears.
“Please.”
“Move.”
 This last word had shaken her. It was cold. She slowly walked away from the door while still batting away a stream of tears. Two minutes later I was down the elevator and out the door standing in the front parking lot. If I thought things could not get shittier I was wrong because it began to rain. Not knowing quite what to do or where to go, I called Jordyn. It was about 9:30 at night. After a couple rings I got her voice mail. I didn’t leave a message. The fact that she didn’t answer wasn’t surprising. The day after she had to present her research on the big project we’d been working on at work. She never drank coffee and so there would be no morning pick-me-up, which meant she had gone to bed early to get plenty of rest. I decided to call her back and leave a message saying “Call me tomorrow when you have a minute. It’s about Jean.” When she’d listen to that message she’d know exactly what I was talking about. I was dumb not to have listened to her. 
Since Jordyn wasn’t answering I decided to call Mark. I’m one of those people that frown on messages and prefers to speak to people over the phone. It rang once and he picked up. Right away I could hear noise in the background. 
“Hello.” 
“Hey Mark, it’s Bas.”
“Hey bud. How you doing?”
“Not good.”
I could hear the ambient noise fading away. Wherever he was, he must have moved to a quieter spot. 
“Why, what’s the problem?”
“Man… I just caught Jean cheating on me.”
“Oh fuck. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it fucking sucks balls.”
Under any other circumstance, Mark would have chuckled at a balls reference being used in a sentence. But not now.
“Leandro was right.”
“Yeah, he was. I should have known better.”
“Nah, come on. You were in love.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
“Hey, fuck that bitch.”
At the moment I wasn’t comfortable with him calling her a bitch and he could sense it.
“Listen, I’m sorry. She was a nice girl.”
“It’s alright. I’m moving on.”
“Good for you. So, what are you doing now?”
“I’m standing outside her place.”
“What? In the fucking rain?”
“Yup.”
I could hear Mark partially cover the phone with his palm, “Jean cheated on Bas and now he’s standing outside her place.” The responding voice was muffled but I could tell it was Leandro’s and then Mark was back. “Where exactly does she live again?”
I gave him the address. 
“Damn, that’s nearby. Bas, I’m coming to pick you up.”
“Ok.”
“Alright. Be there in ten.”
Then he hung up the phone. Eight minutes later I could hear the screech of tires. I watched as Mark and Leandro pulled up in Mark’s 2016 black Mercedes-Benz CLA-Class. It was a pretty sweet car but needed a wash. Mark lowered his window as the car came to a stop. 
“Hop in the back.” 
Leandro was in the front passenger seat. Mark looked at the bundle of soggy clothes I was still holding under my arm. 
“You bringing that with you?”
I looked down at the clothes. They were my “Jean’s place clothing.” They mine as well have had her name written all over them. I figured I wasn’t going to keep them and without much thought I tossed them on the sidewalk. 
“That a boy. Now get in. For fuck sake, it’s pouring.” 
A second later I was in the car and we were driving. Mark turned down the radio and spoke again. “First we got to drop off Leandro.”
“Leandro, you taking off?”
Leandro strained his neck to look back at me. “I have to my friend. I have too much going on tomorrow. My boss has been up my ass.”
Mark chimed in again. “Don’t worry buddy. You’re hanging with me tonight.” 
Mark was a good guy and I found it comforting that he was going to chill with me in my hour of misery. Thirteen minutes later we dropped off Leandro at his place and I hopped out of the car and sat in the front. It should have taken us seven but we hit every light on the way there. 
“Now what we need is to find a place to have a drink.”
“Have anywhere in mind?”
“No idea. I figured we’d stop at the first place we see.”
That was fine with me. 
As it turned out Mark was hungry and proved to be pickier than I expected. Eventually we parked the car and walked into a resto bar called Avenue Milano. A waiter wearing a black tie and plum colored vest directed us to a table. They brought our menus and right away Mark ordered a bottle of wine. Once I got half a glass of red into my system I started to feel a little better; a little less crushed. When the waiter came back to take our orders, Mark told him that he would have the Ossobuco. The waiter then turned to look at me. I said I wasn’t hungry. He then told me that if I didn’t want to eat much that I should order the Polenta, which apparently unlike the Polenta at the place across the street, was quite good. Wanting to be a good sport, I agreed. Whether high or low, being agreeable is a part of my personality that never seems to go away. I always seem to want to please the people I’m with; even the waiter taking my order. Thirty minutes later our food arrived and Mark in his charming way ordered another bottle of red. I must admit that I drank most of it.
I could sense Mark’s ocean blue eyes looking at me as I ate the Polenta. The food and the drink had me temporarily distracted and I couldn’t help but forget everything but for a moment. Between mouthfuls I looked up and made eye contact with him and then he laughed with his bouncy voice. 
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I am not laughing at you.”
He was happy to see me move from standing in the rain in the parking lot of my ex-girlfriend’s place to eating Milanese in a nice restaurant. Once we’d both finished our meals we returned to the wine. His skin seemed to glow under the restaurant lights. When we were half way through the second bottle two young women entered the restaurant. Right away one of them walked over to where Mark was sitting. After she kissed and hugged him, Mark introduced us. 
“Sophia, this is my friend Bas.”
I managed to stand up a little from my seat and Sophia swooped in and gave me a peck on both cheeks. 
“Nice to meet you Bas. Such an interesting name.”
With absolute ease, Mark had become the perfect host and asked Sophia while looking at the other girl, “And this is?”  
“Oh, excuse me.” Sophia then grabbed her friend by the arm and pulled her in close to where the three of us were standing. “This is my friend Claudette.” 
I shook hands with Claudette and Mark in perfect Markan fashion leaned in and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. Sophia then completed the introductions by telling her friend that “This is Bas and this is my friend Mark.”        
With the introductions out of the way Mark insisted that the two of them join us at our table. Claudette sat next to me on my side and Sophia sat with Mark. While those two chatted up a storm I found myself getting to know this total stranger. It turned out that Claudette was visiting from Nice and would be staying for the whole summer. She had an aunt in Laval who was putting her up. With the wine flowing through my system I found it very natural to talk to her. When Mark saw that the two of us were getting along so well, he decided to order a bottle of Grappa. I barely touched it because the wine had already left its mark on me. But the girls had two, three, four glasses each. Before you know it, we were all talking to each other and the volume of our conversation was going up and as we went up so did the rest of the restaurant. Then in no time at all it was midnight and it was time to go. The owner had kept the place open for us but when the clock struck twelve we took the sleepy look in his eyes as our cue to leave. Mark was insisting on paying for everything but I drunkenly refused and forced a fifty into his pant pocket. The whole thing made him laugh, “Fine, Fine.” 
We watched as the girls caught a cab. Claudette shouted “bye Bas” before getting in the car. She had put her number in my phone. With the girls gone, Mark put one of my arms over his shoulder, wrapped his right arm around my back and walked us to the car. My brain was swimming and I was definitely drunk. Mark was driving us to his place to crash. As we made our way to his condo in the Plateau we both sang along to the songs playing on the radio. 
The car ride had made me more intoxicated and by the time we parked I had entered that barely conscious stage of drunkenness. All I can say is thank god there were no stairs. If I had to scale one of the Plateau’s famous staircases to get to his place I would have never made it. Once we got in the door I tripped on the rug and fell like a bag of bones on the floor. I didn’t want to move. 
“Leave me Mark. I’m sleeping here.”
This evoked a chuckle. 
“Bas you can’t sleep in the hallway. What are you a dog?”
“Yes, I’m a dog. Now leave me be.” 
This brought about more chuckling. 
“Oh no you don’t. Come on. Get up. Time to go to bed.”
I didn’t have the words to speak and settled on emitting a tired groan. Once Mark had taken off both our shoes he leaned down and picked me up so that I was standing again. 
“Alright bud, time for bed.” 
As he held me he noted that I was still damp from the rain. “But first you need to change your clothes.” 
“What? Come on. Just leave me.”
“Nah, nah, nah. Those clothes are coming off.” 
“Fine.” 
After I agreed to change I swayed my way into his bedroom and proceeded to drunkenly strip. Without thinking about it I took off all my clothes, even my underwear, and then flopped down on the bed. At first, Mark didn’t say anything. After a pause at the door, he came into the room and then began rummaging in one of his drawers until he pulled out a pair of loose-fitting jogging pants and tossed it on my crotch area. 
“Put those on.”
I stirred once I felt something land on me and then instinctively put on the joggers, rolled onto my side and fell asleep. After closing the drawer, Mark stood by his dresser looking at me as I began to snore lightly. I didn’t have a shirt on and he could see my athletic twenty-four-year-old body. After a couple seconds, he walked over to the living room, plopped down on the couch and fell asleep.    
***
On the following week I wouldn’t answer Jean’s calls. She also left me a handful of texts, which she knew I didn’t like. Maybe she was desperate. But I wouldn’t answer those either. In fact, after seeing her messages I blocked her number. When all else failed she turned to Jordyn. Jean knew that we worked together and that she was one of my closest friends. Little did she know that Jordyn was also my fiercest defender. After Jordyn heard the details of what had gone down she wasn’t going to let Jean come anywhere near me. “Bas, I would let that woman near you even if you were holding a ten-foot poll.”
When Jean couldn’t get to me through Jordyn, she then turned to Leandro. She knew that he still attended lectures and kept an eye out for him when she was around campus. Eventually she tracked him down. By the time Leandro got hold of me he was telling me that she had created some outlandish story that had to do with baking after class. 
“Baking?”
“That’s what she said.”
“I don’t get it.”
Leandro gave me a knowing glance. “I don’t expect you to believe it. It’s just what she said.”
“So, she fucked him because of a cooking accident?”
I could see Leandro stifling a grin. 
“No Bas, not a cooking accident.”
“Ok. I’m listening.”
“What Jean said was that Aaron, the guy, suggested that they grab desert at a pâtisserie after class. Apparently, he said they should reward themselves for doing so well on a group assignment or something.”  
Leandro then stopped talking. He could see that I couldn’t believe the level of bullshit that I was hearing. He then nodded at me deliberately as if asking “should I go on?”
I nodded my head as well. “By all means, carry on.”
“So, Andrew, I mean Aaron, took her to this fancy pastry shop. He said that he really wanted to try the rhubarb pie. But as it turned out, the pastry shop didn’t make rhubarb pie. In fact, the closest thing they had to rhubarb was cranberry. When they found out there wasn’t any pie, Jean suggested that they get the tarte au citron.”
I interjected. “Jean doesn’t eat pie.” 
“I know. That’s what she said. Well, apparently when Aaron heard this he began to make a big deal out of it. ‘You’ve never had rhubarb pie? That’s scandalous.’ He was really playing it up. Then he told her that he insisted on them having rhubarb pie but that he didn’t know any place nearby that made it and so the only solution was for them to go to the grocery store across the street from her place, buy whatever was missing from her own cupboards and go to her place and make it themselves. Jean thought the whole idea sounded ridiculous and yet perfectly funny and so they agreed to go bake at her apartment. Now, before you know it they’re in her kitchen stirring ingredients and reading the instructions off his phone. In the midst of all this, Jean took out her record collection and put on Handel’s Sarabande and as it began to play, Aaron dropped what he was doing and grabbed Jean’s hand and started to dance around with her in a joking kind of way as if they were at some sort of 18th century English ball. Then before you know it he’d taken a bottle of champagne out of the fridge…”
 “That’s the bottle we were saving for our anniversary.”
I could see it pained Leandro to be telling me this but I wouldn’t let him stop. “Go on.”
“Ok. Once they got the bottle open things were really winding up. Jean grabbed two glasses off the shelf, which she then gave a quick rinse and placed on the kitchen table. Then in no time at all they’d both downed two glasses of champagne each and were passing the bottle back and forth. It was at this point that her neighbor Frank first started pounding on the wall telling her to “lower the music.” Aaron had turned it up all the way. By then Jean had changed the record and they were listening to Vivaldi’s La Stravaganza. As the neighbor shouted at them they each started shouting back until they both burst out laughing. Then when Frank started to hit the wall with a bat they shut of the music off. With the sudden silence in the living room Jean claims to have begun to feel dizzy. According to her, she hadn’t had anything to eat all day. It’s at this point that a licentious Aaron walked up to her, got really close and kissed her on the neck and then her mouth. Then without any time to lose they both went about tearing off each other’s clothes and were about to have sex when Jean suddenly had a change of heart. She claimed that she’d gotten over the buzz from the drinks and put a break on the action. According to Jean, Aaron was really upset but she insisted that she couldn’t sleep with him. Then you arrived at her place just as they were getting into a massive argument. Aaron shouted that Jean had led him on, while Jean accused Aaron of taking advantage of her. When she heard you turning the key in the lock she told him he had to go. Aaron was obstinate and was at first refusing leave but then Jean locked herself in the washroom and started to get dressed as fast as she could. Finally, as you were opening the door Aaron’s survival instincts kicked in and he made his getaway by climbing out of the window leading to the fire escape with his clothes in his hands. Now Jean claims that she was going to explain all of this to you and apologize, but according to her, you freaked out, which made her panic and then you left pissed off.”  
With that Leandro fell silent. I honestly didn’t know what to say. I took a moment to breath. While I was gathering my thoughts, Leandro was staring at me intently through his dark rimmed glasses. After twenty seconds I was finally able to speak. 
“Leandro.”
“Yes?”
“That is the biggest bunch of bullshit I have ever heard.” 
“Amen to that.”
After that there was a silence again. Leandro and I didn’t say anything. I was thinking and he was watching me. Waiting to see what I’d say. Following about a minute of painful reflection I made a sour face and pulled my phone out of my pocket to see the time. It was 7:15 p.m. Then I looked up at Leandro. 
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Where to?”
“St-Paul’s. I need a drink.” 
Leandro pulled out his wallet and signaled the waitress. Once we paid for our meals we got up and left. As we exited Leandro’s favorite spot, I knew that I never wanted to see Jean again. 
***
Mark filled all the time slots in my week that were once occupied by Jean. This was made easier since we both worked in the Mile End-Plateau area. And in case you’re wondering, Jean left Aaron. Yes, that’s right. She is now dating a young theatre major named Philip. Leandro told me. Next summer they are supposed to go to Florence. They will probably drive to Val d’Orcia, kiss in the Giardino di Boboli, look at Michaelangelo’s David at the Galleria dell ’Accademia and all the other things that we did. Live and learn, right? At first, it was hard, but feeling bad wasn’t going to change a thing and isn’t it better to feel good if you can? I certainly wanted to. I won’t lie and say that it didn’t sting. The girl I was in love with turned out not to be all that in love with me. Least ways, not enough to show a little restraint when it came to sticking her hand in the cookie jar. But things weren’t terrible. Mark was there. When I’d think about calling her he’d tell me things like: “Don’t do it Bas. You’re better than that and deserve more. I’ve seen too many friends of mine go down the same path.”
“And how did they end up?”
“Trust me, it didn’t end well.” 
But none of that mattered. Mark looked after me. I returned the favor whenever I could. Months later he met this cute, blond Finnish guy named Aleksi who worked at the coffee shop he frequented near his place. According to Mark, Aleksi would always flirt with him whenever he’d go to buy coffee in the morning. One day, feeling that their interactions had built up sufficiently, Mark asked Aleksi out for dinner and suggested that they go to Avenue Milano. After our night there with the girls it had become one of his favorite spots. What Mark was anticipating was for Aleksi to say yes, then they would have a fun evening and maybe a happy ending back at his place. Mark was wrong. When he asked what Aleksi was doing Friday night, he responded awkwardly and loud enough for the employees and customers in their immediate vicinity to hear him. 
“I have a girlfriend.”  
This came as a shock. And with a word, the beautiful, confident Mark was drowning in embarrassment. His fair skin changed to a peach red. A couple of his neighbors were there and some kid sipping a Chai Tea Latte stared. Mark was open about being gay with his friends but didn’t like sharing it with strangers. But even coming out in this way to his neighborhood wouldn’t really bother him. The feeling of shame came from something else. Mark felt exposed and maybe even open to ridicule. Of course, none of this would ever really happen. None of it was real. Nobody would point the finger and laugh. But Mark had a tendency sometimes to live inside his head. I remember when he brought this up to me when we were ordering lunch at the Green Panther during one of our lunch breaks. I was eating a falafel pita and I noticed that he wasn’t touching his food. 
“What’s wrong?”   
He had a slightly pained expression on his face. “Can I ask you something?”
As I chewed on a mouthful of falafel I signaled him with the hand holding the pita. “By all means. Ask away.”
“But you can’t tell anybody.”
I gave him a look. “Of course, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. You can trust me.”
“Even Jordyn.”
“Yes, even Jordyn.”
He knew that he could trust me. He was just bottled up and anxious. After stalling for a second he came to the point. 
“Have you heard anyone talking about me?”
“What? People talk about you all the time. Our friends talk about you. It’s normal.”
There was another pause. He was reflecting on how best to express what he wanted to say. 
“I mean, has there been any rumors about me going around?”
I had no idea what he was talking about and the more he talked the less I understood. 
“Mark, you need to come out and say it. I don’t have a clue about what you’re saying.”
This did it.
“Ok. Fine. Last week I might have asked a barista out on a date and it turns out he is straight. When he said no, the entire café was listening to us. My neighbors were there. Some little shit even stared at me.”
“Ok.”
“I want to know if any of our friends have been saying anything.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. Leandro, Jordyn? They get coffee there some times.”
“Mark. Those two would be the last people that would go around talking shit behind your back.” 
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Honestly, I never believed they would.”
“So, why did you bring it up?”
Without prior warning he began to cry. I’d never seen Mark do anything but smile and look thoughtful and charming. But I watched him then as his eyes filled up with tears and then dripped down onto his high cheekbones. Then he really shocked me when he reached forward with his right hand and gipped my left, which was resting on the table. At this point I had stopped eating altogether. 
“I think I wanted to talk to you because I feel really embarrassed.”
My voice had finally gained some strength. I knew what was going on.  
“You have nothing to feel embarrassed about.”
Mark didn’t look convinced. 
“Listen. I remember this one time when I was doing my undergrad. I always came to class early and every morning my little group of friends would already be there talking. At the other side of the class there always sat this girl with strawberry blond hair. I thought she looked alright and almost every morning we’d make eye contact. At the time, I was going through a dry spell and decided to pick up my courage. I was going to show myself that I could walk up to that girl and ask her out on a date. And so, one morning before I started drinking my black Tim Hortons coffee, I got up out of my seat, left my class friends, walked over to the girl and asked ‘would you like to go have coffee with me?’”
I was looking at the wall as I shared this story with Mark and imagined the scene in my head. Then I glanced back at him. He was listening intently. 
“Then what happened?”
“Well, she said no.”
“No?”
“Yup. She told me ‘sorry, I have a boyfriend. But thank you.’ She seemed like a really friendly girl that probably would have gone out for coffee with me if she wasn’t seeing somebody. I didn’t hold it against her. Even when I wondered to myself later on why she had made eyes at me every morning if she was seeing someone. After she told me she couldn’t, and in full knowledge that everyone in the class had just heard me get turned down, I walked back to me seat and sat down with my people.”
“And what did they do?”
“Nothing really. They kind of looked at me for a second or two. There was no mockery or anything like that. And then they just went back to talking about whatever it was we they had been chatting about before I got up.”
“But what does this mean for me?”
I exhaled loudly. 
“What it means Mark is that nobody gives a shit.”
“How can you know?”
“Trust me, when something fucked up happens to an individual they can spend months and even years thinking about it. They’ll be thinking about it long after everybody else that might have known something had completely forgotten about the incident. Nobody cares. Only you do. And the second that you don’t it loses all of its power. It might as well not even exist.”    
“Nobody cares.”
“Nobody fucking cares.”
With that he emitted a short burst of laughter that caused the last of the tears in his eyes to come tumbling down his cheeks and were immediately met by his long fingers that swiped them away to be wiped on his sleeve. Then he flashed me that classic Mark smile that was accompanied by his ocean blue eyes that sparkled with residual water. After that we ate our lunch and twenty minutes later we were both going back to work. 
That’s how things were between us now. Our friends noticed. Especially Jordyn. And if any of you are wondering, Jordyn wasn’t jealous. We were still great pals and I saw her almost every day at work. We also would go on weekend hikes. She’d borrow her older brother’s spare car and we’d hit the road. Upstate New York, Eastern Townships, sometimes up north. It was great. If anything, she was happy for me in a way I couldn’t understand at the moment. On one occasion, the way I was hanging out with Mark came up during a drive we were making to Mont-Orford. I remember watching the mostly clear blue sky as we drove lazily towards our destination. Jordyn had been singing along to a song she was playing in the car. I always found it cute the way she’d sing her songs with a low volume chirpy version of her actual voice. When the song ended she turned off the music and we continued along with only the sound of the road. 
“You’ve been hanging out a lot with Mark.”
I momentary stopped looking out the window and turned my head in her general direction. 
“Yeah, I guess we have been hanging out a lot.” 
“Mark is such a nice guy.”
She liked Mark and if you’ll recall she thought he was quite a “catch.” 
“He’s great.”
A half second passed. 
“You know, you’re very lucky to have him.”
“Have him?”
“You know.”
I honestly didn’t. I was pretty oblivious. Sure, Mark was good looking and we got along well, but I thought of him as a brother. I never really imagined anything else between us. Also, the thought of something else had never seriously crossed my mind. Not wanting to make things awkward, Jordyn chimed in again. 
“I mean, ever since it ended with Jean, Mark’s been really great company for you.”
I was now getting distracted again by a herd of cows on the side of the road. 
“Yeah, he has.” 
“But it’s more than that. You two have something special.”
I did happen to agree. However, maybe not in the same way she meant it. 
“We do… He’s great…” I was getting lost in my own thoughts. “He’s also… fragile.”
I was thinking of the time he cried and held my hand at the restaurant. I never told anybody about that and I never would. I promised him I wouldn’t. In fact, I already felt as if I had said too much. I couldn’t elaborate and Jordyn didn’t know exactly what I was referring to. So, she took a leap. 
“Do you love him?”
“Love him?”
I didn’t know what to say. She’d got me where I least expected it. The moment elapsed and I still hadn’t replied. I felt a trickle of sweat travel down my back. Jordyn thought she might have asked about something I wasn’t ready to talk about. Really, it wasn’t something I was even remotely prepared to think about. 
“Oh, never mind Bas. I didn’t mean to pry.”
 She took her eyes off the road for a second and smiled at me. This produced in me an instant feeling of relief and I smiled back. I didn’t want her to feel bad and so I responded as best and as lightly as I could. 
“No worries. I don’t mind.” 
“I like you Bas. You’re my best friend.”
“And I love you Jordyn.”
This made her laugh. Things resumed their normal pattern. We then spoke about the trails we wanted to explore. Twenty minutes later Jordyn was back to singing her songs and I stared out the window at the sky. As I looked at the random clouds that would periodically appear and imagined what kind of animals they looked like or wished I knew more about the science behind cloud formations. I also thought about Mark. I didn’t really know what to think. 
***
Eventually the summer passed and then it was October twelfth. Mark’s birthday. He was going to be turning twenty-six. As far as landmark birthdays go, twenty-six might not seem all that important. But Mark was of the opinion that every birthday was meant to be something special. As a means of explanation, he used the expression: “Who knows. It might be my last.” When he would talk like that it would always make me feel uncomfortable. It was during these moments that I could see the fragile, hidden Mark rising to the surface and disrupting the Markan joy that always seemed to emanate from him. But even when this would happen he’d Mark it and make it part of his charm; part of his allure. 
He had the whole day planned out. First during his lunch break he was going to uber it to this new Italian spot that had opened up on Duluth. Then after work he would go home, change and grab a bite to eat. Then he told me that he wanted us to go see a show. After that we were to go to a big party that Leandro was throwing for him at his place. I remember when Mark told me about the concert the week before.
“A show?”
“Yeah, one of my co-worker’s daughter studies music in the States and she came up for a visit and managed to book a little gig at this Anglican church.”
“She’s playing at a church?”
He gave me a look that told me I was being difficult. 
“It’s quite normal for classical musicians to play in churches and places like that.”
The idea of going to a little concert had caught my interest. After all, we both liked classical music. Mark was a Brahms guy and I was more of a Bach man. 
“What’s she going to be playing?”
“Some piano concertos by Bach.” He knew I was a fan. “I think she’s performing the 1052, the 1054 and a few others? I can’t remember.” And then he playfully declared: “And it’s my birthday and you have no choice. You’re going.”
I was sold and was grinning from ear to ear, “Alright, alright. We’ll go.”
“And Bas.”
“Yup?” 
“Wear something nice.”
After Mark’s instructions, I gave him a closed mouth smile and slightly bowed my head as if to say: “Your wish is my command monsieur.”  
The night of the show we met outside the church. We’d practically arrived at the same time. He was a little before me. You could say it was perfect timing. I remember looking at the church from the outside. I always found that Anglican churches looked nice. Just like a Catholic church. I wore a long-sleeve shirt and a blazer. Mark had on gray slacks, a blue shirt and a fall jacket that went down to his mid-thigh. He always dressed better than me. When I arrived, he gave me a once over, “Not bad Bas. You clean up well.” I gave him a “whatever” look and then we went inside. We sat four rows back from the front. The pews were a dark mahogany. 
She was really good. Even with the church piano she had me mesmerized as she played one concerto after another. By the time the show ended I felt as if I’d just had a glass of wine. After leaving the church we started to meander down the street. The autumn air felt cold in my ears. 
“She was amazing.”
“She was.” 
Mark checked the time on his wristwatch. I hadn’t noticed it before because he usually didn’t wear one. It must have been part of his outfit. 
“So, it’s six and Leandro’s thing only starts at seven. We have time to go grab a drink if you want to get one.” 
Typically, after a show I liked to soak it up and reflect on the performance. I also typically did so either in a bar or on my way home. 
“Yeah, that would be perfect. Where do you want to go?”
“I’m thinking St-Paul’s. Nothing out of the way.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Great.”
“I’ll call an uber.”
When we arrived at St-Paul’s we sat at the bar. By this point in time, I had managed to push Jordyn’s remarks about me and Mark right out of my head and plus, as I said, I always liked to obsess over the music after seeing a show. And so what Mark then said to me came as a total surprise. Halfway through a glass of red he asked me quite randomly, “Bas, do you think I’m attractive?” 
Once I heard the question I felt as if an electric shock had gone through my body. Almost instantly I could feel myself getting sweaty under my long-sleeve shirt. In fact, he caught me so off guard that without really thinking about what I was about to say I blurted out “no.”  
Right away I could tell that my “no” had really hurt his feelings and put a damper on a so far perfect evening. A more than perfect evening. I also felt instantly guilty and, in all honesty, I didn’t think he was unattractive. Truth be told, I always acknowledged that he was good looking. But of course, I’d never said it to him directly.
“I don’t mean ‘no.’” 
Mark had been staring at the bottles behind the bar. When I said I didn’t mean it he peered over at me and I could tell he wasn’t convinced. 
“Mark, you caught me off guard… I think you’re very beautiful. Stunning.”
I could sense the mood was lightening a bit. “More than stunning. You’re statuesque.”
There was a pause.
“I don’t want to be a statue.”
I could tell he felt better because he was giving me a hard time. 
“Now you’re just busting my balls.”
Then there was that little Mark grin. He was still looking at the bottles on the wall. 
“You mean it?”
“Of course, I mean it. You’re the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.”
He finally stopped staring at the bottles and looked at me. His dark blue eyes shone the way they did sometimes. “Well now you’re just spoiling me.” 
“Think of it as your birthday present.”
“That’s one hell of present.”
“Bet your ass it is.”
Then we laughed and started to talk about the performance. But that exchange had a lasting effect on me. Throughout the night I found it impossible to get him out of my thoughts. And I’m not talking about Mark the friend but Mark ‘the most attractive man I’ve ever seen’ Mark. My talk with Jordyn had also resurfaced. 
***
We arrived to the party on time. As we speed walked to Leandro’s house Mark explained that “A man can’t be late to his own party.” 
It lasted a couple hours and everybody was having a good time. Leandro served take-out pizza and red wine. I thought it was an odd mix but according to Jordyn, who was also there, it was the perfect mix. She said this to a group of us that were standing in the kitchen. At first, I disagreed and wanted to debate her. The drink had us both going. 
“How can pizza and wine be the perfect mix? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Oh Bas, you can’t be serious.”
“I’m being perfectly serious.” 
“You of all people should know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes the least likely parings make for the best meals.”
Then she winked at me. The others in attendance were calling for an elaboration but Jordyn wouldn’t budge. 
“That’s between me and him.” 
They continued to jokingly cause an uproar. “Tell us! What’s this thing about secret mixes?”
But Jordyn just wagged her finger at them. “Nope, my lips are sealed on pain of death.”
This brought about more laughing and cheering and then one of the group said: “Fine. Keep your secrets. After all, we wouldn’t want you to die.” 
They had given up and a second later this bearded man grabbed a bottle of Chianti off the counter and proceeded to pour its contents into our glasses. Then there was a lot of shouts of cheers, salute, santé and l’chiam. As I emptied my glass I caught sight of Mark at the other side of the room chatting up some tall brunet girl that looked like she could be a model. For a second his eyes left her and he saw me and smiled and then went back to talking to her as if nothing had happened.   
By eleven, Mark was borderline drunk and I was pretty buzzed myself. People had also started to file out. Most of them worked the next day. The brunet girl had offered to leave with him but he turned her down, which was uncharacteristic of Mark because he was always quite good with women and liked to be nice to them; even if it meant the occasional hook-up. And as he once put it: “It’s not like it pains me to sleep with a beautiful woman.” But not tonight. It was Leandro’s place and so he saw it as his responsibility to take care of him. 
“Mark, I’m going to call you an uber.”
But again, Mark was having none of it. 
“No thank you my friend. I got other plans.”
“What other plans? How will you get home?”
Mark took another sip of wine. “Bas is going to take me home.”
When I heard my name, I stopped sipping my own glass and talking to Jordyn. 
This time he spoke louder. “Bas, you’re going to walk me home.”
I wanted to be reasonable and suggested that “Mark it’s late. Wouldn’t it be better take an uber?”
He wasn’t hearing any of that too. 
“Nah, nah, nah. You’re walking me home. One more present for my birthday!”
Jordyn looked at me. “You’re up.”
“I guess I am.” 
I stood up from the couch and downed the rest of my glass. Mark had already made it to the door and held it open as I walked into the hallway. As we were closing the door behind us the five or six people left in the apartment were shouting their goodbyes.
The walk back was cold, which was good because it sobered him up a little. The relief from intoxication didn’t stop him though from shouting at a car that ran a stop sign and almost hit us. When he was done cursing the driver, the man stopped his car and started yelling at us from his rolled down window. Mark then continued to fling insults at the driver until this heavy-set man with a thick moustache opened his car door and was making like he was going to come after us. Just as he looked as if he would charge us, Mark spotted an old sack of potatoes that someone had thrown out. He then bent down and scooped a couple left over potatoes out of the bag and proceeded to chuck them at the guy until he was cursing us and retreating back to his car and making his getaway. The whole scene seemed ridiculous. 
“You threw potatoes at him.” 
“That’s how they used to kick actors off stage in Shakespeare’s time.” 
We stood there for a moment in the cold while Mark caught his breathe. 
“Alright, I’m good. Better get out of here. I think we only have three more blocks to go.” 
He was right. When we finally stepped into his condo the warmth was amazing. I hadn’t yet gotten used to the beginning of Montreal’s cold weather season. After a minute, I figured that he was still drunk, needed to rest and that I should go. 
“Well, I’m off.”
Mark stopped taking off his shoes. 
“You’re going?”
“I think I should. It’s late and I have work tomorrow.”
“Come on. You’re freezing your ass off. Come inside and warm up, have a drink and then you can go home.”
I was feeling hesitant. “You sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. Now get inside. You’re letting the heat out.” 
I decided to plop down on his couch. A minute later I heard a cork pop in the kitchen. Then Mark came into the living room holding two glasses of red wine. 
“It’s a Chianti, like at Leandro’s.”
He sat next to me and then placed the two glasses on the coffee table. With his hands now free he picked up a tiny remote that he dug out of the folds of the couch, pressed a couple buttons and in no time had Brahms’ symphony number four playing at a low volume from a couple of strategically placed speakers in the living room. Then he picked up my glass and handed it to me. I held it. I could feel my palm warm the glass and the red wine inside of it. For a while we weren’t saying anything. Brahms was speaking to us. I ended up drinking the glass in a hurry. Five minutes elapsed. Seeing that I was still holding the empty wine glass I then made a conscious decision to place it down on the coffee table. Mark hadn’t touched his. Then suddenly he broke our silence and spoke. 
“How did you like my party tonight?” 
“I… thought it was great. Jordyn was there. We spoke a lot and the other people were nice.” 
I could sense Mark looking at me with his ocean blue eyes. I glanced over at him and saw that he had been licking his lips. The moisture made them shine. I felt the need to continue talking. I was anxious and my entire body felt out of place. “I saw you with that cute brunet…”
Before I could say anything else he had smoothly scooted over until he was right beside me. Finally, he spoke, “Bas.” Upon hearing my name, I was about to say something but Mark leaned forward and kissed my slightly parted lips. Our mouths were interlocked and I could taste his saliva. I could also feel his Roman nose on my cheek. We held that kiss and then he playfully nibbled on my lower lip. Then I felt a sudden panic and pulled away. 
“You’re drunk.”
“No, I’m not.” 
“But.”
“Shut up.”
Only inches away from my face I could see his dark blue eyes looking at me intently. Neither of us was moving. We just looked at each other. I could feel the scales seesawing in my chest. I glanced at his wet lips again and I could taste him on the tip of my tongue. Then I felt myself getting hard. He calmly shot a look down towards at my crotch and then reached over with his slender hand and rested it on my groin. He was still watching me. Waiting. Finally, I leaned forward and kissed his perfect face and then the side of his neck as he ran his fingers through my soft, brown hair. After the neck I moved back to his mouth. I could taste his tongue and with my right hand I began to rub his chest and stomach. It was only a matter of moments before I pulled off his now half unbuttoned shirt up and over his shoulders. I loved the feel of his muscles and began kissing and licking his chest. By the time Brahms’ fourth was picking up the pace he had pushed me back until I lay on my back on the couch. Then silently he unbuckled my belt and then my pants. I felt him tug at my clothes and I raised myself off the couch so that he could pull my pants and underwear all the way down. When I was naked from the waist down I heard a click as my belt buckle hit the floor. After that I closed my eyes and I felt his tongue on me. He was kissing me bellow my belly button. Then he went further down. I made a noise when he took me in his mouth. Once I finished I pushed him back against the couch, undid his pants and did the same to him. He came when I cupped his balls.   
***
I woke the next day to the sound of Mark closing the front door. I was lying in his bed and the white sheets and white pillow case felt impossibly soft. As soft as when I rested my palm on the side of Mark’s face. I didn’t want to move. A minute passed and I finally decided it was time to get up. Checking the clock on the nightstand I saw that it was 8:00 a.m. I thought “I’ll be ok for work.” I sat up and got out of bed. All I had on where my boxer briefs, but the condo was warm. I walked into the kitchen and saw a note on the counter that was being held in place by a set of keys. 
There’s coffee in the French press. Use these keys when you leave to lock up. You can borrow something from my closet to wear for work.
Mark
I looked at the French press. The coffee was still hot. Opening the cupboard to the right of the stove, I took out a yellow coffee mug and poured myself a glass. Then I went to take a piss, came back and sat at the dining room table. After the coffee and half a bagel, I fished some stuff out of his closet and went on my way. It wasn’t that far of a walk from his place to my job and so I decided to go there on foot. This also gave me a chance to reflect on what had happened. 
My first instinct was to say that we were both drunk and stuff like this happens. But I knew that wasn’t good enough. Mark wasn’t just a lay or a drunken escapade. And I was now fully aware that he definitely didn’t think of it that way either. My insides at the moment were all mixed up. I felt so many things at once and other emotions came and went in waves. Part of me felt guilty for having fooled around with a man. This wasn’t like getting blown by David while I was passed out. This time I was a full participant. Another part of me felt angry. That part of me wanted to blame Mark for what had happened. I even became convinced the night before had in some way ruined our friendship. I was doubtful that I could look at Mark as a best friend ever again. But then this passed as well. In the end, I didn’t know what the fuck would happen. I was totally clueless. 
That day and the next I basically focused on work. Even on the third and fourth day I avoided him. So that he wouldn’t suspect anything was up, I resorted to using messages, even if I hated messaging. I ended up telling him that I’d caught a nasty cold and was staying away so that he wouldn’t get sick. I felt stuck. Out of place in my own life. But as the days carried on, the more I stayed away from him the more I thought about him as well. I liked Mark. I thought he was good looking and charming. There was also something about him that I simply couldn’t get enough of. But we were friends. As I kept away from him I also began to feel guilty in a way that was separate from the guilt of having committed the act. As his friend and someone that cared deeply for him, I wanted to make him happy. I didn’t want to hurt him and I knew that if I kept away from him, he’d know why. He probably already knew that I wasn’t really sick and was merely giving me my space so that I could figure things out. But if this distance became a permanent thing, Mark and I would be over on every level. Friend, brother, lover, everything. After a week I asked him to meet for coffee. He said that was a great idea and suggested that we go to his regular spot where he once asked the Finnish guy out on a date.   
The next day I met him at the café. It was frosty outside but as I approached I could see Mark was waiting outside by the entrance. He wore his fall jacket and I watched him as his breath rose like a cloud into the autumn air. When I was almost at the door he turned his head and saw me. 
“I expected you to come from the other side of the street.” 
“I made a little detour through the park.”
“Kept me waiting huh?”
“I didn’t figure I’d be late. I’m usually the one that’s first, remember?”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s go inside.”
We were both joking around with each other as if last week never happened. Had nothing changed? It was morning and the place was crowded. The espresso machines were giving off steam and everybody’s body heat had turned the temperature way up. Right away we both started unbuttoning and unzipping our coats. While we stood and waited our turn I was straining my eyes to read the drink list on the wall. I needed glasses to see details at a distance but never wore them. I thought they made me look dorky. Mark spoke as I tried to make out what the menu said, “Bas.” I shifted to look at him and right as I turned my head he leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the lips. Suddenly I felt warm all over my face and in my chest and couldn’t help but smile. 
Mark looked at me affectionately, “A blusher eh? Who would have known?”
For that instant I felt too overwhelmed to say anything but “keep it down.” Once my breathing was coming back to normal, with the corner of my eye I shot a quick glance around the room. Mark saw what I was doing. 
“Nobody cares Bas. Like you said. Remember?” 
When he echoed my own words back at me I thought about how Mark was such good of a listener. I couldn’t help but shoot another look around the room. Literally nobody noticed a thing. Suddenly I felt utterly foolish and then made a conscious decision to relax. Mark noted my change in demeanor. When it was finally our turn to order, I noted that there was a blond man with a funny accent working the cash register. I figured this must be the guy. While Mark placed our order, he presented the blond with a casual smile. 
“We’ll have two Americanos.”
“One bill?”
“Yup.”
Even the blond’s sour expression didn’t make a dent. Mark had conquered the coffee shop. Once he paid we waited a minute until we got our drinks. We ordered them to go. After Mark added a sugar to his coffee he suggested that we go for a walk. As we moved up Saint-Laurent we started to talk about nothing in particular. 
“There’s this bottle of wine that Leandro’s been raving about. I think I’m going to get one tonight.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about trying something new.”
This caught his interest. 
“Like what?”
“An Old Fashioned.”
“An Old Fashioned? What the hell is that? It sounds weird.”
“I think they make it with bourbon.”
At the mention of bourbon, he made a face.
“Bourbon… are you trying to poison yourself?”
“I used to watch this show a while back when I began working for Ubisoft. I hadn’t met Jordyn yet and I had time to kill in the evenings.”
“Poor you. What show was it?”
“It was called Mad Men.” 
Mark repeated the title of the program slowly to himself as if it would jog his memory. “Mad Men… I’ve heard of it. Someone once told me it was really sexist.” 
“It is, but it’s also very addictive. I doubt I’d watch it now.”
“Well haven’t you grown.”
“I guess so. We all change.”
Mark then struck that look he always made when he had an idea. 
“You know what? How about we go to the SAQ together after work and pick up the stuff to make the drink and we can try it together at my place?”
It didn’t sound like a bad idea. As I thought about it, I watched Mark breathe little clouds out of his nostrils into the cold morning air while he waited for my answer. 
“That sounds like fun.”
“Great! Let’s meet at the one at the corner of St Denis and Duluth.”
“Alright.”
After our plans were set he turned to me once again and gave me another quick kiss and was off. When he left he called over his shoulder, “Alright, see you at five.”
As he took a turn that would take him to his job I felt that warm feeling all over me again. 
When I arrived at the office I ran into Jordyn. 
“Hey stranger.” I’d dodged her as well during the week I decided to avoid Mark. I didn’t know how I’d react if she asked me anything about my “walk” with him after his birthday party.
“Hey.”
I hadn’t been away from Mark for more than five minutes. Jordyn instantly noticed something different about me and gave me a quick once over. 
“Wow Bas, you’re glowing. You’re completely flushed.”
“Yeah, something unexpected happened this morning.”
“Really? What was it?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Hmm… alright mister mystery man. I’ll let you keep your secrets for now but tomorrow I expect a full report.” 
“You got it.”
As usual, she was really playing it up. 
“Ok mister Bas. I’m going to hold you to it. But I have to say that I already have my suspicions.” 
She then gave me a wink. 
“Jordyn, you always see right through me.”
“Of course. A woman always knows and it’s also part of my best friend super powers.”
That made both of us laugh. She then blew kissy faces at me as she headed back to her office. 
While Jordyn had a productive day, I spent most of mine half working and half thinking about the evening. When it was finally 4:45 I packed my stuff, turned off the computer and made my exit. Mark was already there when I arrived at the SAQ. As I arrived I also began to wonder if this was going to be his new pattern. For now on was he going to always be first? 
“Hey early bird.”
“Don’t get used to it. My last meeting was cut short today.”
“Alright, alright. So, I won’t get used to it.”
“Maybe you will.”
With that, we walked into the store. Neither of us knew a thing about making an Old Fashioned and so Mark took the reins and started to ask the woman working there all sorts of questions. “What’s the best type of Bourbon for an Old Fashioned?” “Only thirty bucks? You don’t have a better bottle?” Eventually we found out that the drink needed something called ‘bitters.’ Apparently, we were lucky that this outlet sold it because not every SAQ had them in-store. The woman told us that in most cases you’d have to go to a specialty shop. Then she mentioned the sugar cubes and the mortar.
“That’s it?”
“Oui monsieur.”   
“Great. Thanks so much for your help.”
“Mon plaisir.” 
When we arrived at the cash Mark tried to pay. I objected. 
“I wanted to try it so I’m paying.” 
“You should have told me. I wouldn’t have asked for the fifty-dollar bottle.”
“It’s not a problem. I would have gone for the same one.”
“Ok, suit yourself. I’ll have to find some way to repay you later.”
“Maybe.”
He had that boyish look he sometimes had whenever he was being mischievous. He was in a great mood. Before turning into his place, we stopped at a minimarket to buy the sugar. 
In the end, I had to look up what to do and after a bit of trial and error I managed to make a decent cocktail. One thing was for sure, the couple rounds that I made sure got us buzzed. Mark’s verdict said it all. 
“It doesn’t beat a good Chianti but it sure does a number on you.” 
It affected us enough that he insisted on making us both a serving of Ragù Alla Bolognese to soak up the booze. I had no objections. Mark knew his Italian. Then we spent the better part of the evening talking about whatever popped into our heads. And now it’s nearing bed time and I’m making one last drink. If you’ve noticed, I’ve taken us full circle right back to where we started. 
“Bas, are you coming or not? And bring me an Old Fashioned. I can hear you making one.”
Mark is asking for that fateful drink. As I alluded to before, I need to decide. Do I make him another one and walk into the bedroom, drink my last cocktail and possibly but most probably sleep with Mark? My gut tells me that when I started telling you all of this I was quite undecided and perhaps all of this has simply been me working through that very question for all these pages one after another. Whatever it is and whatever this is, I can now tell you that I’ve made up my mind.  
“Bas are you coming? What on earth are you doing?”
“Coming.”
The End

​