by Beth Burnett
Speaking of which, one good thing came of my talk with Andy last night; she gave me some motivation to work out. Maybe I will never have a body like hers, but I could have a strong, sleek, power body. I could get some muscles. I could be athletic. Never mind that the one time Andy tried to teach me how to play softball, I somehow caught the ball, then managed to throw it into my own face. Today is the day I start my exercise routine. Today is the first day of my quest to become super-fit. P90X, you’re next. I start looking at the instructions for P90X. Wow, this looks really hard. Maybe for today, I should start slow. Okay … this yoga video looks good. New Yoga pants, check. Cute yoga top from Expressions. Damn, muffin top. That’s horrible. Never mind. A t-shirt is better anyway. Loose, comfortable clothing for the movements. Deep breathing. Oh, tree pose. I love yoga. Breathe in, breath out. Bend at the waist, go into plank, downward dog. This isn’t so bad. Five minutes. That’s good for a start. I can’t see the tape anymore anyway, the sweat is dripping in my eyes. Note to self, get a headband for next time. I am really sweating. I grab a bottle of water and head to the fridge. Now that I have started the morning with a good workout, I should fuel my body with something healthy. An apple, some organic peanut butter. Today, I will finally commit to veganism full time, as well. No more grilled cheese sandwiches. They aren’t good for me, anyway. Those delightfully gooey, four cheese sandwiches piled high with avocado. No. I won’t think about them. I will eat my healthy breakfast and bring a lunch. Yes, that’s what I will do. Bring a lunch so I can skip going into Polly’s. That way, I won’t even be near that four-cheese, grilled piece of temptation. And I’ll walk! I will walk at lunch.
There’s the door. Who would be up at this hour on a Saturday. Lynne. Lynne? I’m looking at Lynne with a sinking feeling. She is standing at my front door, holding a suitcase and a cat carrier. Harry, her ridiculously overweight, extremely cranky orange tabby cat is in the carrier looking even more pissed than usual. My stomach flip flops.
“Lynne, sweetie, what’s going on?”
“Sarah and I had a huge fight. I’m leaving. I need a place to stay for a couple of nights while I get myself together.”
She stalks into the room, tosses the suitcase down on my sofa and gently places the cat carrier on the floor. I look around at my tiny apartment. “Lynne, of course you are welcome, but Andy has a spare bedroom. Wouldn’t it make more sense to go to her place?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lynne says. “Sarah is already jealous of Andy. If I move in with her, there is no way we will ever get back together.”
It’s true. Sarah is jealous of Andy. Of course, if I was married and my spouse’s friend was a six foot tall blonde goddess, I might be a little jealous, too.
“Fair enough,” I say. “Well, is this all you brought?”
“No, the rest is in the car.” She flops down on the couch. “My life is ending.”
“Okay, Okay,” I lean down and give her a hug. “Let’s get the rest of your stuff, then we can talk about it.”
We head back down to the car and I nearly choke. The entire backseat of her little Ford Focus is packed to the roof with stuff. Boxes and garbage bags and backpacks full of stuff. I open the trunk. Same deal. “Lynne, really? Do you think you need two bags of knitting supplies?”
“I might have time to learn how to knit now that I am not constrained by marriage.” She is starting to tear up again, so I let it go.
It took us an hour. We have emptied her car and filled my apartment. My living room is filled from floor to ceiling with Lynne’s stuff. Boxes full of clothes, dishes, books, and tools cover every surface. “Tools? Lynne, you don’t even know how to fix stuff.”
“I don’t care. I bought those tools, I’m keeping them.”
We pile as much as we can into a corner and clear a space on the couch. I have already called work and told them I will be late. I bring a couple of mugs of tea and we squeeze into the space on the couch.
“So, I was desperately trying to seduce her last night. I wore my sexiest lingerie, and I was sitting on her lap, trying to get her to make out with me. She kept pretending she didn’t get the hint. Finally, I was like, Sarah, for fuck sake, let’s just have sex.”
“Well, obviously subtlety wasn’t working,” I say.
“She said she was too tired, she wasn’t in the mood, blah, blah, blah, same old story. So I stalked off to bed and didn’t speak to her for the rest of the night.”
“Okay, that sucks, but Lynne, you two have been having that same argument for years.”
“That wasn’t the end of it. This morning, she knew I was pissed at her, so she started trying to apologize for not wanting to have sex. And I just lost it. I was just so done with her excuses. I mean, we have literally had sex three times in the last two years. Three! And all three of those times came about because I initiated a fight about our shitty sex life! I’m cute. I’m sick of having to fight for sex. So, when she started trying to apologize yet again about not ever wanting me, that was just the last straw. I blew up. Told her that I had made a bet with you about which one of us could have sex first.”
I fall back onto the couch, hands over my eyes. This is bad. This is really bad. “That could not have gone over well.”
“No, it didn’t.” Lynne’s eyes are filling with tears again. “She exploded. Said she couldn’t believe that I had told you about our problem, and that we were making such a joke out of it. I kept trying to explain that it really wasn’t a joke, that the bet was a joke, but the issue was serious, but somehow in my explaining, I managed to say that it was Andy’s idea and it just got worse. She was screaming at me, I was crying, it was horrible.”
Poor Lynne. I put my arm around her and let her cry on my shoulder for a while. Harry is sitting in the window, glaring at me. I can deal with this. This is fine, this will work out. Lynne and Sarah have been together so long, they just need a break to get over this fight. It will all be fine. Of course she can stay with me for a while. We’ll work it out. I glance around at the boxes piled all over the living room. We will make room for all of this.
So, I’m sitting at the lunch counter at Polly’s, eating a grilled cheese sandwich. Steve and Erik are eating with me. We are the regular Saturday crew at the office, so we have formed a pretty close friendship based on proximity. Steve and Erik are a sweet couple who have been together for almost five years. Unfortunately for them, about six months after they moved in together, Steve’s aged father decided it was time for him to move in as well. Not a particularly great start to their relationship. I figure, if nothing else, they will commiserate with me.
“Baby love, don’t sweat it,” Steve is saying. “Lynne and Sarah have been together too long to break up over a little fight. They’ll be back together within the week.”
“But I’m just such a private person.”
“Trust me, I know.” Erik shakes his head. “I didn’t know what I would do when Steve’s dad decided he needed to move in.”
“Was it bad?”
Steve grimaces. “Darling, you can’t imagine. He was pounding the wall with his cane to summon one of us to get him a cup of coffee and bring him some cigarettes.”
I laugh. “No! Really?”
Erik nods. “Really. We finally had to lay down some laws. We are not his servants, he is not an invalid, he can get his ass up and get his own damn coffee.”
“And there is no smoking in the house!” Steve exclaims.
“That’s rough.”
Steve shakes his head. “Why my parents decided to have me when they were already too old to have kids, I’ll never know. My mother was kind of a bitch, but at least if she was still alive, he would still be making her life miserable, instead of mine.”
I look from one to the other. “I can’t imagine that living with Lynne for a while will be anywhere near as bad as that.”
Steve pats my hand. “Just keep your head up and pray they get back together soon.”
“This is just like Dave and Sam
,” Erik chimes in. “Dave and Sam were together for eighteen years and they broke up over a naughty text Dave got from the twink.”
“What twink?” I’m lost.
“The cute little one who bar tends at Dick’s.”
Oh, that twink. “I didn’t know they broke up.”
“It wasn’t quite that simple,” Steve says. “Obviously there were a lot more issues than just a little sexting with a twenty something.”
“Obviously,” Erik scoffs. “But the sexting was the last straw.”
Steve nods. “Dave spent a few nights on somebody’s couch and Sam changed the locks.”
“Well, what happened?”
Steve leans back in his chair and lowers his voice conspiratorially, “Dave ended up fucking the twink and the twink’s boyfriend kicked Dave’s ass.”
“No! Get out!” I can’t help it. I love drama. Especially when it isn’t happening to me. “Then what?”
“Then Sam took him back and nursed him back to health.”
“So all is well that ends well,” Erik cries.
“Lynne just needs to have sex with someone and it will all work out,” Steve chirps.
“Guys, I don’t think it’s that easy with lesbians. They aren’t as accepting of infidelity as gay guys are.”
“It isn’t infidelity if they’re broken up,” Erik insists.
“I’ll give her your advice, if nothing else,” I laugh.
We walk back to the office, where Ron Garrick, the head of the fundraising department is sitting on my desk, looking upset.
“Ron,” Steve says, sitting on the edge of the next desk. “What’s going on?”
Ron looks stricken. He starts to speak, but tears well up. We give him a moment.
“A teenage boy, Jonah Aster, one of ours…”
“Ron, what is it?” I say softly.
“He killed himself last night.”
I sink down into a chair, my heart is beating in my ears. “No,” I whisper.
“He left a note. Said he couldn’t stand the torment anymore.”
I look across at Steve. His jaw is clenched, he is trying not to cry. Erik, openly weeping, is holding Steve’s hand. My heart feels as if there is a huge hand around it, squeezing it hard enough to hurt.
“I talked to him a few days ago,” I finally manage to say. “He told me about the bullying at school. I consoled him as well as I could, then referred the matter to the counseling department. Jack over there was trying to get the mother to switch schools or find a way to get him home-schooled.”
Ron nods. “They were working on it. We were trying to get funding to help the mom with home-school costs.”
We all fall into silence, shell-shocked. Sadly, it isn’t that unusual for one of our kids to kill him or herself. Most of them are gay or bi, and most of them are tormented by peers at school. Many of them have parents who believe that being gay is unnatural — which makes it worse. Jonah was a transsexual. He was born female, but knew he was supposed to be male at a young age. He started dressing as a male at quite a young age, but his mother insisted that he wait until after puberty to start thinking about taking hormones or addressing the issue of surgery. She was as supportive as any parent we have seen, but she was also a single mom with several other kids. Our organization exists to help kids like this, but we failed. I hate that our children are so hopeless than they think their only option is death. I hate the people who make them feel this way. I am shaking, trying to hold back the tears. Steve and Erik and Ron are miserable, too. We want to save everyone, but there is too much evil in the world.
“Fucking Ohio,” Steve snarls, kicking his desk. “Why do we have such a bunch of redneck assholes here?”
I shake my head. Poor Jonah. I feel sorry for anyone who is different in high school. Having grown up in Bay Village, where you had to have the right clothes, the right hair and the right address, I never fit in. And with my single, frequently gone mother and my butch best friend, I know what it is like to be tormented and bullied. Fortunately, Andy and I were always a team; I knew I could count on her. Somehow, it makes a difference to have one great friend. I wish I would have talked to Jonah longer. I wish I could have made him understand that everyone is an asshole in high school, but that even us so-called freaks and weirdos find acceptance in college and after.
Steve, Erik and I throw ourselves into our work. I am making calls, sending out emails, harassing the party planners, setting up meetings. Jonah’s death has us in a frenzy. I am heartbroken; a part of me wants to curl into a ball and sob, but the other part of me knows that the harder I work, the more money I can raise for the foundation to possibly prevent this from happening to someone else.
We all work late, spurred by the bad news. Finally, at about seven o’clock, I stand up and tell the boys I’m leaving. I walk out of the office into the sweet, summer air. I love Cleveland in June. Fall is my favorite season, but there is something about early summer that really gets to me.
I decide to skip the freeway and just drive home on Lake Rd. The long drive soothes me. I take a side cut down Dover Center so I can drive past Andy’s house on my way home. Her lights are on, but all I want to do now is take a bath, curl up in my bed with a movie, preferably one with George Clooney and spend the evening feeling miserable. I walk in the door of my apartment, and the memory of this morning comes slamming back in. Lynne. She has apparently unpacked. There are clothes everywhere. Clothes hanging from the windows, clothes on every single piece of furniture. There are bins of jewelry on every spare flat surface. Shoes are lined up around every bit of wall space and shoved around the books on all of my bookshelves. There are several silky scarves hanging over the lamps. How is it even possible that a self-proclaimed hippie can have so much stuff? The litter pan is right next to the entrance to the hall. The giant box of kitty litter is actually in the hallway. I am going to have to side step around it to get to my bedroom. The shower is running. Lynne probably needed a break. It takes a lot of energy to destroy an entire apartment. I look toward the kitchen. In my state of shell shock, I hadn’t noticed the delightful smells coming from that direction. Now I notice, and my stomach starts growling. Maybe there will be some compensation for this mess. I walk into the kitchen. The first thing I notice is that it is as destroyed as the living room. It looks as if Lynne has used every dish I own. Not that it would be hard to accomplish, considering how few dishes I have, but still. The cat food bowl is on the counter. So is the cat. That is not going to fly. Cat food on the floor, check. I lift a hissing Harry and drop him on the floor. “You are not allowed on the counters!” Well, at least it does smell good in here. Whatever is cooking must be phenomenal. I lift the lid of my big sauce pan. Spaghetti sauce. I love spaghetti. I know I shouldn’t be eating pasta, but I love spaghetti so much. After that big grilled sandwich at Polly’s today, I should be eating salad for dinner, but it doesn’t matter. I have to have a bite of this sauce, it smells so good. I dig a spoon out of the sink, rinse it and dip it into the sauce. I’m about to lift it to my lips, when I notice some suspicious chucks in it. Meat? She cannot possibly have made spaghetti with meat in it. Maybe it’s tofu crumbles. It sure smells like meat.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table. My kitchen table. My kitchen table that is currently covered with more of Lynne’s crap. She walks into the kitchen.
“Hey, how was work? Did you…” She breaks off as she sees the look on my face. “Davey? Something wrong?”
“Wrong? What could be wrong? I come home after a completely hellish day at work to find your stuff has just exploded into my house! And on top of that, you’re cooking spaghetti with meat sauce!”
“It’s turkey,” she says, looking stricken.
“Turkey.” I’m speaking between clenched teeth. “Turkey is meat!”
“Well, I thought maybe you just didn’t want to eat beef,” she whispers.
“Lynne, do you know what vegetarian means?”
“Yeah,” her eyes are starting to water.
“But Sarah tells everyone she’s a vegetarian, but she eats turkey and chicken and fish at home.”
I’m too exhausted to argue. I’m too heartbroken to deal with Lynne’s heartbreak.
“Davey, I’m so sorry,” Lynne is openly crying now.
“It’s fine, Lynne. Eat your spaghetti. I’m just going to bed.”
Chapter Three
I love that blissful half-asleep state, when you’re already awake, but you’re still comfortably holding on to the lovely dream of the night before. I stretch luxuriously, and open my eyes. What the hell is that? That stupid cat.
“Get out of my bed!”
There is nothing worse than waking up to that ugly orange scowl, barely inches away from my face. Lynne has been here since Saturday. It hasn’t even been a week yet. I don’t think I can handle this long-term. I am getting no sleep. Lynne has turned off her cell phone, so Sarah has been calling on the house phone constantly. And this stupid cat is always sleeping on my bed, staring at me while I sleep, scaring the fuck out of me every single morning.
Work has been hell this week. We’ve all been volunteering overtime, spurred by Jonah’s death. His mother has agreed to speak at our big benefit next month, as well as several other smaller functions, tunneling her own grief into a chance to educate someone else. I’m amazed by her strength and dedication. I wish some of the assholes who kick their children out of the house for being gay could meet and talk to this woman just once. Maybe she could make them see what ridiculous, ignorant douche bags they are. Then again, maybe not. One more day of work and then I am actually taking a long weekend. Ron has decreed that we all need a few days off in a row. Steve and Erik don’t care what days they take off, as long as they can take them together. So, I said I would take Friday, Saturday and Sunday off and cover for them during the week.
