“It would be better if you were dead”, I hear my mother say
As we sit in a corner booth at the local Olive Garden
The waiter – he is gayer than gay – passes our table, hears my mother’s words, and gives me a semi-frantic glance –
He knows what just happened – and I know he wants to throw me a life-preserver or an entire fucking life raft, if he could -
so I won’t drown in this situation – so I will know I am not alone in it -I know he wants to rescue me – I see it in the look he is giving me -
He KNOWS …
And my mother thinks it would be better if I were dead
____
My best friend and I are spending time lying next to each other on the trampoline in the backyard discussing philosophy, poetry, and last night’s episode of the X-files,
Both of us staring up at the piercing and magnificent blue sky above,
As the blistering Las Vegas sun burns brightly upon us
Cancer Man is Fox Mulder’s father – and this is discussion-worthy -
Squinting because it is mid-day, he gives me his opinion on the matter and then looks over at me and smiles –
which is more of a smirk than a smile -
As best friends do …
And I notice his chest appears strong and manly underneath his Nine Inch Nails t-shirt (the shirt I bought him for his birthday) –
And then I wonder where the fuck that thought is coming from …
It is then – as if a news bulletin has been shoved violently in my face –
I suddenly realize and understand what I am –
It all (all of it) - without warning - makes sense
I am in love …
… and this isn’t a happy story
----
Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future
----
“Ladies and gentlemen, our 3rd runner up is Jimmy Broccoli – congratulation Jimmy …” says the aging event host into the corded microphone with his shit toothpaste smile -
His all-white suit semi-glowing against the multi-colored disco lighting of the club
Applause, Applause – from a room packed full of drunk men having a festive time watching the competition …
I step upon the stage and receive my mini trophy
and smile brighter and broader than I have in years
I stand upon the small stage – shoulders back, standing tall
as the names of three more young men are announced
“Ladies and gentlemen, who will be Mr. Stud Las Vegas 1996?”, the host enthusiastically asks into the microphone –
though there are no ladies in the audience –
and – with as many men who have grabbed my dick tonight –
there ain’t no gentlemen here either
I didn’t hear his name clearly when it was announced –
… Taller, more muscular (I am a skinny twig of a tweaker), more manly –
Confident, statuesque – and with better hair …
The Mr. Stud Las Vegas competition is a big deal in our community
I took home a trophy …
I bask in the glory of it all
Drunk and high off my ass -
And I will not know until the next morning I have caught the attention of a pornographer in the audience
----
“Bullets might come through the window, so you should probably sleep on this side” – my date tells me as we spend our first night together –
he points to the side of the bed furthest away from the glass -
And I immediately realize he isn’t joking
----
My mother and I discuss anything but me during my visit –
I bring her packaged cookies from the grocery store because my baking skills suck
She tells me about what is happening this weekend at her church –
And she is super excited about it –
Which makes me smile – because I like to see my mother happy
My dad reads the newspaper intently (and is not to be disturbed)
As he sits in his well-worn chair –
Shaking his head from side to side when he disagrees with shit commentary from the lefties and from the commies
We don’t talk about politics because I am viewed as the enemy,
And I know this because this is what I’ve been told
----
“Oh my fucking God”, I tell my friend as the methamphetamine flies up my nostrils and burns …
We are in the single men’s restroom that locks with a dead bolt –
It is for the drug users – and those in line for it aren’t waiting to piss -
The walls are heavily written on – but it’s not the type of graffiti that is art –
It’s shit drawings and phone numbers for a good time –
And all kind of shit and piss and ejaculatory expressions
I do a second line, immediately after my friend does a third –
He gives me a blue pill to swallow – I’m expected to perform tonight
The $40 will give me gas money for the week
And I will not know the name of the man I will soon meet –
But, I will refer to him as John
And I will call him by that name throughout the evening
As I always do
----
Mother – you had 26 years to change your mind –
You had until the day you died -
And you never did
… it would be better if you were dead …
… it would be better if you were dead …
The record skips and repeats and repeats because there is no one to remove the needle from the record
----
“There can only be one star in this household”, my best friend says with a gentle and loving laugh,
As he paints his face with theatrical drag queen makeup before going on stage
“I don’t get this ‘broccoli thing’, but I know it makes you happy”, he says before asking me if his wig is on straight
“It is” I say, and yet he still adjusts it one more time
“You look lovely”, I say, and he refers to me as “bitch” and thanks me with a dismissive hand gesture that implies he looks fabulous all of the time
He is my best friend, and I love him immeasurably
One hour after leaving the hospital –
After being told Christopher is dead –
I put into action plans to jump from the 20th floor of the Sheraton Atlanta Hotel –
To loosen the screws on the windows and to fly – to fly like an eagle -until I can fly no more –
and land upon the waiting and welcoming parking lot asphalt below …
I show my registration number to the front desk clerk and carry a backpack up with me to my luxury room
The window panels within the room are welded shut
So, I drop my screwdriver onto the unflattering carpet
And then fall, defeated, onto the floor like concrete does after being blasted with dynamite
----
My mother does not leave a tip for the waiter at the Olive Garden,
so I reach into my pocket and place a $20 bill beside the basket on the table that earlier housed the all-you-can-eat breadsticks
Before we leave, the waiter look at me empathetically, almost fatherly – he KNOWS
I return his look
and then I look down at the floor
Photo: Jimmy Broccoli.
Σχόλια