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THE ROAD TRIP WITH JOEY
BIG BRUISER DOPE BOY


Was late spring 2018

Peaches had broken up with me in April, a month before my thesis was due

Until then, I had thought we were moving to New Orleans together after I finished school

We had been together for almost five years

I met Ryan a few weeks after, while Peaches was out of town

I downloaded Scruff for the first time in years

Saw Peaches's profile, logged on at the airport, before he got on the plane to leave

It said he was on PrEP

I took it as permission (not that I needed any) to have sex with whomever I wanted

I traveled from Boulder to Denver to fuck

Ryan was the third, the only "date" I went on

It was more of a hookup under the pretense of a date

Getting drinks first so he could make sure I was not crazy, or catfishing him

Though Ryan was significantly fatter than he was in his pictures

I did not mind that at all

In fact, I preferred it

Because that is something I like

Not the only thing, but one thing

I liked him a lot already



I was still living in Peaches' and my basement apartment, in Boulder

I had helped Peaches move most of his stuff into a storage unit outside town

He was ten years older than I—had more things—so it was pretty bare now



Joey flew in from Austin and I picked him up from the airport in my upstairs roommate's car

I had not seen him in about two years

My best friend

The smartest, funniest person I knew

It was not even close

He came out to see me, because he knew I needed it

He needed it, too, but I needed it more

We were to rent a car and drive to Southwest Wisconsin, where my mother's side is from

With a weekend jaunt to Chicago to meet some writer friends—Norm and Seamus—with whom I had spoken online for years but never met in person

Then return to Colorado for a few days

Then drive to Santa Fe to meet Joey's friend for her art installation

Then return to Colorado

Then Joey would leave

It was going to be great

No, it was going to be traumatic and epic, with the potential of us hating each other at the end

If this is not at stake, then what you are on is not a true road trip, and what you have is not true friendship



The energy in the car on the way back from the airport was giddy, manic even

We were psychotic about seeing each other after so long

Laughing, doing voices, making wild and demented faces, brutally and excessively making fun of people in ways they mostly did not deserve

When we laughed, we did not laugh

We held our mouths open widely in silence or faintly perceptible hissing

Faces pained with seizures of muted mirth

It was too much

At one point, I want to say we were both screaming for no reason

There was a reason, though

We loved each other



Joey and I got back to my place and immediately got high with my upstairs roommate

Joints, dabs

We played Mario Kart 64 and I crushed them with my prowess

I smoked them

I crushed, rolled, and then smoked them

Koopa Troopa Beach, Yoshi Valley, Rainbow Road—it did not matter

Joey and I would be on our own rainbow road soon

Except neither of us fucked with rainbows

We tended to wear black

I probably wore black more because of him

He had a black ball cap that said "bootyslayer 69" in cursive on the back



We picked up the car from the rental agency and left

We drove there in one shot

Vaping cannabis distillate

Listening to satellite radio, mostly new wave and disco

Listening to Bruce Springsteen read his autobiography

Which made us cry, the childhood parts

There was also a part where he gave his father pubic lice from sharing the same hotel bathroom

We had to listen to it again, to make sure we heard it right the first time

We did

Bruce Springsteen gave his father crabs

We talked in the car about how I wanted to talk to my family about my growing concern for my mother's cognitive health

Every time I brought it up to her over the last few years, she had attributed it to her aging

Or it was a B-vitamin deficiency, for which her doctor had prescribed her pills

Her coworkers had expressed concern to me, too

Her friends, too

She should get checked out

It forced her into retirement



When Peaches and I helped her move from Texas to where she grew up, she almost killed two women while driving the rental truck

They chased her down at a rest stop and screamed at her

She refused to let either of us drive the truck, because we were not on the insurance

My mother was a dominant, fiercely independent personality

I grew up being scared of her

Her rage was as superhuman as her affection



When my mother drove out to celebrate my finishing school, four years after she retired, she got lost forty-five minutes outside town

She could only describe her immediate surroundings, and not very well

"I'm by a . . . uh . . . um . . . a biiiig uh-place—there's a uhhh—siiiign"

My upstairs roommate's boyfriend, who grew up in the area, deduced that she was parked at a school he knew of

He was right, we found her

She was standing outside her car, looking exhausted and confused

Beautiful gray hair hovering and swirling in high plains gusts

"I'm gonna drive, mom"

"I can drive"

"Yeah I know, but you've been driving all day so I'll drive"



Peaches and I took her to a show at a dinner theater

A show about Patsy Cline, one of her favorites

Sitting across from a mother, father, and what appeared to be a clearly gay tweenage boy

All wearing Disney attire

This family said they had been to the parks, both land and world, over a dozen times

whiteI'm crazy, crazy for feeling so lonely

Driving back, my mother straddled two lanes in the dark, and I pointed it out to her

It was night, she said, and old people had a hard time driving at night

Fair enough

Peaches and I were broken up and trying to show her a good time

She was loudly singing fragments of songs



A few days before Peaches broke up with me, I was FaceTiming with my mother

Telling her our plans to move to New Orleans together

She was so happy, she was crying

Telling her that he broke up with me was intensely painful

I wanted her to feel like I was going to be okay in life

And now I could not give her that, because I was not sure if I would be okay in life



My mother gave me my late grandfather's watch as a graduation gift

We both cried when she gave it to me

I never ended up completing my degree, letting my I/Fs expire over the summer

I did not take my academic advisor's condescending advice and "use the energy" of my breakup

I did not graduate, but I finished school

I was finished with it

I knew I was the best writer in the program at the time (which was not saying much) and probably one of the best writers to ever go through that academy of mainly boarding school brats



Naropa University

Founded by an alcoholic, drug-addicted, womanizing cult leader and his lost, beatnik/hippie devotees

Chögyam Trungpa

And a pedophilic poet

Allen Ginsberg (look up the essay he wrote about becoming a NAMBLA member, or just look at a picture of his face)

A flea clinging to the silver nuthairs of Walt Whitman

Bob Dylan's coattail jockey

He wrote one, maybe two good poems in his entire life

"Howl" is not even that good

"Kaddish"? I would rather get deepthroated by a daikon radish

Howl-about you go fuck yourself?

He Kad-dish it out, but he cannot take it

Oh, and while I am at it, suck my dick, Elf Boots

You know who you are

You pompous, vest-wearing douche

Your reading voice is repellant

You have published one book

I have published two, and I am your teenage son's age younger than you

I am writing my third right now

They are all better than yours

I got your "outrider lineage" right here, pal (cups genitals)

I hope your school attains nirvana (goes bankrupt)

I am never making another loan payment

Broke for life, son

My human karma explodes hell into heaven, drags clawing and yelping the devils of delusion back into the reality of God's heart where they were all along

Some people call me Big Bruiser Dope Boy, others call me Ben

You can call me dad

It is nice to meet you

You are late



I am playing

Nobody is good at writing



Joey and I arrived at what was known among my family as "the office," a multipurpose space my grandmother owned that used to be a daycare center

Visiting family would often stay there, and it was used as gathering space

It still had a bubbler (water fountain)

It was early in the morning

We had a drink, got stoned, and went to bed



We went to my grandmother's house and she was watching a Jacques Brel DVD

Joey was impressed

My mother and aunt were there, too

Joey introduced himself to and delighted my family with his casual brilliance and hilarity

Somewhere in the conversation, my grandmother made a comment about someone she knew, a white guy, having moved to one of the Dakotas to "pretend to be a Native American"

It was hilariously shady/salty

Joey was amazed by her



We got breakfast at the general store



My mother was driving us around with my grandmother in the passenger seat and Joey and I in back

She was acting weird

Making noises and giggling, driving goofily, swerving and braking erratically, defying her almost ninety-year-old mother

Like a misbehaving teenager

It was disturbing and funny

Joey and I looked at each other



Joey and I drove to Dr. Evermore's Sculpture Park outside Baraboo, where my grandmother was originally from

She came from a circus family

There was someone, a great aunt or someone, who used to hang by her long hair from the big top's apex and twirl around

The park was tricky to find, tucked behind a salvage yard, but we found it

It was incredible

The Forevertron was the centerpiece of the park, the largest scrap metal sculpture in the world

Dr. Evermore was the fictive artist persona of Tom Every

A Victorian inventor

Per the legend Every created, Dr. Evermore built The Forevertron to blast himself into the cosmos "on a magnetic lightning force beam"

To ride a rainbow road for eternity?

It was too much

There were giant mech insects

There was also an area of the park with an orchestra of birds

French horn bodies, trumpet beaks

It was swarming with aggressive mosquitos

Sweltering and muggy

We did not stay for long

Though before we left, we interacted with a woman who lived in a bus, which was also an office, on the park grounds

She represented Every/Evermore

She said he was in a home



Driving into Baraboo, I got lost because neither of our phones had service

I aggressively pulled over, turned around and parked

Joey called it an "angry boyfriend whiparound"

Which diffused the stress instantly because of how funny and perfect of a description it was



We got lunch at a cafe in Baraboo's main square

For dessert, delicious and refreshing espresso milkshakes

They might have had booze in them

On our way back to the valley, "Back on the Chain Gang" by The Pretenders came on the radio

whiteI found a picture of you, oh oh oh oh
whiteThose were the happiest days of my life

I started to cry, because it reminded me of Peaches

I remembered how it came on the radio when we drove his stuff to Boulder so we could move in together

The last two hours of the drive, we went through a wicked storm

We were in his Jeep Wrangler, with a "turtle shell" on top for extra storage

It was extremely windy and we could barely see out the windshield

It was terrifying

We could have died



Joey and I ate at Culver's for the second time

He said he was not used to eating this type of food and it was making him feel like shit/giving him the shits

He ate very "clean" usually

Sometimes he would note how he hated the fact he had to eat to survive

Our food was great



Joey and I drove to Dinah's

A woman in her sixties who was my friend

A drinking buddy and mother figure to me

One of my favorite people ever, who had helped me out during the hardest times of my life

She was graceful, courageous, and kind

Helped other people often, sometimes at her own expense

A bit of a passive-aggressive martyr honestly

But hey, everybody has issues

I met her through her son selling me weed when I was 18, working in the valley after high school

She worked from home

Also at home were Olivia and Orson—Dinah's daughter and her boyfriend

Their daughter Olive, too

Olivia was pregnant with another

Orson was dying of a brain tumor

He was an asshole, I had heard from Dinah and her son

He was from Wimbledon, but talked like he was from Brixton

A British w[hite-person-who-tries-to-"act-black"], essentially

An asshole with a brain tumor (they exist)

He was an InfoWars type guy ("InfoWarrior"?)

He needed your approval while being perpetually antagonistic

I heard he once called Dinah a "cigarette smoking barfly" to her face

You do not say that

You do not say that to your girlfriend's mother while you are staying at her house

Even if it is true

You disrespect Dinah, I stomp your guts wet and flat with the weight of my love for her



Joey and Olive hit it off

Olive, the adorable, precocious toddler

At one point, Joey was reading an illustrated book to her about magical stuff

I was in the other room failing to have a conversation with Orson, who was saying something about something evil in the world, and he got up and went in to check on them

I heard Orson go "Wuh ah yaow shaowing moy choyowd?"

It sounded accusatory

Joey was like ". . . What?"

"Woh doz dat lok loik tah yao?"

"Uhhhhh . . . you mean the wizard?"

"Das a coke gowin een anuvah main's arsehoe"

The illustration, Joey told me later, was of a wizard striding while clutching a scepter

Orson was pointing at the area where the wizard's leg disappeared into his robe

An insidiously subliminal gay pornographic message in the illustrations of a children's book

The book's style of drawing was like paper cutouts, shapes put together

(Why was the asshole a man's asshole? (probably because Joey was gay))

He said that shit right in front of his kid!

Orson seemed obsessed with pedophilia

He forbade Olive to be naked around anybody but he and Olivia

Olive would often remove her clothes on her own accord, and he would swiftly police it

He would get mad at Olivia if she had Olive naked in front of anybody

Diapers had to be changed in total seclusion

He talked about it a lot—the global pedophile elite

All this, to Joey and me, meant he was probably secretly a pedophile himself

Now, we were no psychoanalysts, but was this not the mental phenomenon known as "projection"?

The scally doth protest too much, wethinks

Like, okay, yes, the world's wealthiest people operate a sinister network of child trafficking and rape, doing it for perhaps no reasons other than their status affords it and they are powerful enough to do it without getting in trouble, sure, nobody can deny that, but what was with him harping on it

Made your point, bruv—starting to think this has more to do with your own desires

Was he jealous of them? ("Nowbuh-eee cain woah ah fack moy tew yeewhoa daw-ah bah may!"

He was at least upset that a faggot was getting along with his daughter better than he ever did, and was conflating Joey being gay with . . . Joey wanting to expose his daughter to an image of men having sex with each other?

. . . What?

It was really fucked up, creepy, and sad (one might even say it was too much)

Orson had a scar on his head from a prior surgery

Was not taking doctor's orders, refused treatments, instead opting for self-guided treatments based on things he read online

His forehead would suddenly bead up with sweat periodically

He was such a crazy asshole, and he was dying of a brain tumor (which probably made him even more of a crazy asshole by pressing on the lobe that affected his already shitty personality)

About to leave his girlfriend and her mother to raise two children, one of them yet to be born

Children who would live such better lives with their father gone, one barely knowing him and the other not at all, only as a distorted specter of communicated memory

The nicest thing Orson ever did for me was offer me tea

Which, with him being British, was likely more automatic than anything

Dinah drove us and her friend Patty to Madison for dinner and drinks

We went to Mickey's for dinner

Big plates of beef stroganoff on special

Then we went to Caribou Lounge, a dive on East Johnson

We got really, really drunk and stoned

Two women in their sixties, and two gay guys in their twenties and thirties

All making each other laugh

An impenetrable formation



When it was time to go, Joey and I went outside with cigarettes we bummed from Dinah, who had to go to the bathroom, with Patty following behind us

I was pissing in the bushes and heard Joey gasp

"Oh noooo!"

I shook and returned it, pissing in my underwear a little, and went over to see what he was upset about

He was gesturing toward the car

"Look what happened to the car!"

The front bumper had a hole in it, and there were various scuffs and dents

"Oh yeah, that's been there forever"

"What?!"

"Yeah dude, it's not a big deal—drives fine"

"Oh my God!"

He got in the backseat and I joined him

He was livid, arms folded tightly, gaze cast downward, fuming

I was confused, and a little entertained, giggling incredulously, which seemed to enrage him all the more

"Dude, it's really fine—I don't know what you're so upset about—relax"

"DON'T TELL ME TO RELAX! THERE'S A FUCKING HOLE IN THE CAR!"

Patty got in the passenger seat

"Joey, that's been there for years"

"WHAT?! HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!"

"I don't know man, she hit something or it came like that"

He clenched his jaw and shook his head, seethingly exhaling

He seemed inordinately irate and despairing not only about the longstanding damage that had been there as far back as I could remember, such that it was characteristic of the car—it made Dinah's car Dinah's car—but also that Patty and I were not having meltdowns about it

"This is so bad—I don't know what we're gonna do—this is so fucked . . . WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THIS SHIT?! IT'S FILTHY BACK HERE!!!"

He was looking around at Dinah's gardening equipment, small square plastic pots and topsoil scattered and stained into the floor carpeting

"Yeah, that's Dinah's stuff, she's a bit messy, so what?"

"WHY THE FUCK IS IT IN THE CAR?!?!?!"

"DUDE, because . . . wait . . . do . . . oh my God"

I realized Joey was so drunk and stoned that he thought Dinah's car was the rental

A completely different make, model, color, and year of production than Dinah's

"Joey, this isn't the rental, this is Dinah's car . . ."

"Oh my God"

He put his face in his hands and started laughing

"Oh my God . . . oh my God"

I was screaming



We were back at the office with Dinah

Super drunk, passing around a bottle of whiskey

Joey put on a YouTube video of Crowded House playing "Don't Dream It's Over"

The last concert of their farewell tour, and the last song of that concert

The last time, at the time, they would all play that song together

whiteThere's a battle ahead, many battles are lost
whiteBut you'll never see the end of the road while you're traveling with me

Dinah wanted to leave, but Joey and I stopped her, because she was too drunk

She passed out on the couch and was gone when we woke



Joey and I drove the rental to Chicago and parked it in a garage in Lincoln Park

We had booked a hotel room for two nights

Our hotel seemed to have just underwent a renovation, making it look new and cheap, with pseudo-artsy shit all over that was supposed to be representative of the city

We learned Seamus was staying in a hotel down the block and across the street



Everybody was going to meet in Seamus's hotel room

Norm, Lance (a publisher who had put out books from both Norm and Seamus), Truck (a writer), and others

I did not know anybody other than Norm and Seamus

The hotel was old, smelly, and charming

We got to Seamus's room and he offered us absinthe

His attire seemed to emulate Anton LaVey

Norm and the others arrived

Norm looked at me, said "dude," and embraced me with his broad, robust frame

He had always felt like a kind of older brother to me

An encouraging, quiet example

Not only did I love and admire his writing, but he showed me possibilities of how I could live in the world and make art

We also seemed to have a bit of a "twinsies" dynamic, us both being Geminis (just kidding)

Our values overlapped, as did our humor

I think, among other things, we initially bonded over failing to function normally in society

We even looked related (in the years since, as we have spent more time together in person, people have mistaken us for biological brothers with such frequency—sometimes insisting on it in disappointed disbelief when told we are not—that it is now fully expected and enjoyed)

It was wonderful to finally see my friends

Seamus dispensed gifts to the group

Books he curated towards what he knew of their individual recipients' interests, as well as copies of his latest for each

An incredibly thoughtful and touching gesture

"Damn, thanks a lot man"

"This is so sweet of you"

"You shouldn't have"

"It's too much"

Nobody else had brought gifts

I had brought weed, but that was just as much for me as it was for everybody else

Norm asked Seamus if he could print something in the lobby

Norm was giving a reading at a bookstore from his newest offering that evening



We had dinner at a restaurant close by and walked to the bookstore

It was in a bougie neighborhood and had a large gay section

It seemed like a gay bookstore, rainbow flags mounted on its facade

Norm broke off and talked to the event's organizers, who appeared frantically deferential about getting him bottled water

I had to go to the bathroom, but could not find it, so I asked the handsome clerk where it was

He flirtatiously apprised me of its cranny

I went to the bathroom and before entering had to quickly dodge being bludgeoned by its narrowly-accessed, tightly-springed door as somebody exited

I found Joey and Seamus in the gay section, which I started to halfheartedly browse

Joey told me the clerk who flirted with me was a dick to him, acting irritated he was being addressed at his job

He treated customers differently based on whether or not he was attracted to them

Classic shallow gay guy behavior

I looked around at the books in the gay section, feeling disdain for contemporary gay people

Whatever it was I glanced in the matte and gloss of the covers I felt neither a part of nor did I want to join

I felt alienated by it

A stranger within my own named desires

Your sad, deep gay story does not make you any more interesting, special, or worthy of love

You still have to work

You still have to be a person

Norm came over and looked at us with wide eyes

"That bathroom door . . . I wasn't ready for it"

"Yeah, it's a doozy"

He pointed to the books and grinned

"You gonna be there someday bro?"

He knew how I felt about it



Norm's reading was great

We went to a bar after, played some pool

Lance seemed upset about something

Truck seemed jolly, if brooding

Seamus, a gloomy, Burroughs-esque, wraithlike presence

Norm was averse to the atmosphere of bars

It was clear he was only in one to be a gracious host

Having worked in bars, I identified with him, but maybe, being gay, had put up with more for the sake of being around "people like me"

He mentioned how he was avoiding looking at the screens of TVs and game machines

Joey and I thought about picking up Big Buck Hunter's plastic pump-action shotgun and digitally dispatching zebras like the others, but it did not feel like the right time or place

We were there to see Norm and Seamus

The group dispersed and Joey and I went back to our hotel room



Before falling asleep, I found Dean on Scruff

Dr. Dean Campbell

A muscle daddy bear from San Francisco in an open marriage I had hooked up with in 2013 in Madison two weeks before moving home with my mother in Austin and two months before I met Peaches

He had crossed my mind from time to time

I messaged him

"Dean!"

"Well well, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually"

We agreed for me to go over to his hotel room early in the morning

I set an alarm for 6 AM



"Hey"

Joey stirred

I was fully dressed, trying to whisper

"What's up?"

He was hungover

"Hey, sorry to wake you up, but I'm gonna go—I'll be back in a couple hours tops"

"Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna meet up with this guy at his hotel downtown . . . to have sex—I know him from years ago, he just happens to be in town"

"Oh . . . okay . . . have fun I guess"

We were chuckling a little, he awkwardly and I sheepishly

"Thanks, sorry to wake you up, I just don't want you to worry if you wake up and I'm not here"

"It's fine"

"I need this—oh, wanna get breakfast at that pancake place when I get back?"

"Sure, whatever, I'm going back to sleep now"

"He's a pretty cool guy actually"

"I'm glad, goodnight"

"He works for a big pharmaceutical company . . . okay . . . bye . . . . . . love you"

I slunk out the door



Dean was as sexy as ever, and fun enough, but it was different—I had not been able to shake my brain of Ryan, an erotically ideal, seemingly perfect sexual partner with whom I felt a strong emotional and mental connection

Our session was brought to an abrupt halt after I knowingly prematurely ejaculated inside him without a condom (he was on PrEP), promising to get hard again "in like 2 minutes"—he was sitting on me and, as he stood, I felt something warmer than usual



Joey and Seamus were waiting for me in a booth at The Original Pancake House

I slid onto the bench next to Joey

". . . Everything okay?"

"Yeah—have y'all ordered?"

"Not yet"

I turned the menu's pages while furtively smelling my fingers

"What are y'all getting?"

Joey was getting an omelette, and Seamus, as he did at dinner last night, was not getting anything

During his travels, he adhered to a stringent diet of what he referred to as his "nubbins" (dry snacks with low digestive impact)

He had mentioned his health issues to me before

Seamus was a bonafide artist and eccentric—I could feel the electricity of his obsessiveness, because I had that in me, too

He was a genuine person—hypersensitive and soulful with a terminally dour edge

His commitment to doing exactly what he did had always impressed me, how he constructed sonically, syntactically, and semantically dense and gnarled lines and sentences that masterfully hit your guts as grounded in experience without ever producing the obscure, impenetrable, risk-free, interchangeable textual wallpaper of many of his pussyfooted, jealous peers—he knew who he was and was not afraid of showing it—there was something of himself at stake in all his work

I decided on a skillet and excused myself to the bathroom

I washed my hands twice in hot water, after which they still smelled like what they smelled like

We ate and left The Original Pancake House, returning to our respective hotel rooms, after which we were to reconvene and walk to Millenium Park to meet up with Norm and his younger brother Nicola as well as Lance and the others



Joey was rinsing his mouth out after brushing his teeth

"I'm gonna shower—that guy shit on my dick and I can't get the smell off"

He spit in the sink

"Ew, fucking gross . . . I knew something was going on with you—fucking fidgeting all breakfast"

He wiped his mouth and I followed him to his suitcase

"It's like there are particles of it inside my nose or something"

"Oh my God stop"

I was giggling

"Either that or the shit, like, fused to my skin"

He winced and pushed his fingers into his brow, slowly shaking his head as he spoke through his teeth

"I hate you so much"

"I already washed my dick like four times in a row there, but I feel like I can still smell it"

"That's so fucking disgusting—it's like it's in your mind . . . you're like Lady Macshit"

"Here"

I reached toward his face and he recoiled, leaping onto his bed, crouching and clenching his fists in what can only be described as an "Italian-American martial arts stance"

"FUCK you get the FUCK away from me take a GODDAMN shower!"



Joey, Seamus, and I walked a long way through miserable heat to Millenium Park, navigating the zoo and its surrounding park, tourists, children, bicycles, a guy saying we looked like we were going to a metal concert, a Black Hebrew Israelite calling us "white devils," etc., stopping twice at convenience stores for water and air-conditioning

We settled in the shade and waited for Norm and Nicola

A guy walked up and provided us with unsolicited tourism information for a minute, then asked for money

Seamus offered him some "nubbins" and he declined



Norm and Nicola arrived

They had a soccer ball with them and suggested we kick it around

We went to an open area of grass and spread out

Seamus participated for a few go-rounds, then sat on a bench, looking severely displeased

After, we took turns putting our heads under a water fountain



We left Millenium park, started walking toward a neighborhood to get Italian ices

Nicola did various martial arts moves on sidewalk objects

Crossing a bridge over the river, Norm double thumbs-downed and stared at a barge of tourists as it blew its horn and passed beneath

After, I saw him appear to psychically/emotionally connect with a leashed dog in passing, subtly putting his hand out to be sniffed, without acknowledging its owner at all

The ices were still far, so Nicola ordered a car

They were delicious and refreshing



We went into a deli and got some sandwiches and beverages

It was nice to sit down and eat in a climate-controlled deli

We talked, among other things, about the TV show Family Matters, starring the great Reginald VelJohnson

We improvised imagining Steven Urkel in bleak contemporary cinema scenarios, for instance if he was tasked by the state to do some form of espionage in the Middle East (mushroom cloud in distance, him saying "did I do that?" and so on)

We were cracking each other up

I smelled my fingers

Paging Dr. Campbell

It was faint, but still there

The unwashable residue of my tragic aspiration for bottom bears

Out, damned daddy doo-doo!



It was getting later in the afternoon and into the early evening, so we arranged to meet up with Lance and the others, who had been doing some tourist activities that day, at a bar by Seamus's hotel

Norm said he had money on his public transit card and we could take the train back

Walking to the platform, we were passed by a convertible blasting "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" by Blue Öyster Cult with four young people in it

Norm noted the irony

The fear of death was surely present in the convertible, the song itself and its excessive volume demonstrating the transparent denial and concealment of that fear



The train car was humid and packed with people

Nicola poised himself to get off and so did Joey

Norm stopped him

"We're getting off at the next stop"

"Oh, why is Nicola getting off?"

"He's going to stop by his work"

"I'll meet up with you guys later"

Nicola disclosed to me that he was going to stop by the gym where he worked because he felt an oncoming bowel movement the urgency of which was too profound for him to believe he could last another stop without soiling himself on the crowded train car

He was wearing athletic shorts

I started laughing with him, imagining his coworkers and gym members trying to talk to him, unknowingly and maybe catastrophically impeding his desperate mission

It was funny, but I could tell he was in moderate physical discomfort, focusing on not shitting himself

If I could have helped him hold it in, I would have

That came out wrong

So did that



We were walking through Wrigleyville at dusk, right next to the stadium

Norm turned to me

"I hate it here, but it's not that bad when there are so few people around"

We passed a guy in a suit who had an earpiece in

"Still enough people for the CIA, I guess"

He laughed

"I noticed that guy too"

I put my finger to my ear and made a radio feedback noise

"We got four suspicious goons, over"

He laughed

"Four suspicious goons . . ."



The bar was in a basement down a flight of stairs and we were relieved to find it

We played pool at first, then darts

We were getting very drunk

Seamus was over playing games of any kind

I overheard Lance condescendingly pitching him a novel to write called "Pig Man" about some asshole finding redemption

It was painful—he was basically calling him a bigot to his face in the form of a book pitch

At one point, Lance asked Joey and I if we were writers

We told him we were, and that was that

Nothing here for you, boss

It was embarrassing to see him stewing about Norm not giving him enough attention

I felt bad for Norm

But I supposed that was the social price you paid when you made art that nobody else could make: other people wanted things from you that you could not give them, projecting onto you their desires, insecurities, and warped ideas of you, themselves, and the world

What I admired most about Norm was how he kept to himself and did not entertain other people's bullshit, even if they expected something from him because they published his books

Publishers were so often like that—using their often inherited wealth to position themselves in proximity to art and the authentic individuals who produced it, idealizing and valorizing yet resenting and coveting them for being who they were and wanting what they had

They wanted to be friends without having anything meaningful in common

I was having a great time playing darts



Lance, Seamus, and the others left

Norm and Nicola offered to walk us to the hotel

We shared a joint on the corner

Hugs and goodbyes were exchanged



In the hotel room, from our beds, Joey and I went through everything that had happened



In the morning, Joey realized he did not have his debit card in his wallet

"Goddamnit, I knew I wouldn't get out of here without a fucking scratch"

He called the bar we were at last night

They had it

We got his card back, checked out of the hotel, and drove back to Wisconsin



At the office, I was worried I had gonorrhea



I kept going to the bathroom to check if I had a discharge

I would squeeze the sides of my penis head so my external urethral orifice would open, and then

I would drag my finger along the underside of my shaft like getting the last toothpaste out of its tube

I thought I saw something

Maybe

I needed a second opinion

I asked Joey to come into the bathroom with me to look

Joey had never seen my penis before

"I mean, I can't really tell—if it's bothering you that much just get tested"

"I'm sorry I asked you to look at my dick"

"I guess a boundary has been crossed, but it's whatever"

It was Sunday

I made Joey drive me to the emergency room in Madison



In the emergency room, the nurse treated me for gonorrhea and chlamydia prophylactically

I would find out the results of my urine panel in a day or two

I also got a rapid HIV test

It had been years, because I had been monogamous with Peaches (except when we were long distance and he cheated on me before a visit and gave me gonorrhea and Pink eye in both eyes at the same time, but we worked through that)

I was waiting for the results, silently coddling my ears as I often did when I was anxious

I was sitting on the examination bench and Joey was sitting in a chair

I heard his phone make the Grindr notification message

He grimly looked up from his phone at me without moving his head

How dare you, Joey

How dare you taint the sanctity of the emergency room and my hypochondria

The nurse came back and the result was negative



We met Dinah, Olivia, Orson, and Olive at an Indian buffet in Madison

On the way in, I said something that made Joey laugh

A guy hanging with his friends outside noticed us

"Nice smile"

"Thanks"

Once inside, Joey turned to me

"That guy totally just flirted with me"

"Yeah, that was really cute"



I had to get food in me fast to help the antibiotics be easier on my stomach

I piled my plate up and sat in the booth

I had a few bites, then excused myself, looking at Joey gravely

"Yep, here it comes"



It started coming out as I bent my knees, before my haunches made contact with the toilet seat

It was the most incredible diarrhea I had ever experienced

Suggesting a kind of endlessness

Volume-wise, it was otherworldly

It just kept going

Like Rainbow Road

It was surely as colorful

Where was it all coming from?

It was awe-inspiring

And yes, it was too much

In the ferocity of the moment, I ceased to be human and became a hollow cylinder expelling the sordid waste of a molecular war



I slid the enlightened husk of my flesh back in the booth

". . . Everything okay?"

"Indeed"

Orson's forehead was sweating and he was talking about regular, everyday stuff

I am playing—he was talking about the malevolent forces at work in the world

He said something about China, then started talking about Russia

"Yew now een Rosha, twanzgenda paypoh ah geh-in twanspwantz fwum bahfalow vajoynaz" ("You know in Russia, transgender people are getting transplants from buffalo vaginas")

I was not sure what to say

I mean, what do you say to that, other than "I hope you find the peace in death you never found in life"?

"Uhh—It's good they're using every part of the buffalo, I guess"

A bit of food fell from Dinah's mouth as she laughed

Joey and Olivia giggled

Orson stared at me blankly

Olive did not care about any of us, because she was a transcendent genius



Joey and I were going back to Boulder in a couple days and I had still not brought up my concerns about my mother to the rest of my family

We were going to dinner at my aunt and uncle's house that night and I told Joey I was going to linger and bring it up to them there



After dinner, after my mother left, I asked my aunt into the other room and told her I was worried about my mother's memory

She told me my mother had early onset dementia

I started to cry

My grandmother came in the room and joined the conversation

My mother had been diagnosed two years ago

My family did not tell me

They had been waiting for me to bring it up to them

I had to live my life, they said, and my mother's quality of life was okay

Joey came in and noticed I was crying

"What's going on?"

"She has dementia"

"What?"

"Yeah"

"Fuck . . ."

My family and I resolved to not emotionally bypass each other anymore

My grandmother told me we would not avoid it

We would plan things together as a team



In the rental, on the way back to the office, Joey told me how proud of me he was

"You handled that with grace"



From bed, I texted Ryan

"I found out tonight my mom has dementia—I know you've been through a similar horror—it would be nice to talk about it with you"

After having sex on our first "date," Ryan and I went to Pete's Kitchen, a 24-hour Greek diner on Colfax

He told me that his mother had died of Alzheimer's and Parkinson's nine months previous, and that after, he "ran away" to Colorado, where he had lived before and went to school

He told me how he had been unemployed for two years, leaving his job when his mother got really bad

I was almost crying telling him about Peaches's and my still very fresh breakup

When he dropped me off at Union Station to take the bus back to Boulder, I thanked him and told him I really liked him, that I needed a friend

I wanted to be his friend



Ryan texted me back

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Ben—you're right, it is a horror—of course, we can talk about it whenever you want"



I called Peaches and told him

He cried and had questions for which I had no answers



My grandmother, mother, Joey, and I were at the general store the next morning, eating breakfast

I could not look at my mother the same way

Or myself

Sure, she had been masking her symptoms to others and herself with increasing ineptitude

But I had been in denial, too

I did not take action

I had to, as my family had rationalized to me, live my life

I was a deadbeat son

Like my deadbeat father



My mother could tell I was looking at her differently

She was still acutely intuitive in sensing other people's emotions

Who knows, maybe she was even more perceptive with the other things falling away

She opened a copy of the local small town newspaper

She pointed to something

"Look"

She started reading it aloud, slowly

It was like she was trying to prove to us she did not have dementia

Part of the masking, too, being the loss of the awareness that the world of your mind's language is crumbling around you

People sometimes couch it as a reversion to a childlike innocence, and that's a nice thought

But from the outside looking in, it was suffering and confusion

I was trying not to cry just looking at her



Outside the general store, she confronted me

"What's wrong?"

". . . Nothing—I just love you"

Now I was doing the masking, and she was seeing through it

"It's fine—I'm fine"

"Yeah, I know"

She gave me a hug

"I love you"

"I love you so much"



My urine panel results came back—I never had anything



My grandmother, mother, Joey, and I had dinner at a restaurant in town that night

At some point during our meal, my grandmother was approached by two men, unmistakably an elderly gay couple

"OH MY GOODNESS!"

She stood up and hugged them both, smiling bigger than I had ever seen her smile

They were clearly old friends

It was poignantly joyful

Joey started crying

I felt bad for having dragged him, albeit unknowingly, through such trauma

He was raw from it and reacting tenderly to things

I know I was

Seeing him cry made me start to cry

Too, too much



I tweeted about having found out about my mother's illness

Some asshole retweeted me with the comment: "totally chill to broadcast this on the internet"



Norm texted me

"I'm really sorry to hear about your mom—if you need to talk about it I'm here—my nonna had dementia—love you bro"

Norm was there for me when Peaches broke up with me, too

I texted him and Joey the morning after it happened

They were my best friends

The rest of the world could choke on its sponsored algorithm

They were both my brothers and my boyfriends

Except I loved them more deeply than I could ever love a boyfriend

They appreciated me for who I was, not who they expected me to be to satisfy themselves

They could feel me

They knew I did not have anybody else like them in my life



Joey and I drove back to Colorado, forever changed by everything, our friendship as close as it had ever been

Holding onto each other in the alone-stream of the perfectly merciless universe

We still had to go to Santa Fe, which, with our drained energies, we had our doubts about, but were still committed

Ride or die, for better or worse, for nothing, for what

For anything but kicks

Fuck Jack Kerouac, fuck jazz, and fuck America

Fuck spoken word poetry, fuck brunch, and fuck community

Fuck fake-ass, pussy-ass writers and their chummy poser publishers, fuck the dog and its leash, fuck the fishes and the water they swim in and pretend to breathe

Fuck the CIA—I am the CIA

Fuck me, fuck you

Fuck every reality and counter-reality

Fuck the continents and their cultures, the senses and empirical knowledge

Fuck the twisted thought-demons guarding the gates of direct perception

Fuck the relative and the absolute

Fuck it all to sublime, empty nowhere

Fuck Goddamnit motherfucking FUCK

We had a couple days, though, to "relax" before driving down there



Joey and I went for a walk at sawhill ponds to watch birds

He could identify most birds, and I could identify very few

We saw one he had not seen before, but guessed it was a golden oriole



Walking back to the car, Joey paused and turned around and looked at me

"I'm really happy we're doing this together"

He wiped sweat from under my eye with his thumb

I walked ahead, then paused and turned around and looked at him

"I'm sorry, but that freaked me out a little—it seemed like you were about to kiss me or something—I need you to be my friend"

"Fuck, sorry, I'm just emotional—yeah, that was weird"

"It's okay—I love you"

"I love you, too"



I met Joey not long after I met Peaches, through a mutual friend we both despise

It was at a small house party

Joey was blackout drunk, dominating the song selection, aggressively dancing and lip-synching at people, getting inches from their faces

New Year's Eve that year, 2013, as our friendship was blooming, we were at a party at the same house where we met

He was there with his ex, blackout drunk

Toward the end of the night, he leaned in to kiss me

We argue over if our lips actually made contact—I say we kissed for a second, and he says we did not

I rejected him, grabbing his shoulders

I was already in love with Peaches

I felt bad—he was very embarrassed

Despite him being a hilarious, brilliant, beautiful, sexy person, I could not fathom him as a sexual partner

Or, I could, but that was behind a door I would never open

It was not as if I had not been flirting with him—I absolutely was—but I was not flirting with him as a means to more, and therein laid the misunderstanding

He was a gorgeous human being, but I had a type, and he was not it

He would tell me that having a type was basic or less evolved, that it meant you had not done the work to break down dominant conventions within yourself and open up, same as being either a total top or bottom in the "binary"

But I had never tried to innovate or break the mold with my desires

I wanted what I wanted, was driven by that which I was driven—social critiques be damned

He said he did not have a type, despite, from what I could tell, him inevitably becoming boyfriends with guys as skinny or skinnier than he was

He once told me his ex had "Jafar hands"



Back in the basement, watching Golden Girls, I noticed he got goosebumps on his legs after laughing at something Estelle Getty said to Bea Arthur

I stood up and noted this, still reeling from the weird, intense, emotional moment between us at the ponds

He got really self-conscious, then angry at me, then made fun of me

Did I think that because he got goosebumps watching Golden Girls with me that he was turned on by me or something?

I was paranoid—about what our friendship was, how he maybe felt about me and how I maybe felt about him, but could not admit

He clowned on me until the awkwardness passed

I apologized for freaking out

What we went through in the Midwest had deepened and darkened our bond

Our friendship was charged with passionate tension

It exceeded the threshold of easily digestible experience (it was too much)

Peaches had seemed to resent our friendship sometimes

He was my life partner whom I seldom touched—only for hellos, goodbyes, and when either something really happy or sad had happened



We drove to Santa Fe, the landscape of which recalled the roadrunner and coyote cartoons

It was naturally beautiful and culturally repugnant

Rich people swarming around municipally mandated adobe architecture

Shopping and food, turquoise and booze

We attended his friend's art installation, which was in a big complex

It was cool enough, but it was also a lame, tryhard status event, like virtually anything occurring in a gallery

"Whenever I'm at a thing like this, I always think 'where's the shooter gonna come from?'"

His friend invited us to a fancy spa in the mountains, but we declined

His friend invited us to a conceptual art playground-museum called Meow Wolf, but we declined



We drove to a petroglyphs site outside town

It was extremely dry and hot—the sun rays palming my head

We walked the trail and up the rock formations and saw the ancient carvings

There were many of them, with a few main locations

He pointed at one and told me it was Kokopelli, a fertility deity

He talked about how petroglyphs differed from hieroglyphs

"They're not language—they're just like . . . something some guy did when he was bored"

"Maybe he was on peyote"

"Yeah, maybe, who knows . . ."



Walking the trail back to the parking lot, I smiled

"Race you back to the car"

"Hell no—it's so hot"

"Yeah, you're right"

I started walking faster

So did Joey

We started sprinting and laughing

He yelled

"Your legs are so fucking long!"

I won

We hunched over and panted by the car

I was dehydrated and heat-exhausted

I was shivering

I had goosebumps



We drove back to Boulder



We returned the rental



The night before Joey's flight out, he was sleeping upstairs and I was awake downstairs

Ryan had come from Denver to hang out with some of his Boulder friends

He came over after

We got naked—cuddled and talked

It was great to see him again

I mentioned my mother, and he looked at me like he did not know what I was talking about

". . . She was diagnosed with early onset dementia"

"—Oh, right, sorry!"

How could he not remember such a connective thing between us?

Maybe it was too much for him

It kind of made me feel like an asshole with a Ryan tumor

I told him my family had not told me for two years

"They should have told you"

"Yeah, I was mad at first, but I let it go, because it wouldn't do anybody any good—they told me they were waiting for me to bring it up to them"

"Yeah . . . 'you have to live your life' and all that"

"Oh my God—that's exactly what they said!"

He closed his eyes and nodded

We held and kissed each other

He told me he had a theory that childhood trauma made a person more likely to develop symptoms later in life

I told him my mother had been raped when she was six years old by a family friend who was babysitting her

She told me about it when I was a teenager

She woke with him inside her, and he told her he would "get her" if she told anybody

Ryan told me his mother had been raped when she was a child, too

I told him that, when she was a teenager and the man who raped her was dead, my mother told my grandmother what had happened to her, and my grandmother got up and left the room without saying a word, and that she did the same exact thing in a family therapy session decades later

"Maybe it was too much for her, the guilt—also, that's a different generation—I'm not sure people talked about that stuff like that back then"

"That's her mom, though—that's when you hold your child and go 'oh baby, I'm so sorry, I love you'"

Ryan thought parental love was universal and unconditional—not cultural and temporal

An ironic thing for a person with a Master's degree in anthropology to say

Still, I wanted him to be right

I thanked him for coming over



In the morning, I drove Joey to the airport in my roommate's car

We hugged tightly outside the terminal



I was sad to see my friend leave

But driving back home, alone, it was not too much

Life and death were not—are not—too much

And I can only will myself to change so much

When so much change happens on its own



I meet you in the middle of this road without edges

Where there are no words or thoughts



Some people call me Big Bruiser Dope Boy, others call me Ben

Joey calls me Benji

Norm calls me Lurky

My father calls me on holidays

My mother calls me by her brother's name now

But I can tell she still knows who I am

You forget the most important things last



The most important things last