Funny Boy (28 page)

Sunday arrived and I was as excited as I had been during the spend-the-day mornings of my childhood. Before getting up, I lay listening to the sound of the birds in the guava tree outside my window. The moment I had waited for since Friday night was finally here. Soon Shehan would arrive, and after that anything was possible. I was excited but also scared. I worried about being inadequate to do what was expected of me. I feared that, once again, I would blunder into saying or doing something stupid, and Shehan would want nothing more to do with me; that he would think me stupid and naïve and turn away from me with disdain.

When Shehan finally arrived, I couldn’t help studying him, as if I hoped to find my discovery physically manifested in his person. I led him to the back to show where he could park his bicycle, feeling shy and tongue-tied in his presence. I searched my mind for things to say, but nothing came. He must have sensed my uneasiness for he, too, was quiet.

As we came back towards the front of the house, we saw that Sonali and some of the girls from our neighbourhood were playing hide-and-seek. They invited us to play with them, and even though we were both too old for such a childish game, I agreed. The silence between us had now grown embarrassing, and I was afraid of what would happen if we were alone with nothing to do. Sonali was the catcher, and while she stood by the front verandah, counting to one hundred, we all ran to hide. I motioned to Shehan and he followed me. I led him down the driveway and into the garage, leaving the door a little ajar so that Sonali wouldn’t think this was where we were hiding.

The garage was dark, except for the light that came in through the doorway. There was an old chest of drawers at the back, and we huddled up against the side of it. I was standing behind Shehan, and he turned to me. We grinned at each other delightedly, our earlier uneasiness forgotten in the fun of hide-and-seek. We looked towards the door and waited for Sonali to come and find us.

In the silence of the garage, all I could hear was the sound of our breathing. Then the rhythm of Shehan’s breath changed slightly. I glanced at the back of his head. He was staring at the
door, but I knew that he was no longer looking at it. I felt a dread begin to build inside me as I recognized what was happening. Shehan was giving me another chance to make up for my inability to act the last time we had been alone together. I knew I had to do something this time. It was my very last chance. Not fully understanding what my gesture meant, I reached out and put my hand on his hip. His breath caught for a second, then it escaped. He moved back against me. We were still. My heart was so loud in my chest that I felt it drowned out the sound of our combined breathing. Tentatively, like a bird approaching an outstretched palm, I began to inch my fingers towards his stomach, ready to remove my hand at the slightest indication of displeasure. Soon my hand was on his stomach, and now I could feel through his cotton shirt the rhythm of his breathing. I paused, not knowing how to proceed from here. As if he had read my thoughts, he covered my hand with his and squeezed it. Then he turned towards me and his eyes were bright in the dark. I waited. He leaned forward and placed his mouth on mine. He closed his eyes but I kept mine open, fascinated by the muscles of his face, the way they tightened and loosened with the movement of his lips. Now, I could feel his tongue against my teeth, a silent language that urged me to open my mouth. Before I quite knew it, I was responding to the prompting of his tongue. My eyes closed then and my mouth opened. As in a dream, I felt myself slipping into a blackness where all my thoughts disintegrated. The entire world became the sensation in my mouth and Shehan’s tongue probing, retreating, intertwining with mine.

Then Sonali’s voice called out, “Ready or not, I’m coming.” Shehan pulled away from me with the sigh of someone who has been awakened from a pleasant sleep. I opened my eyes, unsure if the world around me was a part of my dream or reality.

Sonali’s footsteps were coming up the driveway towards the garage door. Shehan lightly placed his hand on the side of my face. Then he turned to the door. Sonali now appeared, standing in the doorway.

“I’m here,” she said tentatively, peering into the garage. “I’m coming to catch you.”

We didn’t respond or move.

She stood there for a few moments longer and then, either because she was afraid of the dark or because she thought she was mistaken and we were not in there, she walked away.

The moment she had left, I drew Shehan back against me. He sighed and tilted his head up to me. Now I kissed him. I was aware of my mouth in a way I had never been before, aware of its power to give and receive pleasure. My hands, of their own will, began to circle his stomach and chest. I could feel the contours of his ribs and the indentation of his navel. He took one of my hands and moved it down to his trousers. After a few moments, he turned around towards me, and I felt his hands pulling at the buttons of my trousers, the elastic of my underwear. I began to fumble with his buttons, unable to open them. He had to undo them himself. Then he kissed me again and I was aware of the heat of his body against mine as he pressed me against the wall. Once again, I felt myself slipping into
darkness, as if I were sinking to the bottom of a pool where only smell, taste, and sensation existed.

It was soon over for me, however, and I felt myself being pulled back to reality, like a swimmer to the surface. I now became conscious of my naked backside pressed hard against the rough wall, bruising every time Shehan pushed up against me, of the squelching sound of Shehan’s body against my now wet stomach, his breath loud in the stillness of the garage, his hands on my hips in a painful grip. I looked at his face, his expression one almost of pain, and suddenly it was too much for me. I wanted him to stop what he was doing, but before I could say anything, his hold on my hips tightened and he began to thrust even harder against me. I struggled, trying to push him away from me, but he was oblivious. All at once he sighed deeply and became still, and I felt a wetness against my thighs. I stood motionless, helplessly angry, the wetness a violation. Shehan breathed in sharply, straightened up, and moved away from me.

His expression now belonged to the Shehan I knew, for he smiled and winked at me conspiratorially. I wanted more than anything to be out of that garage, and I bent down and began to pull up my underwear and trousers. As I buttoned myself up, I could feel the wetness soak into my clothing. I began to walk quickly towards the garage door. Shehan was getting dressed and he called out to me to wait for him. I stood impatiently while he tucked in his shirt and buttoned his trousers. He walked towards me, and when he was right by me, he leaned over and kissed me. I drew away from him. His tongue felt like a damp towel.

When I stepped outside, I was momentarily blinded by the glare of the sun. I squinted and looked down the deserted driveway. Sonali and her friends must have given up on us and gone to play another game. Shehan and I made our way to the front of the house. I felt suddenly afraid at the thought of meeting anyone. I looked down at my trousers to see if the wetness had seeped through. Except for a small spot, it was not visible. Shehan’s clothes were wrinkled, and I glanced anxiously at mine, wondering if they, too, bore signs of what I had just done in the garage.

Shehan noticed that I was looking myself over and he smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said, teasingly. “You look fine.” I ignored him and continued to inspect my clothes.

The front verandah, too, was deserted. As we went up the steps, I heard the clatter of cutlery and plates in the dining room and the murmur of voices. We had been in the garage so long that my family had started lunch. Now Shehan seemed a little alarmed too.

When we entered the dining room, the family looked up at us.

“Oh, there you are,” Amma called out jovially. “I was wondering where you had gone?”

“We went for a walk,” I said.

“At this time?” Neliya Aunty said. “You could have caught sunstroke, child.”

My parents and Neliya Aunty were looking at Shehan, waiting to be introduced. Diggy was glowering at him.

“This is Shehan,” I said.

My parents and Neliya Aunty bowed their heads slightly.

I indicated to Shehan to sit down in a chair across from me. As I pulled my chair out, I saw my father glance at Amma and, in that instant, I knew that he disapproved of Shehan. Had he sensed his difference? I felt a sudden dread at what had taken place in the garage, and I shuddered inwardly at the thought of what would have happened if my father had discovered us there. Diggy had become conscious of my father’s disapproval, and he smirked at me triumphantly. All of a sudden his story about the head prefect came back to me. I stared at Shehan and realized, too late, the truth. Diggy’s story had not been a lie, and, worse, I had let Shehan do to me what the head prefect had done to him.

I looked around at my family and I saw that I had committed a terrible crime against them, against the trust and love they had given me. I glanced at Amma and imagined what her reaction would have been had she discovered us, the profound expression of hurt that would have come over her face. She noticed that I was studying her and she smiled. I looked down at my plate, feeling my heart clench painfully at the contrast between the innocence of her smile and the dreadful act I had just committed. I wanted to cry out what I had done, beg to be absolved of my crime, but the deed was already done and it couldn’t be taken back. Now I understood my father’s concern, why there had been such worry in his voice whenever he talked about me. He had been right to try to protect me from what he feared was inside me, but he had failed. What I had done in the garage had moved me beyond his hand.

Amma began to ask Shehan polite questions, as if to make up for the disapproving look on my father’s face. As Shehan
answered, I watched him, feeling resentful, angry at myself that I had done such awful things with him. I thought of the expression on his face as he had pushed against me, and I felt a sudden contempt and loathing for him. It seemed hard to believe that I had longed for his kiss the whole weekend, had waited with such expectancy to discover more. Now I wished I had never invited him, never set eyes on him.

Once lunch was over, Shehan and I left the dining room as soon as it was politely possible to do so. I took him to my room and shut the door behind us.

“Was something wrong in there?” Shehan said, and motioned with his head towards the dining room.

“Nothing,” I replied curtly.

“Your father doesn’t like me,” he said.

“Rubbish.”

Shehan was looking closely at me, and I turned away and studied my bookshelf. “Do you want to play a game?” I asked.

In reply, he came up behind me and tried to encircle me with his arms. I broke away from him. “Are you mad?” I hissed at him. “What would happen if someone came in and found us?”

He lifted his hand in apology. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I have Scrabble, Chinese checkers, and ludo. Which one do you want to play?”

He didn’t answer. He was looking down at his hand, sulkily. I felt irritated with him.

“I have Scrabble, Chinese checkers –”

“I heard you,” he snapped back.

“Which one will it be, then?”

“I don’t know. Scrabble. It doesn’t matter.”

I took down the Scrabble box and began to set it up on the bed.

“Shall we play with a dictionary or not.”

“Not,” he said mockingly.

I put my hand into the Scrabble bag and took out seven letters. Then I passed the bag to him. He looked at the bag, but didn’t take any letters.

“Aren’t you going to play?” I asked.

He didn’t reply.

“Fine. We don’t have to play.”

I began to empty all my letters back into the bag.

“You’re feeling guilty,” he suddenly said. “You’re feeling guilty about what we did.”

“Why should I feel guilty?”

“Because you think it’s bad.”

“And what do you think? What does your head prefect think?”

He looked up at me, startled. I stared directly at him, refusing to apologize.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, as if I was behaving irrationally.

“Yes you do, yes you do,” I cried at him, my anger spilling out of me now. “Don’t think I don’t know about you.”

He stared at me and then said, “You’re jealous.”

“What?” I said.

He smiled jeeringly. “I believe you’re jealous.”

“Why should I be jealous of such a disgusting thing? The whole school knows about you. You’re the laughing-stock of the entire school.”

“At least I know what I want and I’m not ashamed of it.”

“You should be. It’s revolting.”

“You didn’t find it revolting in the garage. In fact you were the one who touched me first.”

“I wish to God I had never done that,” I said. “I’ll never do it again.”

He laughed. “That’s what you say now. Tomorrow you’ll come begging.”

He leaned over to me. “I know your type. You and the head prefect and others like you. Pretend that you’re normal or that you’re doing it because you can’t get a girl. But in the end you’re no different from me.”