About Carl - 4. A Visit to Toronto

“Hey man, it's me, Carl.” He didn't need to identify himself; I recognized his voice over the phone immediately. A smile came to my face.

“How's it going, Carl?” I said. “How's law school?”

“Pretty good. Crazy-busy, though. I've got a ton of assignments due, and I'm swamped with work. But enough about me; how are the teenagers treating you?”

It was late April, and I was in the final stretch of my first year of a new job teaching science at a high school in downtown Toronto. The school was big, urban and impersonal, and I found the experience bewildering and exhausting. It was a far cry from the tiny, small-town school that Carl and I had attended, and I felt like a small cog in a gigantic education machine. I was looking forward to the summer vacation.

“Oh, it's fine, I guess,” I said. “I'm staying one day ahead of my students, which is about all I can ask. I'm dead tired at the end of each day, and I spend most of the weekend sleeping.”

“How's it going with that girl you've been seeing? What's her name? Joanne?” he said.

“Fine,” I said, not giving any details. In fact it was not fine. Joanne was a teacher at school who I had been dating for a few months. She had shown a lot of interest in me when she found out I was single and pursued me relentlessly. I was struggling with self-doubt about my sexuality, and in an effort to prove to myself that I was at least bisexual and could eventually settle down with a woman, maybe raise a family, I had asked her out. She was clingy and possessive in public, which embarrassed me, especially at school. We had started sleeping together very early in the relationship. She was very demanding sexually, and while I was able to perform to her satisfaction, our sessions in bed required a lot of concentration on my part, and my heart just wasn't in it for reasons that now seem obvious. I was planning to end it with her before the summer vacation and dreaded the conversation and inevitable scene it would create.

Carl didn't know any of this. I hadn't seen him in almost two years, and I was toying with the idea of flying out to Vancouver sometime during the summer. I would explain it all to him then.

“Fine?” he said. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I don't want to talk about it.”

“OK, then something is wrong. What's the problem?”

“It's nothing. Don't worry about it. How's Lisa?”

“Well, there's been a development on that front.” I perked up. “I don't want to talk about it now over the phone. I'm actually coming to Toronto during spring break; I'm flying in from Vancouver. I'm going to see my parents and meet some people at the Law Society. I wondered if we could go out for dinner while I'm there. We can talk then.”

“Of course,” I said. “And I insist that you stay at my apartment while you're here. I have a feeling that we'll be having a few drinks.”

“It's a deal,” he said.

I could hardly wait to see him. I missed him terribly since he'd moved to Vancouver. Although we talked frequently on the phone, we hadn't seen each other in a long time. I thought about him often, and the close emotional connection that had been forged over the past few years made our separation difficult for me.

I often found myself reliving the rare times that we had been physically intimate: the hugs, the furtive gropes in the dark, the occasional nights we had spent in bed together. Although we never talked about these incidents, they were always a subtext in our conversations, but we veered away from the subject if we got too close, afraid of the implications of admitting our mutual attraction.

It was becoming obvious to me that I was in love with him, and I couldn't ignore this fact much longer. His upcoming visit would be my chance to finally talk to him about how I felt. If we had any chance of being a part of each other's life in a significant way in the future, I had to speak up.

Two weeks later, I met him at the airport. It was the Friday before the Victoria Day long weekend, and I had three uninterrupted days off to spend with my best friend. He was visiting Ontario for a week, but with his other commitments, I wouldn't see much of him after the weekend was over.

He broke into a big grin as he saw me waiting for him in the arrivals lounge. “Mark,” he said. “Man, it's good to see you.” He enveloped me in his strong arms and gave me a long hug. I hugged him back, burying my face in his neck, feeling his muscles moving under my hands. The sound of his voice, the feel of his arms around me, even his familiar smell all triggered a strong emotional response in me. I realized anew how much I missed him.

“It's so good to see you too,” I said as we separated. “Two years is too long.”

“It sure is. Vancouver is nice, but for some stupid reason I really miss Ontario.” He looked at me and smiled. “And I missed you, ya big dope. We've got lots of catching up to do. I have so much to tell you.”

“Me, too. Let's get your luggage and head back to my place. There's a pub down the street from my building – I thought we could go there for dinner and have a few drinks. I took the liberty of making reservations.”

“That sounds like a plan. I'll need to shower and change my clothes first.”

He picked up his suitcase from the luggage carousel, and we walked out to the parking garage. As we rode the escalator out of the terminal, I said “So, why are you meeting the suits at the Law Society? You came all the way from British Columbia just to schmooze? Are you going to Ottawa to hang out around the Supreme Court and ask for autographs while you're here?”

“Well, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. I've decided to write the Ontario Bar exams and do my articling year here. That way I'm licenced to practice in Ontario. There's a lot involved, and I really can't do it from B.C. Long story short, I'm moving back here.”

I was stunned. He was coming back to Ontario.

“What?” I said. “Why?”

“I'll tell you over dinner. Right now, I just want to get out of the airport. Let's go; I'm starving.”

I could hardly contain my happiness at this development. As we made the half-hour trip from the airport to my apartment in the East End, I told stories about school and he shared tales about life in Vancouver. We fell immediately into the comfortable pattern of our friendship, as if our two-year separation had never occurred.

During a lull in our conversation, I reached over and put my hand on the back of his neck, squeezing gently, affectionately. He smiled at me. I ran my fingers quickly through his hair.

“I'm so glad you're here,” I said.

“Me, too,” he said.

I lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a low-rise building in an old established neighbourhood near the boardwalk on the Lake Ontario beach. The small bungalows and big, mature trees reminded me a little of our home town in spite of the fact that it was only minutes from the bustling, congested downtown. It was a little oasis in the middle of the city.

After we had stopped at my place so Carl could change and freshen up after his long flight, we walked to a pub a few blocks from my building. When we had settled into our seats and placed our orders, I said, “OK, I'm dying to know. Why are you planning a move back to Ontario? You haven't finished law school. Aren't you happy out there in Vancouver?”

“Well, yes, I like it there,” he replied.

"I don't get it, then. What about Lisa? Isn't she still going to be in medical school?” Obviously something was up with his girlfriend; he wouldn't move back to Ontario and leave her behind in Vancouver without a good reason.

He paused. “Well, that's part of the reason why I came to see you.” My heart was racing as I tried to guess what he would say next. “Lisa and I have split up. I miss you and I need to be in the same city as my best friend,” I imagined him saying.

“I have big news,” he said. “Lisa and I are getting married.”

I stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words.

“I told you I thought she was the one. We're getting married next summer at her parents' farm on Vancouver Island.”

“But,” I mumbled, “why are you moving back to Ontario?”

“Lisa's decided to do a residency in cardiology. She's been accepted into a very prestigious program at the Heart Institute in Ottawa. We're both moving out here in September. That's why I'm going to finish up my law studies in Ontario.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I sat there, stunned. This wasn't the direction I thought our conversation was going to take. I tried to regain my composure. I mumbled that I was very happy for him, even though I felt like crying.

At that moment, the waiter arrived with our food. He fussed over our plates, grinding fresh pepper, re-filling our water glasses. When he finally left, I looked at Carl, not knowing what to say.

Carl leaned towards me and said, quietly, "I'd like you to be my best man. You're my closest friend; I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have standing up with me at my wedding."

I felt disoriented, and my stomach was churning. He was looking at me expectantly. I smiled at him weakly and said “Of course I'll do it, Carl. I'm honoured that you asked me.” I left unspoken the conversation I had hoped to have with him, one that envisioned a very different future for both of us. It was too late.

Carl said, “Thank you. Are you OK?”

I looked at him, tears welling up in my eyes. “I'm happy for you, Carl – really. I'm just a little emotional right now.”

“I really want this,” he said to me. “I want to be married, have a family, live in the suburbs in a house with a white picket fence, dropping the kids off at soccer practice in my mini-van. Lisa's my chance to have that. I love her.”

“I want that, too, Carl. I'm glad you're able to make it happen.”

“Thanks, Mark. You're taking this better than I thought you would.”

“How did you think I was going to take it?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

“Look, Carl – I’m sorry I’m being so dramatic. I can’t control myself tonight for some reason. I really am excited for you. You deserve to be happy.”

I raised my wine glass and proposed a toast. “To you and Lisa; you've got a bright future ahead. And I'm glad to be your best man.”

We finished dinner, with Carl chatting animatedly about Lisa's family and their big horse farm north of Victoria and the plans they were making for the wedding. I didn't say much but tried to be enthusiastic.

Later that night, we picked up a bottle of wine at my apartment. I dropped it in a backpack and we took it down to the boardwalk beside the lake. The acacia trees along the beach were blooming and the air was heavy with the sweet scent of their flowers. The boardwalk was crowded with people enjoying the warm spring evening.

We walked for a long time until we were in an area where the crowds thinned out. We walked along an unlit stone breakwater that jutted out into the lake far from the boardwalk and sat in the dark, side by side, passing the bottle between us. I put my arm around Carl's shoulders, and we both stared out at the waves rolling in from the lake.

Despite my best efforts to control myself, I started to cry. I sniffled and wiped my eyes. Carl looked at me and said, “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry, Carl. This has all been a lot for me,” I said. “I'm happy that you're getting married, I guess, but I'm worried that this will mean the end of our friendship. I don't think there will be room for me in your life once you're married and you start a family. I feel like I'm losing you.” The words came out in a rush, while I wiped away the tears.

“Look, Mark, my marriage is obviously going to change things, but you are important to me, too, and I'll have to make room in my life for both of you.”

“I know you mean that, but Lisa's not going to be happy with us being so close. She and I are strangers; I haven't met her. We don't share any personal history, and she's going to see me as part of your previous life before her. There are times when I'm going to cause a smile on your face that she doesn't understand, or we're going to share a story about something that didn't involve her, and she's going to resent that. That's just the way it happens. Eventually we're going to go our separate ways. It's inevitable.” I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve. I felt pathetic.

“I'm not saying it's going to stay the way it is, but if it's important enough to both of us, we'll have to make it work,” he said.

“Thank you for saying that,” I said, “and that's what I want, too. But I don't think you get it.”

“Get what?”

“I love you, Carl.”

There, I'd said it. It was out there.

Carl took a long time before he spoke. “I know you do, Mark. I love you, too – in many ways.”

“In many ways,” I thought, “but not THAT way.”

There was a long silence.

“What about all the stuff that's happened between us? What about that weekend at your cottage?” I asked.

“I don't know what to say, Mark. It's difficult.” He paused. “Mark, are you gay?”

After all my imaginings about how this conversation would play out, I still wasn't prepared to answer that question.

“I don't know. I don't think it's an either/or situation. I guess I'm somewhere along that spectrum. I've had sex with women and enjoyed it, but I'm really attracted to you. Does that make me gay?”

“I'm not sure. I feel the same way, I guess. I love Lisa, but there's some kind of chemistry between you and me. We both know it, but we've never talked about it,” he said.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” I said.

He took a long swig from the wine bottle, and we sat in silence, watching the waves wash up against the breakwater.

“Mark, I can't be gay.” He put his head between his hands. “That's not how I want my future to play out. Some things have happened between us, and I don't regret them, but we have to put all that behind us. I'm getting married. I have to make this work with Lisa, settle down and get on with my life. It's what I want. We can't do any of that gay stuff anymore. But you're my best friend, and I hope that doesn't change. I still want you in my life.”

“I want that, too.” I wiped my face with my sleeve.

“OK then, please do this for me. I'm going to get married, and I want you as my best man.”

“Of course, I'll do that. You're my friend; I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“Thank you,” he said.

We hugged each other in the dark, tossed the empty wine bottle into the lake, and wandered back to my place in silence through the darkened streets.

I made up the bed on the foldout sofa for him, and said goodnight. Before I left him, he took my hand in his, and said, “I know this is going to change our relationship, but I need you, and I don't want us to drift apart.”

“I need you, too, Carl, but I'm not going to lie; it's going to be a little awkward for me around your wife, given our history. All I can say is that I'll try my best. We're both going to have to work at it.”

“That's all I can ask,” he said. “Goodnight, Mark.” He pulled me close and hugged me tightly.

I went to my room and climbed into bed. I stared at the ceiling in the dark, trying to make sense of the situation. I tried to imagine how it was going to be in the future; maintaining a friendship with a man I loved while he was married to someone else.

I got up to go to the bathroom a few hours later and walked through the living room, where Carl was splayed out on the sofa bed, sound asleep, the blanket revealing his bare torso in the light from the streetlamp outside. I stood and watched him breathe for a few moments. I leaned over and brushed the hair back from his forehead and gently touched his cheek. “I love you, dammit,” I whispered. He didn't stir.