Simon Says

by William Poe

  “You sick fucker,” I said. “Go ahead, if that’s what you’re into. Drink it.”

  I grabbed the back of his head, ignoring his choking and gagging.

  “Son of a bitch!” I yelled, kicking the man after he broke free and began to scurry off on his hands and knees.

  I’d never seen such terror in a man’s eyes as he coiled into a fetal position to protect himself. I stepped over his body and began walking up the street. As the cold air cleared my head, I began to worry about what I had done. I went back to the scene of the crime. A trail of blood led from the alley. I followed it to within a few yards of the bar.

  At least he had made it back to his friends.

  CHAPTER 48

  Returning to the alley, I took garbage bags from the Dumpster and made a bed by placing them beneath the warm air coming from the duct. Just as the sun was rising, a sanitation truck began rattling up the street, grinding its jaws like a scavenging tyrannosaur. I heard it from blocks away but was too exhausted to move. Eventually, two workers approached the alley. They began tossing trash into the mighty machine until the removal of one bag exposed my blood-soaked legs.

  “Yo!” the man yelled. “There’s a body here.”

  “I’ll radio the police,” said his coworker.

  Startled by the exchange, I sat up, momentarily frightening the men out of their skins.

  “Nevermind,” the first one said. “It’s just a drunk.”

  The men allowed me to pass by without further comment. For them, it was just business as usual.

  I was cold and miserable—and filthy. Aside from the dirt, I had blood on my pants leg. I went into a restaurant and ordered a coffee with the little bit of change I had left so I could use the restroom to at least relieve myself and wash my face. The owner soon asked me to leave.

  “Where’s the bus station?” I asked a woman in a fur coat. Instead of answering, she quickened her pace. Overhearing my question, another pedestrian said, “You’ll see the station sign if you walk a few blocks that way.”

  I pushed against the icy wind toward the bus station and sneaked through the main doors unnoticed. I made a beeline to the men’s room, cleaned up as best as I could, and when I didn’t see any of the guards who might recognize me, I took a seat near the pay phones. I knew what I had to do, but it had been easier to make a call to the church than to reach out to my own family.

  What did any of them have to do with me? Connie and Derek had criticized and condemned me over the years. Vivian was a vortex of need, her love selfish and consuming. Lenny and his cold indifference still haunted me.

  The one person who might actually understand what I was going through was Thad, and I kept blocking him from my thoughts. Could he really have awakened from the haze of drug addiction and concluded that he truly loved me?

  And then there was Dean, mostly clueless about who I was, really. But he had never betrayed me. He tried to help, even when it meant opening his home to Sean, who he knew was not to be trusted. Classic signs, Dean had said to Vivian—classic signs that someone is going to commit suicide.

  You have to do it.

  This time, the voice was my own inner self.

  Ask for help.

  I didn’t want to call collect, so I searched every corner of the station looking for loose change. After an hour scouring the seats and asking for handouts, I dialed Vivian’s number. My stomach tightened when a recorded voice asked for the money. I hung up. Still, I had to talk to someone. I made a collect call to Dean. When he accepted, I couldn’t find the courage to say it was me.

  “Simon?” Dean asked, hesitantly. “Is that you?”

  “It’s me,” I said.

  “Where are you?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “The police found your car in the East End and had it towed to the dealership. Thad has been calling me. I didn’t know what to tell him. Are you okay?”

  “I’m afraid, Dean.” I thought about Businessman, and about the old woman who got hurt when I broke the pay phone. “I think I may be insane.”

  “Tell me where you are,” Dean said. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “Is Sean with you? Have you heard from him?”

  “Not a word. He hasn’t called.” Dean paused to weigh his words. “You knew he would leave.”

  “What about Thad?”

  “He didn’t want to go back to California until we heard from you. Thad told me about your history together. I honestly believe he cares about you.”

  I started to argue. And yet, what else did I hope for except that Thad loved me? “I’m afraid, Dean. I need to be put somewhere.” I stopped short of suggesting an insane asylum.

  “Let me call Thad now and give him the number of the pay phone you’re calling from. He’ll work out something with you.”

  Faint voices warned of a trap, but I ignored them. I read Dean the barely legible number for the pay phone. Then I waited.

  When the phone rang, I willed myself to answer.

  “Simon?” Thad’s voice seemed hesitant.

  “I’m here.”

  “What is that area code? I don’t recognize it. Must be far from here.”

  “Farther than you might imagine,” I said. “I went looking for Sean.”

  I instantly regretted mentioning his name. But Thad knew my feelings for Sean were not deep.

  “Listen to me,” Thad said forcefully. “I love you.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you.”

  “Do you want me to come get you?”

  After some commotion in the background, Vivian took the phone.

  “We love you, Bubby. Don’t you know that?” Before I could respond, she began sobbing but still managed to say, “Thad explained about the drugs. Oh, son,” she continued, “I had no idea. Let us help you.”

  Evidently, everyone was there. Cheryl took the phone and explained that she had friends who got off drugs. “There are places that can help,” she said. “We love you, Uncle Simon.”

  Derek came on next. “I’ll come pick you up, if you want,” he said, then paused. “Seems your sister wants to say something.”

  I braced myself for the onslaught, but Connie was contrite.

  “Is it my fault?” she began. “Did I make you leave? Oh, Simon, please come back. Can you forgive me?”

  Poor Connie—she couldn’t fathom what was going on with me. All she could imagine was that it had something to do with her.

  Finally, Thad took back the phone. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Send me a bus ticket. I’ll come back to Arkansas if you put me in an asylum or something.”

  “I’ll prepay a ticket, and I’ll figure out someplace for you to go when you arrive, okay? Stay put until I call back.”

  “Not much choice there,” I said. “I’m broke.”

  “Come on, Simon,” Thad said, lifting me from the seat. I had slept the entire trip. Everyone else had left the bus.

  “My, my,” Thad said, propping me against the wall outside the bus station. “Look at those clothes. What a tramp!”

  “I feel like a tramp.”

  “Okay. So listen up. I’ve got Vivian’s car.”

  I looked around, expecting to be ambushed.

  “It’s just me,” Thad promised. “Vivian wanted to come, but I convinced her I should see you first.”

  Even so, I kept waiting for Connie or Derek to appear from around a corner.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked as we got into the Pontiac.

  “A place called Riverdell,” Thad said. “It’s the only facility that I could find on such short notice.”

  “Facility,” I muttered.

  “Are you sure about this?” Thad asked.

  “Yes,” I forced myself to say, knowing I had no idea what I was getting myself into. What I truly wanted, desperately, was a good blast. As we were driving, I considered asking Thad to drop by BT’s apartment.

  “It’s goin
g to be terrible, isn’t it?” I said. “They’ll lock me in a padded cell.”

  “I wouldn’t let something like that happen to you. A few months ago, I went into rehab in San Diego. Things had gotten pretty bad for me, too.”

  “As bad as this?”

  Thad laughed, which seemed new to me. He had always been guarded in the past, so I never really knew what he was feeling. “You are a sad sight,” he said. “But everyone bottoms out sooner or later. You just took your sweet time.”

  “I almost killed someone last night,” I confessed, “someone who wanted to trick with me in an alley.”

  Thad grinned. “You’ll have a lot to talk about in group discussion.”

  After a ten-minute drive from the bus station, we pulled into the parking lot of a two-story frame building. I noticed a badminton net on the lawn that stretched from the back patio to a line of cottonwoods. The Arkansas River flowed just across the street. Upstream, a train was crossing on an old railroad bridge.

  “I can’t do this,” I said.

  Thad touched my elbow. “You can’t back out now. I’m taking you inside.” Thad looked around to see if anyone was watching, then he kissed me. “That will have to last awhile,” he said.

  I wanted him so badly, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

  What was wrong with me?

  I supposed I was at Riverdell to answer that very question.

  CHAPTER 49

  Isat on a small bench by the entrance, clutching a suitcase that Thad had packed for me, and kept my eyes glued to the door. I was ready to make a run for it if men in white suits showed up. Whatever I had said about getting myself committed, I didn’t mean it!

  “Are you going back to LA?” I asked Thad.

  He put his hands on either side of my face. “I’ll wait for you. That is, unless you want me to go back.”

  “No. Don’t leave,” I said.

  “Vivian offered to let me stay at the mansion. I’m going to take her up on it.”

  “Vivian?”

  “She doesn’t care that you’re gay, Simon. And she knows we have been lovers. Connie is the one with the problem, but I’m working on her.”

  Could Thad have changed so much? And was I ready to change, to finally accept that I was gay, and that there wasn’t anything wrong with it?

  A fellow named Harris came from one of the offices. He was tall and thin, with firm muscles that spoke of someone who worked out regularly. I liked his snappy, stylish clothes.

  “I’ll be your counselor,” Harris said. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you the dormitory.”

  I followed Harris up the stairs to a large room filled with bunk beds. “Looks like this top one is available,” he said, patting a thin mattress. He opened the door of a wooden cabinet and said, “This is yours. The showers are over there. Why don’t you get cleaned up and then come downstairs. We have a few formalities to go through.”

  Sponge bathing in the sink at the bus station had not removed all the dirt and dried blood. How had Thad tolerated the way I smelled? I peeled off my clothes, wrapped a towel around my waist, and headed for the showers.

  For the first time in a long while, I felt safe.

  Harris was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. “You need to sign some forms,” he said, “and then we should talk.”

  Harris and I went to an office where a rough looking guy was sitting behind a desk. He seemed to be sizing me up. I wondered if he was one of the success stories. As if reading my thoughts, the man said, “Been sober for twelve years. Everyone who works here has been through treatment.”

  The word treatment made me think of shock therapy. I wondered if they would bind me to a table and electrocute the personality out of my skull, or perhaps remove my thoughts with a needle to the temples. A weak smile formed as I thought about a song I had once heard on Dr. Demento. I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than have a frontal lobotomy.

  At first, the paperwork seemed standard. I supplied the names of people to call in case of an emergency, and wrote down my address in Hollywood as my place of residence. But then I was asked to sign an affidavit admitting myself as a ward of the state. That would ensure that Riverdell received financial aid from the state.

  Emilio will come through with more money. I just need to get a fax off to Spain and make an excuse. There’s nothing wrong with me that a good blast from a crack pipe won’t cure.

  “Don’t listen to it,” Harris said, observing my demeanor. “You’ve made it this far.”

  “You can’t know what’s inside of me,” I snapped. I signed the affidavit but then threw the pencil across the room. “Happy now?”

  “It’s not as though you’re under arrest. If you decide to leave, the door is open. Let’s go outside and talk, all right?”

  “Afraid I might start breaking things?” I asked, nodding toward a vase that, in fact, I was thinking about throwing against the wall.

  “Partly,” Harris said with a smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  “At least you’re honest,” I said, following him outside.

  Harris took me to a bench near the grove of cottonwoods. It was late afternoon. Across the river, a demolition ball swung against a derelict office building.

  “Why are you here?” Harris asked.

  The simple question hit me hard.

  “It’s okay,” Harris said. “We all have different reasons.”

  “I don’t want to die.” Before Harris could comment, I walked to one of the trees and leaned against it.

  “It will be rough at first,” Harris said when I returned to my seat.

  Harris was thinking of drug addiction, but that didn’t seem like my biggest problem. “Guilt is eating me up,” I said. “I abandoned everything I believed in because I’m gay.”

  “And since God isn’t punishing you, you do it to yourself.”

  There was truth in Harris’s assessment.

  “Let me ask you something,” Harris said. “If you could do anything you wanted, what would it be?”

  I laughed. “You make things sound so simple.”

  “They are, in a way.”

  “How did you answer that question?”

  “After getting sober, nothing seemed more important than helping people. So I became a social worker. I grew up on Chicago’s south side. When I was twenty, I joined the Nation of Islam, which at least got me out of the gang I was in. After a few years, though, I was back on the street. I started using. Before long, heroin was the only thing that mattered.”

  “Did you feel guilty? About leaving your religion, I mean?”

  “I kept myself too stoned to know what I felt,” Harris said. “Deep inside, yeah, I probably did feel guilty.”

  “How in the hell did you end up in Little Rock?” I asked.

  “Came down here to do a big score. Arkansas has quite a drug trade, you know. While I was with friends in the East End, I shot up a paper of heroin. It turned out to be pure. I started foaming at the mouth and couldn’t breathe. My buddies dumped me at the door of the Baptist Hospital emergency room.”

  “My childhood best friend died of a heroin overdose,” I said, thinking about Ernie.

  Harris nodded. “After I sobered up in the hospital, I realized that if I had died, it wouldn’t have mattered to anyone. The hospital chaplain came to see me, and I asked for help. He told me to come here to Riverdell. That was seven years ago.”

  “I want to be an artist,” I said.

  “What’s stopping you?”

  Just then, an explosion sounded on the river. The demolition ball succeeded in knocking down the old building it had been hitting. Dust crawled along the surface of the river like a brown fog.

  “Look at that,” I said. “‘Destroy the temple, and I will raise it up.’”

  “A good metaphor,” Harris said. “Destroy the old life and build a new one on the remains.”

  CHAPTER 50

  At dinner, I sat at a table with men ranging in age
from eighteen to fifty who all seemed to come from different walks of life.

  “Yeah, the damn judge sentenced me to thirty days in this fart-smelling dump,” one of them said.

  Another fellow, whose bulbous nose was covered with red spider veins, said, “If the guy in the bunk below mine don’t stop snoring every night, I’m puttin’ a piller over his face.”

  The youngest, a boy of eighteen, said, “If they hadn’t busted me robbing that drugstore, I’d be high right now.”

  “I hate trying to sleep with one eye open. But if I don’t, one’a them damn faggots is goin’ t’get me,” complained a man sitting at the far end of the table.

  “Ain’t no faggots around here,” a tough man said. “If there was, I’d be gettin’ me a piece of his ass.” The guy looked directly at me. “You a faggot?”

  “I’m not a faggot,” I said, fortified after my talk with Harris. “I’m gay.”

  It felt good to say it out loud to strangers.

  “Woo!” the man with the spider nose yelped. “We sure as hell got ourselves an asshole to fuck tonight.”

  Harris, catching wind of the conversation, raced to the table. Other counselors followed. Suddenly, one of the men at my table smacked me on the back of the head. I bolted for the door. My only thought was to get to the railroad bridge. I was worse than Satan, worse than the most despicable creature in the universe.

  Few obstacles blocked my path to the bridge—just a few brambles to navigate, until I hit a patch of fire bushes. Thorns ripped through my socks and a branch scraped my arm. A tree limb caught me on the forehead and nearly poked out an eye.

  I ran up an embankment and skipped every other railroad tie until I made it to the middle of the river. I lodged myself in a narrow space between the rails and the metal beams. Inches separated me from the edge as I gazed into the abyss.