Skirting around Dream dramas

A kathoey in the local 7-11 gave me a tiny heart sticker to mark Valentine’s Day.

I promptly attached it to my chest, the same place I saw him wearing his.

The kathoey looks identical to another youngster I remember at the 7-11 a few months ago.

I thought he had left to turn himself into a woman, and come back again, but no.

The kathoey is actually the other lad’s twin.

The first lad, a young man who liked to wear his hair pulled back on his head, but is nonetheless straight, left the 7-11, and has since returned to the provinces.

His twin, the kathoey, has turned up in his place at the same 7-11 branch.

They look alike but are in fact different people. The kathoey, while trying to change his sex, still looks more man than woman.

Sitting outside Nong Dream’s home the other night, the adults at the drinking table told me the story of the kathoey and his twin. Don’t ask me how they know, but they do.

‘The straight one argued with Ae Dream,’ said Dream's mother, Orng.

'Ae' is a designation which Thais place in front of names to show they are familiar with the owner, and perhaps know him too well.

So 'Ae Dream' is no stranger to arguments.

That’s good to hear. I always suspected he was a hot head.

Since Dream and I argued on the phone more than a month ago, he has yet to talk to me.

My heart jumps a beat when I hear him speak, though I can't tell you why.

We go through a tedious but intense ritual where we cross each other’s paths many times a night, but he to acknowledge my presence. He won’t even look at me.

I am tiring of the lack of progress on the Dream front, especially as I have struck up friendships with many others there. We are getting to know each other’s quirks and foibles, the way friends do.

Many of those who gather at the table are friends of Orng, Dream’s mother. Orng sells noodles at the front of the slum by day. She gets up at 5am to go to the market before she opens her stall.

When I ask why she bothers drinking every night when she could be in bed, she says: ‘My elder brother comes, so I feel we should entertain him.’

Orng is one of four children, she tells me. Her older brother works at police HQ, and seems well regarded. He also owns a nearby karaoke joint where Orng likes to sing.

A younger brother, Tong, lives just around the corner and drops in for food. He rarely bothers talking, just walks in, helps himself, and leaves again.

Tong and I exchange Line messages. He is always bare-chested, but is smarter than he looks.

I also exchange Line messages with Dream’s elder cousin, Dear, a graceful young man who is eager to learn farang ways. I talk to him in English and am keen for him to make progress.

Dear boasts of being a Casanova. I ask his sometime-resident girlfriend, Tom, why she puts up with it. ‘I like to play around myself. I was once talking to seven guys at the same time. They knew about each other, and didn’t mind.’

She and Dear have been going out a year. ‘That’s a long time, but I was getting sick of meeting new men only to find they didn’t have much going for them,’ she told me.

I have yet to meet Dream’s girlfriend Teuy, but doubt I’ll get that privilege in a hurry. She visits only occasionally, as she is busy in the provinces.

Another regular visitor is messenger Laem, a football fan who knows the words to whatever Thai song I happen to play on my smartphone, and encourages me to sing with him.

I have also met two or three friendly teens in the area, one of whom, Ott, took off his shirt the other night to show me his ornate body art.

On the adult front, I have taken Orng out to lunch at a city department store with two of her middle-aged woman friends. I intended to take Orng alone, to buy a birthday present for her husband, P' Noi.

When they heard I intended to take Orng out to lunch, two of her friends invited themselves along. That bumped up the bill to about B1,000, but never mind.

I managed to pull out of an excursion to her brother’s karaoke joint last week, as I didn’t fancy the idea of singing along to luk tung (Thai country) music with Ohm and her mates.

While I am fond of Orng, some of her friends are rough.

In short, despite the occasional misunderstanding, we get along well. I suspect I am so well known to them now that they gossip about me in my absence as they do everyone else.

'Ae Mali...' they will say.

The men at the table appear to think I am gay, though I try to steer conversation off the topic.

I get along best with the younger ones, as I always have. Things are going well with everyone except Dream.

Mr Frosty shows signs of softening. The adults at the table know we fell out and tease Dream about it.

 ‘Why don’t you talk to farang Mali?’ Uncle Pooh, a driver, asked.

That was forward of him. Most prefer to skirt around the awkward silences, if they mention them at all.

Pooh, a prankster, made sure he was running away from the table as he said it, as he didn’t want to be around in case moody Dream lost his temper.

‘Mali, we never know if you are happy when you are here, as you seldom say anything,’ another remarked, as Dream was picking over some food at the table.

 ‘I am forbidden from speaking,’ I said, referring to Dream. ‘But it’s no problem. I am happy to wait.’

Dream heard our exchange, but stayed silent as he always does. At least he doesn't openly complain about my presence.

  

If he had told his mother he doesn't like me there, it would have ended long before now.

Oh, well. I am pleased I can get along with others in the neighbourhood, even if I can’t get along with the angry one.

Dream’s the only reason I ended up with that crowd, but now is fading into the fabric like everyone else. Some days I feel tenderly towards him, others I don't want even to look at his angry face.

The top of his body is growing at a slower rate than the bottom. He can rarely sit still, as his wild teen hormones drive him mad. On top of that, he is growing an angry moustache.

God, why? You look hostile enough as it is.

When I am with Orng and her friends, I seldom ask about Dream, as I believe a code of silence is best. If he thinks I am showing an interest, he might clam up again.

I am now a spectator to the many busy lives in that small slum soi. It can get uncomfortable, as Orng’s friends tease me for liking men.

They suspect I have gay tendencies, based on the way I speak, or my body language. No one asks, but what's the point?

‘Did you like the kathoey at the 7-11?’ Uncle Daeng asked when I told him the story about my Valentine's sticker.

A former teen rebel born to Muslim parents, Daeng, 50, lives down the way with three kids.

  

 Of course I did. They already know the answer, or they wouldn’t ask.

Orng is fond of me, as I spend more time chatting to her than anyone else.

I buy noodles from her stand every day before work. ‘Are they tasty?’ her friends ask when I drop in on my way home from work.

Of course they are. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t ask.

So our lives tick on. I am not sure where the journey is taking us, but being privy to each other’s day to day dramas is enjoyable enough while it lasts.