Out Through the in Door (5 page)

“When I was younger,” Aaron said, “I had a crush on the Hardy Boys. I hid a poster under my mattress. My mother thought I had allergies because of all the tissues I used. I'd stare at that poster way to much fantasizing about a three-way that was never going to happen”
             
Tennison turned and looked at Aaron.
             
“The physical stuff was tangible,” Aaron continued. “ It was easy to understand. It was the emotions that were confusing. It was easy to mistake lust for love.”
             
Tennison felt the thrill drain out of him. This was not like other confrontations. There was no anger or fury – nothing to stoke a fire. “I can throw them away if that will make you happy.”
             
“I think the truth is that you're still that little boy. Pictures don't require any intimacy, any kind of exchange, any commitment. You don't have to share anything.” Aaron broke off some bits of bread and tossed them into the water. The ripples moved out in concentric circles colliding with one another. “But they can bring you only so far – fulfill only so much.”
             
Tennison didn't know what to say or do. Aaron wasn't playing the game right. He wasn't yelling or grasping at straws or in any way acting predictable.
             
Aaron stood. “I went to do laundry and the cap was off the laundry detergent, the washing machine was opened and floor around it was wet.” He looked at Tennison for an explanation but he did not offer one.
             
“I went to make the bed,” Aaron continued, “and the top sheet was upside down and washed.”
             
Tennison shrugged his shoulders.
             
“Why was there broken glass under the bed?”
             
“You're not a child. What you're looking for isn't limited to jerking off with pictures, is it?”
             
“I can explain.”
             
“I'm sure you can. You can always explain, but is it the truth or
your
version of it?”
             
Tennison felt the tears in his eyes but held them back. Suddenly
he
was two-dimensional – like his ads. A loathing filled the pit of his stomach.
             
“I'm sorry,” Aaron knelt by Tennison and took his hand. His eyes were watery and his expression soft. “I love you. I wanted so much for us. God, did you have to cheat? What did you hope to find”
             
Whenever there was doubt – sadness – fear – anger – loneliness –  Tennison retreated to the one relationship that never failed – the paper lover. It became the one-night stand, the back alley blow job, the surrogate for reality. All of it was meaningless, recreational and self-satisfying but amidst his desire for sex and intimacy, he missed the most important thing – love.
             
Aaron stood, brushed Tennison's cheek, and walked away.
             
Perhaps love was a possibility, thought Tennison, but what thrill was there in that.

43

THE NOTE

             
I squinted to put the pin into the watch band. Who had ever thought of this insipid design should be flogged. I would rather have a cavity filled. For twenty minutes I fumbled with it. Just as the pin was about to slip it into place, I dropped it – again. Damn! It rolled under the couch. I crouched down and peered into the dark space beneath. I reached in but pulled my hand back when I touched something hairy. This was the theme of my life lately – even the simplest things were difficult.
             
Frustrated,  I pulled the couch out. Amidst a herd of dust bunnies, change, pens, pen caps, socks, plastic bottle caps, cat toys and some unidentifiable items was the watch pin. Also lying there was a tattered, yellowed envelope.  I picked it up and blew off the dust. It was addressed to me and postmarked December 5, 1991 –  thirteen years ago.  The handwriting was neat and distinctive – perfectly formed letters written across the envelope. It was also familiar. When I realized it was from Brian, my mind immediately went back to the first time we met.
             
It was early spring. The April rains were abating and the trees just starting to
bud. I had just broken up with my fiance Gina. For months our relationship had been tenuous. There was little doubt that my wild mood swings, stubbornness, constant drinking and prolonged absences, to name a few of my charming qualities, were the cause.
             
Gina had done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment so I shouldn't have been surprised when she gave the ring back. In my heart I knew it was inevitable, but that truth offered little comfort. I was a failure.  
             
For two years I had lived a lie. I tried to be something I wasn't. I may have fooled others, but in the end I could not fool myself. At twenty-five, I was closeted. Despite being a late bloomer, within a month of my breakup I was now cruising the Block, a well-known gay spot in the city, looking for comfort in the arms of stranger. Its seedy reputation especially at night and on weekends drew me out of the closet.
             
On Friday night I would hit the local gay bar, find a corner and drink until I was drunk and then drive around the Block. Like dozens of other gay men, I put too much mileage on my car looking for a hookup. That's all there was at the Block: meaningless sex, dashed hopes and empty promises. Sadly, my first lesson was that being gay was synonymous with being lonely.   
             
This is where I met Brian. We drove around each other for a while playing a game of tag until he pulled over. Nervously, I walked up to the driver-side window and we chatted for a few minutes before he invited me to sit inside. We talked. He was intelligent, curious and interesting.
             
It wasn't until the sun started coming up that we realized what time it was. Strangely, sex never entered the equation. He gave me his phone number. I held
out little hope the first time I called and was surprised when he actually answered. It was start of something completely unexpected. As spring turned to summer, we spent a lot of  time together – some of my happiest memories. 
             
Brian's dark blue eyes were filled with kindness. His smile took up half his face and radiated warmth. He always kept his dirty blond hair cut short and neat. Overall, he was a very handsome man. His build was slight giving him meek appearance. And while he was gentle his presence was powerful.   
             
His deep spiritual side – no doubt from his days as a seminary student – captivated me. His inner peace was alluring. He taught me that being gay and Catholic were not mutually exclusive or incompatible. He also taught me that answers often came in quiet stillness and patience.
             
I was at a crossroads in my life, trying to understand what I was becoming, and through friendship he offered me guidance, kindness and understanding. He slowly changed my view of life from eternal damnation to hope. For the first time in months, my mind was without conflict and my heart light. Brian had become more than a friend – he was my mentor.

#

             
Now, I sat back on the couch and stared at the envelope. I ran my finger along its edge. As I recalled, the note had caused me anger, confusion and sadness. I wondered what became of Brian. How did life unfold for him? I remembered our time together fondly. Most of all, I recalled our long walks. Rarely a day went by without one.  One time in particular remained vivid to me.
             
It was a beautiful summer day, an early Saturday afternoon in June. The trees were rustling in the light breeze. We stopped at the top of a hill overlooking the
city. I felt Brian's eyes on me. When I looked at him he leaned in and kissed me. I froze – unsure how to react. I'm certain my shocked expression made him to pull away. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at me as if he was embarrassed. The rest of the walk was in silence.
             
For days I didn't hear from him. I couldn't imagine how he felt taking that chance. The truth was I didn't know how I felt. The kiss lasted only a few seconds but its effect lingered. It was soft and welcoming and ran through my body like an electric current. It held wanting and hope, desire and possibility. And it scared me. I finally summoned the courage to call him, for Brian's absence was far more terrifying. From then on we were nearly inseparable.
             
It was now the end of July – half the summer had gone by. Brian invited me to go to Washington, DC for a weekend. I was excited to meet his friends most of whom were from his days in the seminary. I was  nervous at the prospect of being in a room full of priests. I was afraid I would feel compelled to confess my sins and beg them for penance. He assured me they didn't bite and that they even took off their cleric collars. We left early on a Friday morning and arrived at his friend's house by late afternoon.
             
When a nun answered the door, I thought for sure this was some kind of Catholic straight intervention or perhaps the Holy Roman Holiday Inn. Brian had failed to mention we were staying in a rectory – talk about walking into the wolves' den.
             
After we settled in we went to another rectory for dinner. Who would have  guessed I would be rectory hopping. There another nun served us dinner. I have nothing against nuns mind you – they do the work of God. But I swear they take
lessons in facial manipulation. No one can look that serious or dour without practice. And there's something preternatural when they smile – like it hurts.
             
Everyone was in cleric garb except for Brian and me. It was as though we were guest speakers at the Council of Nicea except they talked about boyfriends, sex and the new dance club that just opened. These were men of the cloth?
             
I tried to follow any number of conversations as they caught up and reminisced. When one of them asked me how long Brian and I had been dating, it got quiet and all eyes turned to me. I looked at Brian. You know the the word “inquiry” comes from the word “inquisition.”  Funny how the brain does that.
             
After dinner we retired to an adjacent room. It was supposed to be a living room but was more like a reliquary. It was large, square, poorly lit, and smelled of incense, and cigarettes. Along three walls were large couches. On the fourth an old console TV stood alone. Over it hung a large crucifix. I scanned the room trying to count the number of crucifixes on the wall but got distracted by all the portraits of Jesus, dead saints and popes watching me. The heavy brown curtains were drawn and matched the dark brown carpet. I sat in relative silence as the priests bantered about. I was only too happy to leave when the time came.
             
When the nun showed us to our room, it was then I realized Brian and I were sharing a room with one bed. Our relationship, friendship, whatever it was, suddenly seemed awkward. That night we laid next to each other in the dark in silence. I couldn't sleep and I'm sure Brian didn't either. For all the intimate conversations we'd shared and with everything we knew about one another, we were strangers. After the weekend, an uneasiness came back to us.
             
As the days shortened, the air cooled and the leaves changed to hues of red,
orange and yellow – everything was changing. It was early November and our relationship had cooled as well.  Brian was now working at a part-time job at a store for Christmas in addition to his full-time job so I saw very little of him.
             
Two weeks went by. He didn't return my calls. Finally I went to the store. It was busy and full of Christmas shoppers. When he saw me, he quickly finished with his customer and pulled me aside. He seemed nervous and surprised to see me. He promised to call. That was last time I would ever talk to him.
             
The letter arrived a  few days later. I knew what it was before I even opened it. I was furious that he chose end our relationship with a “Dear John” letter. What cowardice to hide behind words. I read it, over and over, trying to find any clues as to how this happened. Every word incited me – their meaning lost in my fury. I wanted to burn the note, shred it, eradicate any trace of it.
             
For weeks after, storm clouds followed me. Brian's absence occupied my every waking moment. I was lost and helpless and empty without him.  Sheer exhaustion finally overtook me.

#

             
Now, after all these years, I was hesitant to read it again. What purpose would be served in resurrecting painful memories? I was in a happy relationship with a nice guy. Things were going well. The pain and anguish had faded to little more than a slight twinge. But my curiosity to catch a glimpse of Brian in the words – to perhaps find the unanswered questions – was greater than my caution.  I pulled out the note:

             
Dear Ed,

             
Please know that I write this with the sincere hope you understand. I pray the
words find their way to your heart. I cannot continue pretending that my feelings for you don't run deep. In the time we spent together we have come to know each other intimately. You have come to see me as your friend and mentor – a role I was honored to take part in, but one, which given my feelings for you, I can no longer fulfill. I have fallen in love with you and while I sense you love me, it is of a different nature. I have no doubt you will one day understand how much it pains me that you do not feel the same for me and why I must move on.
             
One of my favorite quotes from the Bible is Ecclesiastes 3.1. “To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Some friends are for a lifetime and some are for but a season. Such is this with you and I. You are on your own path now. Someday you will fall in love and I hope you will recall me with kindness. Please know and understand that I will always do so with you. May God guide you. I know you are on the right path.
             
With love,
             
Brian

             
The letter seemed softer than I remembered. It was kind but unwavering in its truth. There was no malice or hatred in the words  – no doubt or deception. It was undeniable. How I wished I could have loved him the same way he'd loved me. But ever the mentor, he knew it was not yet my time. What I saw as cowardice was actually an act of unselfishness. 
             
It was more than coincidence that I met Brian in the first place. Fate, divine intervention, karma – call it what you will. He was exactly who I needed exactly when I needed him. His gift was precious and powerful. Our time together was measured in months, but it forever defined me.
             
I lingered a moment longer. I could see Brian's smile. I was grateful for having known him. I folded the note and put it back in the envelope. As tattered and worn as it was, it held something remarkable within – his final gift to me – love.
             
In that quiet of the moment, it came to me. As difficult and complicated as life can seem, it's only a matter of time and patience to gain a new perspective. I picked up the watch and slid the pin effortlessly into place. Sometimes, even the most difficult things can be simple.