Sushi Central Page 13
Ši©k boÿ: … umm, normally they’d be thirty each
Ši©k boÿ: but …
Ši©k boÿ: twenty-five for you.
toNy: sounds good. can we meet in the city on monday afternoon? that cafe?
Ši©k boÿ: kay
toNy: four o’clock?
Ši©k boÿ: can we make it later? I’ve got this thing for school.
toNy: it’s good you’ve got your priorities sorted out.
Ši©k boÿ: you want it or not?
toNy: yeah
Ši©k boÿ: let’s make it five. table in the corner.
toNy: cool. I’d better go soon. Jamie and I are going to this friend’s house today. I’m meeting him later.
Ši©k boÿ: okay
toNy: see ya monday
Ši©k boÿ: okay
toNy: see ya Mykal
Ši©k boÿ: see ya
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Information I draw from this:
a) Ši©k boÿ is Mykal.
b) Anthony has fucked Mykal.
c) If Anthony has fucked Mykal and I have fucked Anthony, vicariously I have fucked Mykal.
d) Mykal is a drug dealer.
e) Anthony thinks I’m the clingy type.
f) Anthony has told Mykal, and therefore probably a bunch of other people, that he thinks I’m the clingy type. This should bother me a lot. I don’t want Mykal to have that kind of information.
g) All this explains a lot. It explains a lot about what was really going on at the cafe the other day.
h) All of this should get to me, but it doesn’t, because:
i) Anthony thinks I’m a pretty decent fuck.
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There are actually two windows open on the screen. One is the IRC chat. I’m not sure what the other is, but the text down the bottom identifies it as gc864_12.jpg. So it’s a picture file. I don’t know whether I should open it or not.
Part of me doesn’t want to see it. Part of me’s afraid. But opening it could clear a lot of things up. I weigh up whether or not to do it.
Case for opening the picture file: Whatever this picture is might be proof that it really was Anthony in those photos.
Case against opening the picture file: Whatever this picture is might be proof that it really was Anthony in those photos.
My hands are shaking. I don’t know. Whatever. I click on the window to maximise it.
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gc864_12.jpg: Two people fucking. Two boys. One of them is blond, kind of feline-looking. The other is Anthony. They are on the floor, on what looks like a futon. It’s red. The futon. The blond boy is flat on his back. Anthony is above him, arching, kind of. The blond boy’s mouth is open, as though he’s just said something, or is just about to; if he is even able to form words, he might be saying Anthony’s name. If he knows Anthony’s name. The blond boy’s hands are balled up into fists. Anthony’s teeth are clenched. Their eyes are closed.
169
I don’t know if it’s, like, adrenaline or what, but as I’m looking at that photo, some body chemical is released which makes my head swim and for a second I don’t even know where I am. It’s definitely Anthony in that picture.
It’s him. It’s Anthony. I try to construct a list of possible scenarios/consequences in my head — with the basic question of whether or not I should ask him about this photo, about all the photos, in mind — but there are too many to grasp and my thoughts are moving too fast to make any kind of rational connections anyway.
I mean …
170
The fact that Anthony left his computer on: I wonder if this was entirely an accident. I guess there are two alternatives: either he was lazy and didn’t bother to shut the chat window before he left home tonight, or he left it on deliberately, knowing that I’d read it when we got back here. What that says is ‘I want you to read it.’ Either that, or ‘I don’t trust you not to look.’ Probably both. Either way, it doesn’t matter.
Whatever his motivation, Anthony, this secretive and possibly extremely damaged but still incredibly hot person who never seems to show any expression at all and lets himself be photographed having sex with other boys and the pictures be displayed on the internet thinks I’m a good fuck.
Porno. Totally.
171
Cut ahead: Anthony returns. We kiss, say nothing. He is standing by the window in his boxer shorts and I am sitting on the floor with the joint. He comes over to me. I try to pull his boxers off, fail, he pulls them off himself and we collapse on the bed and we’re kissing and we’re both naked and I’m holding his hips, he’s sighing, groaning, and the whole time I’m thinking about those photos, wondering how many boys Anthony has been with, how many times he has done it, wondering what it must feel like, and I continue, faster and faster, trying to make him cum, and the whole time my mind is on those photos, and I’m thinking, I could be one of those boys, in the photos, I’m thinking, I’m just the same as they are, I might as well be one of those boys, and I’m wondering what they would look like, photos of me with Anthony.
172
I am thinking: Pictures of the two of us. Pictures of Anthony and Calvin. Thinking about what they would look like.
1. Calvin is sitting on the floor, leaning on the bed. His arm is extended across it, and it looks although it should be around someone’s shoulder, except nobody else is sitting with him. He is holding a joint and staring into the camera with a mysterious/purposeful/slutty look on his face.
2. Calvin and Anthony are standing together, by the bed. Anthony is wearing only boxer shorts, and the two of them are kissing. It’s hard to tell whether the kiss has just begun or just ended, whether their mouths are about to connect or whether they are pulling away from one another, but it doesn’t matter because they are totally lost in one another and it’s totally hot. Their eyes are closed.
3. Anthony is leaning down, pulling his boxer shorts off. Looks almost delicate. Calvin is on the point of collapsing on the bed.
4. Calvin is going down on Anthony. Anthony is holding Calvin’s head, his eyes closed, his expression still largely blank, but something else is creeping in there. Hard to say. Anthony’s head is thrown back. The expression on Calvin’s face seems to suggest that Anthony’s cock is, like, the coolest thing in the world. And to him, at this point, it probably is.
5. Calvin and Anthony are fucking. Totally lost in one another. Calvin is flat on his back. Anthony is above him, arching, kind of. Calvin’s mouth is open, as though he’s just said something, or is just about to; if he is even able to form words, he might be saying Anthony’s name. If he knows Anthony’s name. Calvin’s hands are balled up into fists. Anthony’s teeth are clenched. Their eyes are closed.
173
Cut ahead: Yesterday afternoon. It’s still overcast outside, threatening to rain. I’m back at my house, sitting in the office and staring at my computer screen. I pull those pictures of Anthony up again and stare at them for a long time.
My whole body feels like it’s going to just float away or whatever. It’s weird, difficult to describe. I check my hotmail for the fourth time this afternoon, just to see if something’s there. There is one new message. It’s from Margot.
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From : Margot
To : Calvin< hearts_filthy_lesson@hotmail.com>
Subject : Survey!!!!
Heyya Calvin
How are ewe? I know how much you love these fucking annoying email survey things. Here’s one someone sent me. It’s kind of amusing, I think. Anyway. Do it and forward your answers to all your friends and get them to fill it out and stuff. My answers are below.
Stay cool,
You are the lubbliest dude in the world,
Margot
>>name: Margot
>>nicknames: magoo, faghag, fucking cunt, or even just hey bitch
>>describe yourself in five words: Faster, pussy-cat. Kill, kill!
>>interests: obsessing over cute boys, playing bass
>>role model: Bjork, Betty Pa
ge
>>drug of choice: crystal meth, baby, all the way!!!!! (hahha)
>>in five years I’d like to be: a member of an anarchist/dadaist art collective somewhere in Berlin
>>quote a line from a song: ‘If you complain one more time you’ll meet an army of me.’
>>I most resemble: the mind of Dorothy Parker in the body of Angelina Jolie. except it’s probably the other way around. hahhahhahha
175
From : Calvin
To : Margot
Subject : re: Survey!!!!
hey Margot
I got that survey thing you sent. It was cool. These are my answers. They kind of suck but then again I didn’t think very hard about them.
Things are weird lately. I guess I’ll talk to you about it at school tomorrow.
>>name: Calvin
>>nicknames: I don’t think I have one. not that I know of …
>>describe yourself in five words: hyperactive. synthetic. nancy boy. liar.
>>interests: living in my head
>>role model: (this one I left blank. I couldn’t come up with anybody)
>>drug of choice: cute guys
>>in five years I’d like to be: waking up somewhere with a hell of a hangover
>>quote a line from a song: ‘a friend with weed is better’
>>I most resemble: a porn star
So there you go. Hope that was enlightening.
Talk to ya soon,
Calvin
176
I am sitting in front of my old Nintendo. Kid Icarus is on the screen and he’s jumping from platform to platform, higher and higher, in search of something, I guess, but I don’t know what, and he’s in this environment that’s meant to resemble, like, Ancient Greece or something, except it really doesn’t, and the soundtrack is this absolutely perfect late eighties synthesised video-game music, and Kid Icarus is being chased by Eggplant Wizards and ghosts and these weird eyeball kind of things that fly around and it’s really insane the more you think about it, so I try not to think about it too hard.
Mykal and Anthony: It’s late in the afternoon. Overcast outside. Anthony must be meeting Mykal in the city about now. I think of the two of them sitting in that cafe together, wonder if it’s the same one from the other day. I wonder if the two of them really have fucked — wouldn’t surprise me — and if they have, whether they’d ever consider doing it again. I think of Anthony, and of Mykal, and of the two of them together, of Anthony like he was in those photos, I think of Anthony sucking Mykal off, Mykal sucking Anthony, of the two of them lying together, naked. And even though Anthony’s not even my boyfriend, not really, and even though the chances of him actually fucking Mykal are probably pretty remote, the thought of it is driving me insane.
Kid Icarus falls off one of the platforms. Dies. The weird eyeball things continue flying around the screen. When I was a little kid, when I played this, I used to have nightmares that the eyeballs were following me around. I don’t know what made me think of that. A message on the screen asks me if I want to play again. I don’t.
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The venetian blinds in my bedroom are open. A cold half-light is shining through them. My room is white and the outside world is grey. My phone is on my bed, where I tossed it when I got home this afternoon. The urge to send a message to Anthony is overwhelming.
SMS to Anthony:
Hey Anthony — the
weekend was very
cool — I really like
you. can we do
something tonight?
I wait for it to send, staring at the little moving lines on the screen, wondering what the hell those little moving line things are meant to resemble; I mean, what the hell could it possibly be that they’re supposed to represent? I stare out the window at the overcast afternoon, at the houses up the hill, a few drops of water sliding down the glass. I start to freak out, waiting for Anthony to reply.
I go over to the stereo, put on a Placebo album then skip straight to track eight and put it on repeat. I really need music to calm me down at the moment.
I don’t know what to do. I walk down to the fridge to pour myself a Coke then I don’t drink it. I head back up to my room. When I get there, my phone is still lying on my bed.
Screen of my phone:
1 message received.
Read?
I pick it up. Stare at it for a few seconds, debate whether to open it or not. ‘Read?’ Of course I fucking pick ‘read’. What else would I do, leave it to sit there? The idea actually crosses my mind for about an eighth of a second, but I dismiss it. I pick up the phone and see what Anthony has sent me.
SMS from Anthony:
Hey calvin. I like you
too — saturday night was
fucking cool. I’m busy
this afternoon — feel like
maybe doing something
tomorrow?
‘Feel like maybe doing something tomorrow?’ I do, but that’s beside the point.
Anthony and I are fucking. Does that mean we’re together? What does that mean? I like him. I’m pretty sure I do, although it’s possible that I’m only attracted to him on a physical level and in love with the fictional version of him I’ve created in my head.
It was probably only a one-nighter anyway. I have no right to be analysing it to such a great extent.
It means nothing. Get over it.
… So why does it sting so much that he’s busy this afternoon and won’t tell me where he is? Should he even tell me? I mean, if we’re not, like, boyfriends or anything, and if we really are just fucking, then …
Fuck this. Fuck this right off. I don’t want to think about it any more. I click reply.
SMS to Anthony:
Love to dude. I’ll
call ya then.
Substituting ‘ya’ for ‘you’ was very deliberate. The ‘love to’ says ‘I care’. The ‘ya’ says ‘but not too much.’ At least, this is the way it seems in my head. I hope it has come across this way to Anthony.
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I’m in the office, kind of freaking out, swivelling around on the chair a whole bunch of times. I’m still playing that Placebo CD but it’s now on the big stereo in the living room so Bryan Molko’s paint-stripper sexy voice fills the whole house. I go to the hotmail page, check my email for, like, the eighteenth time today.
Which is when I find it.
179
Before I went offline yesterday, I took that survey thing and forwarded it to various people in my address book, just to see what would happen, whether anyone would respond.
I sent one to Jeremy. I’m not sure why I did this. I mean, like, maybe I just wanted to see if he’d respond, and if he did, to see the kind of stuff he’d come up with. Maybe it was something more than that. As I’m reading his reply, I start to suspect that it might have been.
180
From : Jeremy
To : Calvin
Subject : how to be a porn star
heyyya calvin!!!!!
wuz very cool to hear from you again. love those survey things!! yur answers were very cool. hehhe. these are mine:
>>name: jeremy
>>nicknames: jezza, the virgin (loooong story), slut
>>describe yourself in five words: hahha. I don’t know. it would take more than five
>>interests: going out clubbing, raves, meeting cute boyz
>>role model: kylie or something — aren’t gay guys meant to say that?!?!?!
>>drug of choice: I’ve only taken eccies a couple of times but they’re heaps fun!!
>>in five years I’d like to be: a model or travelling in europe or making my own music or something
>>quote a line from a song: hahha, I don’t know, hit me baby one more time
>>I most resemble: someone cute hopefully
so yeah, that’s me, hehhe
email me back d
ude, it would be cooool to get together
sometime
luv your work,
jeremy
181
I pull up another of the pictures on the screen. This is the one of Anthony and Jeremy, the one where they are standing, kissing. You can only see the back of Jeremy’s head and the side of Anthony’s cheek … That one. I look at the position the two of them are in, Anthony’s hands in the small of Jeremy’s back.
I wonder how close they were. I mean how close they really were. I wonder if Anthony and Jeremy knew each other before those pictures were taken. I consider the idea that they might have been strangers, but that’s too much to deal with, so I put it aside. They had to have known each other. Had they been together? Had they kissed, or had they tasted one another? Were they boyfriends?
Boyfriends: I don’t know if that would make it better or worse. It’s too much to think about.
It’s crazy. I mean, seriously, it’s one of those fucking insane things you do and you can’t even really explain why you do it, beyond the fact that you have to. It’s almost a force stronger than me that makes me do it. Something devious.
Some plot that’s forming in my mind: I click reply.
182
From : Calvin
To : Jeremy
Subject : re: how to be a porn star
Hey Jeremy
It was very cool to hear from you again. I’ve been thinking about you a fair bit. It would be totally cool if we could meet sometime.
Are u free next weekend? Cuz if you are we could meet in the city or something. Just get together and have coffee or something like that. Might turn out to be really cool.
Saturday good for you?
Stay cool dude,
Talk to you soon,
Calvin
183
From : Jeremy
To : Calvin
Subject : meeting would be cooool
heyyyyyyya calvin!
knew u couldn’t resist me, hehhe. meeting would be totally sweet. saturdayz totally sweet with me. ummmm … there’s this coffee shop I always go to just near the eagle street pier. u probably know the one. would u like to meet there on saturday morning, ten or so?