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Monday, August 29, 2016, St. Jude—I quit my job today. I didn’t plan to, I just did it. It occurred to me that I’ve spent the better part of my life climbing ladders and chasing coin. And the whole time, Jackson was coin of the realm.
I don’t think I’ll miss it—work, I mean. Though I didn’t hate it—especially after I sold it and took on the role of founder emeritus, working only with the firm’s biggest, most lucrative clients—it was not my love either. Jackson, like in most things, was the center of my work. He was the one I strove for, the one I wanted to do a little more for, toachievefor.
Jackson suffers from night terrors, which causes him to thrash about and scream in his sleep without waking. As I would try to comfort him, to still his twisting agony, he would stare at me, his eyes wide open but unseeing. He’d seem confused, lost, unsure who we were to each other, unable to place himself in the world. I, his North Star, his constant, would guide him back home. Now, I wondered if I’d been fair; what if he hadn’twanted to remember? What if Jackson wasn’t who I thought he was? What if he didn’t want to remain in the place he’d always wanted to be? What if the heartbeat I heard in bed at night wasn’t the answering rhythm to my own? What if he wanted to be somewhere else,be someone else?
In the morning, with no recollection of the terror, fear having passed like a fever, he’d pull me close, and we’d laugh and make love. But the questions would remain: what if where I wanted him to be, at my side, wasn’t where he wanted to be?
It turned out to be true: he wanted to be somewhere else, to be someone else.
And here I sit like the North Star, cold and lonely in the arc of heaven with no earth to help me locate myself in the vast firmament. What use am I? What purpose do I serve? Can anyone even see me?
Tuesday, September 6, 2016, St. Jude—Jackson and I had been like two trees planted a foot apart leaning towards each other until we touched and, having touched, grew together until, finally, looking at them, you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Yet there came a braided lesbian Paul Bunyan carelessly wielding an axe, attempting to divide us into two, expecting us to survive despite our shared purpose, our shared heart. Jackson fell; I remained standing, alone, like that tree planted by the water, unsure, for the first time, that I could not be moved.
Alone.What should I do to feel less alone?What should I do to find love?I wonder. Dating apps are out of the question. I find myself questioning the wisdom of buying this house in St. Jude, a suburb, known as a “bedroom community” because the onlything to do here is sleep, fuck, and raise kids; the schools, they tell me, are excellent. Moving to the city, though, had seemed out of the question. I am too old for gay bars and clubs. When we were young and gay bars were an undreamed-of novelty, Jackson and I had gone but quickly abandoned the scene once we realized that it was safer—andcheaper—to dance and drink at home. Now, though, the cost of drinks isn’t higher than the cost of being lookedover, around, or not seen at all.
I find myself shrouded in a lavender mist, invisible unless you really looked, really wanted to see me.
Tuesday, October 11, 2016, St. Jude—Today is National Coming Out Day. And perhaps, not surprisingly, my birthday. No doubt to distract me from the sadness of my first birthday without Jackson, DAX asked me to join a panel discussion with a queer youth group that is part of his school’s GSA, which he sponsors.
One kid, sort of timid with long hair and an unruly bang that obscured his eyes and which he constantly raked back only to have it fall over his eyes yet again—I named him Sisyphus—asked the panel when we first knew we were gay. The others answered; when it was my turn, I drew a breath, closed my eyes, and said, “His name was Rio. I’d always thought he was handsome, but one day after Christmas break—he was wearing this tight red shirt—I took one look at him, and I justknewI was gay and that I was in love with him.”
When I opened my eyes, the students were staring at me. Even DAX looked curious.
“Did you to ever hook up?” Sisyphus asked; another kid, this one a girl with spiky hair dyed pink on one side and blue on the other, poked him in the ribs.
“It’s a fine question,” I said. “No. No, we never did. I didn’t know him very well, even though I had this huge crush on him in high school. And anyway, he had a girlfriend—”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know?”
Another student, quite androgynous in appearance, who introduced themselves as “Pepper, my pronouns are they/them,” asked “Do you ever wonder what happened to him?”
“I do, actually.”
“I bet you could find him on Facebook or something.” Sisyphus said brightly.
We eventually moved on to other topics and questions, but on the drive home, I kept thinking about what Sisyphus said.
Rio had shown me who I was and what I wanted so that when Jackson finally found me, I was ready for him. I find myself wanting to tell Rio that.
Sisyphus’s question, participating in that panel, talking about what was probably the most-defining moment of my life feels transformative. This exercise of memory and sharing has helped me to revisit a particular moment in time, to accurately describe the emotions of my fifteen-year-old self at what was a moment of discovery, a life-changing moment. I doubt he ever knew that I had a crush on him or that the simple act of him walking into homeroom after a winter’s break, wearing a tight red knit shirt, caused me to see myself in a different light. Without meaning to, he’d shown me a door, and I’d chosen, in that instant, tostep through. I’ve never looked back at what could have been but wasn’t meant to be. Who I am now is who I needed to be. Still, I wonder where Rio is now. I want to find him, I’ve decided, and tell him how he, without meaning to, or even knowing it, changed my life.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016, St. Jude—It came today—our divorce decree. I stared at the words bolded in a hideous serif font on creamy cotton bond paper: Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. And just like that, our marriage and everything we had been to each other…dissolved.
I stared at the paper filled to the narrow margins with unintelligible legalese and the occasional Latin-looking phrase. And just like that, it was over. Just like that, I found myself, as my grandmother would have said, back on the market again. And like a dollar saved for a rainy day, I found myself in a rainy season, unsure if the currency I had was enough to buy what I desperately needed.
Red, Black & Yellow (2017)
Wednesday, January 25, 2017, St. Jude—It’s been a month since Rio and I reconnected. I found him on Christmas Day, which is also his birthday. It was surprisingly easy to find him. (Thanks, Facebook!) We’ve been talking or messaging each other daily. He’s very easy to talk to. We love catching up, learning about each other. In a way, it reminds me of the early days of Jackson’s and my courtship.
He seems touched that I had thought him handsome, that I’d had a crush on him, had tried to imagine a life with him. “You should have told me back then,” he said. “Who knows what might have happened?” he teasingly added.
Of course, he’d heard the gossip about me and Jackson, but he hadn’t believed it. “You were too innocent, and Jackson was the preacher’s kid. Besides, back then, I couldn’t imagine two guys in love with each other.”
“And now?” I asked.
“Now, it’s kind of cool. It’s kinda sexy to imagine. And I love knowing you were in love with me.”