The Whales of August

Subject: Re: are you still being silly

You are remaining very quiet , at the moment . ! .

Was it something , I , said.

You really must consider that I have had to deal with all 7 of your divorced husbands.

I now call you Liz not Joan Taylor , and you poor bitch , not one fucking Diamond in your safe . Surely that means something.

I had lunch with Dante on Tuesday ,  he's has had another stroke , but is in good spirits and within 3 months she should be fine again . Lucky thing, it was sensory not motor stroke.

Anyway , you should be lying , stoned , on the couch , and not giving a flying F*** about anything.

A (ntony) xox

Subject: Re: are you still being silly

Silly? Darling? No, not here, not since 2007. Why do you ask?

I'm listening to the rain fall. It is midday and it is overcast and dark, even if the night shadows crept away from whence they came many hours ago. The grey of night seemingly quivers before my very eyes. I love the sound of the rain falling on my tin roof, there is something quite lovely about that sound. Romantic. Comforting, like the sun rising in the morning, or your mother loving you.


I think Dionne Warwick is the perfect sound track for rain falling on the roof. Say a little prayer. Walk on by. Trains and boats and planes. The girl’s in love with you. This house is not a home. Do you know the way to San Jose.

An infinite number of the universe's fingers strumming lightly on the roof above me. The rhythm of the rain, rocks me gently into submission for the rest of the day. Calm. Smooth. Relaxed. even if it is far too wet to consider leaving the front door.

I usually keep my 7 ex-husbands together in a diamond encrusted box set on the mantle, I’ll have to investigate for any signs of escape, but for now, I believe, there has been no getting out and about for any of them. Each one a diamond in their own right with a sparkle all of their own.

Ah Dante, funny you should mention him, I was just discussing The Whales Of August this morning with a dear friend. Give him my luv, if you ever see him again, and I’m sure he’ll be back to doing what he does best in no time.

I’m Splendid, darling, thanks for asking. I am enjoying my retirement immensely.

Et Vous?

Liz

What Happened to Anthony?

When big boys laugh at little boys, it is invariably, when the big boy get’s glimpses of himself in the little boy, and the little boy asks why the big boy laughed, inevitably the big boy’s answer will be, “Nothing, mate. Nothing.”

There is no explaining that.

So inherently, boy’s will be kinder to boys than girls will ever be to them.

Jay and I are sitting side by side on the couch, he on his play station, me restoring images. He just makes me laugh, with his energy, as he bounces around, as he takes a corner, or wins a race. I remember what he seemed to be feeling. It’s infectious. It makes you laugh.

“Why did you laugh?” Jay asks.

“Nothing, mate. Nothing.”

We all questioned what happened to Anthony? 

Loli came over, it was nice to see her. She wasn’t here really very long when her phone rang and she had to organise for Carlo to be picked up from school as he had a head ached and possibly and broken nose. How you can have one and then possibly the other, I’m not sure? It would seem to me that the broken nose would be the presenting problem, not the head ache with a broken nose chaser.

“I swear, it’s like I still have an umbilical cord attached and I am only able to go this far.” She drew a circle on the coffee table with her manicured finger nail. “Before they rein me in.” She laughed. Both hands pulling out in front of her, like she was in a tug of war.

Loli asked what happened to Anthony.

Jane went shopping. We seemed to just sit around all day and do very little. Mark and Luke were meant to be taking Jay someplace but they never seemed to go and do it. I took Buddy for a walk at 3.30. Sam came home and we ordered pizza for dinner.

Anthony finally rang. He slept until 4am. Fell asleep on the couch until 6am and then drove home. Shrug.

Sister Chris called and said that she had found my glasses.

Anthony

I got a letter from my long lost friend, Anthony, just like that, out of the blue, today. We haven't seen each other in eight years, he just kind of faded out of my life. I am so please, I can't begin to tell you how.

He was my first boyfriend, when I first came out into gay world. My first baby-steps attempt at gaydom. We were young pups together, holding hands tentatively, as we went out into the world together as one, dancing under the lights, like bunnies caught in the headlights.

It was a glorious six months and then we headed off in our own directions, heads spinning. Too naive to know what we wanted.

Eventually, we became friends again, when we were both in new relationships. He became one of my group of friends and we partied together with much gusto.

He just “got” me, and I loved that about him. We “got” each other.

Now children, when you hear “them” say that substances can lead to mental issues, it is, of course, true for a small percentage of people. Unfortunately, it was true for Anthony. And about eight, or so, years ago the world closed in on him and he drifted away. And I haven’t seen him since.

He and Tom were my very best friends and I lost them both. So, you can understand when I say that I'm just a bit pleased.

We'll see. He tells me he's been through hell. He says he's not ready to meet, yet. It's back to baby steps, I guess. 

My Dead Friends

You know, after Tom died, I thought who will be next? I concluded that nobody would be next. I didn't expect any of my friends to die immanently. So, Simon hey? That was a quick next.

Gorgeous Simon. Outrageous Simon. Hysterically funny Simon. Was there any one ever funnier than Simon when he was firing? (Gretchen the German milk frau, playing How to Host a Murder, comes to mind) Generous Simon. Sad Simon.

Fergus died of AIDS, tragically young. And here's another one who I had, sadly, forgotten about, Tom Waters. He leapt off a building, early one Sunday morning, tweaked off his face after Sleaze, after an argument with his boyfriend, Phillip. Anthony went mad. Tom de Brant died of cancer. And now Simon Mansfield, dead before forty.

My dead friends. They were all friends. I can still see them all together, laughing, loving. All dead.

I wonder what your life time friend allocation is? I seem to be racing through mine.

You know. Really, it is very inconsiderate, them dying. I'd made this great bunch of friends. They carried my history and stories of me of when I was coming out and finding my feet. They were the people who know me.

Do you mean I have to do it all over again? Or at least, continue to make friends. I thought there would come a time when I could coast. Friends? Check. Taken care of.

Lottie says after each person's death. "Oh Christian, it's a good thing you have so many friends."

I've got friends from school, primarily straight boys. Of course, there's another one, Alex, he's dead too. I have friends from my teenage years, as a teenager in a Christian youth group. Funnily enough, we were primarily straight couples who were very sexually active. I've had two girlfriends, we were very young. And I have gay friends, who changed my life and complimented my inner most feelings so completely.

And I'm the world's most unreliable friend. "Christian never rings, but that's just Christian," they all say. "We all know that."

I don't know how I get away with it.

So, it's tier 1 friends, who are taking the hits, at the moment. My gay friends. Tier 2 and tier 3 are all doing okay. No casualties to report. Except Alex, of course. And I read in the Old Grammarian news letter that another of my peers had died, Lewis Horizon, although, I haven't seen him since school. Tragically young, it said. 

Anthony

It was one short, shinny summer, where everything glowed, everything was touched by a faint whiff of gold. Feet had stepped passed the front door of youth and not gotten broken, or snapped off, or damaged. I had a good job, a house with no mortgage, a great group of friends, life was free and life was easy. Days developed into long lunches, just naturally.

I'd escaped to London, did the year away thing. Rachel suggested it, "Let's see the world?" I'd just finished uni. I don't think I had any idea of what I was going to do, not consciously aware of the changes I was going to have to make, although I must have. I split up with my girlfriend, Leah, before I left. We just got talking one night and then it was over and I was on an aeroplane. I cried like a baby, as it took off. I think it was my old life I knew I was leaving behind.

Rachel and I spent the year together; neither of us had sex with anyone. I think of that as really fucken odd now, but I know at the time, I never gave it a second thought. I never gave sex a thought. I think it must have been a mental purge for me, or something?

When I came back. I'd bought a house. I kept sleeping with my exgirlfriend, it was just sex. Comforting, loving, no strings attached sex, just because we liked doing it with each other. The swan-song of the perfect couple. It was then that I had my first, real, definable, thought about being gay. Well, that wasn't my first gay thought, but it was the first time I stopped and thought, I'm gay. I had to actually come out and say it. You see, I'd made a promise to myself that I couldn't have sex with Leah, once I started having sex with men, I owed her that much, we didn't practise safe sex together.

So, I remember that moment coming when I had to make the shift, the switch, change over to the other side.

Alex was before Leah. Shhhh. During Leah. The beginning. Alex ended as Leah started. It's the one thing I have never told her, even though she asked me straight out. Not about Alex, she has no idea, but if there had been any men during our time. And there weren't, never, except Alex. But he doesn't count, he came first, after all.

I'm sure I was the picture of a bright eyed seventeen year old virgin, with my baby face, when Leah and I met and floated away on each other's smiles, nothing else in the world mattering one little bit. She was beautiful and I loved her, that's what I remember.

It was about a year after that, my first year down in gay world. I had a house mate, Jonathon Lilly, who had a groovy boyfriend, Andrew. I'd dabbled with guys at sex clubs, but I hadn't actually come out and admitted it to anyone. I was escaping from a gay household to have clandestine sex with men at sex on premises venues. You figure it out?

That summer was long and beautiful. The nights warm. Everything was new and shiny. The music pulsed to beats I'd never heard before. I tasted freedom, I'd not known before; the world was so full of so many men. My head spun, my appetite never waned for it.

Then in walked Anthony. Seemingly shy, shiny, handsome, glowing, well spoken, golden blond, gorgeous. And my head spun even harder.

(Ed note – Anthony looked a bit like Alex, now that I think about it. Funny, I've never thought that before?)

His South African accent only noticeable when he was within ear shot of his mother. Adorable.

Of course, I knew nothing. And all the things I had learned about love, useless. If he said he was going, he did. Boys acted differently. He never called. He doesn't care. But for one, glorious summer, my head spun and I glowed when I saw him. I could actually feel it in me when he approached. We were the world’s most perfect pups, although I don't think either of us thought that at the time. We were just reaching out, pushing out, finding our way, finding someone we liked.

We had a fun adventure together; completely clueless, come here, go away, do I like him, yes I do, first adult love, completely unrequited, kind of relationship. We learned how boy's work, well, I did.

Pretty soon after that, I met Mark and my whole universe changed forever. It was like I didn't come home one night, as Jonathon Lilly used to say.

It was Mark who got us back together again, being friends, eventually. The first time I saw Anthony out one night, unexpectedly, I fell apart. Mark said, If he has that effect on you, he's obviously important to you. Mark got us together again.

But when we first met, Anthony and I, it was shiny and it was new and my guy was real cute.

That's how we all got to be friends, all of us, we were either boyfriends or sex. It's a good way to meet people. We just hung around with each other afterwards, because we all liked each other. We collected. We all bought a friend to the family.

Tom had a fling with Anthony, in the very beginning, although they both denied it afterwards.

Anthony was quick, mentally agile. And one of the funniest people I have ever met. Razor sharp. Dry as. He's one of the few people who has "got" me, from the beginning, every time.

He took to all the things, dope, speed, e's, mda, acid, a boy should be able to take to in his twenties and still come out the other side, relatively unscathed. A better person for the experience, even. He took to it with great gusto, like the rest of us.

He ended up thinking there were video cameras in the light bulbs and that we were all talking about him, as soon as he left the room. We ended up making him unhappy because of it, he thought we were all in on it, some giant conspiracy. Everything ended up making him unhappy. He withdrew quietly, as only Anthony would.

Anthony was a great bloke. One of the very best. A lifelong friend, gone in his thirties.