Objects in the Rear View Mirror

Exactly one month ago, because of something I heard while my brother and I talked to my mom's lead doctor at Mass General Hospital, I furtively booked a seat on a Delta flight landing in Boston at just after midnight. At this point, Rosemarie had been in the hospital for a little over two weeks, the promise of discharge to Winchester Rehabilitation Center earlier that week stolen from us like my mom's fear of her father's sea glass through the window by some juvenile hoodlums only she could see. The only difference now was that this was no hallucination.

These past few weeks, I have gone over that conversation almost daily - trying to figure out what the doctor said that lit my soul on fire - but if you were to offer me a million dollars or even the promise of getting to hug my mother one more time with the answer, I would, sadly have to admit that I cannot remember. All I can recall is telling my brother I had to get off the phone to book a flight, finding one that got me to the East Coast before daylight and throwing clothes into a carry on case that has always brought me to places of great joy. Where was it to bring me this time? What was I going to find? Did I have my night guard? Did I take enough pairs of underwear and what still gives me the worst feeling  to this day - did I pack the proper clothes for a funeral? 

It may sound harsh but I have felt as if the planner in me was finally getting his comeuppance on trying to plan. But deep down - not just deep in my soul, but far beyond the reaches of any realm of reasoning was the fact that I knew my mother was not doing well. That her stints in the hospital over the past three and a half years had not so subtlety laid the groundwork for the realist in me to push aside. To not look in the rear view mirror because that was the past. We had to look to the future and to recovery. But to tell yourself that you know what's coming is a lie - because when it comes - you are not ready.

Yet, in one fifteen minute phone call, my world - my brother's world  - in fact the entire world was changing. And no matter how I tried to push aside my fear, I was strangely comforted by mother's reaction to when she saw me, and I knew I would be right - because whenever I showed up on the east coast with no planning, she would look at me as sternly as she could and say, quite loudly repeating the word for emphasis. "WHAT? What are you doing here?" 

"Well someone told me you were sick honey, so what did you think, I would stay home? Besides, it's the Olympics and you know how I HATE working those so this was as good excuse as any to come see you." She looked at me sideways, laughed as much as was able and all was forgiven. 

But then we boarded what would be a two week roller coaster ride. From the lows of peeling back the covers and seeing with my own eyes, the steep decline since I last saw her barely one month ago to the highs of talking to her about our trips across Europe. She told us how she could STILL taste the French Onion Soup at a corner cafe we found across from Notre Dame. She was disappointed when I told her that on my next trip to the City of Lights, the restaurant was gone. Still, she said, that was the best soup ever. And, then she told my brother how we were just reminiscing about Europe. Reminiscing! She was on so much medication yet she could use a word that even escaped me when talking about our trips. She's doing better for sure, her mind is still sharp. But then, the roller coaster plunged down from the loop. There was a man next to her in the bed, chomping gum, wearing a hat. "Shhhh," she whispered. "He's back." 

"Do you want me to tell him to go?" I asked, wanting above all to validate what she saw.

"No, no," she lowered her voice to keep the man from hearing. "He will go away."

I wanted to find out who this man was? I peppered her with questions, was it someone she knew? Was it her father? All negative responses. Seems, he was just a man coming into the room and taking her spot on the bed while she sat in the chair next to it. It was then the hallucinations came fast and swift. A woman waiting to board a train.."Jimmy will help you, m'am," she said. "Hold on.  Hold on." And I would dutifully take the woman's fingers and lead her out of the room. 

From there, we were in a Chinese restaurant, where she got angry with my brother to move the food on the shelf. "No, not that one, that one," she instructed as Bobby blindly found the correct product to move out of the way. As exhausting as it was, we had to find the humor.  How else would we make it through the long day in this sterile hospital room?

Every day was a nightmare ground hog day, but in those terrible times there were still moments that made us proud to be her boys.  There were the nurses and the doctors  -  all telling us what a wonderful woman our mother was, how nice she is and how, even now, how accommodating she was when asked a question. For even seeing the grimace on her face that clearly told us she was in pain, Rosemarie didn't want to take medicine away from another patient who needed it. "You are the patient," we told her. "Take it all. Alfred's insurance is paying for it. Use every last vial." I'm pretty sure there was another smile there.

I think we forgot what day it was somewhere around day two, and the roller coaster wasn't quite done arriving at the home platform. Perhaps that is what the woman she saw was waiting to board? If so, I would have gladly given up my seat.

To write all this down isn't to yet again eulogize my mother - a strange enough sentence to write as it is - but as way, I suppose to remember that despite the roller coaster not stopping, the ride had given us consolation prizes. There was that horrible Wednesday when she was clinging to life and our grief poured out until there were no tissues left in the room. We said our good-bye. Could she hear us? Did she know what was happening. And, then, that horrible day was followed by a scene out of a Hitchcock movie. I was back at Carney St., too upset to go back up to that room, when a call came. She was sitting up, asking where I was, when was she coming home and sad that she was disappointing us by not making progress. I hopped in an Uber and made it to MGH in record time, telling her I was at lunch and work let me out when they heard she asked for me. 

"Okay, " she said. "Okay."

"Give me a kiss," I said, and she puckered her lips and said she loved me.

This is a great consolation prize. I will take it. Is the ride over yet? Ah, but theme parks are never what they seem, and another day of chatter was followed by another dip of the coaster car. More talks with the medical team, with terms too hard to understand without asking more questions, gaining more knowledge than anyone should ever know about what was happening to their mother. For no matter how hard a fighter she was, no matter how she found a way out of South Boston, and no matter how she made her world better, it was her heart that was controlling this ride. And as strong as Rosemarie was, the heart that always gave too much love out to others, was just not returning that same level of love to her. I suppose that's a writer's interpretation of a horrible phase in life to shed a new light into a dark corner. Because if you don't find the light, if you don't look for the sun that peeks out from under the curtain of the windowsill, you perpetually live in the bleakness.

So for this past month - often times unsuccessfully, I have tried to find my footing on ground that continually moves because the roller coaster just doesn't seem to want to put on the brakes. Jumping  out of the car will cause bodily harm and if I were hurt, that would not make Rosemarie happy in the least. But what I know will make me happy, and as surreal as it still is to hear people tell me that they are sorry for my loss, is seeing how my mother will always be here. 

My mother is in my kitchen - from her mixing bowls to her mixer to her measuring cups and pans. She'll be in the love I bake for others while I wear her aprons that she bought in Venice and Paris and in Williams-Sonoma because she loved that store when all she got there were pop-up sponges and aprons. She's on my walls in pictures from Europe and Los Angeles and memories of her gazing at the Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Plaza before seeing her life long dream of seeing the Radio City Hall Rockettes. There are a million memories to erase those weeks of this roller coaster ride and there really is no need to pinpoint what in that conversation one month ago that told me to get on a plane. All you need to know, or maybe by writing this, all I need to know, is something inside told me and I listened. For even in the dark, we are able to find the light under the curtains and although the darkness finally won out - my mother will always be here. 

She's in the love she's taught me exists in this world, and, she will always make me laugh. She made us do just that with one of her funniest hallucinations.  She was in a speeding car driven by my brother, begging him to slow down, they were going to crash! I took her hand and told her the car was slowing, he was braking. She calmed down and fell back asleep.

For two weeks, what is without a doubt, an exhausting journey can also be seen as giving us the greatest gift. To tell your mother, over and over that you love her to the point where she even said - during one of her lucid moments - "Okay, Okay, Enough Already!" Now how can that not make you laugh? Let's annoy Rosemarie with even MORE love. And then, when we were faced with moving her to hospice, I know we made the right decision. I told her that she was making progress, to not be sad and the doctors wanted to move her to a better place. Above all, I wanted to be certain that she never thought she was disappointing us. We were all leaving this sterile hospital room together.

And today, on this four week timeframe, I look around my apartment, and my footing begins to take hold. No one wants to exit this stage, and as hard as that is to realize for all of us, we gave our mother an exit worthy of her life. Full of love, compassion and peace. We might cry over and over for our loss, I might forever wonder about that phone call, and I may have an ugly cry when no one else is around, but the girl who was told she'd never amount to anything has left the world a better place. And simply put, my mother - Rosemarie - not Rosemary - but call her that if you'd like because calling her is remembering her - Rosemarie will always be near because objects in the rear view mirror are always closer than they appear.

Ok Back

How do you begin something that you’ve never wanted to write? How do you encompass all that someone is in mere words? How do you paint a picture of someone that everyone already knows except maybe to tell you of the woman that only I know?

Rosaria Bucca – Rosemarie or on the rare occasion, Rosemary, may or may not have been the illegitimate daughter of a south Boston Italian father and Lithuanian mother. But the one thing for certain that no one can deny was that she was, and will always be, a mother of extraordinary strength, joy and love. She was my savior in a world full of bullies, a champion in a world full of doubters, the loudest applause in a room full of strangers and the one constant at the kitchen table in a house she made into a home.

When I decided to take her to Paris, I never dreamed it would be the first of a trio of trips across the Atlantic. The girl whose neighbors dumped wet bread on her head and who got her cross ripped from her chest by nuns who deemed her unworthy was walking through the city of lights with someone who not only saw her as worthy but also saw her as his shining star. For there would be no Paris without Rosemarie, there’d be no Rome, Venice, Florence or London. In fact, there would be no life at all. But is there a life without Rosemarie? At this moment, I cannot tell you a definitive yes, but I can tell you, like she told me when I moved in 1990, that you must follow your path and no one else’s. No matter if that path takes you three thousand or ten miles, your life needs to be lived. I thought I crushed her soul when I left but little did I know that I would give her a world beyond the reaches of South Boston, beyond Medford and beyond the backyards where wet sloppy bread was thrown on her head from a dilapidated triple-decker.

She can count so many as her friends and family - and not just those here today. There are drag queens in San Francisco, boys in Belgium, women in California and those on both coasts that still revel in the taste of her stuffed artichokes and chicken cutlets.

This was a woman who never gave herself credit, who always put herself down as uneducated and too stupid to understand how the world worked.But what you need to understand is she was the smart one, she knew how the world worked. It works with love and compassion and never questioning that to be a great mother meant to let her children live their lives no matter who they were or whom they loved.

I’ve wrestled for days and even months leading up to this moment if I have told her enough how much she meant to me. And then I take comfort in knowing that last week, I got to tell her over and over. And as we talked about things in her hospital room, it was obvious that I showed her, too. For whether it was a simple birthday card or a walk along the river Seine –a trip on the Provincetown ferry or the high speed train to Belgium - at a dinner in Ogunquit or the Tuscan countryside or lunch in San Francisco or at the Malibu coast, everything I am or ever hope to be is because of a maybe illegitimate daughter of an Italian and Lithuanian from South Boston.

Finally, this week, I walked by my old elementary school and it brought back the memory of when my mother dropped me off at kindergarten. She let go of my hand and didn't look back even as I screamed like a wounded animal for her to come back. It was only later, on one of our trips that she told me the principal told her to do just that – to keep walking and not turn around. That it was the only way to get me to stay and she said that it was the hardest thing she ever had to do. I now know how she felt, because these last few weeks have been the hardest thing I have ever or will ever have to face. And no matter how loud I cry - she is not going to turn around.

But I'm comforted - and I hope you all are by this last thought. In the days after social media, she got tech savvy and texted at all hours of the day, but always, always without fail - there was the evening text at 8pm pacific, telling me she was going to sleep. Ok, I would say and immediately she responded, “Ok back.” This back and forth between us would continue until I finally had to tell her to GO-TO-BED.

 

So, for the final time I wish her good night –to sleep well and not worry. Because although our hearts and lives will never be whole again, we will survive because that is what she taught us to do. Today, I get the last word and say, “okay back.”  

 

Where Has all The Common Sense Gone?

You don't need me to tell you what the past year and a half has been like, and if you do, then I envy how much you don't know about the world. However, recently, I got on a plane for the first time and I have to say, I highly recommend people board airplanes during this pandemic time. Why? Because you'll see first hand how these rules are idiotic and frustrating. 

I'm not here to tell you how to behave. The one thing I've learned is that people are going to do what they want. Should you wish to wear a mask all the days of your life, that's your choice. Enjoy it. Should you wish to remain in your home and forever get your groceries delivered? Enjoy it. Give someone a paycheck. And if you wish to never travel to see the world, enjoy the world you create. For me, it's a far different scenario.

From the second I entered the airport, even though fully vaccinated, I had my mask. Why? Because it's mandated and I do what I do because I'm being forced to. And what good does it do to argue, my common sense won't translate to anyone else. That's rule #150 that makes no sense, and you can argue with me til the sun retreats into the skyline. You aren't going to reach people who don't want a vaccine shot by telling them to wear a mask after they get a jab. Argue with me if you'd like, but you won't convince me otherwise.

Which brings me to the next step. The TSA check. Newly remodeled to have plastic barriers. Because everyone knows COVID doesn't go up and over plastic but only sideways. At the TSA check, I had to remove my mask for the agent to verify it was me. Because COVID doesn't come when you slide your mask down and breath in front of TSA. Walking to my gate, there are no more coffee shops open, however, you can buy lots of liquor and sit at the bar while you wait to board. COVID only comes to caffeine, not to alcohol. That must be why liquor stores have remained open. Essential liquor..Right. Got it. Since I didn't want to chug down a vodka stinger, I found a seat at the gate. Lo and behold, you must leave the seat next to you vacant to ensure proper social distancing.

And, then it was time to board. Line up according to your number. But - wait, what is this? No social distancing? I'm right next to the person I was sitting one vacant seat away just seconds earlier? I can board the plane with not one empty seat? And, only from the front of the plane! The benefit in boarding from the back of the plane is now gone. It seems COVID comes when you open the back door of the plane to allow better airflow and faster boarding. 

Getting to my seat, I hear a woman announce that she's "double vax'd," nothing to worry about. Well, I'm worried that you have to announce your status to everyone. I don't care, take a seat and shut up. I had a rash last week, do you want to know what cream I used to get rid of it?

Then, the woman behind me asked me to help put her suitcase in the overhead because she pulled a muscle and couldn't lift it. I guess she wasn't afraid that I might contaminate her bag, because COVID doesn't comes when someone helps your injured self. And, then the joys of flying kept coming. To order a drink, you had to hold up your fingers! 1- Diet Coke; 2- Coke; 3- 7-Up; 4- Water. No need to speak! The virus comes when you voice your choice, but it does not come when you pull your mask down to drink. Now, if you've flown and this wasn't your experience, and you were allowed to speak, tell me where is the common sense there? It's okay on one airline, but not the other? It's okay to sit two seats away in the boarding area but not in a metal tube in the air? Oh, right...the air is filtered on a plane, it's not filtered in wide open spaces.

Early on in this pandemic, I listened to all the views - I was as worried as the next person. But where was common sense when there was no toilet paper? Did COVID take a shit in your house and make all the paper disappear faster? Did it make you run to the bathroom more than you usually do? Did it take all the cleaning products because you needed ten instead of one? To this day, I have such flashbacks of empty peanut butter shelves that I keep two unopened jars at all time in my pantry.

As much as I want the world back, I'm craving for common sense to make its return. Or, maybe, what I've learned is, there was never any common sense to begin with at all.

Not Your Typical Birthday

I wondered the other day if I was allowed to blow out my birthday candle and make a wish. That may seem like a strange thought, but this is not your average year, and most certainly, it is not even close to my average birthday celebration. How does one rejoice when the world is in the midst of a pandemic? I'd like to ignore that we are in one, but everywhere I go, there's no mistaking it. You can be certain, though, that as strange as it will be, I'll mark this year in a way that is uniquely me.

Would it be different this year if I had a Patrick? (If that doesn't makes sense, I suggest you immediately stream Schitt$ Creek.) Since all I've had is time during these months of up and down lockdown, I'm betting it would be. And that got me thinking about the time someone asked me the length of my longest relationship. I'm constantly surprised at the reaction I get when I tell them the last time I had any hint of one was over 25 years ago. I never set out to not have a boyfriend. In fact, it was quite the opposite. When I first went to the bars, I was overwhelmed. I was head over heels in love with the idea of love. Admittedly, my first attempt at a pickup line was quite embarrassing, and I won't even repeat it, but I remember how scared I was to even talk to the boy next to me. Flash forward and I'm now so far from that shy boy who could feel the pit of his stomach twisting into pretzel knots. But, now, what has tied me into a tangled mess is the state of the world in 2020. 

It used to be that I could go anywhere alone and never be just that - alone. Now, it seems everyone just wants to be alone, or at the very least, not be with anyone who is outside their circle. In the old world, I'd have dinner at the restaurant bar or just go for a drink, and I'd smile at a man, which sometimes put them at ease and other times, it made them quite nervous. I'll admit, I always found that fun as they'd shift in place or move away from me as if I were some land roving piranha. Where my confidence came from after that first feeble attempt at a pick up is anyone's guess. It's hard to imagine that I'm the same person who returned to a bar on Christmas Eve because a man he met in the Fall told him he'd be back in town. That's one for the record books for sure.

But that was a holiday memory, not a birthday one, so I digress. One of the best birthdays I had was, in fact, with that aforementioned relationship. We went to Golden Gate Park. The man who had completely captured my heart made us a picnic lunch, complete with an alcoholic beverage, of course. I didn't care that the world was watching. The memory of that day is so vivid, even as this pandemic fraught world threatens to seep into my brain and destroy everything that is good, I can still remember our conversation on that birthday. I can describe the feel of his hands, the taste of his lips, and how safe I felt wrapped up in his arms. The world was right side up then, but it was me alone who was upside down. 

There's the birthday I spent in Memphis. I was on business and walking on Beale during Dead Elvis Week (look it up). There was the birthday I turned 37.  I remember it only because I loved being that age. I loved the sound of that number. It has such gravitas, it made me feel like I could take on the world. I was no longer 30, yet - not quite 40. There was something powerful about it. There was the birthday I boldly asked a bartender to be my present and to my utmost surprise, he said yes. And then, of course, there was the infamous 50, where I was so overcome with mid-life demons that I floundered around like a fish on the deck of a ship desperate to be thrown back into the ocean that was its home. 

Now, I'm turning 55 in a world that is not only different from the one before, but will also be forever unique to the one that comes after it. I can't tell you what waits on the other side of this number, or how I really feel about turning such a nondescript age, but I can tell you that, no matter what, there will be a new world. Will people at the bar move further away from me because I dare to smile at them? Will there even be people at the bar? Will they be so desperate for human interaction that someone might come back to the bar to specially see me because I tell them I'm there every other weekend? Will they stay in the bubbles they've created and forget that there's a world out there? There are a million different scenarios to a million different situations.

Whatever the case -unlike the big deals I have made over my birthdays, not having one with a Patrick has never disappointed me as much as it has others. I do, though, hate how 55 will be married to a virus, but the great thing about marriages is that they also come with divorce. So whether I'm allowed to blow out my candle this year or not, it's not hard to guess what the wish encompasses. And, on the off chance you guess it's for a Patrick, well, since there are two 5s in this year's birthday, I guess you can grant me two wishes.

 

Two Worlds Back and One Forward

For a bit of background, I need to take you back, two worlds ago back in fact - to the first world before 9/11 - when the only phones that existed were landlines and being social wasn't attached to the words media or distance. It was also the world in which I came out. Where bars and gay bookstores along with some less than desirable locations were the only way you could meet another boy. HIV/AIDS was reaching its peak, (without a nationwide lockdown) and despite that unknown virus and its cause, I had to find a way to not only thrive but to excel. 

Now, having been bombarded with countless video platforms -  Zoom, FaceTime, Microsoft Teams, the list goes on - I can't remember a time when I've enjoyed technology less and yearned more for a world that no longer exists. For someone who still clings to the fact that he was the epitome of social, I've never despised social media more. It's now the age of corona, which will leave all of us living in yet another world, and being single in this in-between world has been perhaps the most gut wrenching yet strongest aspect of the whole mess. 

I never really gave being by myself a second thought. I'd made countless friends over the course of my life. Some are still with me, and some are sadly and quite unfairly, no longer here. During the height of the AIDS crisis, when the government did nothing as countless men died every day, I learned all too quickly life can be taken away. One lesson that still stings and will forever resonate was a boy named Michael whom I'd met in the first world. One day, just like that, he was gone. And, then there was the day I got a phone call from his mother. 

"Can you tell me about my son?" she asked with her voice cracking, explaining she had found my number in Michael's address book. The ache in her voice was palpable and I tried my best to describe the wonderful boy I'd come to know simply from the two of us being social every weekend. Michael and I were never destined to be boyfriends, but I'd like to think he would have been a friend to last a lifetime. I think when his mother hung up, she left with a sense of comfort from a stranger she would never meet. 

I never looked at friendships quite the same way after that. I held tight to the ones I made before and the ones following have shaped my entire life. They changed how I look at dating and what makes a friend. They showed me the world, and I've made sure that my mother has never been left in the dark. As I cautiously maneuvered those years in Boston, the virus was all around, and with the country and the state doing nothing to ease my fears, I had to find my way alone. I had no where to turn for answers, there were no web sites to google, no heads of state run departments giving you the right information. What was there were the LGBT health clinics, the Glad Day Bookstore and the people you met at the bars. All these places where people like me gathered. It was the people you surrounded yourself with who knew people that could provide the answers. 

I never consciously chose to be single, but my years before I moved to San Francisco and the time I spent in the city by the bay certainly prepared me for it. When I look back, I did everything in my power to not be alone. I was always on a date, always swept off my feet, and without fail, when one attempt came crashing down, I was back up and trying again. Perhaps if I'd succeeded, I would be just like the gays you can’t escape from in this interim world. Quarantined with their boyfriends, husbands, lovers, or whatever their labels, the posts usually consist of pictures of them hiking, making dinner, snuggling on the couch, or laughing at each other’s attempts at baking - all accompanied by such captions as: “So lucky I get to lockdown with this man,”; “No one I’d rather be quarantined with.”; and “This man makes me laugh through these trying times.”  Usually I read them with a grain of kosher salt, but as the lockdown drags on, they’re becoming increasingly hard to swallow.

I suppose I could have posted a picture of the time I cried on my couch, mourning a world that will never fully return with the caption, "so lucky to be locked down with my favorite guy. Couldn't do it without him." Somehow, the comments on that one would have been quite different. There's been no one to fall asleep with; no one to say good morning to; no one to take a walk with; no one to watch TV with; no one to...well, you get the idea. But over the course of my life's adventures, I've always had myself to fall back on, and most assuredly, that has helped me pick myself up during the low times. And, trust me, there are many days now with many lows. I knew I would survive in the old worlds, what was the choice really? To give up? That's never been in my DNA, but this stretch of time has been unlike any of the other punches to the gut. To get me through, I've been able to pull from all those times before - all those memories of the non social distancing past and the hopes that exist in the new world to come.

What's also helped has been the non-Zoom Friday night happy hours with my neighbor. They've been a bridge to the new world, and the fact that we are both gay has been an added bonus. There's no computer screen between us, we don't have to put on fake smiles. We sit on the porch, armed with very strong margaritas and enjoy a slice of the old world. She's single as well, and during a pandemic, it's freeing to talk to someone who understands exactly what that means. Our stories of our time sitting at bars are at times comforting, while at the same time sad when we realize that may never be part of the new world.

But what has to be part of the new world, at least for me, is real social interaction. I'm done with Webex and Zoom, and I'll take my chances on talking with people face to face. It's what I did in the old world. Did I trust the boy I recently met? Did I think he answered my questions truthfully? I'm as much in the game as the next person. If my gut tells me to not trust them, then that's what I'll listen to. For me, there's no other way to live. Life isn't about social media - it's about talking, flirting, or using your smile to put someone else at ease. It's showing your interest in how you hold yourself, not by spouting a laundry list of what you're into on an app profile. I mean really, phrases like "gingers to the front of the line?" What line do you see on your computer screen?  If you never leave your house, you'll never wait in line and I'm quite sure there's no line at your bedroom door. If there is, then you are in a completely different line of work than I care to fathom.

In this new world, I will, in all probability, be an even more intense version of the person I was in the old. I will, once again, find a way to thrive, and though I may have to find my way  alone, at least I'll continue to spend time with the person who's gotten me through these last few months. And in this new world, I am going to smile brighter than ever before. I'm going to cut every line and have a drink with a stranger and friend alike.

In this new world, my hope for everyone is that if someone ever asks you to tell them about their son, then you'll know exactly what to say because you've made the effort to truly know them.

And in the end, that will leave everyone with just a touch of comfort.

What's Next?

“There’s really no point in asking what if? The only question worth asking: is what’s next?”

Spoiler Alert: Those are the last lines to Elton John’s autobiography Me, and it got me thinking about a lot of things. But before I get to all that, I loved reading about his life, how decadent it was, how he's lived as the person he is, how unapologetic he is for his personality and because it brought me back to a six degrees of separation moment with the legend himself. But, don’t get me wrong, this is also just an excuse to share this story.

——

It was shortly before I moved to San Francisco, Elton was on his Reg Strikes Back Tour, and I was where you’d always find me on a Saturday night. At a club, drinking, flirting and being, what I hope now is not the extinct social person that I am. I was out with the first girl I would have brought home to meet my mother - my friend Dawn and one of her friends, who I seem to remember was named Carol. 

Now, drinking has always been one of my favorite pastimes, and not in a Zoom room, but surrounded by people, where, once the buzz kicks in, I can flash my smile and work whatever magic I seem to think I possess. 

That night, as I ordered my latest Long Island Iced Tea, which back then was my drink of choice because I could down four of them in an hour and still be perfectly functional the next day, I sauntered up to the bar and sat next to an average looking gent. We started talking and his British accent had me fascinated. I accepted another drink and I introduced my companions, because forgetting who I was with - no matter how many drinks I consumed -  was never my style.

He introduced himself by his first and last name, which I found interesting.

 “I’m John Reid,” he said. 

“And, this is Jim,” Dawn interjected realizing that I forgot to say who I was. (Back then, I was always Jim, don’t get too comfortable calling me that now.) 

“What brings you to town?” Dawn asked.

“Oh,” he said nonchalantly  “I manage Elton John and he’s at the Worcester Centrum this week.”

Now, being three sheets to the wind, none of this registered with me, but it did not, however, go unnoticed by Dawn. She then became very keen on keeping Mr. Reid talking to us. As the night wore on, and with more drinks bought for us, he asked if we would like a ride home. I stumbled down the stairs and out in front of the club was the longest stretch car I’d ever seen.

“Look, Dawn,” I squealed at the top of my lungs, “It’s a limo!”

“Shut up, Jim,” Dawn scolded, pushing my head down and body checked me as the chauffeur opened the door. “And, get the FUCK in the car!”

And so began my decadent night at the Ritz Carlton with the manager of Elton John, while the former Reg Dwight was asleep in the next suite. The next morning, Mr. Reid told me to order whatever I wanted for breakfast. He had to get an early flight back to London, but the room was mine until late afternoon. There I sat in a fluffy Ritz Carlton bathrobe, calling Dawn, eating my breakfast without a hint of a hangover. I did manage to swipe the Ritz Carlton umbrella on the way out, and I don't know how I got out with the bathrobe, but I had it for the longest time. And just to be sure I wasn't dreaming, I checked the back of one of my Elton CD's and there was John Reid's name.

I suppose the whole point of that story is to not only to tell a tale (get it - Tel-la) that personifies me as the social and yes - had for the price of a cocktail person I am - but to also reach back and remember how things used to be. I am, maybe naively, clinging to the belief that part of the old world will still exist in the new.   

Back then, I didn't know what the future held. I still don't, but I foolishly didn't appreciate the moment when I was living in it. Youth has a problem thinking that things will always stay the same, that what you just experienced was just another day in the life, and that you are the only one that matters. However, as time now proves, nothing is just "another day in the life." 

Which brings me back to how I began: 

There’s really no point in asking what if? The only question worth asking: is what’s next?

I've had a lot of time to think these past few weeks, even though it feels like months. What if I had taken John Reid's number? What if it wasn't more than just what it was? Would I be Elton's best friend? What if I moved first to Los Angeles and not San Francisco? What if I never sold my condo in San Francisco (Don't ask, it's a sore subject), what if I never spent three long lonely years in Manhattan? You can't change the decisions you made in the past, you can simply learn from them and not make the same mistakes. Always striving for something better for yourself. And along those lines...what if this damn virus never reared its ugliness? But there really is no point in searching for those answers. The only thing to do is ask what is the next step? You and I can't control the world, we can't make this virus go away any faster, but we can work terribly hard at maintaining the people that we were, and I can work, if it's possible, to be an even more social person than I was before this pathogen decided to infiltrate the world. 

I don’t think I ever lost being that social boy of twenty-something. In this new world, I still want to be able to sit at a bar and meet people. (Although Long Island Ice Teas are not on the menu ever.) I want others to discover the joy of talking to the person next to you, because you never know who that stranger is or what adventure they can take you on. Wether it's one incredible night or a lifetime journey, you have to keep the faith that people will still want to be part of the human race. And we have to appreciate life in the most exciting of events and the most minuscule of moments.   

So my simple advice or maybe it's my simplest of thoughts: whatever this new world brings, leave the couch behind, look up from your phone, talk to the person next to you, reach out to the people you care about, and above all, enjoy every minute of the ride before it ends. Basically, just "get the fuck in the car." 

Phone Talk

What does one do with so much time on their hands? Go through old files and your cabinets, I suppose. I found my short story collection, Alone with All These Men, and I should post them all, but this one was always my favorite. In the days before cell phones and when social media meant social nights out with friends, I came up with this story. As with all my tales, there's quite a bit of real life experiences in there. Enjoy.

Phone Talk

My Winnie the Pooh phone rings and my hands are wrist deep in soapy dishwater. For a second I think about letting my machine answer—then I think it could be Mark. I dribble a bubble trail across my kitchen floor, onto the living room rug and answer. A familiar voice yells in my ear.

“Hey Suzy Q! You free for dinner?”

It’s David. My oldest friend. Growing up we used to barricade ourselves in my room and devour Hostess treats.

“Oh. Hi, Twinkie.”

“Jesus, Larry, what a greeting that is.” David’s always chomping on gum. He sounds like he’s already eating dinner in my ear.

“Sorry. I was expecting someone else.”

“Really? Who’s the latest Mr. Right? Tell me. Tell me.” “Nobody you know.”

“Liar. There’s not a man in this city I don’t know.”

I wipe the clinging bubbles on my pant leg. “Twink, I gotta go.”

“Don’t you have call waiting?”

“I’m in the middle of something.”
David yells in my ear. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“I just bit my tongue. I’ll call you back.”
“You don’t have to. I already—” The line goes dead. No doubt David is
putting a frozen cupcake on his enflamed tongue. I hang up the phone.

You wanted me to make some noise didn’t you? Could’ve been worse, it could’ve been your mother. You’re so fickle. Liking me one minute and then hating me the second you find out who’s on the other end. If that’s the case, why should I ring again? Why should I tolerate your disapproval? He’s your best friend. You weren’t very nice.

I was so nice to him. I plunge my hands back into the water. I should buy a dishwasher and just stack everything out of sight.

If you did you couldn’t act busy while you wait for me to ring.

Who asked you for an opinion? But since you brought it up I see your point. Why not have him call me then, and get it over with? Already, I’m wondering why he doesn’t like me. Mark and I have had four dates and my mind is like a runaway freight train—it’s on those tracks and it’s not going to stop no matter how hard the engineer applies the brakes. And you sit there so smug. I can bring the cordless into the kitchen. I don’t have to answer you.

Have phone will travel.
Be quiet. No. I didn’t mean that.
The phone is still dripping wet. I walk over and wipe it dry.Thanks. But I’m still not ringing.
I pick up the receiver and dial Twinkie.
“How’s your tongue?”
“Ith’s fine. I think it thopped bleeding.”
“That’ll teach you to chew in my ear.” I look at the clock. Eight. “Why don’t
you come over? We can hang out for a while.”
“Drinks before dinner. How fun.”
“Whoa. I didn’t say I was going to dinner with you.”
“What other plans do you have?” I could hear David putting another wad of
gum in his mouth. “I’ll be over in fifteen.”
That means thirty. I still have time to call Mark and thank him for the great
time we had at dinner.
Again? You already left a message this morning.
Shit. You’re right. I forgot. Did I sound silly on his machine? Too much babbling on and on? It’s not like it was our first date or anything. I followed the rules. Never the day after you get a number, that will make me look too eager. Don’t call too late, they won’t remember who I am. And whatever happens, don’t do it after the first date, that will make me seem desperate for the second one. Except, what if I miss him and want to hear his voice?

Don’t do it. It will make you seem like you’re dying to see him again.
But, I am dying to see him again.
Well, you can’t let him know that.
Why not, for Christ’s sake?
Because you can’t, that’s all.
What kind of reason is that? Because. That’s the reason I give Twinkie when I say I’m out of desserts. Because. Because, because, because, because. I hate that word. You must know when Mark’s going to pick up the other end of the phone to call me. All you phones are in one big conspiracy.
And what if I do? Why ruin the anticipation? Hang me up—I’m not going to ring just because you’re staring at me. Finish what you’re doing.
I concentrate on cleaning my kitchen. It’s still messy from the dinner I made for Mark a few nights ago. I wash out the sink, put the dry dishes in the cupboard and wring out the sponge. I throw the dishtowel against the back of the counter.
I was petrified when Mark accepted my invitation—I hadn’t had a man for dinner since my previous attempt at a relationship with Jack. He and I were dating for over six months before I worked up the nerve to invite him to my apartment for dinner. That night, when I was taking the Filet Mignon out of the oven, the phone rang.

Oh, I remember that one. He couldn’t make it. He was having second thoughts. He needed some time. Do you think I enjoyed that call? I’m just the messenger .
That was the last I heard from Jack. He never returned my phone calls after that night. I finally gave up on him after I’d left four messages. Twinkie bought me a whole weeks supply of Suzy Q’s to make me feel better. He said I’d get so fat from sweets that I’d have to run to the gym. Sweating on the stairmaster was bound to get those endorphins partying.
My doorbell rings.
“Since when are you so early?” I ask David.
Twinkie blows a bubble in my face. “I said fifteen.”
“And that always means thirty.”
The bubble pops and David picks the gum off of his lips. “I like to surprise
you. So, fix me a drink.” He walks past me and seats himself on my couch. “I’m starving too. Where shall we go eat?”
I close the door. “Your stomach is a bottomless pit. Why aren’t you five hundred pounds?”
David winks at me and gyrates his groin. “Three guesses, Suzy Q. Now, come on, let’s go out. The new man is no reason to stay cooped up in the house.”
“His name’s Mark. And I’m not cooped up in the house. I’m with you.”
“And I am drinkless.” Twinkie clasps his hands together and twiddles his thumbs.

I suppress a sigh and walk into the kitchen. David only drinks Citron Vodka Sours and since I’m out of flavored alcohol, I squeeze half a lemon into his drink.
“Jesus.” Twinkie says when he takes a sip. “If we weren’t girlfriends, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me.”
I plop down in the seat across from him. “Sorry. Too much vodka?”
Such a silly question. Did you sound this silly during your dinner with Mark? Can you at least sound a bit more intelligent if I put him through to you?
“Earth to Larry.” Twinkie throws a pillow at my face. “Helllloooo.....”
“Did you say something?”
“You need some fresh air. You’re zoning out on me. I need to get you full of
food.”
“I don’t need any food.”
Twinkie picks up his ice cube and sucks on it. “Then I think you better get laid.” He puts the glass under his mouth and spits the cube back in it. “But that’s not going to happen by sitting here. After we eat, we can go scope out some boys. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have you call some 900 numbers.”
Now there’s an idea. Someone always answers that call. Send David home. Let’s have some fun.
I pick up the pillow and toss it at my friend. David ducks and it hits my phone.
“Careful, you goon. You’ll break Pooh bear.” Twinkie pats it on the head. “I just love this little phone. It’s sooo cute. I should’ve kept it for myself instead of giving it to you.”

Winnie stands there, staring at me—all sweet and satisfied next to his jar of honey.
“You can take it. I have far too many.”
Hey, don’t give me away. I’ll behave.
Liar.
David gestures at me with the receiver. “Let’s call your boy and invite him to dinner.”
I walk over and put the handset back in Winnie’s paw. “Let’s not.”
“Why? When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Two nights ago. I made him dinner.”
David shrugs his shoulders. “Well. Far too much time has gone by. What’s his
number? Do you have it on the speed dial yet?”
I slap his hand away from the phone. “Don’t be silly.”
“Oh, come on. He must be high on your list if you cooked. I can’t remember
the last time you wanted to spend hours in the kitchen for a man. I promise I won’t flirt with him. What’s the big deal? You call me when you want to see me. You even call your mother when it’s been more than three days.”
I squint my left eye.
“Okay, fine,” David says. “Bad example. But really, it’s not like you’re enrolled in Dating Etiquette 101.”
Let me guess your grade.
Hey. I’ve had enough of you.

“I left him a message this morning, Twink. He hasn’t called me back.”
David lowers his voice. “Oh.” Then jumps to his feet. “So, let’s go live it up. I don’t want you obsessing.”
“I am not obsessing.”
“Yeah. And I don’t flirt with your boyfriends. Let’s go.”
Pooh’s smile seems to have turned into a mischievous grin.
Don’t start with me. You’re not even a real teddy bear. Not even good enough
to stay home and cuddle with on the bed.
You don’t have to be so cruel.
Sorry.
“Larry, I’m going to faint from hunger. All that alcohol has gone right to my head and it’s your fault. So you have to come with me.”
I hesitate—feeling like the telephone is my umbilical cord between me and Mark. If I don’t leave, I’m stuck eating the leftovers from my dinner and that will just remind me of who isn’t calling me.
“Let me get my coat.”
Twinkie pulls out his gum and adds another stick to the pieces in his mouth. He blows a bubble and gently pops it with his finger. Then he rolls it between his fingers and sticks it back in his mouth.
“Must you do that?” I ask. “Do what?”
I sigh. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

Twinkie walks outside and I turn off the light.
Don’t forget to check your messages.
It’s just like you to ring the second I leave.
Then stay home and wait.
“Suzy Q, what the hell is taking so long?”
“I’m coming. Blow a bubble.”
You. Stay quiet.
“Did you say something?” David yells from the hallway.
I close the door and snatch the pack of gum from his shirt pocket. “You must be hearing things. Let’s go eat.”

David and I sit in China Ocean, surrounded by its bubbling red watered volcanoes and birds of paradise. A flaming pu pu platter is on the table between us. I look over at the pay phone near the doorway.
Come on. Check your messages.
“So, what’s the latest with Henry?” I ask David.
“Henry. Henry.” Twinkie sucks his fingers dry of the fried chicken wings and then dips one in the sweet and sour sauce. He licks it clean. “Oh. Henry. Don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Has he left any messages?” Twinkie grabs a spare rib. “Nope.”

“Have you picked up the phone to call him?” I take a sip of my tea and then snatch the rib from David’s hand.
“Hey. I want that one. It’s got more meat on it.”
I dip my fingers in the glass of water and then flick them at David. “I’ll let you suck on the bone. I assume you haven’t called Henry?”
“Assumption correct.”
I laugh. “David, I thought you two were working on something there? It’s not going to happen if you don’t call each other.”
“How true. But I see where this is leading.”
I bite into the spare rib. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You’re trying to steer this conversation in your Mr. No Return caller
direction.”
“I am not.”
Twinkie sorts through the rest of the appetizers on the platter. “Why are you so neurotic? And don’t blame it on your father, either.”
Twinkie has the cellular. I’m right here. In the backpack. Take me out.
“I just want to know why he hasn’t called me since I made dinner.”
Twinkie discovers a deep fried shrimp. “He’ll come up with some kind of justification. Unless he’s original and actually tells you he didn’t want to call.”
“Why wouldn’t he want to talk to me?”
“Shit, Larry. I’m joking. I’m sure he’s just busy.”He’s patronizing you. Tell him to let me out.

I find the last teriyaki chicken stick. “Do you think I’m just not cut out to be in a relationship?”
David wipes his mouth. “What kind of silly question is that?”
“Well. From my track record. I can’t seem to get anything off the ground. Look at the way I handle this after four dates. Where will I be after four months?”
“In a straight jacket.” Twinkie pokes at the purple flame with his chopsticks. The sterno sizzles and pops. “Larry, seriously. You need to relax and go with whatever happens. The harder you wish for him to call, the worse it’s going to seem.” He jabs at the flame again, whispering a tiny gotcha sound under his breath. He looks up at me and smiles. “Then again, you could look at it as payback for not calling all those men you’ve met in the past.”
“What men?”
“All of a sudden she’s the wall flower. You meet plenty of men. Just because they write their numbers on napkins doesn’t mean you shouldn’t call them. Unless they’re too geeky, of course.”
He’s stalling. Have him take me out.
“But I didn’t like any of them.”
“It works both ways, my friend.”
“No way, Twink. Mark has to like me. He brought me flowers. He spent the
night.”

Our main course arrives and Twinkie shovels a heap of crispy chicken on top of the white rice. “If I figured out why men eat, fuck and run, I would be eating in a real island paradise. Not some plastic imitation.”
He could be calling right now.
“You have your cell phone?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant as I scoop some chicken onto my plate.
“It’s in my back pack, but the batteries dead.”
“It’s dead?” I put the plate down. “Why do you carry it around if it’s dead?”Sorry. Didn’t mean to tease you.“Calm down. I usually use it in my car through the cigarette lighter.”
“Then you should leave it in the car.”
“Testy, testy. If you’re dying to check your messages, use the payphone.”
I take a swig of my drink. “I’m not dying to check anything.”
David picks up a piece of chicken and licks the sauce off of it. “Right.” Then
he dips it into the sauce and does it again. “Unless your answering machine devours messages, I’m sure it’ll still be there when you get home. Now eat and be quiet.”
The waiter comes over, fills our water glasses and then departs into the dark aisle of red volcanoes. A family of six is having a birthday party a few tables away and the off key singing can be heard through the entire restaurant. There’s one other male couple. They sit underneath the giant palm tree. The older of the two gets up, quickly kisses his partner on the cheek, and walks to the restroom. I watch the other as he watches him walk away. Twinkie balances a few grains of rice on his chopsticks before he sucks them into his mouth.

“You ever afraid of being alone Twink? You know. Winding up old and jaded.”
“I’m already old and jaded.”
I scold him. “David.”
“Oh. All right. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be by myself my whole life. But I
don’t dwell on it. I’ve got you.” Twinkie pushes some rice onto his fingers with the chopsticks. He slurps the food into his mouth. “I stopped worrying about a man wanting to spend time with me long ago.”
“Twink. What if Henry’s that man?”
“Jesus. I don’t want him, Larry. What do you want me to do, call him and ask him if he’s gotten the hint? I may be a bitch, but I’m not an asshole.”
I crinkle my napkin. The waiter emerges from the dark and brings us the check. David reaches for one of the fortune cookies. He breaks it in two and reads the proverb.
“Man who waits for phone to ring has no life.” He chuckles, takes the last swig of his water and stuffs the fortune in his pocket. “Nope. You can’t see it. Don’t you trust me?”
“With all my heart.”
He stands up. “Pay the bill. I have to use the bathroom.”
I reach for my wallet. “I didn’t realize dinner was on me.”

Twinkie tosses his napkin at me. “Don’t you just love surprises?”
I meet David at the door and we head to a nightclub down the street. We start reminiscing about high school, and eventually we’ve gossiped a few more hours away. I stir my drink and see the small lamp next to the bartender’s register flicker.
You mean your phone doesn’t have one of these gadgets? You could blast your stereo and still know the phone is ringing.
Twinkie shakes his head as he squeezes his lime. “Now, who the hell calls a bar at midnight? Like anyone can hear with all this noise.”
Maybe Mark knows where you are. Maybe he couldn’t reach you at home.
“It could be important.”
“It could be desperation.” Twinkie laughs. “Someone checking up on a boyfriend.” He mimics a high pitched voice. “Can you page Larry for me, Mr. Bartender? I’m lonely and I miss him.”
I snatch his lime and suck on it. I let the juice squirt in my mouth. “You are so romantic.”
“Oh, excuse me Danielle Steel. Like romance would be alive and well if my boyfriend’s cruising in a bar on Saturday night while I sit home waiting for him.”
He’s got a point.
I drop the topic and finally, we wind up dancing. I see the one pay phone— near the restroom—inside the crowded club.
Give it up.

28

Twinkie disappears into the mass of sweaty men. I wander around the cavernous club and even dance to a few mindless songs. I leave the floor to get a drink.
“Are you a model?” someone asks from behind me.
I turn and see a man caught in a previous decade. He’s dressed in an Izod shirt and Jordache jeans. If I had to guess, that’s Brylcream in his hair.
“Uh—no.”
“Are you in films?”
I shake my head. Where the heck is Twinkie?
“God, you should be. I wanted to dance with you, but you moved off the floor
before I could ask. Maybe next time?” He shoves a matchbook in the back pocket of my jeans. “Here’s my number.”
The man disappears and David emerges from the dark, holding the hand of a very young boy. “Who was that, Suzy Q?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I look at my watch. 1:45 a.m.
Twinkie, his boy of the hour and I walk out of the club. I glance at the phone.Wow, you’ve lasted six whole hours without him.Jesus, you’re spiteful.Have a good night.No thanks to you.
David’s boy passes out as soon as he sits in the front seat.

“He’s even cuter when he’s sleeping.” Twinkie laughs at me from the rear view mirror. We drive off and I close my eyes.
“Hey. Wake up back there. There’s only room for one sleeping beauty in the car.”
“Sorry, Twink. Just thinking.”
“It’s too late to be thinking. No wonder you didn’t take that guy home.” “David. I wasn’t into it.”
“Not into sex on a Saturday night.” He says it like he’s stumped on an algebra
equation. We round the corner to my house. “Stop being faithful to someone before you even have the ring.” He stops the car, smiles at me and then leans over to his boy as I open the door.
“Is he still breathing?” I ask.
“Seems so. I’ll call you tomorrow with all the sex filled details.”
“You gotta wake him, Twink, before anything else is going to get up.”
“Eh. I can always tuck him in and have phone sex. When he’s up I’ll just tell
him he was fantastic. That way it’ll make him feel good before I send him home.” Twinkie kisses me on the cheek. “And I hope I wasn’t too hard on you. Don’t be mad at me.”
“Mad for what?” I lean over and peck his cheek. “I survived the entire night without falling apart.”
“Yeah, it’s what happens after I leave that worries me.” “I’m going to bed. Go home and sleep with your toy.”

“If you insist, Suzy Q.”
I watch David drive away before I go inside. Winnie is smiling at me. I salute him on my way to the bedroom. The light on my answering machine is blinking. One message. I rub my eyes. I’m tired. I walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Fine. Be that way. See if I take any more messages for you. Hey. Come back here.