I knew what was coming, I could feel it.
Andrew's obsession that I was in trouble. His certainty that something was wrong with me and it needed fixing. No matter what I did -- planned getaways, plied him with gifts, with flowers and food... nothing worked.
I knew he wanted me to see a damn shrink. I knew he was going to ask me to "get some help", to get into some "good therapy".... this whole story was so old, I was bored.
I'm fine!
Damnit!
I'm fine and he won't believe me. Talk about someone trying to sabotage a perfectly decent relationship -- Andrew was in charge of that. I mean, I was trying to put the past where it belongs, in the past. Would Andrew? NOOOOOO. He had to cling to the past like it was a life preserver.
I'm fine!
Damnit!
I sat in the bar nursing a scotch and soda trying to find a position where my ribs were comfortable. They were just losing their sensitivity from where the rough-trade hustler I picked-up had kicked me in the side.
'What the hell happened,' I thought. And then my heart was racing. My palms were sweating. Shit, I was shaking. "Stop it!!!" I screamed to myself. But my voice echoed in the cavern of my brain.
I downed the drink but it went down the wrong pipe, and I coughed my head off.
"Doctor heal thyself," said a voice behind me. I whirled around.
"Hugo?" I said. He had shaved his head. He'd shaved his face. He was wearing electric blue sunglasses. If I weren't so damn surprised I would have laughed. "Did you just watch an Oliver Stone film, or what??"
He didn't laugh -- he took off the glasses. "You look like shit."
"Thanks, so do you." I was glad to see him. I was pissed. "Where the hell have you been?" I demanded. There he was, my friend. My buddy -- who left his life -- and me -- without a word, leaving his butthole son to cover his tracks.
"Hell and back. I see you're still there." He said, not missing a beat.
"Very funny," I shot back, wincing at the pain in my ribs.
"What are you doing. Eric? You've got a man who loves you, who's willing to fight for you. Why are rejecting your life?
"Rejecting my... Don't talk to me about rejecting my life Mister-natural-born-run-away!"
"I left to find my life, Eric. Not to run away from it."
"Oh, Hugo, that's such bullshit. You're so fucking wise, man. You had me fooled, all this time. I thought you were a stand-up guy, a man who had some integrity. And then your long lost son shows up, and you're gone faster than Superman out of a cannon."
Hugo shook his head. "Come with me," he said. I didn't move.
He took me by the arm, and pulled me up. "I said come with me."
"Ow, shit! My ribs!" I winced again, as he pulled me into the men's bathroom. He turned me into the mirror, and held my head straight, so I had to look at myself.
"Look at you, Eric. You're pathetic. What's so hard about your life? Is it so hard to face the facts that you're a gay man? A gay man with a husband who loves him, a family that accepts him, with a successful career, a healthy body, and surrounded by friends who care about him? Are these facts so hard to accept that you can't live with yourself?"
I looked into the mirror. My ribs were sore as hell. My head was spinning. I felt like puking. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. I looked at Hugo, standing behind me.
"You piece of shit. What right do you have coming in here, and giving me crap. You ran away. Running towards your life? Bull, you ran away from this one, man. You ran. You left Greg. You left Fran. And left me. Just like you obviously left your son." I heard the bathroom door open, but I didn't care who came in to take a leak. I was on a roll. "Don't give me any listen-to-your-mother shit. 'Cause it's all crap. All of it. My whole fucking life is shit!!!!"
Drew's soft voice pierced through my tirade. "You're whole life is shit?!? Is that what you really think?"
What is a life made of? A job? A car? A house? A lover? A family?
How do you get from hell back to heaven?
I heard Drew's voice ask the question. I saw it in the pool of his blue eyes.
And I couldn't answer him. I couldn't answer him.
