98 Wounds (8 page)

“I don't want to go home to your toys…”; “…mostly single…”; “… fuck my angry he-cunt…”; “…what should we do with the body?…”; “…start wiping off fingerprints…”; “…accidentally shit myself behind the…”; “…my therapist says it's okay…”; “…stop touching me…”; “…oh, I'm still in high school…”.

* * *

To exist in a time that is not the tragic heroic AIDS '80s, where the density of your grief and sorrow can wipe your slate clean, that what you experienced, what you saw, lived through — no matter how many degrees separated, no one will ever question you now — was enough to give you a free pass, a laminated card marked Redemption.

This was not the future yet fully emerging either, the new golden rainbow era of rights, relationships, optional closets, of acceptance, apathy, and a six-lane mainstream highway, all built on a history and struggle fast receding in the back distance. The rallying howls, the rebel yells, the wailing keen of the fallen all caught is a decrescendo. Don't look back or you'll turn salty.

This was neither nor the distance between them, but an exhausted netherland where no one quite knew whether to go forward or backward or to stay put, to lay down and die or to lay down a stake, to remember or forget, to recreate awash in nostalgia or to create anew, the past packaged in matching luggage sets and stashed in storage, to create anew without the annoying tentacles of the past, as if that were ever possible.

* * *

“First, no, I did not get laid. Yes, I got too high and no, I did not have a pleasant evening. I went to check out the guy I was telling you about. Well, Mr. Italy came to me in a cab and wanted to go to another guy's home in the Outer Mission. We get there and that guy does not answer the door, so then Mr. Italy takes me back to the Westin Hotel where he decides that he does not want sex. So I traveled with this fool all over town and we get high and then he asks me to leave. I get home to find both Bobby and Ricky are gone and it makes me a nervous wreck because they have been up for days and Ricky already freaked out twice this morning about his illegal substance bag being hidden or taken by his other boyfriend, Lyle, or their roommate. I hate to say this, and I realize that it's probably drug-induced paranoia but these people have been too good to me to not have an ulterior motive. Drug dealing whores do not just adopt a homeless person, feed him, and support his habit for no reason, do they? Well, I am kinda hot though, so maybe… But really, this all is now a life I want no part of. I really can't understand how I became a puppet in this amateur drama production.

I am back in the big city. If you receive this on Friday morning before you leave for work, would you please text or call me as I would like to stop by for just a few seconds and drop off that one little package that I was short last time, and an extra one as well to say Thank You. I sincerely appreciate your coming to my assistance when I was so desperate. I am considerably better in my budget management skills and have a new job working for a private political consultant in Oakland. I started working today and am really enjoying it, although it was stressful and I did not exactly stay on top of things. I am just very grateful for having the opportunity to re-enter the workplace. Once again, thank you for assisting me and for being my friend at all times. I think you might be the longest lasting yet. Let me know when I might stop by.

I am doing very well. Thank you for your kind inquiry. I sincerely hope to be moving back to the South but the question is when. You see, over the past year I have lost my life savings, retirement, job, house, two pieces of rental property, and most importantly my family due to my many addictions. Now that I have a grip and have successfully completed eight months of harm management treatment, I feel certain it is only a mere matter of time before I get saturated with this chemical and give it up completely.

At seeing this consistency of improvement, I had a lengthy conversation with my best friend's partner. He has been dealing drugs in this city for 19 years but he is now too ill and is having to give up his business. And in 19 years, not one arrest! He has suggested that I take over his clients for as many months as necessary to recover my losses. (He projects 18 months.) By my calculations, he is clearing around $10,000 a week, tax-free, in cash and only has 10 to 15 major clients. It was amazing helping him count out $10,000 in $20 bills! Anyway, I would love to do this and in order to do so I am going to need a silent partner who backs 50 percent of the investment. Now, look, don't run off saying No right away! Here is the deal: I am going to sign a legal binding agreement between myself and this individual that reads as a signature loan guaranteeing the return of the investment in full as a minimum, and if the investment has not been repaid in three months' time, I am to begin paying back monthly installments of $300 until the loan is repaid in full. Furthermore, the investor will receive $3000 (retail) in product to hold as collateral. After the initial investment is paid in full, the investor will receive 30 percent of gross profits each week, which should average $3,000 a week, tax-free cash, for as long as I maintain the operation. I then have the option to sell the business at the 18-month mark and again at the 24-month mark with the first option going to the investor. This is an established business and has a good name among this crowd. I can't see anything going wrong and it is the only way to gain that kind of capital in that short a time. And to tell you the truth, I sort of like the risk!

I wanted to see if you would be interested in this opportunity. I would love to know that you, as well as I, are benefiting from this. To have an offer handed to me like this is unheard of! The investment is $5,000; so it would be an investment of $2,500 each. This is broken down to $1,500 for clients and $3,500 for inventory — which by the way is $10,000 in product. The silent partner's name, nor any portion of his or her identity, shall ever be revealed. Furthermore, the investor will not be responsible for any other duties other than light bookkeeping and will be allowed to purchase product at cost! Win-Win all around!

Please let me know what you think. I am so excited about the entire proposition. I also look forward to a time you and I can hook up again.

* * *

P
LACES IN
S
OMEONE
E
LSE
'
S
A
PARTMENT
O
NE
O
UGHT
NOT
TO
H
IDE
OR
D
ISPOSE
OF
O
NE
'
S
U
SED
S
YRINGES
&
P
OINTS

On top of the bathroom vanity; Between books on the bookshelf; Under the bed; In the cat litter box; In potted plants; In the drywall; Behind large heavy immovable furniture; In the cistern; Underneath the carpet in far corners of the room.

* * *

“We tell ourselves stories to live.” So begins Joan Didion's brilliant essay, “The White Album.” It's a line oft quoted by readers and writers and all manner of folk. Much less frequently quoted, however, are the final words of that essay, which read “…and writing has not helped me see it clearly.”

But it did, of course.

We lie to ourselves and to others because lies make for some of the most entertaining and endearing and fantastic stories. The act is even built into the name of the enterprise: Fiction.

But as the writer says: I don't lie, I just stretch the truth.

We tell ourselves lies because we can. And because people believe us. A lie requires that belief, that paying trust. If someone knows you're lying, then it's a fail. It's then not so much a lie as it is a bland untruth, an inaccuracy, a downgrade.

See how this works in regular life: we are often told that smoking crystal meth turns the user into a “different person.” Not quite as thrilling as
The Exorcist
unfortunately, not quite at all. It merely turns the user into someone he has long wanted to be, something he's thought about being and doing. But this way, with this rationale, an exit strategy is put into place, just in case.

Consider: in the long history of the drug, the “different person” that emerges is always either Criminal or Slut, or very often both. You'd think that for a drug that's been around for close to a century, that someone, just one person, might have turned into something interesting, like a world-class plate-spinning vaudeville act or a contortionist or the Vladimir Horowitz of the recorder or one of those clowns who does tricks with mathematics, or anything other than the criminal fuck-up who's about to steal your iPad after shagging you.

We tell ourselves lies because we are the only ones who can fool ourselves.

* * *

T
HINGS
T
HAT
A
RE
N
EAR
, Y
ET
F
AR

The end; The beginning; The reprieve.

* * *

Each week, we dutifully showed up and planted our scrawny butts in those pinching hard-backed folding chairs and plotted our bright and brilliant futures. Futures, most if not many, would not live to see. Our eyes watered and wavered away from the prize. If it was a stare-off, it wasn't much of one. It wasn't even a fierce glare. It was pinkeye, glaucoma, cataracts, retinitis, optical muscle fatigue, detached retinas, infected contacts, fungal growths, evergrowing blind spots, and eventually, blindness.

Everyone had a different stopwatch, each set to their own countdown. A whole room of ticking, seconds ticking away, ticking enough to be torture, enough to drive even the hardiest insane.

And then, time was up.

* * *

On
Project Runway
in the U.S., when dismissing a contestant, Heidi Klum says, “One moment you're in, the next you're out.” (Which is much improved over the original: “One moment you're in, the next you're on a cattle train and off to the camps.”)

On
Project Runway Canada
, when dismissing a contestant, Iman says, “You do not make the cut.”

On
Project Catwalk
, when dismissing a contestant, Elizabeth Hurley first, then Kelly Osbourne says, “You do not measure up.”

On
Project Runway Australia
, when dismissing a contestant, Kristy Hinze says, “Goodbye. And Good Luck.”

From this, what can we deduce about the national character of these countries and cultures? Which then of these countries can we deduce to be the most civilized?

And why stop there, why not:

“Your hems are unraveling like your promise.”

“Your A-line is D+.”

“Your Sunday is longer than your Monday.”

“Your dismal failures and lack of vision and creativity is the new black.”

* * *

T
HINGS
T
HAT
A
RE
F
AR
, Y
ET
N
EAR

The end; The beginning; The reprieve.

* * *

He said:

It's not difficult to see how we are where we are today. In the '90s, the influx of new HIV meds gave many folks a new door to open. Since one of the symptoms of this chronic illness is sheer fatigue, it's not surprising that some would resort to methamphetamines to get up and on with the day. Welcome to the world of suburban soccer moms and long haul truckers. Unfortunately, no one thought to mention that some protease inhibitors would up the level of methamphetamines introduced into one's bloodstream. See how this might spin awry? Actually, in Europe and Australia, this information was readily available, but here in the good ol' U. S. of A, not a peep. Still, the public health folks should get on their knees and thank the scourge of the meth epidemic for saving their bony butts. It was somewhere to pin the blame on other than their failed efforts. Everyone needs an evil all-powerful nemesis in order to maintain balance and most of all, appearances.

She said:

Oh fucking Christ! Are you all cracked out again?

* * *

Do you have any enemies? Are you anyone's enemy? What is your feeling on revenge? Given the opportunity without reprisals, would you? Is vengeance mine? or yours? What is your feeling about karma? Karma chameleon, you come and go? Eye for an eye? or Turn the other cheek? Cheek to cheek? or Tit for tat? Measure for measure? or Give an inch? Take the mile? or Stand your ground? Is forgiveness really divine? Can you forgive someone who doesn't believe he has wronged you? Can you forgive someone who hasn't asked for forgiveness? How many times can you apologize for the same wrongdoing? Divine retribution or Human payback? Forgive and forget? or Forget about it? Would you feel better if there were a punishment involved? Or would you just feel petty and spiteful? Hanging or Stoning? Caning or Beating? When is an apology not an apology? Is a reluctant apology or a mandated apology still good? Are you sure you're not just being overly sensitive? or petty? What can you not forgive? Is someone forgiving you now? Should you be forgiven? Are apologies ever enough? Look who's sorry now? Does sorry really seem to be the hardest word? What's your apology worth, really? Or your forgiveness, for that matter? Is the slate ever really wiped clean? Are you having an asthma attack?

* * *

N
O
,
IT IS NOT

Surreal; Kafkaesque; Epic; The least bit fair; The end of the world; What you need nor what you deserve; Untenable.

* * *

Y
ES
,
IT IS MOST SURELY

Fucked up; A lovely day; A burden to bear, preferably in silence, definitely with dignity.

* * *

One day, you're walking home at the time when everybody else is going to work, your nether regions feeling all swampy and slightly sore. As you pass reflection after reflection of yourself on passing doors of buses, on storefront glass, on car windows, you realize that you're pushing fifty in a few years. And all the little piggies you're playing with are at least two decades younger than you are, and they have no idea how you are broken nor do you have any clue how they are broken. All you have in common is this cracked piggishness, that in and of itself is admittedly undeniably delicious, but borne from such different and divergent things.