re: the muppets (part ten)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Nine.

~ Part Ten ~

In the weeks in between receiving the letter and going to Missouri, I dropped about 20 pounds easily. One hundred pounds on a 5'8" frame is not attractive. I was gaunt and sickly. I had no appetite whatsoever. Dreaming about reconciliation nourished me. Figuring out where it all went wrong was my food source. Memories of her sustained me. It got to the point that even when I did eat, I couldn't hold it down. My body rejected what I ate. The pounds melted away. I was but a mere skeleton.

My parents had returned from their cruise. I avoided my mother as much as I could. Even without my dramatic physical change, my mother always knew when something was wrong with me. I avoided conversations. I came home, went to my room and stayed there. I spoke to my friends and that was it. For every new opening I had given them, I closed that many more with my immediate family.

There was a knock on my bedroom door one evening. It was my younger sister.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked.

"Nothing, really. Just watching television."

"Mind if I watch with you."

It was more of a statement than a request. She took a seat on my bed without waiting for a reply.

My younger sister and I used to watch TV all the time together. Beverly Hills, 90210, Melrose Place and Party of Five were events in our house, not because of the action on the small screen but rather because of our running commentary throughout. Each week, we starred in our version of Mystery Science Theater 3000. But work, life and TV execs got in the way and schedules changed and shows were cancelled. Appointment television became extinct. Her desire to watch some non-descript sitcom struck me as odd but I agreed anyway.

She tried making small talk but my answers were rushed and curt. She persisted anyway. And then she clutched her knees, pulled them close and said in a soft and almost cheerful voice,

"Curly, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. Just tired."

"I think something's wrong."

"No, I'm fine... I just..."

And I looked at my sister and her facial expression told me everything I needed to know. She was giving me a chance to open up. Her look suggested I should take it. I've always said I know who I can tell. I don't just blurt out my secret to just anyone because that's not how I operate, with any facet of my life. It's not always deliberate. I'm not wired to be completely forthcoming. If I know you, like you and most of all, trust you, I'll give you some insight. I may even refrain from biting your head off if you get impatient and start asking questions before access is officially granted. But there are no guarantees. Most people who know me understand that they must let the mountain come to them. Or, at the very least, they don't get all bent out of shape when I tell them to stop being nosy.

"Curly, tell me."

And so I did. I told my sister. I broke down and cried my way through it but I told her I was gay and I told her who my girlfriend was and filled her in on the whole sordid tale. Oh my God, it was such a relief to have someone in my family know. That was by far the most cleansing conversation I had. My younger sister, my best friend, now knew the story. She understood why I was such a wreck.

And she was amazing. She was sympathetic. And she told me she already knew but wanted to hear me say it myself. She figured it out when I came back from Oklahoma. And it weirded her out a little bit but she couldn't discount the glow I emitted during that time we were together. She told me she thought to herself repeatedly, "Oh my God, my sister is lesbian." But then she realized that I was finally happy and that was enough for her.

She had her concerns about the age difference. She wondered if that young girl was really gay. My sister sized her up when she came to stay with our family. She thought to herself, "She better not be confused. Curly is the wrong person to be confused with." My sister knows I'm not silly. She knows I don't develop crushes easily. She knows that when I invest in something, I don't do it half-assed. When something captures my imagination, I go full-throttle. She knows I tend to become like a speeding car and she hoped I'd avoid a devastating crash.

"You know you can't tell Mom and Dad, right?"

I nodded through my tears.

"Just do me a favor... Tell Mom you're okay. She's really worried about you. You've lost so much weight and she's scared. She's asking me questions. Just tell her something."

"I'll make something up. I'll tell her I'm just frustrated with my career or something. I don't know. I'll think of something."

"Promise me you'll start eating again. You're too skinny!"

"I'll try. Each day it gets a little easier to eat. Now that I'm not dealing with this by myself, you know?"

"Who else did you tell?"

She teared up and smiled as she listened to how each of my friends embraced me when I needed it most.

"How did Best Friend Since Kindergarten take it?"

Best Friend Since Kindergarten was a hawkish conservative who was known to say things like, "Sorry but homosexuality is just not natural." We were at a club on/around my 21st birthday and two girls stood on a platform and started gyrating together and making out. BFSK was beside herself with outrage. I grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around so that she couldn't see the two women.

"Jesus, relax! It's not like they're hitting on you."

"Yeah, seriously. Don't flatter yourself!" piped in another friend.

"It's just disgusting! I don't want to see that," BFSK protested.

"So don't look!" the rest of us screamed in unison.

"You know, BFSK, they say that the reason some people become so agitated and feel so threatened by homosexuals is because they're repressing their own latent homosexual des--"

"OH SHUT THE FUCK UP, CURLY!"

But BFSK was remarkable when I came out to her (as discussed here). I was so scared to tell her but she was beyond amazing. Confiding in my friends and my younger sister was a huge help. I was still a sobbing bag of bones but somehow, it was still an improvement.

She called me up one night.

"I just wanted to let you know that I told Rice and Breezy about us."

"You did? What did they say?"

"They're sad. They looked forward to getting to know you better. They want us to still be friends."

"I told BFSK."

"Wow. BFSK, really?! How did she take it?"

"She was incredible. All of my friends are. If anything good has come out of this, it's that I discovered what awesome friends I have. I'm really lucky."

She was still campaigning to be my best friend so every mention of my improved relationships with my other friends reduced her stature as my go-to person for everything. I knew it stung. It was the only ammunition I had so I flung it at her. She hesitated and then spoke haltingly:

"Well, I'm... glad you were able... to tell them."

"Yeah, my friends are unbelievable. I also told DD and she cried."

"She did?"

"Yes. She's never known me to have a broken heart. She's always cried to me about things. When she heard me so upset, she was crushed. She held it together for me on the phone but broke down when we hung up."

"Wow."

"Yeah and then her husband asked her why she was so upset so she told him. By the way, he's a tough guy from Long Island and he wants to come to Missouri to, and I quote, 'Kick [your] ass.'"

"That's not fair. Those people don't know me."

"Maybe so but they know me and they've never seen me so upset. They're pissed."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"I disagree."

"Curly, I don't want to get into this again. This is getting us nowhere. Look, I have to go. Please, just promise me that you'll still be my friend..."

"No. You gave me up when you chose to be with Lowercase Ed. You lost all rights."

"I need you. I'm scared, Curly. I need you in my life."

"You've got Lowercase Ed now."

"That's not what I mean. I need YOU more than ever, as my friend. You're the only person I can talk to about things."

"No, I'm not. Don't you see?! You gave that up! That's gone now."

"Curly, it's still ME."

"Stop! Just stop! I don't know who the hell you are anymore. You told me in that letter -- that fucking piece of shit letter! -- that I know you better than anyone else in the world. Well, I don't know you. Not anymore."

"Don't say that. You do know me."

"No I don't! You are so far gone. I have no idea who you are anymore. You're cold and callous and completely indifferent to my feelings. You fucking disappeared for God only knows how many weeks and left me alone. You were off gallivanting around with Lowercase Ed while I was here in agony wondering where the fuck you were! The person I know wouldn't do something like that. And as far as being my friend... you call what you did to me being a friend?! Well, fuck you! I don't know what kind of friendships you have but my friends?! My friends don't act like that."

"Okay, then. It was stupid of me to think it was possible. You're right, Curly. There's no hope for us!" she yelled in exasperation.

"Fine. Have fun with Lowercase Ed."

Dial tone.

After that, we had limited contact. We figured it was best to leave it alone and deal with it when I got to the Midwest. Sending emails and having hysterical phone calls was not going to provide the answers. We had to hash it out in person.

I regret going out there. But I guess I had to. My friends were concerned but they all agreed that it was something I had to do. Some even offered to come with me. But I had to go by myself and figure it out. I had to know. Maybe she'd take one look at me and the old magic would kick in. Or maybe she'd stand firm in her decision.

I called her the night before my trip to give her my flight information.

"Hey, I was thinking... is there any way you can cut short your trip?"

"What?"

"It's just that you'll be staying in the dorm with me and it's going to be hard to sign you in and out. When I'm in class, you'll have to leave with me or you won't be able to get back in..."

"Oh my God! You just realized this NOW?"

"I didn't know the policy was so strict. I want you to stay here the whole time but I don't want you to be cooped up."

"Jesus Christ! Why am I even coming then?"

"I want you to come."

"God. Why did I agree to this? Well, it's too late now. We'll see what happens. I'll call the airline and change my ticket if need be."

I was mortified. Somehow, it seemed that the sign-in/sign-out policy wouldn't have been a problem if she was still my girlfriend. I was already dreading the trip and that conversation added another layer of shit.

The last time I was on a plane to see her, I was a good kind of scared. This time, not so much. She picked me up in Kansas City. I don't even remember walking off the plane. I just remember her leaning up against the wall. She had her hair in braids and was wearing a baseball cap and overalls. She looked adorable. I wanted her to look ugly and unappealing but it wouldn't have mattered if she was tipping the scales at 800 pounds and covered with fever blisters. I loved that girl. The fact that she looked good only complicated things further.

She reached out and gave me a hug. Her touch no longer felt familiar. It was no longer mine. It belonged to him. I processed so many thoughts in that quick embrace. I broke free and we headed over to baggage claim.

"You're shaking," she said as we waited for my suitcase to surface.

"I'm fine," I snapped as I tried to steady my hands.

We stood in silence. I concentrated on the squeaks and rattles of the gyrating carousel.

"There's my bag."

"I've got it," she said while reaching for the navy blue suitcase.

I cut her off. "I can do it myself."

"Stop being so ornery. Let me help you."

Normally I'd kid her about using an Okie word like "ornery" but I was in no mood to joke.

"Just leave it. I've got it!"

"Fine."

We shuffled to the car and headed towards Columbia. We drove past Kauffman Stadium and I thought about a conversation that we had where I told her that when I moved to Missouri, we would have to go see my beloved Yankees whenever they played the Royals.

"Will you be grossed out if I eat a stadium hot dog?" she asked.

"No, just don't expect me to kiss you afterwards... you know, unless you rinse your mouth with a beer first."

"What if I put mayonnaise on my hot dog, take a big bite and then plant a big juicy one right on you?!"

"I'd kill you before I'd ever let that happen."

"You couldn't kill me."

"True. But then again, I wouldn't have to kill you. I'd run away the minute I saw the mayo. I can spot it from a mile away."

"What if I snuck up on you? Or had a packet in my pocket that you couldn't see? Then what would you do?"

"You'd be so dead, toots. But then I'd be so distraught, I'd kill myself afterwards."

"Yeah, you'd miss me too much."

"No, I would be distraught about the mayo. That shit makes me suicidal."

I looked at the large KC on the stadium and pondered how the Royals almost became my local team. And how the highway we were driving on almost became an interstate I would travel often and well. I almost gave up the Turnpike, the Parkway, Route 3, Route 46, etc. I almost traded in Willowbrook as my mall of choice. I almost gave up everything to be close to her. The reality hit me and I realized that all the things I took for granted, all the familiar comforts -- my parents, my three sisters, my beloved niece, my friends, Chuck Scarborough and Sue Simmons, Shop Rite, 24-hour diners, Aldo's, Point Pleasant -- would have been replaced. I would have been so homesick. I would have had a hard time adjusting. But I would have done it all -- gladly -- for and with her.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"Just thinking about how I almost moved here."

She didn't respond. Instead, she concentrated on the road. The rest of the ride was quiet. We were both wary of getting into a fight so we avoided all triggers. For the first time in the history of us, the conversation was dry, dull and lifeless. We couldn't joke with each other. If she was in the mood to be goofy, I wasn't. If I felt like lightening the mood, she wasn't having it. Our rhythm was completely off.

It was hot as fuck in Missouri in August. I immediately changed into shorts and a tank top when we got to her room. She grabbed my hands and lifted my arms and said softly,

"You've gotten so thin. God, Curly, look at your arms."

I indignantly shook her off.

"I'm fine."

She wasn't used to being rebuffed by me. I wasn't used to rebuffing her. We were trapped in simultaneous shock.

"Are you tired? Want to go to bed?" she asked.

"Where am I sleeping?"

"In the bed with me."

"l'll sleep on the floor."

"You're not sleeping on the hard floor. Get in bed."

Shortly after our first meeting, I sent her a "box of me." She had remarked that she loved my scent so I sent her an ounce of Body Shop White Musk Oil, a container of Body Shop Coconut Oil Hair Shine and a bottle of Bath & Body Works Herbal Mist body spray. She had a voracious appetite for all things concerning me so I sent books that I loved, copies of things I had written and the piece de resistance -- half of my security blank. I cut it down the center and entrusted her with this precious holdover from my childhood.

As I surveyed her dorm room, I noticed the blanket folded neatly on her pillow. She still slept with it. I climbed into bed and cuddled it since it was the only thing that felt familiar. It was so strange to be so close to her and not have our hands all over each other. To be so completely out of sync. I wondered what she was thinking. Did I still cast a spell on her?

"So do you think you can change your plane ticket?" she asked.

Any desire I had to touch her melted away with that question. My presence wasn't enough.

"I'll call tomorrow."

I rolled over to get as far away from her as possible. I didn't sleep a wink. I tossed and turned all night. My mind was active, the heat was oppressive and the sound of crickets was deafening. I used to spend my summers in the Catskill Mountains but the insects in upstate New York had nothing on their Midwestern counterparts.

The next morning I called the airline to ask about changing my ticket. Unfortunately my discounted ticket through Priceline meant that it was locked. I couldn't make any changes. I was stuck with it unless I wanted to buy a brand-new ticket. A one-way fare was way out of my price range. I shopped around for a cheap round-trip but the short lead time meant that nothing was under $600. Normally, money would be no object if it meant the end to my misery. But months of charging my exorbitant phone bills courtesy of all-night phone calls with her plus putting gift after gift after gift on my Visa had finally caught up with me. I had about $250 of available credit on my credit card. A new plane ticket was out of reach. I had to live out the 10-day sentence, like it or not. I was already embarrassed and humiliated. I felt like I was just punched in the stomach as further punishment for loving her.

>> Go to Part Eleven

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four
-- Part Five
-- Part Six
-- Part Seven
-- Part Eight
-- Part Nine