Drooling Idiot--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Christmas, December 25

     The boys and I opened presents. Blake was thrilled with his new iPhone. Tom loved his compound bow. We made breakfast together and after we ate, I checked my phone for texts and emails.

     “I hope you and the kids had a nice time last night,” JB texted. “I really miss everyone... Hope the boys enjoy their gifts. Merry Christmas.”

     I ignored him. At three-thirty, the boys jumped into Blake’s SUV and drove to Troy’s for Christmas dinner with their father. Rachel rang my doorbell. Sean, her twelve-year-old son, was spending Christmas with his father so Rachel and I'd made plans to walk in the woods and go out for Indian food. I threw on my coat and Rachel and I headed down the wooded bike trail by my house.

      “JB was never nice to me,” Rachel said.

     “Really?”

     “I never would have said anything while you were married, but yeah. He would cut me off and walk away when I tried talking to him. He was rude. Whenever I called, I’d ask how he was. He’d say, ‘Hold on, I’ll get Brenda.’”

     “Don’t take it personally. I’ve been finding out he’s been rude to a lot of my friends.”

     “Oh?” Rachel brightened.

     “Paul told me JB was condescending and treated him like a stupid tradesman who couldn’t possibly know anything," I said. "Paul reminded me about a night I’d had him over for dinner. We were talking about Somalia. Paul’s brother had an embassy job there and Paul said the U.S. got involved in Somalia because it’s uranium-rich. JB scoffed at him. Paul told JB to google Somalia and uranium. JB smugly got his computer then began shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat a few times and mumbled something about ‘the point I was trying to make was’ blah, blah, blah.”

     “My ex’s opinion doesn’t count for much as you know,” Rachel said. “But after you had us over for a barbecue, he asked, ‘What is Brenda doing with that guy? She’s got far more going on than he does, and she’s way better looking.’”

     I laughed. “Makes me like your jerky ex.”

     “After your horseback riding accident, I called to see how you were doing and got JB. You were bad off. You could have been killed. I asked how you were and JB said, ‘She’s fine,’ like it irritated him.”

     My horseback riding accident happened a year ago the day after Thanksgiving. Margo, Dani, Tabitha and I had started down a trail that led from the barn—a two-horses-wide trail bordered by a tree-lined electric fence and woods. Margo and I were in front, Tabitha and Dani were in back. Halfway down the trail, something rustled and spooked Jack. He spun a hundred and eighty degrees and stopped with his head pointing back to the barn. Tabitha and Dani were blocking his way. I was used to Jack freaking out. His spins, his sideways jumps, his bolts. I began cuing him to turn around and he bolted full throttle between the electric fence and trees. I ducked. I crouched as low as I could on his back. I put my head on his neck as he ran. Branches smashed the crown of my helmet. A limb cracked it hard and tipped my head up. A limb smashed me in the face and yanked me off his back. Next thing I knew I was laying sideways on the grass with blood pooling in front of my face.

     “Don’t move,” Tabitha said. “I’ve never seen a body contort the way yours did coming off that horse.” She dialed 911.

     I ran my tongue along my teeth. They weren't broken. I inhaled slowly. I felt a sharp pain in my back, in my ribs. Vertebra by vertebra, I slowly moved my spine. It was okay. I gingerly lifted my head. I removed my helmet and rested my temple on it.

     “If you think your back is okay you might want to turn over,” Tabitha said. “Your left cheek is filling with blood. It’s getting more and more swollen.”

I slowly rolled onto my right side, carefully placing my right temple on my helmet. I watched dead leaves flutter in the breeze, grass blades bend, a new pool of blood form. I felt detached from my body. I was the observer. It was interesting. Nice.

     “What’s JB’s number?” Tabitha asked.

     I recited JB’s number. “He and Blake have a tee time. He might not pick up.”

     I heard Tabitha begin to tell JB what happened. I turned back to the pool of blood in the grass and watched it glint in the sun.

     “They were leaving for golf but they’re coming,” Tabitha said.

     “He’s probably disappointed he’s missing his round,” I laughed.

     “Oh come on.”

     “No, really.”

     JB and Blake arrived fifteen minutes later. They stood next to me looking horrified.

     “I’m fine,” I said without lifting my head.

     The ambulance took me to the hospital. An MRI showed I had a broken nose, that was it. My teeth had gone through my lower lip and I got ten stitches. I was sorely bruised but overall healthy. I limped out of the ER with JB walking next to me. People glared at JB thinking he’d beaten the shit out of me. I started laughing.

     “You need to seriously think about the risks you take,” JB said when we got in the car. “I don’t want to be left with a drooling idiot. Think about getting rid of that horse.”

     I stopped walking and looked at Rachel. “I don’t think JB cared. I apologized for ruining his golf day while I was laying on the ground waiting for the ambulance. He shrugged and shook his head. Did I ever tell you about our trip to San Francisco?”

     Rachel shook her head.

     “One of JB’s bosses turned 50. His wife threw him a big party in the bay area. Everyone in JB’s company was flown out for it. Spouses, too. We brought the kids. JB flew out in the morning and the boys and I left that afternoon. We arrived at night and it was pouring rain. I rented a car and began driving to Marin County. Visibility was bad. I missed a highway ramp and exited in a scary area. I pulled into a gas station to ask directions and locked my boys in the car. By the time we got to the hotel it was very late. I opened our hotel room door. The lights were off and JB was sound asleep. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t waited up. It bothered me a lot. I told my friend, Liv, about it when we got home. She shook her head and said, ‘I don’t know what to say.’”

     “I’m sorry,” Rachel said. “How was your Christmas Eve?”

     “My expectations were low so that helped.” I told Rachel about my last two phone conversations with Trish.

     “She would never treat a friend like that, only a sister.”

     We walked back to my house. I hopped in Rachel’s car and we drove to the Indian restaurant. We began eating and Rachel excused herself to go to the bathroom. Our waiter walked over.

     “My name’s Raul. What’s yours? Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you live around here? I live in a condo right behind here. Do you come here a lot? I work almost every day. You should come in for the lunch buffet.”

     Rachel returned to find Raul hitting on me.

     “I could tell he liked you,” she laughed after he left. “The way he kept coming over and asking how everything was, the way he looked at you.”

     I started giggling. “He’s probably ten years younger than me. Him hitting on me couldn’t have come at a better time. At least I know I still got it.”

     “You still got it.”

     Rachel dropped me off and the boys came home much earlier than expected.

     “How was it?” I asked.

     “It was good,” Tom said.

     “The usual,” Blake said. “Did you have a good time with Rachel?”

     “Yes. Our young waiter hit on me.”

     “Really?” Blake said, shooting me a weird look.

     “I’m not going out with him.” I laughed.

     I turned on the TV and started watching “Prancer.” My text alert dinged.

     “I am not giving up on us,” JB texted. “I will do ANYTHING to win you back. I know how badly I've behaved. It's beyond bad. But I love you and only want you. Nothing else matters to me. Nothing.”

     The thought of JB moving back in was horrifying. I pictured him next to me and shuddered.

     “I don't want you,” I texted. “I want a divorce. You abused me. You violated me. You assaulted me. No going back.”

     “I know that...but I want you to know How (sic) I feel...and it won't change no matter what happens next. Everything you say is right. But I love you. I'm so sorry ... And I am going to prove to you that I am a man worthy of you.. I know its a tall order.”

     “I have no feelings for you,” I texted. “I don't want to be married to you. Let me know if we can save money and work with one attorney or if you'll be hiring one. We need to move forward.”

     “I know how much I've hurt you and violated you,” JB texted. “I am still the same man you met in carol stream (sic) 25 years ago. I get your sense of violation. It's how anyone would feel. I won't stop loving you and I wont (sic) ever forgive myself for throwing it all away for something that gave me no real pleasure. I've been so incredibly selfish and stupid. I've become the person I've always looked down upon. I Iove you very, very much."

 “Let me know before the end of the year if you're getting a lawyer or not.”

It Was Pleasant--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Monday, December 24

     Trish and I haven’t spoken since she hung up on me. I texted her last week to ask what I should bring for Christmas Eve dinner and she responded, “A salad.”

     I drove to the barn, took Jack for a ride, and stopped at the grocery store for Cesar salad ingredients. Blake and I left for Trish’s half an hour later than we should have. I habitually cram too much into my day and run late. My lack of punctuality is not something I’m proud of. I’ve shaved my late time down to about ten minutes and I’m not late for work, but I still play beat the clock. Pretty sure I have an adrenaline addiction.

     “Call Nana and tell her we’re running late,” I told Blake. “Ask her to tell Trish.”

     “I’m getting her voicemail,” he said. “Hi Nana. We’re on our way to Aunt Trish’s. Of course we’re running late. Just wanted you to know.”

      A minute later my phone rang. Blake put the call on speaker.

     “Hi Mom,” Tom said.

     “Blake and I are on our way but we’ll probably be half an hour late,” I said.

     “What else is new,” Tom said. “I’m glad I’m with Nana. We’ll be there on time.”

     “Yeah, I know. Will you tell Aunt Trish that Blake and I will be a little late?”

     “Hurry up. I want to eat and open presents.”

     Trish’s mother-in-law was going to be at Trish’s. I liked Bea. I’d sit by her. I liked my nephews and Trish’s husband, Mark, too. I’d stick to them.

     Blake and I pulled into Trish’s driveway. We grabbed our presents and salad. No one said a word about JB. Not one. I breathed easier. I hung with Bea, Mark, and my nephews. It was pleasant. On our way home, the boys and I stopped at Walgreens and bought pancake mix and bacon for Christmas morning. Yay.

I Just Apologize--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt.

Sunday, December 23

     Patty and I drove downtown to see the Joffery Ballet perform The Nutcracker. We dropped Tom at my mother’s house on the way because he’s having a sleepover then driving with Nana to my sister’s Christmas Eve.

     “I don’t know how you do it,” Patty said. “You whip your Tahoe around like it’s a Beetle. I’d like to do more things in the city but I’m afraid to drive.”

     “I grew up driving in Chicago and can parallel park with a half-inch on either side of my bumpers,” I laughed.

     We pulled into a parking lot, walked to the Congress Hotel, sipped tea, ate gobs of garlicky hummus, and walked across the street to the Auditorium Theater. We found our seats. I held my hand to my face and breathed. I reeked of garlic. I made an effort not to breathe on Patty and the well-coifed woman in haute couture sitting next to me. The ballet began. The posh woman kicked her over-sized bag, which was sitting on the floor, in front of my legs then crossed her legs toward me and dangled a foot over her bag. I crossed my legs toward her, knocking her dangling foot with mine, and kicked her bag back in front of her seat. This got repeated three times before intermission. Halfway through the first act, I began breathing heavily toward the woman. She got up at intermission and left. I began laughing and told Patty what was going on.

     “Oh my God,” Patty said. “I would have sat there worrying that I was in her way. I wish I could be more like you.”

     I was dumbfounded. Were most people like Patty or me?

     Patty and I drove to Greek Town for dinner and split an order of saganaki. Patty ordered a Greek salad. I ordered grilled snapper. Patty, who’s overweight, always orders something small and eats less than half of it. I’d enjoy eating with her a lot more if she ate like normal. I dug into my snapper and Patty picked at her salad.

     “I’m driving to Iowa on Christmas Day,” she said, pushing lettuce around on her plate. “I’m picking up my mother from my sister’s house. I haven’t spoken to Rhonda since last Christmas.”

     Patty and her sister argue then give each other the silent treatment routinely. It doesn't last long because Patty apologizes and makes nice. Patty drives to Iowa on Christmas Eve, spends the night at her mother’s, then the two of them go to Rhonda’s Christmas Day. But this year Patty is driving there Christmas Day to collect her mother from Rhonda’s house. Last year, during an argument, Patty told Rhonda she was just like their father—a dead man they both despise—and Rhonda kicked Patty out of her house forever. Patty didn’t apologize.

     “I don’t know how it’s going to go,” Patty said glumly. “Rhonda told my mother I could come in when I pick her up. My cousins and their families will be there, so I guess it’ll be okay. But I don’t know. She didn’t apologize. She never does. Not once has she apologized to me. I always have to be the one and I’m not doing it this time.”

     “I always apologize to Trish,” I said. “She’s got a big pile of axes to grind: I didn’t talk to her enough at a party, I didn’t help her move years ago, I didn’t yell at Blake for throwing crackers on the floor when he was a toddler. I have no recollection of what she dredges up. I just apologize and keep the peace while she tries to make me feel like an asshole. It happens every time we see each other. I’m going to Trish’s tomorrow. I sure as hell don’t feel like it. But it’ll make my boys and mom happy. My sister, too, I guess.”

     Patty took a bite of food. She clapped her hand over her mouth. She chewed carefully and spit something into her hand.

     “My tooth just fell out,” she gasped. “I wonder if my dentist can put it back in tomorrow. Oh, I don’t want to go on this trip. I sure don’t want to go toothless.”

     Patty opened her palm and showed me her tooth. She smiled. There was a dark little stub where her front tooth had been.

     “Shit,” I said.

     We started laughing.

Homicidal Thoughts--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Saturday, December 22

     I left a recovery meeting this morning and ran into Kat in the parking lot. We chatted under a brilliant blue sky and golden sun in the freezing cold. I admitted I was having homicidal thoughts about JB.

     “Only tell a select few people,” Kat laughed. “You’ll freak people out.”

     She’d know first hand.

     “What you’re feeling is normal,” Kat continued. “It’s a process. It’s very physical. But you’re going to be great. Your life is going to be wonderful.”

     “I know my life is going to be wonderful,” I said. “I absolutely feel it. I’m excited and have beautiful stretches of gratitude. I’m happy I’m getting out, getting a fresh start. Then I find myself daydreaming about doing horrible things to JB, like stomping on his neck and watching him die. I feel anxious all the time. Like every cell in my body is vibrating.”

     Kat looked up at the sky. “What’s that? Is that a . . .”

     “A bald eagle!” I shouted as it flew directly over my head.

     “I’ve never seen one here, ever.”

     “I’ve only seen them in Wisconsin.”

     “It’s a sign. It’s a great sign for you.”

     “I feel it,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I really feel it.”

     Kat hugged me. “I’m going to look up eagle in my spirit guide book and tell you what it means.”

     I’d scoffed at Kat and her Native American spirit animals book. Now I couldn’t wait to find out what it said. I didn’t wait long before I got an email from Kat saying eagles are signs to get laser focused on bringing about change. They symbolize opportunity, protection, freedom, action, focus, determination, vision, and power.

     I knew it was true.

     Later, George and I met for dinner at a Thai restaurant. George wanted Thai and I considered suggesting something else since anything to do with Thailand makes me squirm now. But then I thought maybe eating Thai would help me move forward. I walked into the restaurant and George and I gave each other pecks on the cheek. George and I’ve known each other from recovery nearly ten years. He has a quick mind, a kind heart, and kind eyes. He’s a therapist. But there’s a darkness to him.

     “I see myself doing violent things to JB,” I told George. “I see myself killing him. I get off on the rage. I’m putting bad energy out into the universe and I’m scared it’s going to boomerang on me. Cause and effect. This is my opportunity to face why my marriage exploded, look at my part, transform into a better version of myself. And I’m blowing it. I have all this rage. I keep pushing it away but it rushes back.”

     “You have to let yourself go there,” George said. “Do not beat yourself up for it. What you’re feeling is normal. Let yourself feel. JB abused you. He violated you. You are human. You need to let yourself feel that.”

     George stared into my eyes with sad eyes. He hurt for me. I took his hand. I squeezed it.

     “Thank-you,” I whispered, trying not to cry.

     “I’m going to hear a piano player with a woman I’ve been dating,” George said.

     On our way out of the restaurant, George placed his hands on either side of my face and kissed me tenderly. He kissed me again. It was warm and loving. It felt wonderful. George drove off to his date and I drove home. As I drove, I remembered two moments when JB and I had begun dating. JB and I were laying on the living room floor at a friend’s house smoking a joint, and JB and I were sunbathing on North Avenue beach. JB had stroked my arm and looked into my eyes. Both times I felt queasy. I pushed away my feelings and thought, “What’s wrong with me?”

I Have Visions--"Thank You Ashely Madison" excerpt

Friday, December 21

     “Hi Brenda,

     “I am going to pick up Tom around 1 tomorrow if that works for you,” JB emailed. 

     “As for the documents, as I said, I'd appreciate if I could respond right after Christmas. I need a little more time to think.

     “As I read the waiver, it seems very one sided. Read it and ask yourself if you'd sign it as written in my shoes. I am not completely opposed to sharing counsel and am all for saving money, but it has to be impartial for me to be comfortable. Right now it doesn't feel that way. 

     “Also, filing says we've been separated for 6 mos which we both know isn't true. Did your lawyer say that is common practice? 

     “I have been making a list of what items are important to me and which I don't care as much about. Assume you are doing the same. I'd be happy to discuss with you informally but if you'd prefer to wait and do so formally I understand. 

     “Have you told the boys that you've taken this step? It would be helpful to know since I'll be seeing both this weekend.

     “See you tomorrow.”

     “The boys know we're getting divorced,” I responded. “Having Tom from 1-9 is fine.

     “The waiver is worded that way because I hired the lawyer. It's boiler plate.

     “The living separate and apart: we've been living separate and apart for the entire time you've been committing adultery. Here’s what the attorney wrote when I asked her about this.

     ‘Brenda:

     ‘The separation date does not reflect the actual physical moving out date, rather it is the date the marriage became dead and normal cohabitation ceased. This would include adultery as one example of abnormal cohabitation. The law requires the marriage to be over for 2 years but reduces the time to 6 months under irreconcilable differences with a signed waiver from both parties. You may continue to live in the same house while the marriage is dead. There is no waiting period for adultery.’”

     Matt began texting me about how miserable he is in his marriage.

     “Go to therapy with your wife and get brutally honest,” I responded.

     “Or have an affair.”

     “Affairs are for liars and cowards.”

     “You think? How about cheaper than a divorce.”

     “Not in the long run.”

     “Well, just can’t confess.”

     “You really don’t want to talk to me about affairs and not confessing.”

     “I know. Sorry. Don’t judge me please.”

     “I have visions of slamming the base of my palm up JB’s nose and watching him die.”

     “Wow, I better stay away.”

     “Don’t let you and your wife get where I am.”

Sorry For The Consequences--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Thursday, December 20

     I taught my last public yoga class. My clients treated me to a lovely brunch, gave me thoughtful presents, and I soaked up the goodness because I'm meeting JB later and handing him divorce papers.

     At seven p.m. I pulled into the parking lot of a local coffee house—the same coffee house JB and I sat in when we were working on our relationship workbooks. JB was sitting at a corner table. He waved me over. I walked up to the counter, ordered tea, and JB quickly walked up behind me, ordered coffee, and paid for both. His face was ashen.

     JB and I sat down. I placed a plastic grocery bag on the table. JB eyed it suspiciously. The bag contained three Christmas cards from JB’s high school friends and divorce papers.

     “I brought you some correspondence,” I said.

     “I need to say this before you say anything,” JB said rapidly. “I’m sorry. I’m going to tell you exactly why I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was unfaithful. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that I hurt the kids. I’m sorry that I put our family in jeopardy. I’m sorry I put your health at risk. If there’s one thing that bothers me more than anything else, it’s that. I’m sorry that I was selfish and reckless. And I hope at some point you can forgive me.”

     “I forgive you and want a divorce,” I said, sliding the bag over to him. “Divorce papers and a few Christmas cards.”

     JB pulled the Christmas envelopes out of the bag. He pulled the divorce papers out of a manila envelope. “Is it a no-fault divorce?’ he asked.

     “I hope we can save money and use the same attorney,” I said. JB had dug a large debt hole. My mother was paying for my lawyer because there was no loose cash. I showed JB where to sign if he chose to waive his right to counsel and file for a court appearance. “My attorney can file the appearance for you, take the money out of my retainer. It’s $206. I’d like this to be as cheap and quick as possible. The retainer was $4,000.”

     “I’m not going to sign anything right now. I’m going to need time to look it over, think about if I want to sign over my right to an attorney.”

     “If you don’t like how things are going, you can hire an attorney any time. It’s not set in stone.”

     “I was hoping we could meet a few more times, have a few more conversations, talk about this, maybe go for counseling.”

     “I will never trust you. Our marriage is dead. There’s no going back.”

     “You realize this will change the way we live, our standard of living.”

     “You bet.”

     “Look, I know how you feel.”

     “You know how I feel? How do I feel?”

     “Uh, you’re hurt. You’re angry.”

     “You have no idea how I feel. You think I could live with you after this?”

     JB hung his head.

     “I turned myself inside out the last several years trying to make our marriage good. All the while you were fucking whoever you could dig up.”

     “I know. I’m so sorry.”

     “How were you able to live like that?”

     “I don’t know. I really don’t know. I disassociated. I disconnected.”

     “Disassociated? Disconnected? Fuck your psychological drivel. What did you disassociate from, disconnect from?”

     JB looked down at the table. “I don’t know.”

     “Was this was one of your passive-aggressive moves? Were you sticking it to me?”

     “Well, if I’m going to peel the onion and really look at what I did, that might be part of it.”

     “Did it make you feel like a man? Powerful?”

     “No, no it didn’t.”

     “You’d be at home on Ashley Madison, sexting with women, arranging to have dates, come upstairs and rub on me?”

     “I guess that happened sometimes.”

     “You’d go out and have sex with women and come home and have sex with me?”

     “No. That never happened.”

     “For years you were sticking your unprotected dick in skanky women then coming home and sticking it in me. Do you think I would ever let you stick your dick in me again?”

     JB sat there looking gray and jowly, like Droopy Dog. I couldn’t stand the sight of him. I pulled my coat on.

     “I’m sorry,” JB said. “I know that doesn’t begin to cover it, but I’m really sorry.”

     “You’re not sorry for what you did. You’re sorry for your consequences. Your key doesn’t work anymore. I changed the locks. When you pick up Tom Saturday, I hope you’ll have those papers signed.”

     I drove away, pulled into the garage, and sat there for a long time before walking into the house.

     “How did it go?” Blake asked.

     “I gave your father divorce papers. I asked him uncomfortable questions. I watched him squirm.”

     “Hmm,” Blake said.

     Blake and I stood looking at each other.

     “Well, I’m going to meet Chad,” he finally said.

     “I’m going upstairs.”

     We hugged. Blake left and I got into bed, turned on the TV, and checked email.

     “Brenda,

     “You said you think I am not sorry, just sorry for the consequences. I understand why you think that, but it isn't true. The way you described my actions today was chilling and difficult to hear because you vividly described the depth of my betrayal. My actions have been reprehensible and they do eat at me every single day. I have thrown away a wife and family that has always loved and supported me unconditionally and I have responded with reckelss (sic), selfish behavior. There is no explaining or excusing it. I have to live with it.

     “My regrets are enormous, and they will burden me forever. I will always love you and care about you, and I hope over time we can become friends again, as hard as this may be for you to imagine right now.

     “Please don't think of our marriage and years together as a waste or a fraud. It's not true. Life is a lot more complex than that and you and our marriage has (sic) always mattered a great deal to me, even when I was doing terrible things. All the good times were very real to me and we brought two amazing kids into this world.

     “I will not resist or delay your desire for a divorce. I accept that I have done too much damage and I appreciate your forgiveness.

     “However, I do need more than 2 days to think about whether I want to sign away my right to consel (sic). The document doesn't seem to give me the right to change my mind. It's Christmas time, and I think we can take a few days to think and process and revisit this next week.

     “Merry Christmas and I am so, so sorry for what has become of us.”

I Find Dead People All The Time--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Monday, December 17

     I taught yoga, made dinner, and casually told the boys I was having our locks changed. I worried that locking their father out of the house would make them feel creepy, bad. I told them, “I’ve been uneasy about our house’s lack of security for a long time. A locksmith is coming in half an hour to change our locks and put deadbolts on the doors.”

     No reaction. Good.

     Kurt showed up and started changing the locks. When he was done, I mentioned I’d been friends with his brother in high school. Kurt’s brother, Devin, came out as gay after I lost touch with him. He got married before same-sex marriages were recognized, got divorced, and drank to excess. His ex found him dead and bloated in his apartment.

     “I’d meet Devin for drinks sometimes,” Kurt said. “We’d be talking, getting along, then his friends would wander in and he’d pour on this flaming gay act. He could never be regular with me. Be himself the whole time.

     “My dad had a hard time with Devin being gay,” Kurt continued. “Devin invited us over last summer for a barbecue and I should have known something was up. We got there and everything was going well, then some guy showed up wearing something like a diaper. He was skin and bones and had sores all over. He was either dying of AIDs or a meth addict or both. He was sashaying all over the apartment. More guys showed up. The gay pride parade was that day. My poor father was sitting on the couch. I’m sitting with him. Everyone’s looking at us like they hate us. Devin was a big storyteller, so who knows what he told them. I got my dad out of there and took him home. That’s the last time I saw Devin.

     “He wanted to be buried next to my mother. The two of them were close. He used to say she was the only one who understood and loved him. He always talked about how he wanted to die. He was so fucked up. He was trying to get AIDs from his boyfriend. His boyfriend wouldn’t sleep with him because he was sick. Devin wanted to get it and die with him. I told Devin, ‘It doesn’t work that way. If you get it now, he’ll still go before you.’

     “His ex found him dead sitting in a chair in front of the TV with a six-pack next to him. He’d already had one and was working on another. He was fat. Probably had a lot more to drink before the first six-pack. He died of a heart attack.

     “My father is willing to put Devin in his cemetery plot next to my mother, but his ex won’t give us his ashes. Every time I ask to meet him at the apartment he tells me he can’t deal with it. I know it must have been terrible finding him dead. I find dead people all the time.”

     “You do?”

     “I get called to open doors to homes and find dead people inside. Happens a lot. I’m used to it. I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry for venting.”

     “I’ve been venting, too, lately. It helps.”

     Kurt nodded.

     He left and Tom asked, “Did the locksmith give you extra keys?”

     “Yes, but you’ve already lost two.” Kurt warned me not to give Tom a key because JB would get it. “You’re not getting one. I’ll leave the door open if I’m not home.”

     “Okay,” Tom said, disappointed.

     When Blake got home from the gym I slipped him a key.

     “I hope your father never puts you in this position, but if he asks, please don’t give him a key.”

     Blake gave me a withering look. “Really? That’s insulting.”