But there are a few incidents here and there that have not only stayed with me, but have the type of clarity that makes it hard to believe they happened more than half of my lifetime ago.
Some of them are silly little nothings. I remember that the fries at the hamburger joint came in a lunch sack. For one dollar you could get a sack that size, full of fries. Believe me, that was a very good deal for people with very little money and a yawning pit in their center.
But mostly I remember the people...
Tom: Tom was one of my first boyfriends... sort of. He asked me to be his girlfriend, and was really nice to me. It took a few weeks for me to ask him why he never kissed me. He had AIDS. He didn't want to run any risk that I'd catch it. He told me that his lover had already died, and some day God would call him home also. We would sit together for hours and write poetry. He'd write a line, then I'd write the next. I was awful at it! But it seemed to bring him some happiness. Looking back, I'm not sure why he was interested in me.
I don't remember why we broke up, or how long we were together. One day, months later, I was sitting on the patio at the hamburger joint, and a car pulled up. Some one got out of the car, walked over to me, and said, "Tom is going home." Before my brain could translate that into anything meaningful, he was back in the car, and the car was gone.
I didn't recognize the person who told me, so I can only assume that Tom was in the car and pointed me out. I wish I'd gotten to say goodbye.
Dale: Dale lived in an apartment behind the hamburger joint, with his roommate Danny, and Danny's girlfriend. I would stay with them sometimes. But not very often, because Danny would hit on me if the other two were gone. I didn't want to tell Dale that, though.
Eventually Dale told me that he had gotten another girl pregnant when he was out of town. She was going to move down here and he would marry her. I saw them a few months later. She was very pregnant, and he looked very happy. Strange to think that their child will now be older than I was when I last saw them.
Liz: Liz had red/orange hair, freckles, round face and body, and a sunny disposition. She was the first female to claim to be in love with me. Of course, half of my male friends claimed to be in love with me, so the declaration itself didn't mean much. And I was in a time and place where sexual activities and preferences were not questioned or judged. However, I didn't find her in the least attractive. But I took her proposal as a compliment, as it surely was. I feel the same way now when a woman hits on me; just because I am not attracted to her doesn't make her offer any less of a compliment. I treat it the same as being hit on by a man I am not interested in. Isn't it really the exact same thing?
Brian: Brian actually had a business... if you consider selling drugs to be a business. He was certainly successful at it. I have a memory of being in a room at the Holiday Inn with him, Liz, and another guy. Liz was portioning out speed into smaller baggies. The other guy was going to distribute it. I was there because I was with Brian. And everyone knew I didn't do drugs and I didn't steal.
A few days later Brian suggested we leave town. We hitchhiked to Albuquerque, New Mexico and he got us a motel room. I was to stay in the room and stay hidden, because he only paid for one person. He brought me a coffee maker and some herbal teas. Then he pretty much disappeared. He would come home each night, sometimes with some food. He said he was looking for work. Then he said he found a sugar daddy. I was still hiding in the room all day, every day. I didn’t have a room key, so if I went out I’d be unable to get back in. This went on for a few weeks. Finally we got into a huge fight (I’m not sure what we fought about). The next day, while he was gone, I left. I found some local businesses that would let me wash their windows for a little cash. Imagine trying to clean the huge plate glass windows in front of a dealership, using nothing but a newspaper and water. I didn’t do a very good job, and my arms ached before I’d really even started. I’m lucky anyone paid me. I hitchhiked back home that night.
So I lived in New Mexico for two weeks. But I only ever saw one block, and that for less than one day.
Rocky: Rocky was never really a boyfriend. More of a brother. One day he told me that he was going to go up to Washington to see his parents. He invited me to go with him. One of the benefits of street life is the lack of schedule. If you want to pick up and leave for a day, week, month, year, there was nothing to stop you. No pets, bills to pay, jobs. So I agreed to go. We hitchhiked with truckers. We would usually claim to be brother and sister. Occasionally boyfriend and girlfriend, if it looked like I’d be propositioned. I don’t know what city we were in when we decided to purchase a shower (truck stop showers are not free). We shared a shower. Perfectly normal for people short of money. He wished to have sex. I didn’t see any reason not to. He was paying for everything and this was all I had to offer in return.
After our shower we sat in the truck stop diner and ordered breakfast. He went to use the payphone to call his family. He came back and told me that his mom had offered to pay for a bus ticket for him, but she wouldn’t buy one for me. I can’t blamer her. She didn’t know me. He gave me her number and told me to call when I got to Washington.
So I hitchhiked the rest of the way by myself. On the way I met a really nice driver who wanted me to stay with him. I considered it. But I was afraid Rocky would worry. Besides, I had a commitment. He was my last ride before Yakima, Washington. I agonized over whether to stay with him. I decided that I needed to stick to my plan. I got into Yakima and called the number Rocky gave me. The woman who answered told me I had the wrong number.
I still don’t know what actually happened there. Did his mother decide to save him from the bad influence of his street friends? Did she ever tell him that I called? Or did Rocky decide, once he succeeded in having sex with me, that he really didn’t need to continue the relationship? And the whole bus ticket thing was just a ruse to get away from me? Did he tell the truth about everything, but decide once he got home that he didn’t want me there? Or was it actually a wrong number… I’ll never know. But it has always bothered me.
Joe: Joe was an interesting guy. I think he was probably 15 years older than I. Maybe more. We were together for a long time. Sometimes he would disappear for weeks on end. One time when he was gone (and I was convinced that he was in jail or not coming back) a friend brought me a magazine. One of the (many) pictures of nude men was Joe! Disconcerting.
We eventually moved in with my friend Chris. Chris had an apartment that was so small, I’m surprised it was legal. The width of the apartment was exactly enough to hold a twin bed (no frame) from wall to wall. Joe and I slept there. Then there was another twin bed perpendicular to ours, along the side wall. This was the entire “living” area. Then the kitchen started. It had a mini fridge with a 2 burner range on top of it. Across from that was a sink with a cupboard above and below. On the far side of the kitchen was the bathroom. I’m sitting in my patio writing this, and I just realized that my patio is bigger than the apartment the three of us shared.
I ran into a friend who was working construction a few blocks from the apartment, and begged him to hire Joe. He agreed. I told Joe about it, and he seemed pleased. Monday morning I got up and packed him a lunch, kissed him goodbye, and got ready to start my day. Now that “we” had an income, I was going to celebrate by going out to breakfast.
I walked out of the apartment and started the three mile walk to the little diner with a great pancake special. My path took me right by the construction site. My friend came over and asked where Joe was. Hmmm. Maybe he stopped at the liquor store for cigarettes? I’m sure he’ll be here any time.
I walked to the diner and ordered my pancakes. Ate them with great relish. And then went to pay… Where was my money? I didn’t have much, but I knew exactly how much it was and it wasn’t there! Maybe I left it stashed under the bed?
I walked the three miles back to the apartment, stopping again at the construction site. No Joe. When I got home, Chris was there. I couldn’t find my money, so I borrow some from Chris. Three miles back to the diner to pay my tab, and three miles back to the apartment, again checking for Joe on the way. No Joe, no money.
That was the last I heard of Joe until a few months after I had moved back in with my parents. I had my own phone line and it was listed under my name. Joe evidently remembered my name because he called me… collect, from the other end of the state. He wanted to visit me and apologize. He would be in town the following week. He did visit. And on his way out the door he asked to borrow twenty dollars for bus fare back home.
What a guy.
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