Kidlets, please see note at bottom of post.
Today felt a bit like the begining of summer, somehow. And I doubt a summer will ever come in my life, that doesn't make me think of him.
I wasn't in love with him, if that's what you are thinking. In fact, it didn't exactly come as a shock when he finally told me he was gay.
He saved my life, I think. More than once.
When I was sixteen, I met him at the beach. I remember it exactly, we were standing by the roller coaster at Mission Beach. It's surprising that I wasn't in love with him, he's tall and blond and handsome. He was seventeen, and spending the summer here, in the town were he was born. He'd been raised in Belgium, because his dad worked for NATO. We chatted all afternoon, and a friendship was born.
Just a few short days later, my world crashed around me when Roger died.
Josh showed up at my house EVERY DAY that summer. "Where are we going today, [VJ]?" he'd ask. He pulled me out of myself, at a time when I was in serious danger of retreating so far inward into my own dark thoughts that I don't know what I might have done. I don't think I would have survived that summer alone.
But everyday, I'd get out of my pjs and face the world when I saw his blue Honda CRX pull up my driveway. We'd go and have fantastic adventures, or we'd take long drives up the coast or into the mountains, saying nothing but blasting Tonic 'If You Could See' or the Dave Matthews Band 'Crash into Me'.
Once we drove up to Santa Monica. We laid out in the sand, but Josh and his short attention span got restless. "I wanna try something," he said. "Just to see if it works." He walked up to a couple sunbathing, and asked if they had a dollar. He said his wallet had been stolen while we were in the ocean, and he needed gas to get home. The woman was so incensed that someone would steal from a tourist, that she gave him three dollars. I saw the light in Josh's eyes. In less then twenty minutes he'd collected more than twenty dollars. I wanted to scold him, but the idea that Josh, who's family is worth millions, was begging, was so funny that all I could do is laugh. I must confess that my scruples were easily bought, in the form of a lunch that I couldn't really enjoy because I was afraid someone who gave him money would see us.
As the summer drew to an end, I was afraid of being without him. He invited me to come back to Belguim with him. I almost went. I was more afraid of being without him than going to another country and starting a new life. But when I'm afraid of something, I instinctively do exactly that.
So I stayed, without him.
Ever since, he's visited me. Always impulsively, never planned.
One day I was at the same beach where we met, Mission Beach, when I got a page to check my messages. I went to a pay phone and listened to a message of Josh saying he had popped into town. What I didn't know was that he had left the message from the payphone on the other side of the one I was listening on, and he was standing about ten feet away at the time. I looked up at the end of the message and we stared at each other. He said, "Wow. I paged you just a minute ago, and you show up. That's a GOOD pager."
Once he called me from Fiji, to say that he could get off in LA, if he took a cargo plane, and I could pick him up in LA. I agreed and called in sick to my boss for a few days. Once I got to LAX, I realized that they don't have a handy little 'Arrivals' board and a waiting room for cargo flights. LAX has about 18 cargo runways, and it took some serious detective work (and some flirting with a customer service rep at the company that owned the cargo plane Josh was on) to find his plane, but I did, just as it touched down. That day he said he'd like to see the stars over the desert (proof of my theory that you can travel the world over, and not see stars like the stars over the desert.) We found a resort out in the middle of nowhere, and decided to check in for a couple days. We hadn't brought any luggage, so we spent three days wearing nothing but the bathrobes that were in our cottage. We ate breakfast in the formal dining room. In our bathrobes. We lounged by the pool and shopped in the giftshop. In our bathrobes. Josh suggested a game of tennis, but that proved rather difficult to do in a bathrobe, so we gave up and drank champagne all afternoon.
One time Josh got my brother in on a surprise for me. Josh called me one friday afternoon, supposedly from Washington DC, and asked what I was up too that weekend. A little while later my brother showed up and suggested I hop in his car so we could go to an early dinner. About a block away, Jesse says he has a surprise for me in the backseat of his car, and I look back and Josh, who'd been hiding under a blanket, sat up and said, "We thought it would be a nice weekend to go to Mexico." And just like that, we went.
Josh loved Mexico as much as I did. We'd jokingly dirty dance in the clubs, or get free drinks in the hotel bar by posing as newlyweds. We almost got slung out of Hussongs the night Josh overdid on the tequila. "One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, FLOOR."
Once we put bleach on his hair and then forgot all about it. We were driving up the mountains when he began to complain that his scalp itched. Then we remembered. About five minutes later, Josh pulled the car over and grabbed my water bottle and attempted to rinse off his peeling scalp on the side of the road. I tried to help, in between waves of giggles that left me useless and leaning over the hood of the car.
Once we fit 10 people in his two bucket seat car and drove to the nearest 7-11.
Once I flew to Washington DC (where he lived for a year) in time for the cherry blossoms and we rented paddle boats on the Potomac and slid through museums with slick marble floors. We got drenched dancing in a rainstorm, and found a great disco dance club. I was hauled out of the Reflecting Pool by the Secret Service (apparently you aren't allowed to wade in it). We made S'mores in X and Os, while sipping Mexican coffee.
And so on and so forth.
A million stories, a million times he saved my sanity. He gave me a break from life, like a summer vacation. It just won't seem like a real summer unless he comes to visit me.
Note to my kidlets - This is my usual disclaimer, were I point out that just because I was stupid enough to try something in my Before Christ years does not mean its a good idea. I mention doing a lot of things in this post that you should never try. Adventure does not need to involve lying, drinking or dirty dancing in a gay bar. In fact, nothing ruins a good adventure more than spending the next two days puking your guts up from a hangover, or waking up in a Mexican prison. So I'm telling you what happened, this is not how you should behave. I know, I've said this before, I just want to make it clear. And if if you are still curious about any of these behaviors, I will bend your ears back with stories of the consquences of my behavior.
Today felt a bit like the begining of summer, somehow. And I doubt a summer will ever come in my life, that doesn't make me think of him.
I wasn't in love with him, if that's what you are thinking. In fact, it didn't exactly come as a shock when he finally told me he was gay.
He saved my life, I think. More than once.
When I was sixteen, I met him at the beach. I remember it exactly, we were standing by the roller coaster at Mission Beach. It's surprising that I wasn't in love with him, he's tall and blond and handsome. He was seventeen, and spending the summer here, in the town were he was born. He'd been raised in Belgium, because his dad worked for NATO. We chatted all afternoon, and a friendship was born.
Just a few short days later, my world crashed around me when Roger died.
Josh showed up at my house EVERY DAY that summer. "Where are we going today, [VJ]?" he'd ask. He pulled me out of myself, at a time when I was in serious danger of retreating so far inward into my own dark thoughts that I don't know what I might have done. I don't think I would have survived that summer alone.
But everyday, I'd get out of my pjs and face the world when I saw his blue Honda CRX pull up my driveway. We'd go and have fantastic adventures, or we'd take long drives up the coast or into the mountains, saying nothing but blasting Tonic 'If You Could See' or the Dave Matthews Band 'Crash into Me'.
Once we drove up to Santa Monica. We laid out in the sand, but Josh and his short attention span got restless. "I wanna try something," he said. "Just to see if it works." He walked up to a couple sunbathing, and asked if they had a dollar. He said his wallet had been stolen while we were in the ocean, and he needed gas to get home. The woman was so incensed that someone would steal from a tourist, that she gave him three dollars. I saw the light in Josh's eyes. In less then twenty minutes he'd collected more than twenty dollars. I wanted to scold him, but the idea that Josh, who's family is worth millions, was begging, was so funny that all I could do is laugh. I must confess that my scruples were easily bought, in the form of a lunch that I couldn't really enjoy because I was afraid someone who gave him money would see us.
As the summer drew to an end, I was afraid of being without him. He invited me to come back to Belguim with him. I almost went. I was more afraid of being without him than going to another country and starting a new life. But when I'm afraid of something, I instinctively do exactly that.
So I stayed, without him.
Ever since, he's visited me. Always impulsively, never planned.
One day I was at the same beach where we met, Mission Beach, when I got a page to check my messages. I went to a pay phone and listened to a message of Josh saying he had popped into town. What I didn't know was that he had left the message from the payphone on the other side of the one I was listening on, and he was standing about ten feet away at the time. I looked up at the end of the message and we stared at each other. He said, "Wow. I paged you just a minute ago, and you show up. That's a GOOD pager."
Once he called me from Fiji, to say that he could get off in LA, if he took a cargo plane, and I could pick him up in LA. I agreed and called in sick to my boss for a few days. Once I got to LAX, I realized that they don't have a handy little 'Arrivals' board and a waiting room for cargo flights. LAX has about 18 cargo runways, and it took some serious detective work (and some flirting with a customer service rep at the company that owned the cargo plane Josh was on) to find his plane, but I did, just as it touched down. That day he said he'd like to see the stars over the desert (proof of my theory that you can travel the world over, and not see stars like the stars over the desert.) We found a resort out in the middle of nowhere, and decided to check in for a couple days. We hadn't brought any luggage, so we spent three days wearing nothing but the bathrobes that were in our cottage. We ate breakfast in the formal dining room. In our bathrobes. We lounged by the pool and shopped in the giftshop. In our bathrobes. Josh suggested a game of tennis, but that proved rather difficult to do in a bathrobe, so we gave up and drank champagne all afternoon.
One time Josh got my brother in on a surprise for me. Josh called me one friday afternoon, supposedly from Washington DC, and asked what I was up too that weekend. A little while later my brother showed up and suggested I hop in his car so we could go to an early dinner. About a block away, Jesse says he has a surprise for me in the backseat of his car, and I look back and Josh, who'd been hiding under a blanket, sat up and said, "We thought it would be a nice weekend to go to Mexico." And just like that, we went.
Josh loved Mexico as much as I did. We'd jokingly dirty dance in the clubs, or get free drinks in the hotel bar by posing as newlyweds. We almost got slung out of Hussongs the night Josh overdid on the tequila. "One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, FLOOR."
Once we put bleach on his hair and then forgot all about it. We were driving up the mountains when he began to complain that his scalp itched. Then we remembered. About five minutes later, Josh pulled the car over and grabbed my water bottle and attempted to rinse off his peeling scalp on the side of the road. I tried to help, in between waves of giggles that left me useless and leaning over the hood of the car.
Once we fit 10 people in his two bucket seat car and drove to the nearest 7-11.
Once I flew to Washington DC (where he lived for a year) in time for the cherry blossoms and we rented paddle boats on the Potomac and slid through museums with slick marble floors. We got drenched dancing in a rainstorm, and found a great disco dance club. I was hauled out of the Reflecting Pool by the Secret Service (apparently you aren't allowed to wade in it). We made S'mores in X and Os, while sipping Mexican coffee.
And so on and so forth.
A million stories, a million times he saved my sanity. He gave me a break from life, like a summer vacation. It just won't seem like a real summer unless he comes to visit me.
Note to my kidlets - This is my usual disclaimer, were I point out that just because I was stupid enough to try something in my Before Christ years does not mean its a good idea. I mention doing a lot of things in this post that you should never try. Adventure does not need to involve lying, drinking or dirty dancing in a gay bar. In fact, nothing ruins a good adventure more than spending the next two days puking your guts up from a hangover, or waking up in a Mexican prison. So I'm telling you what happened, this is not how you should behave. I know, I've said this before, I just want to make it clear. And if if you are still curious about any of these behaviors, I will bend your ears back with stories of the consquences of my behavior.
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