We’re Here for a Good Time
Late in April, Karen came down from Manitoulin to visit for the weekend. We met Saturday afternoon at the Moonbeam Coffee Company in Kensington Market. Our plan was to pick David up after he was done work, meet with Pat and Blonde Dawn, and step out for dinner. A recent rain shower had left the air smelling like fresh laundry. After the long winter, the sunshine on my face felt amazing. Down the street, Hasidic Jews dressed all in black and old Chinese ladies picked through the fruit and vegetable stalls. Students on bicycles rattled past. I hadn’t seen Karen since Grandma’s funeral. She looked good. Her hair was cut short in a fresh, stylish bob. She wore a T-shirt emblazoned with the yin-yang symbol stitched in red and gold, faded jeans and old hiking boots. She tossed her sunglasses and keys onto the patio table. “Wow, a whole box of your grandma’s douche kits,” she said, tearing open a packet of sugar. “I suppose that is a little weird. Still, it sounds like something your grandpa would do. They’re pretty much the same as enema kits, right?”
“More or less.” I glanced around, but none of the other patrons seemed to be paying any attention to our conversation.
“Did you know douching puts women at risk for cervical cancer?”
“Daniel, a lot of things put people at risk for a lot of things. You’re a med student now. I don’t know why you of all people are being so squeamish about this.”
“I’m not being squeamish.” A flock of pigeons rose storming from the rooftops, scattering the sunlight. I twisted at the fabric of my hoodie and lowered my voice. “Look, it’s just that it’s really personal, you know? I mean, what’s going through Grandpa’s head when he decides I can use Grandma’s douche kits? He’s thinking about me getting fucked up the ass, for chrissake. That’s what he’s thinking.”
“Or fucking somebody else up the ass.”
“Whatever. It’s like, whoa, Grandpa, don’t go there. Please. It’s worse than imagining your own parents having sex.”
I regretted my words the instant they were out of my mouth. To Karen’s credit, she simply made a face and sipped from her coffee. “Okay, I get what you mean. Look, your grandpa’s a practical man. He loves you. He accepts you for who you are. You’re lucky to have someone like him. Most people don’t.”
“You’re right.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “You’re right. I should just focus on that.”
“So between you and David, who is fucking who?”
“Karen, c’mon.”
“Just asking.” Karen raised her eyebrows. “What? Daniel, hello, this is me you’re talking to.”
“We’re, you know, versatile, sometimes.”
“Versatile sometimes?”
“Well, most of the time I’m on top.”
Karen’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “And sometimes you’re not.”
“And sometimes I’m not.”
“So, do you have any naked pictures?”
“What?”
“On your phone. Do you have any pictures of you and your hot Italian Catholic boyfriend?”
“I don’t have any naked pictures.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Karen, I’m not going to show you our naked pictures.”
“Oh, so you do have naked pictures.”
“I never said that.”
“But you do.” Karen folded her arms and leaned forward. “Now you have to show me. Look, it doesn’t have to be anything crazy or kinky.”
“Oh really?”
“Just sexy.”
“Sexy?”
“I want to see something sexy. You and David are good-looking guys. We shouldn’t be ashamed of our bodies. We should celebrate them. Daniel, come on.”
“Karen.”
“Yo, just chill uptight boy.”
“‘Yo, just chill?’”
Karen leaned back, cradling her coffee. “I work with a lot of youth on the rez.”
“Don’t call me uptight. I hate it when you call me that. You told Megan you thought we were both uptight.”
“I told her, Daniel, that I thought both of you could learn to relax more.”
“Okay, fine.” I took out my phone and flipped through my albums. “Hold on, let me see. Oh, here, okay. I’ll show you this one.” Discreetly, I held it out. It was a selfie I’d taken of David and me on our backs on our bed, grinning from ear to ear.
“Oh my god. Are you two covered in shit?”
“What? No! Karen, Jesus Christ. That’s sugar pie. We were eating Grandpa’s sugar pie off each other.”
“What are those chunks?”
“That’s cannoli, and Rocky Road ice cream.”
“Oh, okay. For a minute there. Whoa. I’m all for kinky shit, but hey.”
“It’s not shit.”
“Alright, okay. Well this is romantic then. You two boys look happy together. You really do. David’s also a lot less hairy than I thought he’d be.” Karen tilted my phone sideway. “Now that is one sexy treasure trail. Does he trim his chest?”
“No, he doesn’t trim.”
“What about down there?”
“Down there, maybe just a little bit.”
“I thought so. All you gay boys trim.”
“Karen, that’s so not true. And straight guys trim too, you know. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Daniel, I tell you everything Liam and I get into. I trim, and I shave my pits. I really shouldn’t. It’s all this internalized white oppression. Liam never trims. He’s a shag rug down there. And have you seen his ass lately? It definitely was not that hairy five years ago.”
“Karen, I don’t want to hear about my brother’s ass. Anyway, I thought you two broke up again.”
“We did break up.” Karen handed me back my phone. “We’re broken up.”
After a moment I asked, “Is he okay?”
“Liam? He’s fine. He’s doing his thing. He spends his time between your family cottage and my aunt’s farm. My aunt’s practically adopted him. Oh, and I’m fine too, by the way. Thank you for asking.”
“Are you okay?”
“When am I not? Look, Liam and I, we’re still friends. This winter we went through a rough patch. He’s back on his meds. He’s doing fine now. I’m there if he needs me, and he has other people in his life too.”
“Liam’s back on his meds? What kind of meds?”
“Zoloft.”
“Fuck.”
“It’s an antidepressant.”
“I know what Zoloft is.” I massaged my temples. I’d sensed something wasn’t quite right with Liam back during Christmas. But with all the drama around Grandma and the funeral, I hadn’t bothered to check in with him. Liam always played his cards close. “He doesn’t talk to me about these things.”
“He doesn’t talk to anyone about these things.”
“I’ve tried in the past, you know.”
“I know.”
“How bad was it?”
“Bad enough that he agreed to go back on meds.”
“Does Grandpa know?”
“No.”
“And he’s better now?”
“He’s better now, Daniel.”
You were the one who convinced him?”
“And my aunt.”
“Really?”
“She’s been a big influence in Liam’s life.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“She’s an amazing woman. She’s the one who taught me how to drive a tractor. She competed in the 1972 Olympics in women’s cross-country skiing. She’s also the only Elder on the Band Council with a university degree.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“I’ll introduce you one day. You should come up and visit this summer.”
“How is life on Manitoulin?”
“It’s a whole different world. I get a lot of respect. There aren’t that many young people who stay on the Island anymore. But just between you and me, the truth is, the main reason I moved out there is to be closer to Liam. How ironic is that?”
“Karen, maybe you should start dating other guys.”
“Who says I’m not? Who says I don’t have some perfectly nice Manitoulin boy on the go, who opens doors for me, speaks fluent Ojibwe, tags me on Facebook, and actually answers my phone calls?”
“If you did, Karen, you’d tell me.”
“I would?”
“Yeah. You’re my best friend.”
Down the lane, a dreadlocked busker started belting out an old Ronnie Hawkins tune. “I am your best friend, Daniel Garneau.” Karen put on her sunglasses again. The clouds in the sky floated past like giant cotton balls. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
She raised her face to the sun. “I do declare, I am looking forward to meeting your shuga-pah boy.”
“Karen, you cannot tell David I showed you that picture.”
“But, darling,” she drawled, peering over her sunglasses. “It’s sweet.”
“Karen.”
“No pun intended, honey.”
“Don’t. I’m serious. Promise.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“Alright. Chill. I promise.”
That evening, after three rounds of boilermakers, David remembered the sugar pie pic and insisted I show it to Karen, Pat and Blonde Dawn. The five of us huddled in a booth at Sneaky Dee’s, sharing photos on all our phones. Karen had pictures of her and Liam smoking salmon they’d caught out on Providence Bay. Pat and Blonde Dawn scrolled through pics of the two of them hefting steak stroganoff poutine at a Rush concert at the Air Canada Centre. The waitress arrived with our fajita orders: sizzling cast-iron skillets loaded with thick slices of chicken, red and green peppers and caramelized onions, with sides of refried beans and rice, warm tortillas, guacamole, sour cream, salsa, mole and fresh-chopped tomatoes with cilantro and onion. After that, the topic of conversation turned to food and one thing led to another. Karen stayed the night at Pat and Blonde Dawn’s, since they had the extra guest room. The next morning, the five of us met again on the patio of Aunties and Uncles with its quaint décor and white picket fence, which I must’ve walked past a hundred times. According to NOW Magazine, the tiny restaurant served up one of the best brunches in the city, and we weren’t disappointed (they even made their own ketchup in-house). After five years in Toronto, I was still making amazing discoveries within blocks of where I lived. After that, Karen hugged us all goodbye, and hit the road for the long drive back home to Manitoulin.
“She’s great,” David said, keying back into our loft.
“You think so?”
“Of course she is.” He flopped down on the couch and opened a copy of Pedal Magazine. “She can drink, she plays a mean game of pool, and she laughs at all my jokes.”
“I’m glad you two hit it off. Karen’s like family, her and her little sister.”
“Who’s her sister again?”
“Anne. Anne Fobister. If she gets into OCAD, she’ll be moving to Toronto this fall.”
“You know Karen’s in love with your brother Liam.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Is it?”
“It’s just the way she talks about him.”
“Well, they’re not together anymore.”
“That’s beside the point. A lot of people who love each other don’t stay together. And a lot of people who don’t love each other, well, they end up staying together their whole lives. It’s fucked up, but that’s the way it is.”
“That’s sad.”
“It’s pathetic, that’s what it is. Now Pat and Blonde Dawn, they make a great couple. Those two were meant for each other.”
“Even though they’re having sex with other people?”
“Pat’s told you that?”
“Yeah, he’s told me.”
“Well, maybe it’s because of that.”
“What do you mean?”
David sat up. “Just because two people are in love doesn’t mean they’re not going to be attracted to other people. It’s human nature. Those kind of feelings don’t just suddenly stop. We’re told that if we’re truly in love with someone, we’re not going to want to be with other people. But that’s bullshit. That’s a myth. It’s a myth that’s ruined a lot of good relationships.”
“So what are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is that monogamy is way overrated.”
“We’re monogamous.”
“We’ve acted monogamous, Daniel. But we’ve talked about opening up. Negotiating an open relationship takes a strong bond and a lot of trust. I’m in love with you. I’m crazy about you. Just thinking about having sex with you makes me hard. You’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. At the same time, face it, you and I both also think about screwing other people. Why? Because we’re healthy, normal young guys, that’s why.”
“But do you want to have sex with other guys?”
“Of course I do, and so do you. But we don’t because we’re afraid of what it might mean to our partners. But the truth is, a lot of couples you think are monogamous are negotiating non-monogamy all the time. They just don’t talk about it.”
“We’ve talked about it.”
“Yes we have. We just haven’t done anything about it. Don’t get me wrong, Daniel. I’m happy with you, more than happy. I’d also be happy eating Italian food the rest of my life. I love my Italian. You know what I mean?”
“Except you’re not going to be eating just Italian the rest of your life.”
“Exactly, given the option. Opening up should never be black-and-white, but it’s all about negotiating options. For instance, Pat and Blonde Dawn have a don’t-askdon’t-tell policy. That wouldn’t work with me. I’d want to know. Hell, I’d want to be there. This morning, at Aunties and Uncles, Karen asked if we always eat off each other’s plates. Have you noticed we do that? It’s true.”
“I suppose we do.” It was true. David and I shared a lot of things. Some things we’d negotiated (like where I’d shelve my textbooks and ginormous DVD collection), and other things we hadn’t (like wearing each other’s socks and underwear). It just worked out that way. “So, is there someone else,” I asked tentatively, “you want to have sex with?”
“You mean specifically someone I’ve been thinking about? Apart from you, Dean Winchester, and Tyler Durden,” David said, laughing, “no. No there’s not.”
“Who are they?”
“Daniel. Let’s just say, out of those three people you’re the only one who’s actually real, okay?”
I sat on the armrest of the couch. “But you think I want to have sex with Marcus.”
David put down his magazine. “Don’t you? C’mon, seriously. Don’t you ever fantasize about him?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you say his name in your sleep.”
“Fuck off. No I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“The hell I do.”
“You want me to record you the next time it happens?”
“The next time? Really?”
“Daniel, it’s okay. It doesn’t bother me. I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not the jealous type.”
“But what if I am?”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“No you didn’t. I did.”
“Are you?”
Three heartbeats passed. “I don’t want to be.”
“Then that just takes practice. C’mere.” David pulled me down next to him and wrapped his arms around me. “I love you so much, Daniel Garneau. I love the sound of your voice. I love how you smell. I love the way you bite your lip when you cut my hair. I love sticking my tongue in your belly-button. I love downing tequila shots with your brother Pat and his girlfriend Blonde Dawn and your best friend Karen. I love the look on your face when you’re inside of me. I love the way you eat your Creamsicles, and I love the way you snore.”
“I snore?”
“No one’s ever told you that before?”
“What do I say?”
“What?”
“When I say Marcus’ name.”
“Nothing. You just mumble his name sometimes. He’s important to you. He’s on your mind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I trust us.”
“He’s like a ghost.”
“Your relationship with him is a ghost. The guy is real.”
“He’s complicated.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’m not sure,” I said sighing, “I want Marcus Wittenbrink Jr. in our lives, David.”
“Okay. I’ll leave this up to you. You know how I feel.” His ran his fingers through my hair, and kissed the side of my head. “We have a whole Sunday afternoon to ourselves, mister. What do you want to do?”
“Why don’t I take you to my gym and I’ll teach you how to play squash?”
“Can I blow you in the sauna afterwards?”
“It’s not that kind of gym.”
“Can we shower with other naked men?”
“Probably.”
“Alrighty then. I’m in. Let’s do it.”
And so we did.
At some point during the winter, Pat and Blonde Dawn had formed a band called Three Dog Run. Bobby Lam on saxophone (and half a dozen other instruments) and a bass player named Rod Rodriguez filled out the roster. They practised out of Rod’s garage up in the Annex. Rod was a short, balding thirty-something who sported an enormous, ZZ Top beard. The four made an odd-looking ensemble, but they sounded terrific. On more than one occasion, they’d used the Free Times’ Monday Nite Open Stage to fine-tune their act. By May, David was designing a press kit and creating a Facebook page to promote the band.
“So what are you, like their publicist?” I asked.
“No,” David said, bent over his laptop, “not even. I’m just helping out.” He printed out an image and thrust it at me. “Here.” It was a black and white, stylized silhouette of three puppies inside a spiral circle. “What do you think?”
I sat up on the couch, and sipped my Sunday morning coffee. “I like it.” I examined it at arm’s length. “I really like it. You designed this?”
“Of course, I designed it. I’m more than a pretty face, mister.”
“I’m impressed.”
David leaned over my shoulder. “It’s playful. It’s cute but not too cute. I just added the studded collars to give it an edgier look.” He jumped the couch, pushed aside my textbooks and sat down next to me. “See here, the swirl, it kinda hints at a Seventies groove. Their band, it’s all about fun and feeling good, right?”
“Pat’s going to love this.”
“It’s going to have to go through Blonde Dawn first.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“I’d originally designed this three-headed dog logo, but Marcus said it looked too much like Cerberus, this monster that guards the Greek underworld. Way too heavy metal. Blonde Dawn agreed.”
“Marcus?”
“He’s been helping get the demo tape out. He knows people. Pat needs all the help he can get.”
“Since when has Marcus been involved in this?”
“Daniel, you’ve been really busy with school. Look, it’s not a big deal. We met at Lunacy Cabaret, remember? We’re all friends on Facebook.”
“Fuck this Facebook crap!” I stood up. “Why didn’t you tell me Marcus was friends with Pat? Pat’s my brother. Marcus knows that, he knew that from the start. I swear, I bet he lent Pat that hat on purpose.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I told you I thought Marcus was stalking me, and you told me he wasn’t.”
“He’s not, Daniel. Get a fucking grip.”
“So like have you been hanging out with him, and Pat and everyone?”
“Daniel, the last time I saw him was the last time we both saw him.”
“And what about Pat?”
“What about Pat? Pat can be friends with whoever he wants.”
“Obviously.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Well, since you asked: Three Dog Run cut its demo tape at Marcus’ loft a few weeks back.”
“What?”
“They needed a space to record.”
“Holy shit.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“When was anyone going to tell me this?”
“Daniel, relax.”
“You know, when you tell me to relax, it doesn’t help. It actually has the opposite effect. That’s just an FYI. I don’t need another person in my life telling me to relax.”
“If you have that many people telling you, maybe you should start listening.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck yourself.”
I threw the print-out back at David and retreated to the bedroom where I flung open the closet. David followed me. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m changing. I’m going out to study. Some people are in school.” I pulled off my sweatpants and threw them in the hamper. “Some people need to study.”
“Stop,” David said. “Stop.”
I sat down on the bed, breathing hard, my T-shirt still wrapped around my arms. My bangs were in my face. I could feel the heat in my cheeks.
David stood uncertainly in the doorway. “What,” he finally said, “just happened there?” I tossed my shirt on the floor. After a moment, David knelt on the bed behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest. “Daniel, what just happened there?”
I shook my head.
“I think I know what happened.” He pressed his mouth against the back of my neck. “I think,” he said, “my Daniel got jealous.”
I didn’t say anything.
“It’s okay. You’ve been busy. You’re in med school for chrissake. It doesn’t get more busy than that.”
“Jealous?”
“Mm-hm.” He squeezed me and massaged my shoulders. “But it’s all good. Cause there’s absolutely nothing to be jealous about, okay?”
“This is just the beginning, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“Marcus. You don’t know him. He has to be the centre of attention. The guy’s got the hugest ego.”
“Dude, so does your brother. Look, Marcus is just helping out. Blonde Dawn will keep them both in place. She doesn’t put up with any bullshit.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You have a hard time trusting people, don’t you?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“What’s that?”
“I’m in love.” David straddled me from behind. “And Blonde Dawn’s in love. And Karen’s in love. We’re all in love. We’re all head over heels in love with the Garneau boys. And you three boys love each other.”
I tried to get up, but he wouldn’t let me go. I rolled my eyes. “This,” I muttered, “is such a chick-flick moment.”
“Fuck that.”
“I’m fucking right.”
David pushed me over and yanked down my underwear. “How about I fuck this?”
“Fuck off!” I laughed, despite myself.
“Oh I’ll fuck, alright.” David was suddenly wrestling me on the bed. “Anytime, mister, anywhere. Bring it!”
“Is that a dare?”
“That’s a double-dog-do-it-up-the-derriere-dare!”
“Anytime, anywhere?” I eventually let him pin me on my back. “The rooftop!” I gasped.
“What?”
“Let’s do it on the rooftop.”
“Right now? In broad daylight?”
“Right now.”
“Who’s fucking who?”
“We’ll flip a coin, on the rooftop.”
That morning, when we flipped the coin, the golden loonie caught the sunlight and fell glittering over the edge, like pirate treasure lost to the endless, swelling sea. After that, we had no choice but to take turns fucking each other on the rooftop while the pigeons watched. We wore sunglasses and baseball caps pulled down low over our faces. We used half a dozen condoms, and half a bottle of lube. Afterwards, we shared a cigarette and a bottle of soda, and strolled around in the buff in our sneakers admiring the view. We waved at people in the streets below, and they waved back at us. I thought of Grandpa and Liam hanging out naked in Sudbury together. For the first time, it didn’t seem like such a perverse thing to do. It was kind of liberating in fact. A passenger jet passed overhead, and we waved at it. The next time I saw Liam, I figured I owed him an apology. This summer, I’d convince him to come down to Toronto. He needed a change of scenery. Spring was in the air, the cherry trees in High Park were in full blossom, kids were riding their bikes, the dog parks were crowded, and I was having some of the best sex I’d ever had in my life. I felt like I was in love. It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. But it was beautiful. For the first time in the longest time, I felt like I had the golden apple in my grasp.
For Pride Weekend that June, David and I threw a rooftop party. When Karen and I had lived in Little Italy, our apartment was too small for parties, but our loft in Kensington was the perfect size. Technically, we weren’t even allowed on the rooftop, but Rick our building manager was a metalhead who also managed Graffiti’s Bar & Grill down on Baldwin Street, and as long as we kept the noise to a decent level, no one complained. Rick had a permanently dishevelled and pissed-off look about him (like he’d just spat out a swig of bad milk), but David assured me he was a decent guy.
We had about thirty people over, including a few of our neighbours, and I got to meet a number of David’s work friends from his bike shop. Rod lent us a neon pink inflatable kiddies’ swimming pool which we set up on two-by-fours. We brought up my giant palm, and blew up two dozen beach balls which we’d bought in a dollar-store in Chinatown. It was a hot and muggy day, and guests spent the afternoon dipping in and out of the pool and lounging in lawn chairs. We’d asked people to bring their favourite classic cassette tapes which we played on an old boombox. Eventually, Pat and Blonde Dawn arrived and set up a keg in our kitchen. We spent half an hour trying to figure out how to tap the thing before David called in Rick who showed us how to do it in less than a minute. After that, we all shared a cheer. When we invited him to join us, he informed us in a monotone that his new Japanese love doll had arrived in the mail and he was taking it for a test run, but that he might drop by that evening. I spotted Rick later fixing a broken fence in the back laneway and came to the conclusion he’d been joking.
By sundown, only about a dozen people were left and we’d moved the party indoors. Everyone pooled their loose change, and someone ran down the block and brought back Indian take-out. Samosas, Tandoori chicken and naan for everyone. Rick dropped by and had a drink and shared a joint. He and Pat got to talking, and Rick said he’d look into Three Dog Run playing at Graffiti’s. When I asked Rick about the hot water tank, he regarded me sourly and said he’d also look into it. After that, he left for work, and by midnight everyone was gone. “It’s Pride Weekend,” David said, emptying ashtrays and picking up plastic cups and greasy napkins. “People have other parties to go to.” It was also sweltering in the loft, even with all the windows opened and three fans going. Pat and Blonde Dawn had returned the keg. Half the food was uneaten and we piled the leftovers in the fridge. One of Pat’s friends had puked all over our bed, and no matter how much I Febrezed it, the smell of vomit, beer and curry wouldn’t come out. I hauled two garbage bags to the dumpster out back; rats scurried away from me in the dark. When I returned, I found David hunched over his laptop with a weird look on his face. “What is it?” I asked.
“Oh boy.”
“What?” I wiped the sweat from my brow with the bottom of my tank top.
He lowered his screen. “Ok. I need to show you something. But Daniel.”
“What?”
“Just stay calm.”
“What is it?”
“You have to promise not to freak out.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“Just promise. Look, it’s all good. It’s really not a big deal. It’s actually kinda funny.”
“David.”
“Promise.”
“Okay. Fine. I promise.” I folded my arms and breathed through my nose the way Liam had taught me once. I was a yogi master, a prince of Shambhala, an enlightened sadhu above the petty concerns of humankind.
David didn’t look convinced, but he knew he wasn’t going to get any further with me. “So, earlier tonight,” he said, “Rick takes me aside and tells me about this home-made video. He said his bartender had shown it to him. It’d been going around on the Internet.”
“Okay.”
“Well, he thought we ought to know about it.”
“Okay.”
“Check it out.” David opened his laptop, pressed a few keys and turned it towards me. “The guy had recognized Rick’s building.”
For the longest time, I simply stared at the screen. Eventually, I said: “Are we in trouble?”
“Well, he told us not to do it again.”
It was footage of David and me, grainy and shot from another rooftop. Every few minutes, the handheld camera would pull out and pan across the cityscape before coming back to us. Someone had scored the video with a Michael Bublé cover. The morning sun in the sky cast lens flares over our heads. I’d never seen myself from this angle before, and realized I didn’t actually look half so bad. The camera tracked us as we strolled around in the sunshine waving to people in the streets below, at birds flying high, and the CN Tower beyond. Towards the end, the camera zoomed in slowly on the two of us kissing. I remembered that kiss. It had been a great kiss. The video had more than a few hits. It had gone viral.
“You can’t make out our faces at all,” David said.
“I can see that.”
“Look, anybody can climb up the fire escape and get to that roof.”
I simply sighed.
“You okay?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“It’s actually kinda hot, don’t you think?”
The truth was, it was more than hot. Now I understood why some people recorded themselves. I could tell David was trying his best not to laugh. I didn’t know what to say. All I could think was that, with this one single video, I’d attracted a larger audience than Marcus Wittenbrink Jr. ever had in his entire career.
And the feeling was triumphant.