This post will be decidedly non-snarky. Free of Snark. It is, however, therapy. Therapy for me to voice/vent/unleash some feelings. Think of this as me on your couch, you in the upright chair next to me, taking notes and ready to hand over a tissue when need be.
Over twenty years ago, when I lived in Columbus, I met a guy. It would never become a romantic relationship, for many reasons that I will not go into. However, we became very good friends. We shared a lot of the same interests, and honestly, we both needed a good friend.
He eventually moved back to his native Pittsburgh, where he had rekindled a relationship with another guy. They moved in together, got a dog, and life was great for them. His partner eventually died from what I recall being a hereditary disease. A very short life cut short. I immediately went to Pittsburgh to console my friend. As situations would have it, I had just lost my job at Ameritech, and the prospects for employment in Columbus were slim, so I interviewed with Bell Atlantic in Pittsburgh, and got the job. When I started at Bell, I stayed with my friend until I could find a place of my own that was closer to where I worked.
We basically hung out all the time. We went to the mall, movies, the bars, and dinners at Casey's in Oakmont. We did things that are embarrassing to even put into print! But, we did them together. Well, most the time. My friend had a tendency to want to see the sun rise after a night of drinking, and I definitely do not do that, so after last call, I would head home, knowing that in a few hours I would get the call "come get me". And, as a friend, I would.
Things got different after a couple years in Pittsburgh. He found a new soulmate in the DC suburbs, and moved there. Was I mad? Yes and no. Happy he found someone, but not pleased that here I was in a city that I really didn't like, all alone. Sure, I knew people, but not, never on the level that we had as friends. I went to DC regularly and on those weekends, life was the way it had been before, but in a more cosmopolitan environment.
My friend had always been a tireless worker, excellent in his field of expertise. There became more of a separation of him as the white collar IT guy and him as a gay man looking for pleasure. A BIG gap. Gaps I understood, but did not always want to acknowledge or condone.
By the summer of 1996, I had met my destiny in Denver, and that destiny was Steve. My Steve. My eventual migration to Colorado was inevitable, and the next year, it transpired. Distance between myself and my friend grew, but not the friendship. We stayed close on the phone, and we visited each other often.
He eventually determined that his soulmate was incorrect, when he found another one in Nashville. Sadly, things got very turbulent for him during this time frame. He left DC for Tennessee, only to find that his new love of his life was more Jekyll than Hyde. After only a month, he was alone in Nashville.
Sucking it up, he prospered in that town, had an excellent job, and met new people through a gay organization. Later, I would find out that though a majority of these new friends were true to him, they had personality attributes that were destructive. Destructive as in one word - drugs.
During all this time between the "divorce" in DC and then being outcast in Nashville, Steve and I saw him on a November weekend in Atlanta. The giant of a man that he had once been was now a very un-large frame. Stress, we all decided, was the issue for his unrealistic weight loss. We all met up again in San Francisco for a long weekend, and things, including his physique and mindset, seemed to be back to normal. Mindset meaning that he was the wild, "one beer too many" personality who always wanted to have a good time, and for him to have a good time, it meant getting laid.
I recall one time he and I were in SF (before I met Steve) and shared a room at the infamous Best Western Civic Center, conveniently located in the heart of SOMA, a half block away from the Lone Star Saloon. He snored like a freight train, so I was happy that he was out cruising around so I could get some sleep on the last night of our adventure. When 4 am came around on Monday morning, he was nowhere to be found. We had a 7am departure from SFO back to PIT. So I frantically packed his things, my things, wondering, "what do I tell his Mother? What do I tell my Mother?" Then he non-chalantly walked in the door, in full leather, telling me what a wonderful evening he had. I told him to fuck off and then hugged him because I knew then that he was not dead.
I was able to get back at him though on the flight home. Upgraded to First Class, I drank his Bloody Marys while he slept. On the connection flight out of LAX, the overhead container right above us would not latch. The FA's tried over and over to slam it shut. I got up and tried as well, mentioning to my friend, who by now has a really bad headache, that "gosh, (slam) this thing (slam) just doesn't (slam, slam) want to latch (slam)."
With the recession, he lost his job in Nashville, and took a week to decompress at his Nashville friends house - who by now had moved to Phoenix. That week turned into more than a month. He eventually short sold his new house in Tennessee, and moved to Arizona. After a few months, he did get a job, and it is an awesome job, working as a web developer for a large company in Scottsdale.
He got a new place in Phoenix' gay ghetto. And the timing was such that my family was to have a family get together in Phoenix and Tucson. Around this time, I had not had a lot of contact with him. Honestly, I didn't even know how to get in touch with him. I had a number, but calls were never returned. So I found one of his postings on a gay site - something like HeHarmony - and he sent me the same number as a way to reach him.
We set up a reunion of the two of us, and I was looking forward to seeing him after so long. He had told me that he was having health issues, specifically a tooth that needed a root canal, so he might not be able to join the rest of my family at the festivities.
Two nights before I was to leave Tucson and meet him in Phoenix, we were on the phone talking about his dental work. I always knew that he had other issues internally, things that made sense when he told me, but I could not recite back five minutes after the call. But then he told me that not only was he HIV positive, but that he had AIDS.
What do you feel when you hear that? At first, it was surprise, which immediately turns to this "I saw it coming" thought. Anger that this happened, why him? But again, that is replaced by "well, I saw how you lived and I am not shocked". Then sympathy and empathy, finally settling on "I am here for you."
Once in Phoenix, I did my best to juggle all this in my head and on my itinerary. This was, after all, my vacation. I was grateful that he wanted to show me around town, even though I drove since he was on pain meds. I saw how people discriminate against people with AIDS - his dentist decided at the last minute not to do the root canal, and pushed it off to another dentist. But, I still wanted to go do the things that I wanted to do.
I left after that long weekend, with him going to work, and me going to the boxing gym in Chandler. We spoke a couple times afterwards, and even texted a few times. The texts were horrific, almost suicidal over the pain that he was in. And then that was it.
I called and left messages, I texted. No response.
Now I am left with a curiousness in my head of what, if anything, to do? I can't just go there and pound on the door, he moved to a new condo and I have no idea where it is. I can't sit here and call and text and email knowing that I will not get a response. Honestly, I do not know if he is even still alive, either the disease or his mind killing him.
I do care, but at the same time, the feelings of anger resurface. How dare you do this to yourself? How dare you block me out of your life? Go ahead and take your meds and your cocaine, it doesn't matter anymore, does it?
What am I going to do without a friend like you?
So as he starts this new voyage, all I can do is wish him safe travels, and hope for the time when I will see him again. So long, my friend.
hug!
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