Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Pleased to Meet Me

When I wrote about my and Doug's break-up a few posts ago, I didn't tell you the whole story. I didn't take the break-up very well. He moved back! Back to Wisconsin! He left Chicago, left our relationship, left me to sink or swim! How dare he! I took it very badly, truth be told. I thought everything was ok with us before I moved here. I really thought he wanted me to be with him here in Chicago. I asked him point blank: "Do you want me to move in with you?" He said yes. But after a month, he was gone. I liked him soo much. I, dare I say, loved him. When he was away at class, I would open the closet to feel and look at his clothes. He had the most amazing taste. Everything was beautiful and everything fit him perfectly. "Don't spray cologne on my shirt! It will degrade the fabric over time!" He would chide me. His tattoo was perfect. His haircut was perfect. His art work was perfect. Maybe it was the writer/actor in me, but I would stare at his being and contemplate his existence when he wasn't looking. (And when he was.) "How does he do this? What is a person like this born from?" I would marvel to myself. He could walk into any store and find the most wonderful things. Our first month together here was really special. We did so much in that short time. Everyday was a new friend in a new bar or restaurant or neighborhood. One time on the train I was writing a letter:" Dear Dad, As I write this I am riding on the Loop..."
"We're on the El, not the Loop. The El is a train; elevated, and the loop is a place."
"Oh, I thought L was short for Loop."
" Uhh, no."
He half-heartedly asked me to go back to Wisconsin with him, because, as much as he wanted to go to the Art Institute, he couldn't afford it. Maybe by "it" he meant me and school. I told him to stay and to try to make it work, because I could have a job any day now, and because he took me there with him a few times, and he fit in so well at that school. But I knew I couldn't go back. As a goodbye present I copied his understated brown Parachute blazer in a wild paisley fabric he picked out. (I moved here with my sewing machine.)
When the day rolled around for him to move back, I had had a job for a few weeks at a salon on Halstead and Diversey. It didn't pay very well because my awful, mean co-worker (who's sister was pregnant by the boss) got all the walk-in business, and I got the stray "freak" spill-over from Milio's she was too afraid to even talk to, let alone do their hair. I was a fool to stay there, but the other stylists were great. When they found out what was going on, they had a little "party" for me the night Doug left.
We started the night at my apartment with some beer and wine. After a while, they wanted to go to Waterworks, but I had heard way too many war stories of their all-night acid trip dance-a-thons there, and opted out. Wateworks was hot in the early days of "house".
Instead, Scott and I went to Octagon on Clark Street. It was a pretty quiet night, so we danced (alone) to a song or two, and watched videos. But when Heaven by the Psychedelic Furs came on, and I felt the rain drops on my skin, the ones that were falling on Richard's skin in the video, I knew I was in trouble. My co-workers were trying to help me "forget" my problems with Doug.
I was unwittingly dosed once before, about three months prior to this with LSD. It was not fun. Control freaks do not have fun on acid or LSD. I saw God. I saw the Devil. I saw little white mice marching on my blankets. I saw polka dots, each with a different cartoon going on in them, then felt them on my skin, too. So I knew what was going on. But the first time I was dosed I had smoked it, and this night, I had ingested it. Someone put it in my beer. Taking it that way makes it a lot more intense and longer lasting.
So I said a quick good bye to Scott and ran home. I didn't want him to have to deal with bringing me to the hospital (or the police station) in case I flipped-out.
"Look at MEEE!! I can FLYYYYyyyyy.......Splat!"
I jump into the bathtub, turn on the shower, sit down with all my clothes on, and start bawling. After a moment, I get up and walk into the living room, dripping water everywhere, grab the wine, walk back into the shower, and proceed to drink the entire gallon, hoping it will quell the effects of the drug. "MY LIFE SUCKS!! Doug is gone, I have no money, I can't pay my rent or my bills, my parents will make me come home if I ask them for any more money, and I'm fucking tripping on fucking acid AGAIN. And I'm drinking a whole gallon of wine IN THE FUCKING SHOWER LIKE A LUNATIC!!"
The next thing I remember was my roommate Steve nudging me awake. "Brian. Brian. Where's the TV. Where's the VCR? " I start laughing, thinking he's joking. "Huh? What? Whadda ya mean?"
"I'm serious, they're not here." I get up and try to look for them.
"Oh my God, one of Sarah's friends must've taken them! But I saw them leave, so they must've come back, or, oh shit, took stuff out when I was in getting ready in my room! Oh fuck. I'm so sorry Steve, I'm so stupid."
"They got us good, 'cause my cameras hidden in the kitchen are gone, too. But hey, don't freak out over this. My parent's insurance will replace what was taken. And what's all that stuff in the bathtub? Wet clothes, wine bottles, ciggarette butts...?"
"Welcome to the rest of your life..." I think to myself.


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Can we comment now?

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