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Boy God

“Meth was Trainspotting and Dust of Angels. Taiwanese education had worked like a charm, and he had taken a step back from the idea. What else was out there for him to try?”

Fiction | Taiwan, drugs, translation
August 3, 2021

Editor’s Note: The following by Chen Bo-ching 陳栢青 and translated by Kevin Wang is part of a notebook Queer Time, co-edited by Ta-wei Chi and Ariel Chu, which gathers contemporary queer Taiwanese literature in translation. To read the full Queer Time collection, visit its home here.


男神

    「我多希望,這一切只是一個買藥的故事。」

    他那副癟起來的鳥樣已經足夠我把其他的話收起來。星期日下午三點的咖啡館,最適合告解。在買一送一的優惠,在老太太老爺爺圍了整圓桌什麼都不說那種靜謐像是奶泡一樣鬆鬆滿出來,或那些高中生擺陣一樣,把無印良品透的像水晶的鉛筆盒、頁腳捲得爛爛的參考書、各式粗細有鮮豔糖果外殼的細鉛筆自來水筆自動鉛筆一一晾在桌面上,但已經面對彼此聊了半小時當季日韓劇既隔壁班八卦…..因為太吵了,空氣裡滿滿的,那種熱鬧,裡頭有一點秘密也算不了什麼吧,說什麼也是多餘,便也就更應該說。於是最不倫的,不文的,「夜深忽夢少年事」,表面張力從杯緣默默滲出,說吧說吧不是罪。講出來就好了。

    他說,說出來真夠羞的。好恥。

    怎麼會呢?我張開手,「馬修今天只聽不說」,不批判,不評論….但心裡頭不免有一種竊喜。終於,你也有今天。想知道更多細節,其實是窺奇了,像深夜閨密的電話,跟著罵罵咧咧,停不下來其實只是想問「然後呢」,嘿,也許更深一層的私心是,你會就這樣哭了,我可以把你摟在懷裡,安慰你,替你按掉眼淚。

    不,他說,羞的不是買藥。羞的是,他聽到這年頭,最夯的,浪頭上一波打過來,大家用的可都是「煙」啊,什麼是「煙」?一問,甲基安非他命,那是「安」欸。腦海裡小老師跳出來講話了,牆壁上紅燈閃啊閃,心中畫出一條線,柵欄後空洞的眼、戒斷時穿拘束衣又是吐又在地上扭啊爬、猜火車,少年欸安啦,台灣教育作得太成功,總之,他又縮起來了。退而求其之,但又不夠退,沒把那一點火苗給踩熄,他說,第一次,想試試看E就好了。用搖頭丸….

    所以羞了。用藥都跟不上流行。這個年代,找E不是一種惡,是懷舊了,近乎恥。但跟不上時尚,至少,就健康了些吧。

    總之,他在app上問了又問,怕沒有,怕羞,又怕真的有,只好買了。只好吃。又怕是警察釣魚。門一開,手銬跟著在手腕上鍊起來。

    不怕不怕,我安慰他,羞什麼呢!釣魚的恐怕比你還羞,好不容易大魚上鉤了,結果問到藥物知識庫存根本沒有的,這年頭還有人用E?「DOS驅動」、「更新前版本」、「前時代的黃金遺產」,不是嘗鮮,是考古啦,怎麼辦呢,放過好了…

    總之,他終於跟對方約好了。在西門町。他說怕,赴約之前,逃跑動線都觀察好了。等一下怎麼甩開,外套要翻面過來穿,最好帶上帽子,好像遠太空的人造衛星會連線監視器即時把他的身影傳到網路上一樣,一轉身「連電器行玻璃後一排電視都照出自己瞳孔放大的的臉」。

    可一到相約的麥當勞。呦,還以為照鏡了。對方連臉都看不清楚,一樣是鴨舌帽,一樣大白天套那麼厚鋪棉帽T外套。那時他只想,他媽的怎麼大家對於交易的想像力這麼薄弱,就像以為大明星上街全「超大墨鏡加襯衫領口拉起」,穿制服一樣可不明著告訴別人「嘿我們在交易」。

    所以,你買到了?

    他左看看右看看,還是星期日的咖啡館,只是這會兒不知道為什麼,周旁的聲音好像被旋小了一點,我們的存在也就大一點。秘密都跟著變得艱難。

    他說,不如我們換去外頭講吧。

    於是故事繼續在人行道前的涼椅上繼續。

    他說看得出來對方也怕啊,看那人流汗流得。一雙手交替在脖頸露出來的分寸之地摳摳抓抓,抓出怵目驚心一痕一痕,他知道對方怕啊,想說說點什麼讓他分心,結果對方比他還多話,咕咕噥噥,其實一半是自己跟自己講,他根本聽不懂,聽出來了,也不知道怎麼回。聲音被堵著,但那腳步確確實實的,西門町被他們走得很巨大,那人帶他彎巷拐弄的鑽,結果你猜怎麼著,這樣兜兜弄弄,欸,怎麼小巷子裡鑽出來,又繞回原本的麥當勞。 

    慘了,被釣魚了。

    不,他說,是繞到麥當勞另外一面了。M反過來寫。你看過麥當勞叔叔的後面嗎?不,我連他下面都沒看過呢。那男人說,他就住在這上面。E當然是不會帶出來    的啊,要跟著他上去拿。

    所以那麼漫長的開場,九彎十八拐,只是《無間道》的開場,現在才是藥的故事。

    他說,是啊。電梯在這時噹的一聲。那是麥當勞旁一間四樓的小旅館。他從來沒想過台北的精華地區半空有這樣一個破爛地方。該不會有人在裡頭等著抓他吧。那擔憂隨著電梯燈發光也跟著升高,電梯開了,伏兵一窩蜂驚喜箱那樣蹦出來了吧。結果沒有,冷氣倒是凍的讓他覺得上去好像是下降,「地窖一樣」。他跟著拐入走廊,看什麼怕什麼,為什麼那男人熟門熟戶的跟櫃檯阿姨聊天,是不是阿姨在桌子下面有個什麼小按鈕已經按下去通報了呢?那男人順手動了一旁小桌上象棋,打瞌睡的老先生點了點頭,好像專程等他回來下。這又不會不會是暗號…

    也許迷幻之旅從這裡就開始了。他說。那條動線,「打從屁股蛋下方尾椎骨一節一節涼上來」,遠從手機app端到實體旅館長廊,那其實是他畢生的恐懼,太安逸了,什麼都有了,但不夠啊,人家貼過來,pub還是bar的吧台上貼過來的臉頰,一下就倦了,偏偏是那得不到的,蛋糕店隔著玻璃窗的糖霜、少年時代的愛、大考時怎麼也想不起來只好偷偷朝隔壁答案紙望的,越來越想要了,其實就是一場冒險吧,是    「危機感」。

    結果男人砰一聲的打開了門。

    裡面有人?

    沒。他困惑的說,但男人也沒拿出藥。

    啊?

    很怕啊,那個門鎖一打開光線一曝,他反射性的往後跳,以為後面間千軍萬馬跟著要湧出來,大批鎂光燈閃了又閃,要拿外套跟著把手上的手銬遮起來….

    結果是間一看就知道住了一段時間了,毛巾用小衣架晾在牆壁上,床鋪散發一股濕答答氣味的,「充滿生活氣味」的單身漢房間。

    所以,藥呢?我問。

    所以,藥呢?他問那男人。

    這不就是了嗎!男人在床頭櫃那邊掏掏磨磨,一轉身,遞過來小小玻璃瓶裡幾顆鮮豔的顆粒,像糖果了。他嘴巴生起甘甜的津液,好像已經吃到了。

    再來呢?

    人行道前燈號綠了又紅,他的聲音也在停看聽,沉默有走到對街那麼寬的距離,久久,他說,欸,剩下的,不如去他房間講吧。

    什麼?

    他說,不要那麼大聲。

    那一刻,那男人也這樣跟他說。他確實聽到好大的聲音,是自己喉頭咕嘟吞了一口口水,伸手迫不及待要去拿。

    卻在這時,男人另一隻手跟著包覆過來。

    男人說,我這裡啊,有好東西喔,你吸個幾口,這個就給你。

    這一刻,老婆婆對白雪公主探出乾癟癟的手,一翻掌,手心透紅碩大好漂亮一顆蘋果。

    男人遞來一個玻璃壺,裡頭白煙直冒,像百貨公司的雪球裡大雪紛紛,那裡面有另一個世界。

    他說自己打從心底發出哀號,唉,還是中招了。

    這不就是煙嗎?

    他早該看出來的。他暗自懊悔,那麼多線索不是嗎?那男人一路上莫名的盜汗,多話,一種偏執。他以為男人跟他一樣的緊張呢,卻原來,這不是他的冒險之旅,是那男人的,在眾妙之門之後暫時打開門扉一樣,和現實世界接軌,要邀請他進來。 

    「你吸個幾口,這個就給你。」男人再次重複。

    要嗎?吸一口。換到免費的。

    「我多希望,這僅僅只是買藥的故事。」坐在他的房間裡,窗簾拉緊,光被隔在好遠的地方,明明是二樓,怎麼剛剛那麼噪的夏天午後,車聲喇叭都聽不見,竟然到那麼遙遠的地方來,不知道為什麼,想起他的開場白。

    他說,免費的最貴啊。他說不要。很堅持的。一點考慮都沒有。

    男人說,一口就好,不會怎樣啦,對精神很好的喔。

    不要不要不要…..

    某種小動物一樣的警覺心,他說他一把將那個裝e的小瓶子搶過來,另一手甩開男人的手。

    結果那一刻,水瓶翻倒。不知道是男人的口水,還是瓶子裡的東西,總之,他說,他感覺到手上濕涼涼的。什麼像蛇一樣纏上他。

    抱歉。他只是飛快讓故事進行下去。他嫌惡的甩著手。還沒等男人說話,一轉身推開房間裡廁所,想進去把手沖一沖。誰知道,這一推,他看到了。在那消毒水一樣把一切弄得太白太亮的日光燈光照下,馬桶蓋被放下來,從水箱到磁磚地板,竟然有大量的結晶體,用夾鏈袋包著,一包一包,不騙你,乍看像是闖進菲律賓地下河還是高緯度雪原上哪個水晶岩洞,太白的晶體是太直接的慾望。那洗手臺上且用洗衣版架著,放著一台小小的電子秤。

    不會是闖進制藥工廠了吧。怎麼腦海裡一閃,是什麼昏天暗地的,黑皮膚的外裔人士一邊聊天碎嘴一邊對著塑膠袋吹氣,一邊有人拿小杓子量尺一點一點把東西放進去量。

    幾秒後那男人也闖進來了,要滅口了嘛?他緊貼著門板,不要不要不要,這會兒心裡閃過的卻是,如果這時候大叫,死在這裡,和被警察抓住,哪一種比較好?

    所以,你選了什麼?尖叫?求饒?

    不,他說。那男人神態自若的,從馬桶上方隨意拎起一二三四五包,是的,足足五包,指尖掐著,一晃一晃的,在他面前像蛋蛋那樣搖擺。

    那男人說:「吸一口,這五包就是你的。」

    瘋了嗎?他還是貼著牆,你看我意志多堅貞,如果落在敵人洋鬼子女間諜怎樣拷打還利誘依然意志堅強不動搖,結果這樣鋼鐵般意志,全用在對E的堅持上上。

總之,他壁虎一樣逐吋逐吋開始往外頭退。這樣邊往外撤一邊搖手,很謙讓,「大哥我不行啊,我用不起啊,我第一次啊,不然,我e也不要了。」

    那男人忽然卯起來了。他說他看得到那人眼睛裡的火,表情在一瞬間變了,從靜止到加速好像不用助跑一樣,下一秒,火車一樣那麼大個人貼著彼此的臉。

你猜怎麼著?

    他又拿出五包,啪的往一旁床上丟。1+1,E+E,E可以不用了,他丟出五加五足足十包。他說:「不然這樣,你吸一口,這些都給你。」

    那一包到底多大包?現在一包市價多少?「我不知道啊,我哪知道他們怎麼交易,但我想,天啊,我有這些的話,轉一手,那值多少錢啊。」

    只要我吸一口的話….

    這就是男神的故事了。這一刻,他忽然發現,莫非,我是這男人的男神?

    雖然很不合時宜,但那一刻,一種自矜自貴,欸,真想跟誰說,想跟那些pub鳥都不鳥我嘴裡叼根煙像叼屌一樣半天不講話的大胸部天菜說,想跟那些網路上嘰嘰喳喳的小妖精說,跟那些APP上不回我的,跟那些說「先洗澡了」其實另開視窗跟別人聊的,跟那些錯過的人說,你們看,我是有價值的。我值,五包,不,十包安非他命?我的命裡白色鑲金,也被某人寶愛著,你們就這樣輕忽了,錯過了…..

    但到底不敢要啊。不,不是不敢,只是,忽然之間,不懂了。

    他說那一刻,他忽然生出一個膽,脫口而出,對那人說:「欸,你有這麼多冰,你想找誰玩都可以啊。」

    何苦找我呢?

    那男人忽然癱了般,眼裡的火光給誰滅了,一張臉以鼻子為中心成黑洞要把所有表情吸進去。

    男人望著他,幽幽地說:「像我長這樣,誰會喜歡我。」

    空氣裡忽然很安靜。他說,那一刻,我忽然很想抱抱他。想摸摸他油膩的頭顱上僅剩的髮,想掐掐他的耳朵,想用舌頭舔他的眼睛,想跟他說,欸,我懂。我懂得啊。像我們這樣,有一天,也是會有….

    這就是關於藥的故事了。

    這就是男神的故事了。或者,一個沒有男神的故事。

    一個遇到自己的故事。

    (你是最美最美的。)

    (你值得被愛。)

    (你還有機會…..)

    那氣氛忽然變得很溫馨。他說自己不怕那男人了,像兩個體己人,有一種患難,也許是空氣裡殘留的煙氣影響了他吧….

    「所以你到底吸了?你,你拿到那五包,不,十包?」

    不,他困惑的望著我,就這樣。他甚至不記得自己是怎麼離開那家小旅館的,事實是他懷裡兜著那一個小瓶子,裡頭五色鮮豔的,但他已經忘記,只是,忽然好傷心好傷心。

    重點就是,你終於拿到E了。

    是啊,他說:「這是我第一次體驗,我一直在想,什麼時候吃他。」

    「不是為了爽。」他說,「我忽然明白,那些關於春藥的,關於男神的,也許不是真的極渴望,『想要在邊緣朝深淵一跳』,而其實只是一種放棄。」

    放棄了都放棄了,那其中的努力,剛好是全部青春小說的內容,奔跑,追趕,深夜在操場吶喊,因為誤會而靠近又因為靠近而誤會,全部一下翻到最後一頁,青春小說的主題可不是努力嗎?藥物像是金錢或是權位,讓身體靠近你,讓性快速世故衰老。你不是應該更努力嗎?如來會責備靠著筋抖雲咻的來到西方的三藏嗎?那時你身體顫抖莫名縠餗,摟抱著對方過熱的身體像是擁抱太熱的碳,有什麼在裡頭燒,有什麼這樣燒完了。

    「所以,用了藥,那到底是什麼感覺?」我抓著手臂問,眼神喫迷,感覺他聲音裡有一種鉤,鉤得我皮膚底下有什麼一竄一竄,好癢,必須抓,抓不出來啊,只好問。

    「這要問你自己啊。」他看著我說。

    「你不是吃下去了嗎?剛剛,我把它放在咖啡裡。」

    唉,還是中招了。我嘆了一口氣。「多希望,這一切只是一個買藥的故事。」但他不是故事了,所以這一路誘引,一千零一夜,從咖啡館,到人行道,到他家,咖啡杯面上奶精打旋,腦海裡有個漩渦,很多方糖咕嘟咕嘟的沒頂沉默。

    然後,當著我面前,他拿出那只小瓶子,倒出一顆藥錠,他的故事和我的故事接著在他的舌間重疊。

    (所以,我也是你的男神嗎?)

    反正,都吃了,還能怎樣呢?我傻楞楞的望著他,竟然開始笑了。也就只能這樣。是吧,放棄吧都放棄。我真的不想嗎?我想嗎?

    下一秒,影像全歪倒。我面前無數線條像電視機關屏前那一瞬。然後,一道雷光。一個天黑。

    再睜開眼,窗簾外更暗了。是同一天嗎,還是多少個晚上過去了。

    我敲著頭,發現,欸,怎麼著,他也合衣躺在床上。

    喔,這就是E的體驗嘛?那些光度的冒險呢?「乘著火箭飛起來了」、「像是宇宙再跟我招手」、「溫暖泡在羊水裡」的體驗呢?怎麼什麼都記不得啊。現在忽然氣起來了,氣得不是他對我下藥,而是,媽的,竟然沒有感覺,這真的是,吃虧了。

    我不無遺憾拿起滾到一旁的小瓶子,那裡頭還剩下幾顆,我搖一搖,像看昆蟲標本一樣往裡頭瞧,赫然發現,哪有什麼E,這他媽的不就是醫生會開給我的那種安眠藥嗎?

    是他騙了我,但他到底也被騙了。

    這就是我一生的故事。

    只有這是真的,除了相信,否則我們一無所有。

BOY GOD

By Chen Bo-ching 陳栢青

Translated by Kevin Wang

    “I really wish this was just a story about buying drugs.”

    The pathetic look on his face kept me quiet. We were in the café at 3 PM on a Sunday, the perfect time for a confession. He spoke to me at the discount of two for the price of one, past the elders sitting around the next table with faces calm as cappuccino foam. The stationery of two high school students was laid out in formation—a frosted MUJI pencil case, a dog-eared reference book, candy-colored pencils, water brushes, a row of mechanical pencils—though the two students had been chattering for the past half hour about the new season of some Japanese or Korean drama and spilling the tea on their classmates. The air buzzed with so much excitement that a secret wouldn’t sound like much. Café conversations were typically superfluous. You could say anything, even unseemly things, the “matters of youth that startled one late at night.” He filled his cup to the brim, and we watched the layer of surface tension break and seep over. 

    “Speak, it’s not a crime. You’ll feel better if you talk.”

    He said, “It’s embarrassing. Actually disgraceful.”

    “How come?” I spread open my palms. “Today, I’m just going to listen. No comment, no judgment.” And yet, a sort of voyeuristic delight rose inside me. Had the day finally come? For a while, I’d wanted to learn more about his life. I wanted to be part of a late-night phone call, to trade obscenities and “what happened nexts,” all while secretly pleased at the other’s pain.

    Maybe what I really wanted was for him to start crying so I could hold him in my arms, speak soft words, and wipe away his tears.

    “No,” he said. It wasn’t buying drugs that he was ashamed of. He’d heard that the hottest thing rolling through the streets was “crystal.” What was that? He’d asked around. Meth! The little teacher in his head had jumped out with a lecture. He’d seen the warning flashes of a red light, the crossed-out circle of a PROHIBITED sign. Images of sunken eyes behind a metal fence, a person in withdrawal forced into a straitjacket, crawling, puking, wiggling on the floor. Meth was Trainspotting and Dust of Angels. Taiwanese education had worked like a charm, and he had taken a step back from the idea. What else was out there for him to try? That was a need he could not extinguish. There was always E, of course—he could try ecstasy.

    That’s why he was embarrassed. He couldn’t keep up with the trends even when it came to drugs. Looking for E was no longer a sin. Nowadays it was done out of nostalgia. Well, so what if he wasn’t trendy? At least E was better for you.

    He’d asked around on the app, afraid no one had it, afraid that he was too timid, that someone would actually have it, which would’ve given him no choice but to buy it and take it. What if the profile he’d matched with was a set-up for a fishing operation? What if the handcuffs came out as soon as he opened the door?

    “No need to worry,” I said. “A cop on a fishing expedition would be even more clueless. You think they have E in their database?” It was a legacy drug from floppy disk times, no version update in ages. People didn’t use it to taste the new, but to relive the past.

    He’d arranged to meet the man at a McDonald’s in the Ximen shopping district. Before the appointment, he’d already staked out escape routes. He looked for where he could shake off the cops and turn his jacket inside out. It was important that he wore a hat. He didn’t want to walk past an electrical appliance store and see that the satellites and security cameras had broadcasted his dilated pupils onto every TV screen.

    He got to McDonald’s and saw the man. Eh? It was like looking into a mirror. The guy also had on a big coat with his face covered by a baseball cap. In that moment he kept thinking, hm, did everyone else have such a shitty imagination? The people passing by could probably tell they weren’t celebrity types who wore big sunglasses and upturned collars. Instead, their shady outfits said hey, we’re doing a drug deal.

    “So you bought it?” I said.

    He looked left and right. It was still Sunday afternoon in the café, but for some reason, the ambient noise had softened, making our presence bigger. It was no longer a place for secrets.

    He said, “Let’s talk outside.” So the story picked up again on the seats by the sidewalk.

    He could tell the other man was also afraid and wished he could say something to distract him. The guy was sweating, scratching and picking at his neck while mumbling indiscernibly. You wouldn’t know how to respond even if you could make out what he said. His voice sounded stifled, yet his footsteps were firm. They walked a big loop around Ximending. After winding through another alleyway, they ended up back at McDonald’s.

    “So it was a fishing expedition after all?”

    “No,” he said. They’d come to the other side of the McDonald’s. He could make out the back of the golden arches. The man asked, Ever seen Mr. Ronald McDonald’s ass? He said No, I haven’t even seen his dick. The man said he lived upstairs. He wasn’t about to bring the E down, so they had to go up to get it.

    So that tedious opening, with its nine bends and eighteen turns, was just the start of Infernal Affairs. Now came the actual drug story.

    They went into a little four-story hotel next to the McDonald’s. He’d never known there could be such a run-down place in Taipei’s most fashionable district. It looked like the kind of place where people got arrested. His worries rose with the light of each elevator button. The doors slid open, but there was no ambush. Instead, the air conditioning made him feel as if he’d descended into a cellar. He followed the man into a hallway. Each little detail startled him. Why was the man having a cozy chat with the auntie behind the counter? Was there a red button under her desk that she’d already pressed? The man walked over to a table where a full game of chess was happening and moved one of the pieces. The old man sitting nearby nodded as if he’d been waiting. Was that also a secret signal?

    He walked through the hotel corridor, feeling like he was already tripping. A chill rose from his tailbone to his neck. For a long time, he had feared becoming the type of person who would go from the app to a janky hotel. He had everything he needed to live a nice, cozy life, but something was missing. He had grown tired of the faces that leaned in towards him at bar counters and more and more wanted things he could not have—the cakes behind the bakery window, the intensity of feelings from his youth, back when he was peeking at his classmate’s papers during exams. Maybe what he missed was the recklessness, the disregard for danger.

    They got to the hotel room. The man pushed the door open and it banged against the wall. He jumped back, expecting an army to spill out, ripping off his jacket and cuffing him.

    “Someone was in there?” I asked.

    “No,” he said. But the man didn’t bring out any product either. He could tell the man had been staying there for a while. A towel was drying on a clothes hanger, and the lived-in smell of a bachelor’s room emanated from the bed.

    “So, the stuff?” I asked.

    So, the stuff? He’d asked the man.

    Right in here. The man fished around the bedside cabinet and handed him a vial with a few pills inside. They looked like candy. He’d felt his mouth sweeten with drool, as if he could already taste it.

    “Then?” I asked. The traffic light in front of us turned red. His voice halted. He was quiet on the next block too. After a while, he said, “Well, as for the rest, why don’t we keep talking at my place.”

    “What?”

    He said, “Be quiet.”

    In that moment, the man had also told him to be quiet. All he’d done was swallow very loudly. He’d reached for the vial of E when the man grabbed his wrist and said, here, I’ve got something better, just take a few hits of this and I’ll give it to you.

    The man offered him a glass pipe. He swallowed nervously. The smoke rolling around in the pipe made it look like a department store snow globe with a whole other world inside. He felt like Snow White, like he’d been offered a big apple. He let out a groan from deep in his chest. It had been a trap after all.

    This was meth, wasn’t it? He should’ve realized earlier with all the clues. The man had been so sweaty and paranoid. He’d thought he was the nervous one, but no, this whole trip wasn’t even about him. It was that man’s adventure.

    Just take a few hits and I’ll give it to you, the man said again.

    He considered the offer and stood for a moment with a foot across some threshold, an altered state of consciousness beckoning him.

    You want to try it, don’t you? One hit. Then, I’ll give the E to you for free. 

    “I really wish this was just a story about buying drugs.”

    I listened to him while sitting in his room. The curtains were drawn tight, and daylight seemed very far away. It was only the second floor, so how could the summer afternoon and the blares of car horns seem so distant? For some reason, I remembered the lengthy overture to his story.

    He’d said to the man, Free things are the most expensive. He didn’t want it. He felt resolute about that.

    The man said, Just one hit. Nothing’s going to happen. It’s good for the spirit.

    No, no, no… With the alertness of a small animal, he snatched up the vial of E and threw off the man’s hand.

    Just then, the pipe spilled over. He felt a cold wetness on his hand. He didn’t know if it was the man’s saliva or the water inside. Something wound around him like a snake.

    He flung his hand at the air in disgust. He didn’t wait for the man to say anything and went to wash his hands. Past the bathroom door, everything was awash in a fluorescent light so bright it felt like disinfectant. Crystals in zip-up storage bags covered the ceramic floor tiles, the toilet lid and tank. This was no joke. He felt like he’d busted into a subterranean river in the Philippines or an Arctic ice cave. The crystals shone with a deviant luster in the light. A little digital scale rested on the washboard laid out across the sink.

    Had he just walked into a meth lab? A picture of shadowy figures measuring things out on a spoon played in his mind.

    The man rushed in and closed the door with his back. Was he about to be murdered, just like that? He wondered if he should scream, whether dying there was worse than getting arrested. 

    “So what did you do? Beg for mercy?” I asked.

    “No,” he said. The man had calmly picked up five bags from the toilet, pinching and dangling them all scrotum-like in front of his face. Take a hit and these are yours. Was this guy nuts?

    “You have to admire my steely resolve,” he said to me. “I wouldn’t have buckled even under the torture of some foreign devil or spy. I only wanted to make it out with the E.”

    He stepped around the man and slipped past the bathroom door, trying to be as subtle as a house gecko, shaking his head all the while and politely declining the offer. I can’t, man. It’s my first time. Maybe I don’t even want the E anymore.

    Without warning, the man surged right up to his face like a locomotive. There was a fire in his eyes as he spoke: One plus one, E plus E. You don’t even need any E, check this out. The man picked up five more bags and threw them all onto the bed, ten bags altogether. He said: How about this. You take a hit and I’ll give them all to you.

    How much did each bag weigh? How much could he sell them for? He knew nothing about the market, but he thought, God, if he had that much just for one hit… 

    He suddenly realized that this was what it felt like to be someone’s boy god. The thought was hyping him up despite the ill-suited occasion. If only he could tell everyone: the beefcakes with the big pecs, the chatty Internet fairies, the people he matched with on the app who didn’t respond, the ones who said they were going to clean up in the shower when they were really opening a new window to chat with someone else, the ones who passed him by. He wanted to tell them, look at me now. I’m worth something! I’m worth five, no, ten bags of meth. I’m worth as much as a diamond. Look how much this guy wants me. Look what you’ve passed up…

    Still, he didn’t have the courage to take the offer. Courage was no longer the issue. He was confused and had the gall to ask, That’s so much ice, you could play with anybody. Why bother with me?

    These words extinguished the fire in the man’s eyes. A black hole formed around his nose, sucking in all the expression from his face. His voice was barely audible: Have you seen the way I look? Who would like me?

    Nothing moved in the air. He said to me, “In that moment I wanted to hug him, run my finger through the greasy patch of hair on his balding head. Pinch his ears and lick his eyes. Tell him oh, I know. Even for people like us… it will be okay.”

    So this was the story about drugs.

    This was the story about boy gods, or rather, a story without any boy gods. 

    A story about meeting oneself.

    (You are beautiful.) 

    (You are worthy of love.)

    (You still have chances…)

    The atmosphere had become surprisingly intimate. He said he was no longer afraid of the man. It was as though they were each other’s confidants, as if they’d been through a great deal together. Maybe the leftover smoke in the air was affecting him…

    “So you took a hit? You got those five, ten bags?”

    “No.” He looked at me with a perplexed expression. He didn’t even remember how he’d left that dingy hotel. All he had from that encounter was the vial with the rainbow-colored pills inside. He could not remember much—only that he’d felt very hurt.

    “The important thing is, you got the E.”

    “Well, yes,” he said. “I kept wondering when I was going to take it. It wouldn’t be for pleasure. All these sex drugs and finding boy gods to idolize, none of those were real desires. Wanting to ‘stand at the edge of the abyss and leap down’ was just a form of giving up.”

    There was nothing wrong with giving up. The struggle to totally abandon everything happened to be a theme in every coming-of-age story—chasing the darkness on a running track, crying out into the night. Characters who got closer to one another because of a misunderstanding, or misunderstanding one another because they got too close. You flipped to the last page of a coming-of-age novel and found that the protagonist had been working hard towards something the whole time. In these stories, drugs played a role like money or power. It let bodies press up against you. It sped up sex and the rate of entropy. Didn’t it make you go harder? Could the Buddha have blamed Sanzang for taking the easy way to the West by riding the somersault cloud? Yet in the moment your body shuddered, embracing another overheated body like hugging hot coal, it always felt like something had burnt out.

    “So you tried it, then. What did it feel like?” I asked. My eyes must have been flashing frantically. His voice felt like a hook that had burrowed into my skin. I tried to scratch at the itch and could not reach it, so I could only ask him more questions.

    “You can ask yourself that,” he said, looking at me. “I put it in your coffee earlier.”

    I’d fallen into a trap after all. I sighed. If only this were a story about buying drugs. Only, this was no longer a story. This road full of lures, this story long enough to fill a thousand and one nights, the walk from the café to the sidewalk to his house, the swirling creamer on top of the coffee—it all turned into a whirlpool in my mind. Sugar cubes gurgled in silence.

    Then he came closer, took out the vial, and poured out a pill. On his tongue was where his story and mine would overlap.

    (Was I your boy god too?)

    I’d already had whatever he’d given me, so what was the worst that could happen? I looked at him sheepishly and started to laugh. So that was it, then. Whatever had happened to him would happen to me. Let’s give it all up. Didn’t I want it? Did I want it?

    In the next second, my vision became all askew. A beam of light appeared in front of me like the moment before a television screen switches off. Then a flicker and everything went dark.

    When I opened my eyes again, the light outside the curtain had dimmed. Was it the same day, or had many nights passed?

    I turned my head over. Huh? There he was next to me on the bed with his clothes on.

    That was it? This was what E felt like? Where was the “landing among the stars” and “the universe holding your hand” that people had promised? Somehow I couldn’t remember anything. I felt really pissed all of a sudden. Not about his slipping something into my drink, but about feeling fuck all. That… really hadn’t been worth it.

    I was heavy with regret as I picked up the vial that had rolled aside. There were still a few pills left. I looked inside like a scientist at an insect and was stunned. Was that even E? These pills looked exactly like the sleep medication that the doctor had prescribed to me.

    He had lied. But he had also been lied to.

    This is the story of my life and all that has been true. If we do not believe, we would be left with nothing.