The Hockey Song
Karen Fobister was the first person I ever came out to. I could remember that moment as easily as turning a page in a photo album. We’d agreed to be each other’s dates to our high school senior Formal. Karen sat on her bed painting her nails, or trying to. It wasn’t something she was terribly good at, but on this occasion she thought she’d give it a whirl. Her dress hung shimmering on the closet door. Her adoptive mom Mrs. Milton had made it herself. It really was beautiful.
“So, Daniel, my aunt says you’re agokwe, two-spirited. Are you?”
I was nursing two black eyes. Just days earlier, I’d gotten myself kicked out of Midget AA. Grandpa was furious but I’d begged him not to talk to Kadlubek. Kadlubek was the head coach who’d suspended his own son Gary six games for smoking pot behind the rink. I heard rumours that he’d beaten Gary later at home with a belt. I didn’t want anyone else to get in trouble, especially not Stephan.
Stephan Tondeur had moved to Sudbury that spring, and just started volunteering with the league. He was a real estate agent with a beautiful wife and a brand new baby girl. It was all my fault. For months, I’d been sneaking away to meet Stephan. It was no secret I was being groomed for team captain come fall. But the other players began to suspect something more. Rumours started to go around. During a practice game, when things got ugly, my gloves finally hit the ice.
Stephan Tondeur and the first assistant coach escorted me out of the arena. I could never forget the look on Kadlubek’s face watching me go. I could never forget the look on Stephan’s face in the parking lot.
Now it was over. I told myself it was for the best. I remembered when they tacked the photo of his daughter up outside the shower room, along with a bunch of pink helium balloons and a giant card signed by the whole team. That baby was as beautiful as her dad.
I stood in front of Karen’s dresser mirror. The rental shop had taken in too much around the waist of my tux. I could barely breathe. “What?”
Karen rolled over and sat up, blowing on her fingers. She was wearing only her bra and underwear, and the Thunderbird crest tattoo showed clearly on the back of her shoulder. Carefully, she plucked the cotton balls from between her toes. “Agokwe,” she said.
“I’m white,” I said. “I can’t be two-spirited.”
“You know what she means,” said Karen.
She was serious. She wasn’t teasing me. She brushed aside her blue-black bangs and sipped from our mickey of Crown Royale. On the stereo, Alanis Morissette belted out her undying gratitude to the world.
The first time Stephan met me in his office, he told me his nickname had been Rocket Man, given how he’d always been the biggest Ysebaert fan. He showed me a photo of himself when he was captain of his own AA team, not so long ago. Impulsively, I asked if I could have it. Up until that point in time, I’d never kissed another guy. He hesitated in surprise, searching my face, then took the photo out of its frame. I said thanks. He said keep it safe. Then the day came when he drove me home late one night. I gave him the wrong directions and we ended up lost out on Tilton Lake Road. After that, everything changed. I took to helping Stephan lock up after each practice. To this day, the smell of change rooms and sweaty hockey equipment still gives me an instant hard-on.
“Daniel?” Karen held out the mickey to me.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I’m gay.”
“Well, you always had really bad fashion sense. So I was never sure. You want a drink or not?”
I shook my head. “Don’t joke.”
Karen put the bottle down. She got up and stood next to me. I stared at her in the dresser mirror, framed by photos of family and friends. We’d been neighbours ten years. That was a lot of birthday cakes. “Do you think my tits are too small?” she asked.
“No, I think they’re perfect.”
Half my face was purple. I looked like a raccoon. “Daniel,” Karen said, “you look like a raccoon.”
“I know.”
She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed as hard as she could. She held me this way for a long time. Part of me wanted her to stop, but she wouldn’t stop. Another part of me wanted her to never let go. After a while, I started to cry: silent, angry, gulping sobs. I couldn’t help it.
I would’ve made a great team captain.
After high school, my brother Pat quit his garage band Krypton, and went backpacking overseas. Karen and I headed off to U of T. Only my brother Liam stayed in Sudbury. Karen and I were roommates our first three years in Toronto. The first time I walked into a gay bar was during the Halloween party on Church Street. I’d been in the city two months and was just learning how to navigate the Robarts Library stacks. I couldn’t resist checking out the washroom up on the thirteenth floor where I’d heard a lot of cruising went down. I lasted a whole twenty minutes outside, pretending to read my textbook, watching faculty and students come and go.
It was Karen’s idea to dress up as zombie hockey players. We planned it over Thanksgiving with the Miltons. Grandma only agreed to leave the nursing home after Grandpa showed her his ID. Thanksgiving with the Miltons had been our tradition since we were ten, but for the first time not everyone was there. A coffee-stained postcard of London’s Big Ben had arrived bearing Pat’s well-wishes. As usual, we set out a spirit plate for Mom and Dad.
The Miltons were college teachers who’d never had kids of their own. Pat was secretly convinced Mr. Milton had smoked too much pot back in the Sixties and killed off all his sperm. As usual, Mr. Milton carved the turkey and Grandpa served up his famous sugar pie. Mrs. Milton said grace, thanking the Great Spirit, Mother Earth and God. Karen’s little sister Anne had turned fifteen earlier that fall. Her hair was cut spiky short, and she wore a tight black T-shirt over her boyish frame that said FIFTH COLUMN. She left the house right after dessert, saying she had friends to meet. It was in the silence that followed that Karen blurted out: “Zombies.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Milton said.
“There’s this big Halloween street party downtown in Toronto every year, and Daniel and I are going to be zombies.”
“Weren’t you zombies last year, dear?”
“Yeah, well, we were zombie Boy Scouts last year, and the year before that we were zombie Jehovah’s Witnesses. But this time we’re going to be zombie hockey players.”
Then a big debate arose over whether we’d wear Maple Leafs or Habs jerseys. Even Liam got involved. Later that evening, Karen tried to convince him to come visit us in Toronto. I heard them arguing about it out on the front stoop. Karen and Liam went for a long walk after that, and I was left entertaining Grandma, fending off her flirtatious gropes and making sure she didn’t hide mashed potato and gravy in her purse. I poured both of us some white wine when no one was looking, and let her eat all the cranberry sauce with a coffee spoon. She wasn’t supposed to be drinking on her meds, but what the hell. It was Thanksgiving.
Of course, the party on Church Street was in the middle of Toronto’s Gay Village. Halloween, I found out soon enough, was the gay version of Christmas. The street was cordoned off to traffic and the surging crowd was shoulder-to-shoulder at some points. With Grandpa’s help, I’d fixed an old skate to make it look like it was stuck in my helmet, and Karen did an amazing job with our dollar-store make-up. People kept stopping us to take our pictures. We met the Queen of Hearts and her entire entourage, angels in eighteen-inch heels and leather harnesses, body-painted superheroes, and drag queens in full demonic, blood-soaked regalia. It was absolutely fantastical and awesome. After we emptied both our flasks, I wanted another drink, so we waited in line to get into a bar called Crews & Tango’s. The line-up went half-way down the block and, by the time we got past the butch dyke bouncer, I was almost ready to pee my pants. I was at the urinal breathing the hugest sigh of relief when I noticed the guy next to me looking over. I don’t know why it took me so off guard. It was what I’d fantasied would happen if I’d ever gotten up the courage to actually walk into the washroom in Robarts Library. He was wearing a football helmet, shoulder-pads, cleats and a jockstrap. That was it. He was also stroking himself. I was shocked and mortified and totally turned on. Before I knew it, I had a boner and could barely finish my business. Then he grinned and winked at me.
Football Guy was blowing me in the bathroom stall when I answered Karen’s phone call. I’d been gone a long time. She wanted to know if I was having sex in a crowded public washroom and I said I was. She congratulated me and told me she was at the bar fending off lesbian vampires with our hockey sticks, and told me to take my sweet time. I was still trying to figure out whether she was being sarcastic or not when I felt myself start to climax. When I came, shuddering and spread-eagled, I almost dropped my phone in the toilet. He was deep-throating me and swallowed it all, which was something Stephan Tondeur had never done. After that, I barely managed to pull up my pants. Football Guy was putting his helmet back on and cinching his chin strap. Then I introduced myself, asked him his name and made to shake his hand. He gave me a look I’ll never forget, shook his head, and turned and walked out without a backward glance. I still had my hand out when Freddy Krueger stuck his head in and demanded to know whether I was knitting a toque or if I was done with the stall.
When I finally found Karen, she handed me a pint. I drained half of it and thanked her. “How was it?” she asked.
“It was good.” I wiped my chin on the back of my arm, scanning the crowd in a daze. I think I was still in shock at what had just happened.
“It was Mr. Quarterback, wasn’t it?”
“What?”
“It was that football guy, the one with his ass hanging out. It was him, right?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Daniel, you’ve had this jockstrap fetish thing going ever since you got it on with that hockey coach of yours. Seriously, it wasn’t a stretch. You could bounce a nickel off that tight end.”
“I can’t believe I just did that.”
“I can’t believe you asked him his name.” I stared at her dumbly before fumbling out my phone. “Maybe,” said Karen, taking the pint glass from my hand, “we should have sex one day, you and me, just to see what it’s like.” I hung up my phone and put it away. “What do you think?”
“Karen, I’m like, really gay.”
She searched my face. Gingerly, she plucked a piece of latex flesh dangling off my cheek. “Alright, I suppose this makes me a fag hag, doesn’t it? God how I hate that term.” She finished my beer, burped impressively and gave me back my hockey stick. “The next round’s on you. We’ll just eat Kraft Dinner for a week. Alright?”
“Alright.”
Pat came home for Christmas, thinner, but tanned and healthy enough. He’d cut his hair and wore it now in a short ponytail. For the first time, Grandma refused to leave the nursing home when we went to pick her up Christmas Eve. She was angry at our intrusion and wouldn’t calm down. She wanted to watch Baywatch. In the end, we settled ourselves in front of the big screen TV in the common room, and passed the time playing cards while David Hasselhoff cavorted in the surf. After Grandma dozed off, the head nurse Betty let us know nicely but firmly that it was time to go. Back home, Grandpa wished us well, patted each of us on the shoulder and retired early.
“Goodnight, Grandpa,” I said.
“’Night, Grandpa!” Pat shouted.
“Bonne nuit, Pépère,” Liam said.
After that, Pat insisted that Liam and I open his badly wrapped presents. As it turned out, he’d brought back scotch for everyone. I opened my bottle and Liam lit a joint which we smoked out back. After high school, Liam had gotten into construction full-time. Housing was booming and there was no shortage of work. Liam might’ve been just a kid, but he was Tom Garneau’s kid and that was good enough for most. Grandpa himself had worked as a contractor in Sudbury for pretty much his whole life. It was all cash under the table and Liam had no complaints.
Close to midnight, Karen texted to let us know she was coming over. She tramped across the street and around the side of the house to meet us on the back deck. “Well, what do you know, it’s the Garneau boys reunited.” Liam handed her the scotch but she waved it away, pulling a bottle of Baby Duck out of her snow pants. “So when did you get back?”
“A couple days ago,” Pat said. “It’s good to see you, Karen Fobister. You’re looking veritably rosy in the cheeks. Merry Christmas, Gitche Manitou and all that. How’s your little sis?”
Karen took a drag off the joint I handed her. “Anne, she’s fine. She just got her nose pierced.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “How do your parents feel about that?”
Karen shrugged, tilted her head back and exhaled. “My mom was the one who took her. You shouldn’t be smoking, Daniel. You get sick when you smoke pot.”
“It’s alright. I just had one puff.”
“Anyone want a super?”
Pat threw up his arm. “Oh, yes, Miss Fobister, may I, please?”
“Good boy, Patrick. Now stand still and stop fidgeting.” She held the joint backwards between her teeth and blew out while Pat craned his neck sucking back.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Liam said.
“I don’t think so,” Pat said, grimacing.
“Look, you lost half the smoke. Give it to me. Daniel, come here.”
“He’s going to get sick.”
Liam patted me on the cheek and turned his bill cap around. “It’s just for medicinal purposes, Karen.” He rested one hand on my shoulder and we leaned into each other. I jerked back and held my breath, trying not to cough. Expertly, Liam flipped the joint back around with his tongue. The ember crackled. “And that,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, “is how it’s done.”
Pat plucked the joint from between his lips. “Amateurs.” He sat up on the railing, took a nice hit into his mouth, and performed a perfect French Inhale.
“Show off,” Karen said. Pat wiggled his eyebrows seductively. Karen poked me in the chest. “So, Daniel, did you tell them yet?” Ever since our Halloween outing in Toronto, she’d been pressuring me to come out to my brothers. In the end, I promised I would before Christmas. Tonight was the deadline. It was obvious from my expression that I hadn’t. She took out her phone and held it up. “You have three minutes.”
“Three minutes?”
“Three minutes to tell us what?”
“And counting.”
“Okay, guys.” There was no way this should be so difficult. I took another slug of scotch. “I have something to tell you.”
The flash went off on Karen’s phone. “What, that you’re a queer?” Pat said. “That you’re a limp-wristed fag? That you’re a cock-sucking poof? We know that already. You have something else to tell us?”
The Christmas lights strung up in the pine trees and all around the back deck took on a sharper focus. My breath formed frosty clouds in the air. Karen raised both hands and backed away. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Dan, dude, we’re your brothers,” Pat said laughing. “We know. We’ve always known.”
“I didn’t know,” Liam said.
“Of course you knew, Liam. We all know. Grandpa knows. Even Grandma knows! That’s why you’re her favourite.”
“I’m not Grandma’s favourite,” I said. “She doesn’t even remember my name half the time.”
“Seriously, Dan, she doesn’t remember our names most of the time. Why do you think she keeps groping your ass? Why do you think she keeps wanting to watch re-runs of The Golden Girls with you? She’s spending quality time with her favourite gay grandson.”
“I just thought she was crazy,” I mumbled. But in that hazy moment, what Pat said made bizarre sense.
Liam looked sideways at me and then back at Pat. “Really, Pat, I didn’t know.”
“Liam,” Karen said, taking his hand, “weren’t you going to show me that moose skull you found?”
“Hold on, wait a minute,” Pat said. “Before you two go off and shag like rabbits, I’ve got something to show everyone.” He pulled off his coat, tossed me his toque, and pulled his T-shirt off over his head. “Check it out boys and girls,” he exclaimed, turning his back. “Pretty nifty, eh?” Just below the base of his neck between his shoulder blades was a palm-sized tattoo of the Union Jack.
“Whoa.”
“Impressive.”
“I see you had a good time in London,” Karen said. “London, Glastonbury, Dover. I had a bloody brilliant time. Thanksgiving in Ibiza was sick. I missed you guys.”
I’d thought the stamp on that Big Ben postcard had looked funny. I took another swig from the bottle. “Oh my god, what the fuck is that?”
Pat blinked. “Oh this? This. This is a nipple ring. I had it done in Amsterdam. The girls love it. What do you think? You can touch it if you want.”
“No. No thanks. I can see it, plain as day.”
“It’s midnight, guys,” Karen said. “Merry Christmas.”
Pat slapped me on the back. “Merry Christmas. I’m glad you finally came out to us, dude. Props to you. You rock. You’re tied in first place as my number one favourite bro.” He grabbed my face and kissed me hard on the forehead. “We love you, man.” He draped his arm over me and turned to Karen and Liam. “Go, forest children,” he commanded, pointing straight-armed. “Go make beautiful love. I want to bond with my out-and-proud gay brother. And don’t forget to use a johnny.”
“Honestly,” Liam whispered to Karen as they tramped back into the house, “I didn’t know.”
“Pat,” I said, “put on your clothes. It’s freezing out here.” Obligingly, he put on his toque and lit a cigarette. He held out the pack, but I grimaced and backed away. I was starting to feel a little sick. “No thanks. What’s a johnny?”
“A johnny’s a rubber, a condom. Hey, if you’re gonna banger, cover your wanger.”
“Oh, right.” I’d just come out to my brothers and it was like it was nothing. Maybe it was nothing, but I wasn’t so sure. “So, like, when did you start smoking again?”
“Since I quit the band. Since I started hanging out in British pubs.” (He pronounced the word poobs.) “Since I spent the last five months in Europe. Marlboro. Disgusting. But it’s what everyone smokes out there. You’d love England, Dan. Very British, very proper. I actually bought that T-shirt for you, but I liked it so much I kept it for myself.”
I held up his T-shirt which had a picture of Winston Churchill and the caption IF YOU’RE GOING THROUGH HELL, KEEP GOING. “You’re kidding,” I said.
“Why would I be kidding? See, Dan, you’re like Churchill, you’re our big brother. You always take charge. Grandpa did his best, but, well, you know Grandpa. You’ve gotten us through a lot since Mom and Dad died. Growing up wasn’t easy. I’m grateful and proud to have had you leading the way.”
I’d never heard Pat talk like this before. “Okay. Thanks for at least thinking of me.”
“Naw, I’m just pulling your leg. Someone at a party gave me that shirt after I lost mine. But it does suit you, Dan. You can have it if you want. In fact, I’m giving it to you. Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks.”
Pat fiddled with his nipple ring. “Look, let me tell you something, just between you and me. I kissed a guy once. It was nice. Scratchy but nice. We were playing Truth or Dare. I’d do it again you know. Not with you though. That would be wrong.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.”
“But sex and love, really, it’s all fluid. Its all in here.” Pat rapped the side of his head. “Biggest sex organ in the body. In Camden Market, I met this guy and two girls. They made these rockin’ belts and purses. They told me they were poly. I thought that was the name of their band. Here I was this ignorant hick Canadian straight out of high school, eh, from northern Ontario. What did I know? Let’s just say poly did not want a cracker.”
“So what’s poly?”
“Poly. Polyamorous. Having multiple, equally-loving partners.”
“You mean they were a threesome.”
“Better than that. They were an open threesome.”
“You slept with them?”
“We played Truth or Dare. Yah, I slept with them. It was hot. I’ve been thinking a lot since then. With dudes, I figure anything above the waist is fair game, you know what I mean? I loved making out with that dude. It was such a turn on. The truth is, no one’s really straight. No one is. I thought I was, and look at me. Who’s that Green Day guy who said that, Billie Joe Armstrong. Think Morrissey and Molko, and all the greats, Bowie and Jagger. I figure it’s all good, man.”
Pat finished his cigarette in silence. It was starting to snow, but he didn’t seem to be feeling the cold at all. I hated to admit it, but his nipple ring looked good, it suited him. His tattoo also looked good. I had a hunch it was the first of many. Karen was right, I shouldn’t have smoked that joint. I was definitely feeling nauseous.
“So,” Pat said, tossing his butt into the barbecue, “how many guys have you done it with?”
“A few.”
“Have you gotten it up the ass?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“You have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
‘You’ll tell us if you did?”
“Sure.” I leaned against the railing, feeling dizzy. “Why did you say Grandpa knows?”
Pat snorted. “Oh, I don’t know if he knows. I was just messing with you. Everyone thinks you and Karen are an item.”
“Karen’s with Liam.”
“You know that. I know that. Although I’m not sure Liam knows that.”
“Liam’s a little freaked out, isn’t he?”
“You want me to talk to him? I’ll talk to him if you want me to. Let me talk to him.”
I put down the scotch bottle. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Hey. What are brothers for?”
“What are brothers for.” I gave Pat a high five, grateful for having pretty much the coolest brother in the world. Then I threw up all over him.
On New Years Eve in Toronto, I got raped. Technically, that was what happened. I woke up on my stomach, and someone was on top of me, and inside me. It took me a few seconds to figure out what was actually going on. I must’ve yelled something awful, because the guy jumped up and staggered back halfway across the room. By that time, I’d rolled over and grabbed the first thing I laid my hands on which was a huge, black, double-headed dildo. I blurted something which must’ve been incomprehensible, because the guy kept saying, “What? What? What?” over and over. Then I noticed he wasn’t wearing a condom and I started to freak out. I recognized him as the guy I’d been flirting with all night at Fly Nightclub. He was a nice guy, really cute. I’d just forgotten his name. It took a while before I registered what he was saying. Then I reached around with one arm, felt with my fingers and pulled the condom out of my ass, slick with lube. It must have slipped off when he jumped off of me. He’d been fucking me. I’d never been fucked in my life. I shouted something and threw the dildo at him as hard as I could. I was so terrified and angry. The dildo bounced off the wall and hit him in the shoulder. You’d think I’d just whipped a crowbar at him. He crouched, cowering, with his hands over his head and actually started to cry. That changed everything. My anger cracked in half and crumbled off me. I was left breathless and dishevelled, standing naked on some bed with Star Wars sheets. A model of the Enterprise NCC-1701 hung from the ceiling next to a Tardis propping up some psych and computer textbooks. I was dizzy and sweatydrunk, covered in sparkles in some fanboy’s bachelor apartment. I stepped off the bed and set the condom down on the night table where my wallet, phone and keys were neatly placed. I’d done that. I’d put them there. The time on my phone read 2:46 a.m. I’d left Karen at Fly and gone home with this guy. “Brent,” I said. “Your name’s Brent.”
“No. It’s Brett.”
“Sorry.”
“Can you please leave?”
“Wait.”
“Leave.” He couldn’t look me in the eye. “Just leave.”
I put on my clothes, gathered my stuff and left. It was snowing hard outside and I had absolutely no idea where I was. I started to panic. Then a cab rounded the corner and I ran in front of it, waving like a crazy person. It was 3 a.m. on New Year’s Day. What were the chances a cab would cross my path when I needed one the most? Someone was watching over me. Suddenly I skidded, slipped and fell in the salty slush. It was like something straight out of a Buster Keaton movie. It was a miracle I didn’t get run over. I leaned on the bumper, hauled myself to my feet, felt my way around the vehicle and got into the back. As it turned out, I was a five minute drive from home. Karen was still up, listening to Sarah McLachlan and eating cold pizza, when I limped in through the door. “Hey,” she said, “didn’t you hook up with that Brent guy?”
“Brett. His name’s Brett.”
“What happened? You okay?”
“Yes, no. I’m not sure.”
“Shit, Daniel, have you been smoking pot again?”
“No. I think I just drank too much.”
“Okay. Oh, sweetheart, Daniel, what’s wrong?”
I’d started to cry. “I went home with him and it was really great. We made out on his couch, then we started playing with these toys. Then he offered me something called poppers. And then he asked me if I could top him and I said yes but then I couldn’t get it up, so and then he asked me if he could top me and I said yes, but then I must’ve passed out for a few seconds and then when I woke up I didn’t know where I was except there I was and I panicked and I kind of went all psycho crazy and threw this really big dildo at him and totally freaked out. Oh, I am such an idiot. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.”
Karen knew when to joke and when to be serious. She stood in front of me. “Did you hurt him?”
“No, I didn’t hurt him.” I wiped the snot running from my nose.
“Okay, just asking. Did he use protection?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You’re sure sure?”
“I’m sure!”
“Okay. You’re all wet. You need a shower.”
“Help.”
Karen led me by the hand to the washroom where she undressed me as I stood leaning back against the sink. We’d seen each other naked lots of times over the years, during sleepovers and camping in Killarney. I’d never felt this way before in my entire life. “Daniel, where’s your underwear?”
“Aww.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Those were brand new. They were Calvin Klein.”
“Okay, out of those pants. The truth is, you were never a Calvin Klein kind of guy.” Karen ran a hot shower and drew back the curtain. “More Fruit of the Loom. Now get in. Oh my god, look at your leg.”
The side of one knee was red and purple. “I slipped on the street. It looks worse than it feels.”
“Tell me that in the morning. You’re not going to fall down and hit your head and have me call 911 are you?”
“Maybe.” I clambered into the shower. “Karen, don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Come in here with me.”
The steam was filling the room. Karen opened her mouth, her hands on her hips, then closed it again.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Hold on.”
She left and came back with a bottle of Diet Pepsi and the pizza box which she set on the toilet seat. She took off her PJs and got into the shower with me. The hot water felt good. I let her wash my hair and then my back.
“You want some pizza?” she asked.
“Okay,” I said. I was starting to feel better. She got us both a slice and we took our time eating in the shower, passing the big plastic Pepsi bottle between us. “Thank you, Karen Fobister.”
“You’re welcome, Daniel Garneau.”
Afterwards we both got into our PJs and put on the Season Three of The Golden Girls DVD, which was our favourite season. We fell asleep on the couch before the first episode was over, and as the snow kept falling all the while, silently and gently, blanketing the city.