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  Lost Boi

  LOST BOI

  Copyright © 2015 by Sassafras Lowrey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any part by any means—graphic, electronic, or mechanical—without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may use brief excerpts in a review, or in the case of photocopying in Canada, a license from Access Copyright.

  ARSENAL PULP PRESS

  Suite 202–211 East Georgia St.

  Vancouver, BC V6A 1Z6

  Canada

  arsenalpulp.com

  Cover photograph: Lyn Randle / Trevillion Images

  Map illustration by Andrea Juby

  Book design by Gerilee McBride

  Editing by Susan Safyan

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication:

  Lowrey, Sassafras, 1984–, author

  Lost boi / Sassafras Lowrey.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-55152-582-2 (epub)

  I. Title.

  PS3612.O97L68 2015

  813'.6

  C2015-900401-2

  C2015-900402-0

  Contents

  1. Pan Breaks the Ice

  2. The Stars

  3. Runaway! Runaway!

  4. The Adventure

  5. Hook’s Dirty Truth

  6. The Little Family

  7. More than Playing House

  8. Party at the Lagoon

  9. The Apology

  10. The Unhappy Home

  11. Tootles’ Story

  12. “Why Are You Really Here without Pan?”

  13. Saved by a Fairy

  14. The Jolly Roger

  15. “It’s Always Just Me and Hook”

  16. Through the Window

  17. We Grew Up

  Acknowledgments

  For all the lost bois and grrrls.

  May you grow up only if and when you are ready.

  May we always remember the magic.

  1

  Pan Breaks the Ice

  All bois, except one, become grownups. They go to college or work in construction. They sign domestic partnership, civil union, or even marriage certificates. Some bois become artificially inseminated, have top surgery, or work in an office or as PE teachers. They go to law school or work in non-profits. Growing up happens to the best of us, even when we’ve said it wouldn’t.

  Wendi thought she wanted to be one of us. She said she wouldn’t grow up and swore her allegiance, in blood, to Pan. Then she turned and grew up anyway. Guess I can’t blame the grrrl; it’s not like I’ve done any better.

  Before Wendi, it was just Pan and us, his lost bois. Our life was a gritty Disneyland. We made the magic and the rules. No one told us when to go to bed, who to fuck, or where we could or couldn’t pierce ourselves. Us bois all had our own pasts we were running away from, but none of that mattered anymore because we were Pan’s. He was our Sir, and we swore ourselves unquestioningly to him. Every day was a new adventure. I loved Pan more than I’ve ever loved anyone. It was a different love than for a boifriend or grrrlfriend; it was deeper, more complete. I didn’t just love Pan and our Neverland home; my life was consumed by a passion for something much bigger than any of us—this life we built with him, a world without grownups.

  When Pan found her, Wendi lived in the Darlings’ halfway home. She never knew her parents, having fallen out of her pram and gotten lost or something, ending up in foster care as a baby. When she started high school, Wendi was placed with the Darlings. Before that, she’d had a series of truly unfortunate placements, but she never talked about them to any of us. Pan cracked his knuckles and told us that she’d escaped from the worst kinds of grownups, who had no business being around children, especially grrrls. Wendi said the Darlings were okay as far as grownups were concerned. That wasn’t saying much, if you ask me.

  The Darlings’ home was as loving as it could be, under the circumstance of it also being a business. Mr Darling spent hours late at night downstairs at the kitchen table, counting cheques for each of the kids in his care. He subtracted groceries and shoes, doctors’ appointments and school supplies from the meager cheques the government sent to compensate them for the children they took into their home. There was never as much left over as he wanted there to be, and he would ask Mrs Darling to cut costs wherever she could. It was a complicated arrangement; they wanted to do right by these disadvantaged children, but it was a lot of work, and Mr Darling believed that he and his wife deserved to be justly reimbursed for their civic good deed.

  Since her arrival at the Darlings’ house at 14 London Street, Wendi had shared a room with John Michael. It was crowded but comfortable, and unlike other places she’d been placed, the Darlings were less concerned about what she was doing, as long as the cheques kept coming. Wendi always considered herself lucky that, unlike John Michael, she could hide her difference behind her long hair and skirts. John Michael never grew out of her tomboy tendencies and was called a dyke and a lezzie in the locker room as she changed out of her softball uniform into baggy jeans and T-shirts. Everyone at school knew John Michael was queer, especially after she had Wendi cut off her hair in the little bathroom across the hall from their room. Everyone at school also thought Wendi and John Michael were dating because they sat together in the cafeteria and were the only out lesbians at school. Wendi never thought of John Michael that way. She revelled in being like a big sister and having a family of her own for the first time. Besides, even if she had been interested, she would never let herself go to that place, knowing that it could ruin everything, that she could be sent away and someone else could be cashing her cheque. In other houses, Wendi’d had to listen to lectures about morality and even get dragged to church services. She’d known enough to stay quiet about her queerness before, and when she talked of that time, she would always remark that she’d been grateful that the Darlings never seemed to pay attention. Still, she knew better than to push her luck, and she certainly didn’t want to ruin things for John Michael, who’d had it worse than her: this was the first time she’d been placed with a family at all. Before the Darlings, it was all big group homes, punctuated by hospitals and juvie.

  Wendi was a good student, and by the winter of her senior year, the fat college-acceptance envelopes began to arrive for her. Mr Darling would leave them on her bed. He was proud of the girl. Not many of their wards had such ambitious plans for the future. It pleased him to think that Wendi wouldn’t continue to be a burden on taxpayers. He always tried to get the children who passed through his house to understand that they had been quite costly to society and that they needed to make amends as quickly as possible. At night, when Wendi got home from GSA meetings or rehearsals for school plays, she would sit quietly on the corner of the little single bed chewing the ends of her hair, and carefully open the envelopes. There was no question in her mind that, come next September, she would be out of the Darlings’ home forever and strolling across manicured lawns in the shadow of ivy-covered buildings. She’d been waiting for that day her whole life, for the day when she would be surrounded by learning, when she would be an adult capable of making her own decisions and having them respected. Wendi dreamed of growing up, which makes it all the more surprising that she fell so hard for Pan.

  When Wendi wasn’t studying, she was writing. At first, it was mostly poetry. Pan said that Wendi was the best writer he’d ever heard; that’s what first drew him to her. Wendi had always written little stories, and some other students in the GSA introduced her to the weekly open mic at a feminist bookstore downtown. It was not too far from Neverland, though she didn’t know that yet. Wendi became a regular, reading stories each week about dykely prince charmings who swept beautiful femmes away to happily-ev
er-afters. At these events, Pan always stayed near the door at the back of the room. He’d never had much interest in lesbian open mics, so it surprised all us lost bois when he started going, alone, each week to the bookstore. He said there was something about Wendi’s stories that he just couldn’t resist. When he got home to Neverland, he’d crawl up into my hammock and tell me about this grrrl who told stories about kids like us, the way that she made us shine and sparkle so that everyone understood us. He talked about her pretty brown hair, the way it spilled over her shoulders, and the way her chest heaved and her eyes sometimes filled with tears when she read. Wendi was all feeling. Pan said he knew that what she wrote about was real because the words flew from her glossy pink lips, unsteady yet strong. Us bois were experts at finding the magic and making the hard shit sparkle, but we weren’t so good at feeling. Pan was real cocky; he could get any boi or grrrl he wanted—and he still can. But something was different with Wendi.

  I kept saying that he should go up to her after she read. “Sir, you are the bravest and most handsome boi. She wouldn’t say no to you,” I’d tell him again and again. Pan never did get the nerve to approach Wendi; his dog Erebos did it for him.

  Erebos was a little pit-bull cross with a deep-bluish-black coat and a white star on her chest. Pan pulled her out of the dumpster where her litter had been thrown by an evil grownup. All the puppies died except for Erebos, whom Pan bottle-fed with a washed-out syringe and some puppy formula he shoplifted from the pet shop by the river. Grownups will cross the street when they see us coming with Erebos, but she only looks mean, like us. Grownups are always making assumptions, thinking they know everything about a dog or a boi before giving any of us a chance. Pan named the dog Erebos after the Greek god of shadows, and she never once left his side, except for when she went after Wendi that night. Pan had been watching Wendi read when Erebos jumped onto the stage, pulled at Wendi’s backpack, and ran off into the crowd. Wendi had been reading a story about a femme princess kneeling before her buxom prince, hands bound behind her back, but she raced off the stage after the strange shadow of a dog. Pan, laughing, ran after her, and together they chased Erebos through the bookstore as she wove in and out of queers sitting on folding chairs then out onto the sidewalk. Pan tried to tackle Erebos, missed, and crashed into a phone booth. It was then that Erebos came right up to Wendi and dropped the backpack with a wag of her tail. Pan, who had picked himself up off the pavement, was forced to introduce himself. Wendi had, of course, noticed him sitting in the back of the room all those weeks, but she didn’t let on.

  It was the next morning that Mrs Darling first learned about Pan. She knew, of course, where the children kept their diaries and made a regular practice of reading them. Like all parents, she liked to know what was happening in her children’s minds. If she could have, Mrs Darling would have tidied things up, ripped out pages, and burned them in the fire, but she knew the real world was not so simple. Still, she was concerned when she read in Wendi’s diary about someone whose gender she could not determine who seemed much older, and yet, as Wendi described in excruciating detail the baggy sweatshirt, work pants, boots, and red hair, this … this person seemed perhaps to be no older than the children in her care. Mrs Darling was worried that this mysterious—boy? woman?—who lurked at the back of the room at open mics could be just the kind of distraction that her Wendi didn’t need.

  2

  The Stars

  I’m sure by now you are wondering who I am and what business I have telling these stories that aren’t mine. Well, at least not entirely mine. The name’s Tootles. I was lead boi in service of Pan, leader of us lost bois in Neverland. Who are the lost bois, you ask? To be a lost boi, you must be brave, strong, and above all loyal, but beyond that, we’re hard to define. To write about who we were and what we always had been feels inadequate. Never in my life has there been anything as important as pleasing Pan. Magic is the only word for it. In Neverland I felt like anything was possible. Pan was a strict leader, but he brought bois alive and gave us a world few others ever saw.

  It wasn’t always easy. Sometimes it seemed like I missed all the big adventures. I’d be out dumpster diving so we could have dinner, and when I got back, there’d be blood everywhere. I never minded, really, nor would I have hesitated to pull my knife and fight for Sir if I’d been called to. Sure, our world was violent, it had to be, but it was also bonfires, fucking, and skinny-dipping in the river. Often I was the only boi who Pan would talk to. I loved that. Until Wendi came, he’d always tell me about the mischief he’d gotten himself into, like fighting with the urban primitives outside the food co-op or tricking the pirates into thinking their house had rats. Fun shit like that. Sometimes Pan would go after bigger things, like pilfering a boi’s Child-Protective-Service records from the briefcase of a new social worker, or starting things up again with Hook—but now I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Above all else, Pan believed in the power of make-believe. I never knew which stories of his to really believe, but I also knew better than to doubt. When you became Pan’s, you swore an oath that you would never doubt or question him. That’s what kept the magic alive. Truth is a funny thing: it matters the most to grownups. To us bois, it never was very important. Besides, Pan has always liked a good story, especially if it’s about him. I just liked Pan; he was everything to me back then, and I would’ve done anything if I thought it pleased him, but no matter how special our bond, I never could compete with Wendi. A grrrl is worth more than twenty bois, he would remind me when my jealousy got the better of me. I didn’t understand what was so special about grrrls, especially that grrrl. No, actually, Wendi was a good Mommy to us all, and I served her with nearly as much loyalty as I showed Pan. It’s just hard to talk about him and the way we were back then, after everything that’s happened, but again I’ve said too much, and you don’t even know the story yet. The last thing I want is to disrespect him more than I already have.

  I was telling you about myself, though there isn’t much to say. I fell out of my pram, and no one came looking. Little bois who don’t get claimed (and we’re never claimed because no one ever wants us) are sent away to all kinds of places. I was one of the lucky ones. I made it to Neverland.

  I’ll never forget my first night with him. Pan found me at the all-night diner, sitting alone in a booth, drawing. My pack was propped up on a chair like a silent dinner guest, and I was curled into the booth, trying not to fall asleep in my fries. I sipped coffee, which I hated because it made me think of my dad. The bells on the door jingled as Pan walked in, black boots beaded with rainwater. He sat at the counter and ordered a chocolate milkshake, pulling off his green baseball cap, running those little tattooed hands through his fiery red hair. I could see a black handkerchief shoved into his back left pocket, along with a slingshot. I wasn’t sleepy anymore. I turned to a new page in my notebook and began to write. Back then, I carried a journal everywhere. It was filled with little sketches and accounts of my days. I was worried about forgetting. I must have been really into my writing, because I looked up and there he was, standing over me, with a smirk on his face and those green eyes of his sparkling like stars. Pan had his milkshake in hand, cap back on his head. He sat down at my table without asking permission. I pushed my fries toward him. I knew that I would give him anything before I even knew his name.

  Pan took me to Neverland that night. I didn’t know what to expect. It was not the first time I’d played these games, but this—this was different. There was no fucking, no build toward something as simple as sexual release. He cut me. He took his knife from its leather holster and traced it across my throat. I didn’t know this powerful boi. Everything about my world then was dangerous. I knew danger, tasted it on my dry morning lips and held it at bay from my hiding spot in the shadows as the grownups rushed to and from their offices. I was as friendly with danger as I was with uncertainty, but as Pan’s knife trailed across my body, I was actually afraid. It was the first time in a very lo
ng time I felt anything. He came up behind me and whispered in my ear:

  “Boi, to call Neverland home, you must wear our sign, two stars on your right shoulder.”

  I turned to face him and he pulled his shirt off before turning away from me. Above his Ace bandage I saw two stars scarred into his shoulder. I looked at the clean lines and shivered.

  “I will wear your stars with pride,” I replied and pulled off my grimy T-shirt.

  Pan laid me down on a rough wooden bench. I flinched as he pulled off my binder but didn’t resist. It was freezing in Neverland, yet his hands were warm as they felt the muscles in my shoulder. He traced the shape of two stars with the cold, wet ink of a permanent marker.

  “You sure you want to be mine, boi? Do you swear to never grow up?” Pan growled.

  “Yes, Sir!” I had never really belonged to anyone before. I was ready. I came alive, and I became his. I had no idea what I was consenting to or how deep the knife went, but I wanted more.

  Pan led me, raw skin and oozing wounds, to a hammock, my hammock. The other lost bois had already put my pack under it, knowing that he was jumping me in and that I would be staying. I can’t remember their names—bois came and went so fast, and if you stayed long enough, you learned that Pan was right: anyone who left wasn’t worth a memory. That night, I was high on him, on the world he promised me, gazing at the faint glow of stars through the city haze and filthy windows. I got to belong to someone, and not just any someone—I got to belong to Pan. It’s all I’d ever wanted. Pan was good to me, took me in, claimed me. He taught me to battle. He was also strict, demanding, and utterly unpredictable. You never knew when he would tell us bois to go out and dumpster for dinner, but really what he meant was that we should blacken his boots. Everything was always adventure. It was hard to stay scared or sad for very long.

  3