About Carl - 6. A Change of Scenery

When I got back to Toronto after Carl's wedding, an official letter from the Toronto School Board was waiting for me. It tersely informed me that, as a result of shifting enrolment numbers, I had been transferred to a different school in downtown Toronto. This was a common occurrence for young teachers, and I half expected it, but it was not welcome news. After having barely got my feet wet at the previous school in the suburbs, I now had to move to a huge school downtown, one with a whole new set of daunting challenges. The work was going to be exhausting.

Carl and Lisa moved to Ottawa when they got back from their honeymoon. Lisa was starting her cardiology residency at the Ottawa Heart Institute in the fall, and Carl was finishing his law degree at the University of Ottawa. They moved into an apartment in Sandy Hill, a neighbourhood of old Victorian homes near the university.

I talked to Carl occasionally on the phone, and I visited them in Ottawa a few times in the fall, but things had changed. A new dynamic had developed; Carl and I were on edge around Lisa and awkward with each other. The events of the wedding were like a wall between us, one that neither of us had the courage to breach. We never talked about what had happened, and we both were on guard to not say or do anything that would make Lisa suspicious. Visits and conversations were strained and awkward, and our contacts became more and more infrequent.

The new school kept me very busy. I had a timetable of unfamiliar courses, and many of my students were recent immigrants who spoke only rudimentary English. I had taken French in high school, but that skill proved useless in classes composed largely of Portuguese, Vietnamese, Pakistani and Korean students. The work was challenging but draining. I spent every evening preparing for the next day and every school day adapting my carefully prepared lessons on the fly as unforeseen crises developed. On weekends, I mostly slept.

I didn't make any deliberate attempts at dating during that time, but I became friendly with a number of women, mostly colleagues in the school system. I was a young, single, good-looking guy, so some single female co-workers saw me as a potential partner. I didn't discourage them, and eventually some of these friendships developed into sexual relationships. Notwithstanding my experiences with Carl, I was optimistic at the start every time, hoping that each new woman would trigger something in me, enabling me to lead a straight life.

I was not prepared to admit that I was attracted to men; that kind of life seemed impossible to me. I ignored the obvious and tried desperately to settle down with a woman. It never seemed right, and I subconsciously sabotaged every relationship. I always found some fault with each woman, always broke up with her after a few months, and always felt guilty for the bitterness and hurt feelings that I caused. I refused to draw the obvious conclusion about why these relationships failed.

A year later I was again transferred to a different school – in another suburb on the outskirts of the city. In three years I had been moved three times. The stress and upheaval of each move, and the strain of starting each year in a brand-new environment, with a brand new set of students and an unfamiliar staff took its toll. I became morose and withdrawn. I didn't go out much anymore, and I stopped dating altogether. Eventually I decided to leave Toronto and start fresh somewhere else.

One winter weekend, I got together with some friends from university at a cottage in Muskoka, north of the city. We did some cross-country skiing, sat in a hot tub, and cooked and ate gargantuan meals together. For the first time in months I was completely relaxed. I realized how much life in Toronto was wearing me down.

Late in the evening, I was sitting in front of the fireplace with a coffee, talking with Tim, a friend from my days at teachers' college. We hadn't seen each other since graduation. He was teaching in Selkirk County, a rural area of Eastern Ontario.

“So, you're teaching in Toronto,” he said. “How's that going?”

“To be honest, not well. I'm at the bottom of the seniority list, and I get transferred to a new school every year. The schools are large and impersonal, and I never stay at one long enough to get established. Toronto is big and loud and busy, and it costs a fortune to live there,” I said. “But, I guess I'm glad to have a job.”

“Have you considered moving?” he said.

“Not really. Jobs are scarce all over; I'd hate to lose what seniority I already have.”

“Well, if you're interested, the Selkirk Board of Education is hiring a few people for next fall. My wife works in HR at the board office. I'm pretty sure with your experience in science and math that you'd at least get an interview. Send me your resumé and I'll pass it on.”

I sent Tim a copy of my resumé the following week, thinking that the whole exercise was probably pointless. I'd forgotten all about it when, to my surprise, I got a phone call in late May from the superintendent at Selkirk, asking me to drive up for an interview. I took a day off and drove through the beautiful farm country of Eastern Ontario to the town of Kelso, where the school-board office was located. The countryside was bursting with life, and the area's many apple orchards were in full bloom. Kelso was a pretty little town, with Victorian buildings lining its main street, and the Ettrick River flowing lazily through the centre of town. It was peaceful and beautiful, and I made the decision right then that if I was offered a job there, I would take it.

The interview went well, and a day later the superintendent called me at home and offered me a job teaching science and math at the high school in Milfield, a little town of about eight-thousand people in a rural area about a half-hour drive north of Kelso, starting in September. I accepted the offer immediately. I submitted my resignation to the Toronto School Board the next week, effective at the end of June. I had never felt so relieved in my life.

A couple of weeks later, Carl called me. “Hey, Mark,” he said, “Are you free on Friday? I'm going to be in Toronto taking care of some law-school stuff. I thought we could get together for dinner or something.”

“Of course,” I said. “That's great. Is Lisa coming down, too?”

“No, just me. Lisa's busy with work.”

“Do you want to stay at my place while you're here?” I asked.

“If that's OK with you,” he said.

“Of course, it is.” I was excited by the idea of spending time with Carl, just the two of us, without Lisa complicating things. I felt bad about the strain in our friendship and hoped that maybe this would be a chance to clear the air.

“Great. I'll meet you at your apartment around six.”

Friday came, and I was unexpectedly nervous about meeting him again. We would be alone for the first time since the wedding, and I wasn't sure how that would play out. I felt like we needed to have a serious talk, but wasn't sure how receptive he would be. I was irritable all day, and in the evening I paced around my apartment while I waited for the buzz on the intercom from the lobby. When it came, I jumped a little.

“Hey, Mark, it's me. I'm downstairs,” he said through the speaker.

“Come on up,” I responded, and pressed the button to let him in.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. My heart raced a bit as I opened it. There he was, looking as handsome as ever. He smiled at me and said, “Hey, Mark, it's good to see you again.” He stepped inside and gave me a hug.

“It's good to see you, too, Carl,” I said. “It's been such a long time. I've missed you.”

“I've missed you, too,” he said. “I've got lots to tell you.”

“I've got news for you, too. Let me get us a couple of beers and we can talk.”

He dropped his bag in the hallway, walked into the living room and flopped on the sofa. “Man, it's a long drive from Ottawa,” he said.

I went into the kitchen and took two bottles of beer out of the fridge, then joined him. “Cheers,” I said, as I handed him one.

He put his feet up on the coffee table and took a long swig of his beer. I sat down in an armchair, facing him.

We made small talk for a few minutes. He chatted about Ottawa and his studies at the university, and I told him about school. I got up to get us more beer.

“So, what was the big news you were going to talk to me about?” I asked, handing him his drink.

“Well, as you know, I've been articling this year with a law firm in Ottawa. It's kind of like an apprenticeship that law graduates have to go through before they're called to the bar.”

“Yes, I remember you talking about it,” I said.

“OK, well, my ten-month stint is over this summer. Now I have to write the bar-admission exams. They're held twice a year, in November and April.”

“In Ottawa?” I asked.

“No, in Toronto.” He looked at me nervously.

“Before I take the exams,” he continued, “I have to take a two-week, bar-admission course. It's only offered at the University of Toronto, starting in September.”

He paused, fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle.

“It's obviously too far to commute from Ottawa,” he said. “I was hoping I could stay here with you.”

“Carl, of course you know I would love that, but...,” I said.

“Look, I understand if you don't want me here. I know it's been a little tense between us lately, but I was hoping that spending some time together would help us get back on track.”

“Carl, you don't understand,” I said. “I would love to have you here for a few weeks, and I agree that it would be good for us. But I'm not going to be here in September.”

“What?”

“I'm moving. I'm done with Toronto. I've been transferred to a new school each year I've been here, and it's wearing me down. High schools here in the city are huge; I barely get to know the names of the people in my own department before they ship me off to a different school at the opposite end of town. Living here is expensive and stressful, and I don't think I'm cut out for it.”

“Are you saying you quit your job?”

“Well sort of. I've been looking for a way to get out of the city for awhile. I recently ran into a friend of mine who teaches in Selkirk County, and he said they were hiring. One thing led to another, and I got an interview. They offered me a job teaching science at the high school in Milfield. I start in September.”

Carl didn't say anything for a moment. He looked crestfallen. Finally, he spoke.

“I'm glad that it worked out for you. I had no idea you were unhappy here.”

“I thought I'd love living in the city,” I said, “but it's just too much. Rents are sky- high, and I don't think I'll ever be able to afford my own house here. I find working here very stressful. I need a change.”

“Well, that sucks,” he said. “I was really looking forward to spending time with you during my course. We hardly see each other anymore.”

“I know,” I said, “and I'm sorry about that. But look at it this way; I'm not moving very far. In fact, I'll be closer to Ottawa than I am now.”

He paused for a moment, and sighed. “Well,” he said, “there's no point sitting around moping about it. I'm only here for one night; let's go out for dinner and celebrate your new job.”

We walked a few blocks to a pub near my apartment, where we had dinner and lingered over a few pitchers of beer. We talked about politics, just like we used to do at the Chestnut Inn when we were students. Without the presence of Carl's wife, we were happy and relaxed, like when we first met. I realized again how much I missed him.

It was very late when we stumbled back to my apartment. I didn't want our conversation to end just yet. It was a warm night, so I got a couple of beers out of the refrigerator, offered one to Carl, and stepped out onto the apartment balcony. Carl followed me, and we stood side- by- side, leaning against the railing, watching the traffic on the street below.

Carl took a swig of his beer and turned to face me. “I can't tell you how disappointed I am that I can't stay with you in September. I was really counting on it.”

I decided to address the elephant in the room. “I'm disappointed too, Carl, but I have to ask you: what did you think was going to happen if we were together for two weeks?”

Carl didn't answer. I pressed the point. “I mean, given our history, do you think that it's a good idea to be alone with me, without your wife, for such a long time?”

“I don't know, Mark,” he said. “All I can say is that I miss you. I think about you all the time.” He sighed. “I'm married, I love my wife, and I'm committed to making it work with her, but there's a part of me that needs you, too. I'm not sure what I was expecting to happen, but I'm not naïve.”

We stood on the balcony facing each other. “There's something else,” Carl said. “Lisa's pregnant. About eight weeks now. No one knows yet.”

“Jesus, Carl – really?” I said, looking at him incredulously. “Your wife is pregnant, and you were planning to spend two weeks alone with me, given all that's gone on between us?”

“Look,” he said. “I know it sounds a little weird, but I guess I was hoping that being with you, I could get it out of my system before I become a husband and a father.”

My face reddened. “So, how would that work? You come down here, I suck your cock for a couple of weeks, and you go back to your pregnant wife and your perfect life, no harm done?” I was angry now.

“Mark, please. It's not like that. Don't make it sound so sleazy. I'm struggling with this, and, by the way, my life is far from perfect. I need your help.”

“You need my help? What? I help you get your rocks off and 'get it out of your system'? Do you think I'm OK with helping you cheat on your wife? Where does that leave me when you pack up and go back to Ottawa?”

Carl turned to me with tears in his eyes. “Mark,” he said, “I'm sorry. This has all gone off the rails. Please, I didn't mean it like that.” His words came out in a torrent. “Of course, I don't just want to get my rocks off. I'm all messed up here, and I'm trying to deal with this - with Lisa, with you. I made the decision to get married, and we planned this baby. I've made a commitment to being a husband and a father. I just didn't think it would be so difficult. Please don't be angry with me.”

He wiped his eyes. We stared at each other, not knowing what to say. Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed me.

“Carl, no...” I said as I pulled away from him.

He pulled me into an embrace and kissed me again, forcefully, his tongue probing my mouth. I couldn't help but respond and kissed him back, my tongue tangling with his. This time, he broke off the kiss.

“I'm sorry, Mark,” he whispered. “I didn't mean to do that. You're right. This can't happen.” He curled up his right hand into a fist and smacked the brick wall beside him in frustration. “I really want you right now, but this is a mistake. We have to stop doing this. I'm so sorry I upset you.”

I was breathing heavily. “Look, you've got a lot to lose, Carl,” I said. “There's nothing I want more than to go to bed with you right now, but I don't want to be responsible for breaking up your marriage, especially now that you've got a kid on the way. You've got a good thing going: a wife, a family coming, two promising careers. Don't throw it away.”

I said the words, but my heart wasn't in them. I wanted Carl – badly – and all I could think of was kissing him again, of dropping to my knees and taking him into my mouth like I did the day before his wedding. However, I didn't want to be responsible for making his life more complicated, for causing problems in his marriage, especially now with a child on the way. It wasn't just about me anymore.

“I don't want to be gay,” he said.

“I don't, either,” I said. “I keep hoping I'm bisexual, and if I work hard enough at it, I can be straight. I struggle with it constantly. You have a good life. I'm jealous; some day I want a wife and family like you have. Don't screw that up just for me. And if it got out back home that your marriage fell apart because you and I had an affair – well, I'm not sure either of us is prepared to deal with that.”

He looked at me, sadly. “You're right. We can't do this. But I feel like we're drifting apart, and I really hate that.”

“That was bound to happen,” I said. “We grow up; things happen; we lead different lives. If we want to keep being friends, we'll have to work at it.”

“I want that very much,” he said.

“I want that, too, Carl. It's not going to be easy, though.”

“I know. But I think it's worth it. We have to try,” he said.

“OK, it's late. We need to get some sleep,” I said. I hugged him. “I love you, Carl. Try not to beat yourself up over this.”

“Thanks. I love you, too, Mark.”

I made up the sofa bed for him and went to bed –alone – in my own room. I lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness, wondering how we were going to get through this. I needed Carl's friendship, and he needed mine, but we had made it so fucking complicated.

Looking back on that night, I realize that I probably gave Carl terrible advice, telling him to just ignore his feelings, to go back to Lisa like nothing had happened between us, and especially to just buck up and be straight. It was the same advice I gave myself for years, and it was responsible for a long, unhappy period in my life.