Tricks

Chapter 2-2

Sean had tried Roscoe’s. He had tried Hydrate. He had even tried Little Jim’s. He had the idea that maybe, in one of these bars lining this gay epicenter, he would find someone or something that would take his mind off his recent breakup. He thought in one of these shiny, flashy, loud, and teeming gathering spots, he’d discover someone who could make him stop feeling sorry for himself, maybe even—dare he hope?—make him laugh.

But now, as he headed south along Halsted passing pairs and trios of gay men laughing, talking, and swiveling their heads at one another to catch a second glance, he felt alone—even here among the rainbow pylons lining the street. Back when he was a teenager, he imagined how welcoming coming out would be, how he would be embraced by other gay people, how he would never be lonely. And now here he was, on one of the gayest streets in one of the gayest neighborhoods in arguably one of the gayest cities, and he felt alone and invisible.

And damn it! Even the comfort found in the bottom of a glass eluded him. All the alcohol he had consumed that night had not made him feel giddy or friendly or buzzed, only left him with a worldview that was blurred around the edges, a slight nausea in his gut, and the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes.

The crowds around him only made him feel more isolated. He had heard somewhere that the loneliest place to be was in a crowd—and now he understood those words. At least if he had gone home, as common sense had told him to do a dozen times or more throughout the evening, he could have drifted off to sleep on the couch, a bowl of chips on the coffee table in front of him, a recorded episode of The People’s Court playing out, and Bergamot slyly maneuvering himself to fall asleep on his chest. Pathetic? You bet! But at least he wouldn’t be surrounded by all these happy, laughing, smiling people, hell-bent on a good time.

He veered to his left off Halsted and began traveling east on Belmont. Lake Michigan beckoned. He could already imagine its sparkling black waters, changing and stretching the shape of the crescent moon above him, already smell the slightly fishy tang of the water and imagine himself buffeted with a cool breeze and the peace of being relatively alone.

As he made his way down Belmont, the clusters of people thinned the farther east he went. At last he reached the darkened overpass beneath Lake Shore Drive that would lead him to the lakefront. He crossed under it, holding his breath, praying there wasn’t a mugger or basher hiding in the shadows, waiting for some silly, heartbroken gay man to come through so he could relieve him of his wallet at best and a quart or so of blood at worst.

But Sean was the only one under the rumbling Lake Shore Drive, and he felt some relief as he saw the bike path and beyond it the green grass and the concrete retaining wall that led down to the water. He had a flash of what this same scene looked like years ago, when he was a closeted adolescent growing up in Winnetka, just a little north of the city. He could recall sneaking down here on the “L” train and then making his way to what was known as the Belmont Rocks because of the large clusters of boulders lining the shore. It was a gay gathering place, especially in the summer, decorated with gay graffiti, and summer days would find the rocks teeming with sunbathers, mostly in Speedos or cutoff jean shorts, some even nude. Sean had been too shy to actually make contact with any of the men back then, but watching them from afar had given him a delicious yet slightly nauseating tingle of recognition and yearning.

Now the rocks were long gone, replaced by a clean, sterile, terraced concrete wall. Perhaps the wall made things safer and fought better against shoreline erosion, but Sean missed the character and promise the old Belmont Rocks had.

He made his way across the grass, feeling the effects of the alcohol lessen as he left the city lights at his back and felt the cool breeze gliding across the surface of the water to caress him. This was a good choice.

He climbed up on the wall and looked north and south for a place away from the few other people who had made their way down here to the lakefront on this hot and humid night. As luck would have it, that place was right where he stood. With a sigh he sat down on the cold concrete and stared out at the water, which was gently roiling, the caps of its waves crusted silver with the moon’s reflection.

He would not think of Jerome. He would not feel sorry for himself. He would not wonder what or who Jerome was doing as he, Sean, sat here alone. He would not worry about his future and ponder if he would ever find someone to love again.

Of course, he did all those things. The harder he tried to avoid the thoughts he wanted to escape, the stronger they became, as if his determination not to think about them gave them even more power.

He felt the sting of tears and angrily brushed them away, pressing with his palms at his eyes, as if doing so would stem the flow. But he couldn’t help but think how much he had loved Jerome and how blithely he had taken for granted that a future as a couple would always be there for him.

Stop it now! Your life is not over. You still have a good, if stultifyingly boring, job. You still have your health. You still are reasonably young and not unfortunate-looking. You still have parents who love you. And, by God, a fat cat who just adores you and can’t stop purring and rubbing against you each and every time you open the door, whether you’ve been gone for five minutes to take out the trash or a long weekend in Saugatuck.

Sean shook his head. He didn’t know whether he should be grateful for his current life or if he should just face facts, hurl himself into the lake, and end his misery the cowardly, quick way. S-U-I-C-I-D-E. How do you spell relief?

And that made Sean laugh. He didn’t know much about much, and his head was only marginally clearer, but he did know he should be getting home.

He was just about to rise when he heard a voice behind him.

“Excuse me, mister, but is that seat there—the one next to you—taken?”