Because of that, our first priority when it came to packing was clear: hide the pornography. We gathered up all of our videos and magazines and hid them in our storage area up in the attic, a place the kids were certain not to discover, because it’s too creepy.
“I’m scared,” I said to Corb as we made our way down 95 South, right before entering into Connecticut.
“I’m scared for my porno,” I said, gripping the wheel. “I have the feeling that your muscle hunks are beating up my twinks.”
“Don’t worry. Right now, they’re too busy taking them from behind.” Corb grabbed my hand, and brought it to his knee. “I wonder if Thumbkin is missing us yet.”
“Doubt it. I bet he’s busy playing poker with his friends, or, or—“
“Or watching kitty porn!”
It was a beautiful trip down. I wanted to make certain the Rav was in good condition, so Corb and I stopped for a tune-up before we left. We didn’t stop for lunch or anything, although we did pack plenty of snacks. To keep us company, we kept alternating CDs. Bette Midler first, then Avril Lavigne, followed by Blondie, followed by my favorite, Liz Phair (or as I like to call her, Liz Phish.) We arrived at the FDR playing Orchestral Abba.
As we made our way into Manhattan, the sun was gracefully fading into the landscape, casting the darkening sky into an assortment of rich colors: rich reds, light baby blues, lustrous navy, streaks of white. And as I held his hand, for some reason, and half-listened to the radio and the monotonous bumps from the highway, I remembered a night, about two years ago. One that had taken place in the winter of my journey, shortly before Christmas.
I am truly alone
This is going to serve as an ending of sorts.
First off, I wish to thank those who have offered their friendship and support to me these past six months. There are quite a few people on this here live journal thing who have been very nurturing to me and I love and honor them for their kindness.
But. The truth of the matter is. I have never realized how truly alone I am until this evening.
The truth of the matter is, I have no one.
It's my fault. I have always been far too self absorbed. And yet, at the same time, I always thought I was being the good boy, doing what was expected of me, trying to be responsible, trying to be decent, trying to do the right thing, because, hey, if you do what's right, you get rewarded, eh?
Well, possibly, if you do what's right for you.
Here's a lesson for you, sinners, said Reno Sweeney, sign up for heaven, and...what was the rest of the deal? Ah, it's been too long, ago, I don't remember. But I was just a boy, then. And the world showed so much promise. And I hadn't hurt, or harmed. And I never intended to hurt, or harm. I always wanted to be the good boy.
My soul really is essentially pure, you know. I look at the world with a slightly bewildered stare, because it always seemed so big and overwhelming to me. So much to figure out. How to kick, and scream, and survive. And accept your sexuality. And accept that people are not what they seem, that no one is simply to be accepted at face value. That you need to be duplicitous.
I have been unable to grasp that this aint no dress rehearsal. Unable to grasp that this world is about advancing your own causes, because if you don't, the other guy will do you in.
But I digress. Or do I?
Tonight I returned home. Tonight. After looking after the kids for four nights in a row. After letting her go out for most of Saturday. Tonight. After working until six. To find out that since she had the day off...the rest day, you know...she could plan things. Like going away with Kevin. But at least I'm talking to you about it... okay, deal, deal, deal... to go onto to the computer. Oh, look, she left her livejournal open, isn't that typical. Always telling her not to leave it open, we do have a 16 year old, after all, who can take a gander at any time. Oh, look, a letter to Minister Joe. Oh, how nice. Yes. So she fucked Al, and it was the most satisfying experience of her life. Well, lookee there.
Okay. One blow to the gut too many.
But where to go? Oh, see, there's the thing. Because I have no friends, really. I have no one. I have friends of hers, of ours.
Even on live journal, I have friends who are essentially friends of hers. Or a fair amount, at least. Hers. Not. Mine.
I have squandered the pennies that God has given me. No more change in the kitty, boy. Nowhere to turn to, nowhere to hide.
I don't know if I will live through this night. I will not say where I am.
But I will say this. What you did today, Josie, you did out of anger. Nothing else. Anger and hatred. Fine. You probably have a right. It hsn't been an easy life for either of us.
But I want friends who are truly my friends. And I want someone who is essentially honest, someone who is not looking to score political points against me, who supports my dreams, my goals. Not someone looking to lock me into the Strindbergian dance of death.
But perhaps you've already won that dance.
Please kiss my kids for me. I love them so much. It's really difficult to continue writing these words. This is so painful.
I just wanted to do the right thing, the good thing. But I wasn't good enough. I was. Defective. And now the one thing that I truly love in this world, the three people who actually love me, no holds barred, I'm committing an action that will ensure that they hate me, too.
Well, there you are. My, my, my. There you are.
Man, I was so messed up back then. So scared, and so sad. I suddenly realize how far I’ve come in such a relatively short period of time. Those days seem so long ago, just as the brighter days immediately preceding that dark period, the days spent with Josie, raising our small family, seem in some ways like a pleasant, distant memory. And now here I was, fully entered into a new series of bright days. Bright fades into dark fades into bright. A parade of days spanning a period of years, and here I was, crossing the FDR bridge, having made it safely to the other side.
We dropped off the Rav at a parking lot about twenty blocks away from Times Square. The air was biting cold, and we were armed to the teeth in sweaters and gloves and hats, and loaded up with suitcases. For the amount of money we ended up paying, it was hardly worth the money we saved, but with each step, I could see Corb’s excitement grow, and my own, too, I must admit, thinking about the adventures we would be taking.
At the end, we saw the Ed Sullivan theater, all lit up, and it reminded me of my David Letterman story. The theater was much more colorful than it had been that night, and suddenly we were there, and making our way down Times Square to reach our destination, the Marriott Marquis.
They upgraded us to a room that had a spectacular view of the street, with Billy Crystal’s big brilliant image peering into our room. The sites that poster saw!
That night we ate dinner at Ellen’s Stardust Diner, then checked out the HA! Comedy Club. We were directed there by a nice older lady handing out tickets on the street at Times Square. Turns out she was one of the comics that we saw that night, in a tiny room that didn’t seat more than twenty. She was funny, but the funniest two were both Puerto Rican.