Ownership claims

Carer R bought us each a steaming cup of Mama instant noodles. Young Ball was so hungry, he was gulping them down as fast as he could.

His hands are tiny, his body still forming, I thought as I watched him eat.

His Mum will be thinking of him, as mothers always do. He has a girlfriend, too, though the two argue often, and she seldom ventures out of doors to see him.

At the ya dong stand two minutes from his home, he also has me, and carer R.

Is it enough? And how do we rank in his life?

Is it a question meant in fun, as I have no right to get possessive.

Ball is close to Na, a fish trader in his 30s who lives next to R's shop. He joins us at carer R’s ya dong stand in the small hours.

I know he likes Ball. After an hour or so of imbibing ya dong, they can barely keep their hands to themselves.

But even as he plays his man games with Ball, Na is looking at me, worried I will get jealous if I see him touching Ball too much.

Often, Ball is at the stall before me. These days, carer R tells me, other customers ask Ball if I will turn up to meet him.

Ball doesn't like that. 'I can pay for myself,' he says.

I have been distant and remote from Ball lately, after a strange happening at his place.

One day I went to see him at his home. I waited in the alleyway outside his front door, which was open. I watched him as played at a computer close to his mother's bedroom.

Mum was in the living room, which like the bedroom can be seen partly from the front door. From the shadows, she called out, inviting me to come inside.

I didn't hear.

I waited in the alleyway for five minutes, but after Ball failed to come out to greet me, I walked home alone.

Later the same day I sent him a text message asking if I could give him some food money...once again, no response.

Last night he explained his apparent lack of interest: he is worried what people are thinking about us.

'Is the farang coming to see you?' his Mum had asked when she saw the text message.

'I wanted to say yes, just like I wanted to welcome you in the door when you came to see me at home, but I wasn't sure how to do it,' he said.

He is not worried about the gay thing so much as he is perceptions that he is selling himself.

He lives in a slum. He worries that when his neighbours see us, they will assume he has struck up a relationship with this middle-aged farang because he is hard up, and needs the money.

'The truth is, I have never asked anything from you,' he said.

Ball says he likes the way I treat him; and I enjoy being with him, too.

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Ball, carer R, and myself are often the only drinkers left at his ya dong stand after 9pm.

Carer R loves to talk, and is keen on having me as an audience.

I am not sure what need I am fulfilling, as he is married, and loves his wife. Is she not a good listener?

He also likes the idea that Ball and I are close friends, much more than just customers.

'We are friends, and help each other,' he said last night, as he went off to fetch us instant noodles, which he paid for himself.

'You need something to line your stomach when drinking ya dong,' he said.

We're an odd bunch, it is true.

As I am massaging Ball's legs, back and shoulders, R is busy chatting away, trying to distract my attention with his life stories.

As soon as one tale ends, another starts.

At first Ball and I sat apart from each other, and I had little to say. Ball asked me politely about work, and I responded briefly.

But after an hour at carer R’s stand I decided there was no point in being a stranger.

While carer R went off to buy cigarettes, I asked Ball to sit next to me.

He explained his lack of interest the day we met at his home, and discussed his latest attempts to find work.

His own feelings had not changed, he said, despite my perception that he had grown more remote.

‘I am still the same,’ he said, looking at me earnestly. 'I miss our talks. Some things I say to you, I can't say to anyone else.'

I carry a pottle of ointment for massaging away aches and pains. I pulled it out, and set it on the table.

As I laid my hands upon his shoulders, Ball's small frame relaxed.

After a few days away, we were slipping back into our old roles. We do indeed care for each other, each in his own odd way.

Who gets to own who hardly matters.