To the boys we were back then

I met gentle Ben when I was 19, he was 19, and we found ourselves in my new friend’s bedroom, where we had gathered, four or five of us Abercrombie twinks, to drink rum & cokes and vodka ginger ales. The plan was to garner enough of a buzz to make us feel courageous for the big gay house party we were going to that night. We were fresh out of high school and giddy to have found each other, this new little friend group, a small squadron of support in facing the brave new world we had found ourselves in as we gently came of age.

This was 2006, about a year or so after gay marriage was legalized in Canada. Suddenly being gay wasn’t this nasty little secret we had each harboured through our teen years, alienated and ashamed. The world had shifted dramatically — Ellen was ruling daytime TV, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy was announcing to the world that gay men were cultured and fabulous and well-informed. It felt like, almost overnight, we were expected to be cool and confident and bold in our gayness. We expected this of ourselves. We were bluffing. But we had each other’s backs in the bluff, me and my four brand-new gay best friends.

Benoit was the “French" one, a Franco-Manitoban from St. Boniface, Winnipeg’s french quarter. He was quiet and soulful and shy, with big hands and feet like a puppy who would one day grow into his fullness. I got to know him playing gay volleyball on Friday nights, the speakers blasting Pink and Janet Jackson while a bunch of sporty fags knocked the ball back and forth, posturing and peacocking for each other, calling each other out across the court with witty take-downs and thorough reads. We were delighted to all be together like this, in some place that wasn’t a bar. And then afterwards, we would go to the bar, a wonderful little dive downtown called Gio’s, and dance until 2 or 3 in the morning, parading our cuteness around and never quite sure what to do with ourselves or each other.

Ben was an athlete, naturally strong and graceful, and I loved to watch him play. The way he took the game so seriously and seemed to have no idea how devastatingly handsome he was. Everyone teased him. He was an easy target, being slightly different than us anglophone idiots and somewhat over-serious and deeply sensitive. I don’t think he realized that he got teased because he was desired and we didn’t really know what to do with that desire. I don’t think he ever fully saw how magnificent he was, walking upright like a ballet dancer and looking people deep in the eyes while he spoke. I loved him from the moment I met him. I had always wanted to know a boy like that, so beautiful it made you ache.