June 24, 2004

And then there was Saturday…

It rained all night, and the morning was chilly and bright. Zorianna’s alarm clock startled us to consciousness and I was suddenly reminded of how desperately cold I was. I only had a large towel to keep me warm at night, while the girls slept in the same bed covered with Trevor’s blanket.

Because I needed body heat, I slithered under the covers next to Martha once Zorianna headed for the shower. Their bed felt divine and Martha’s body was sleepy and warm like a cat’s, so warm that I started talking to her in a raspy, sensual voice. She made good pillow talk, pausing at the right moments so we could both nod off now and again. Whenever I closed my eyes I saw her face.

“Is Tudor a good boy?” her mother asked Trevor the day before, telling him to keep an eye on things. “Make sure there’s no hanky-panky,” she said, sounding alarmed at my mere presence.

And that morning, with Martha’s body so close to mine and all that warmth slipping into my soul, I suddenly wanted to be a good boy for her. “Let me repent my carnivorous ways and feed on flowers alone,” I thought. “Take from me this heart of stone.” And we awoke, slowly, with smiles on our lips.

We walked down the street to get coffee, and said goodbye at the metro station. And I ran back to Trevor’s apartment grinning foolishly with hot coffee in my hands. While he drank his coffee I jumped out his third-floor window on the neighboring roof and fear shook my legs.

“Is Tudor a good boy?” she wanted to know. There, on the neighboring roof, I was no longer sure, so I came back into Trevor’s room and realized that I still felt carnivorous. So we ate breakfast at the Shakespeare Cafe — eggs, toast, and bacon.

Our appetites satiated, we roamed through city streets looking for books, images, clothespins. All we found was a wooden dummy hand, which I immediately bought — it’s hard to find a good hand.

“I demand you masturbate yourself with it for at least two weeks,” Trevor said. But because the fingers in the hand have little tension, I’ll have to devise an elaborate system of elastics to achieve orgasm. The sex store we stopped by didn’t have any advice on masturbating with a wooden hand.

And we walked the hand everywhere: we took it to Queen’s Park to look for a man with a delightful tongue; we stopped with it under a bridge to watch weddings; and we pointed its wooden fingers at strangers.

Eventually, armed with our extra masturbatory hand, we hid in some bushes near University of Toronto so Trevor could smoke. After a day of walking through the city, we were deeply in love with Toronto and each other.

“You should move to Toronto,” he said for the third time that day.

“I would absolutely love to, but I have no meaning here.”

“You have no meaning anywhere,” he answered sadly.

I liked everything about Toronto: the marvelous creatures, the girls who dance in the streets and offer sacrifices, the homeless people yearning for your attention. And I loved the idea of being closer to Trevor and his madness.

“One day,” I promised, fighting the temptation to drop out of school immediately and packing for Toronto. We felt warm and wonderful sharing that intimate moment in the sun before I left him to find Zorianna.

And when I met her, the city froze and the winds started howling. We were cold and strange and walked hurriedly through the streets to find Trevor again. The three of us soon wound up huddled together on a sofa on someone’s porch, glasses half filled with wine and thick visionary smoke filling the air.

Because I didn’t smoke, I became cold and silly, and put my arms around them to keep warm. No more boundaries. I laughed uncontrollably on people’s shoulders, refusing to make any sense.

After all that, we went to Fran’s for milkshakes and caressed each other with my wooden hand. And with my real hands I embraced Trevor again 20 minutes later on the subway platform as I said goodbye. This was my last night in Toronto and I wasn’t yet ready to leave. I tousled his hair and when he finally left I whimpered.

Toronto is a city of obscene emotions — each time I leave behind pieces of my heart. Internal organs ripped from my body are left pulsating on empty subway platforms. I need warmth in the mornings and wonderful cat-like people pressed against me. I want to return to the city to be a good boy for all of my loves.

And on the fourth day, it was all over.