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A/N: I feel like I need to write something here to explain why I wrote 'Brown Paper Bag' before you start reading it. But to understand that, you should probably read a blog post I made back in March.
The Lecherous Lesbian and the Drunken Confession
I began writing 'Brown Paper Bag' right after the bar confession while the feelings I had were still fresh. That's almost exactly what this story is, a collection of my feelings of frustration and anger. This is the story I promised to write. I should also probably warn away those of you who love happy or funny stories, the only thing you'll find in here is some black humor and a lot of angsty feelings. It took me a long time to finish, mostly because I stink at writing stuff like this. I'm a happy guy normally, I love my life. In fact I wish I could share my joy of living with all of you, but you'll have to read some of my other stories to experience stuff like that!
I should clarify that I didn't want this story to be one where you'd sit and cry over it, or laugh and dance around the room. I wanted it to be a story that makes you think about your life and where you're heading with it. Maybe I don't quite have the tools or the skills to do something like this yet, but I tried my best!
Feedback is always appreciated, but especially so in this case. This is my first attempt at writing a short in the first person with dark themes and imagery.
Yours Always,
Dio Beckstead
**Special thanks to Sharon, who helped me edit this piece and solve a massive identity crisis my characters were having in my ignorance... (What!? You mean names aren't interchangeable? *sob*)
Written
and Edited by Dio Beckstead
Edited by Sharon
“It’s the only way I’ll ever fuck you,” he had said.
Of the entire night I spent with the man, it just had to be those words that stuck with me. I couldn’t remember how the pepper steak tasted, or the strong odour of the bottle of Mouton Rothchild smelled like, or the name of the restaurant I had so painstaking selected. I couldn’t even remember how I had gotten up into his apartment, aside from remembering feeling slightly giddy knowing I was about to get some action with a guy, for the first time in my life. Maybe I didn’t remember any of the details, but I remembered what he had said. I remember how he shattered my illusions. It was burned into my mind, it repeated over and over until I was sure my head was ready to split. His mellow baritone wasn’t mocking or jeering, it was just a bland statement of fact. I wasn’t even worth the effort to put a little emotion into his voice. I had never felt so low.
“Put the bag over your head Jordan, it’s the only way I’ll ever fuck you.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Seattle was cold, it was always cold and wet; but more-so this week than ever. Thick banks of clouds had rolled in last Sunday and stubbornly planted their roots, blanketing the sky and casting thick shadows across the city. Commuters were greeted with solid walls of fog every morning, as the faithful dragged themselves dutifully out of bed to face another day of the same old, same old.
Me, I could stare out at those clouds for hours, just thinking. The clouds seemed to feed off my mood, and the days never seemed to get any brighter. In the back of my mind I knew they would disappear. But that seemed a lifetime away, and in the meantime, the dark clouds menaced, and I was feeling lonely.
I had a chair out on my balcony, a small wrought iron thing I had picked up at a garage sale down the street, but like the rest of the city, it was soaked from the drizzle that never quite stopped. That didn’t stop me slipping on my boots and going to sit on it though.
Thinking was dangerous, I had discovered. But I never had anything else to do. I…was just so tired with life. It was all just a bother. Every day was a bother. So what did it matter if I was sitting twenty stories up on an uncovered balcony in the rain? I could sit there shivering until my hands were so cold I couldn’t feel them shaking any more, until the biting wind managed to claw its way under my light wool sweater, to wrap its damp cold hands around my neck.
It was silly of course, but I actually thought less outside than I did inside, where it was warm. Thinking was one thing I needed to stop doing. It hurt too much. It hurt too much remembering that damn brown paper bag. It wasn’t really the bag in itself, it was everything it represented in my life that I hated. It always seemed to hover over me, suffocating. The thing was, it was easier hating that damn bag than it was to hate myself.
Even the cold couldn’t distract me forever, so instead I would look into the building next to my own. It was one of those ugly newfangled things, all metal and glass. It probably cost a fortune to heat. Light shone dimly through curtain slits and slid past blinds with ease. That was another thing, lights were always on in the city—streetlamps, interior lights, fog-lights, head-lights, lights across doorways, yard lights, they were all on. You name it, it was lit.
There was a family across the way I loved to watch. They were just sitting down to dinner, I think. It was hard to make them out through the mist and condensation that spotted their grand picture windows. I pulled up my sleeve and brushed the droplets of water off my wristwatch, seven-fifteen. They were like clockwork that family. They sat down to chat and eat every night at seven-fifteen. They had two little girls who always looked rosy cheeked and slightly breathless, and it seemed like every night one of them was always talking, and where one left off, the other began. I wondered what they talked about. Sometimes I even pictured myself sitting at the table with them, chatting about my day, listening to the girls tell me about the mischief they had gotten up to. But, whenever I did, something in the back of my mind would shout out three words that would pull me back to reality. I was pathetic. Hated. I had no one to talk to. I was alone. There was nothing left for me but that damn brown paper bag. This was the life I had chosen. There were none of my own children waiting for me inside the dank hole I had dug for myself.
Maybe I would just go to sleep. But if I went to sleep I was just going to have to face the next day all that much sooner. Or I could watch T.V. and lose myself in small fantasies at how real families lived their lives. Too bad there was no shows about a thirty year old single gay guy. Then again, would I even watch it? I got enough of that shit without watching some Greek god impersonator show me how I was really supposed to do it. I sighed then, a big sigh that made my lungs ache and jiggled my stomach.
Why did I bother?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I had big hopes for Monday, but they all fell flat the moment I pried my eyes open to the sound of the six o’clock news blaring from the small digital clock radio that glowed beside my head. I was going to strangle the newscaster. No one had any business being that cheerful that early in the morning. It was still cloudy outside, and maybe it was my imagination, but it looked darker than the day before. My stomach soured at the thought.
I could deal with mornings, I had to tell myself, so I could get my day started. Mornings weren’t as bad as nights for some reason. I had a rote set of actions I could fall back on every morning, and I was too tired to think so it worked out rather well. First I got up, threw on a dressing gown I had tossed on top of the heap of clothes that littered my single bedroom floor, and stumbled out into the kitchen to start the coffee going and put my toast down. Then it was a shower and a shave before I grabbed the morning paper, put some jam on my burnt toast, and sat down at the old creaky kitchen table to find out just what else had gone wrong in the world while I had been asleep. I was always waiting for the day I got something cheery like, ‘scientist finds cure for HIV’, but today was more of the usual.
Disaster Strikes Iraq: Terrorist Attack Kills Fifteen School Children. Terrorists blame rogue U.S. missile.
Now that’s something to wake up to. Pleasant I mean. It really made me want to leave the safety of my apartment and start my day with a smile. Yessiree, it sure did. I spread out the paper to read the article anyways. If I was going to face my coworkers, I had best know what they were going to be jabbering on about all day. As I read I started wondering if any of those kids had been gay. I envied them no doubt about it. At least they would never have to think about their lives anymore, everything had been decided for them. They wouldn’t have to stave off boredom and spend waking hours studying for tests. They wouldn’t have to worry and stress out over entrance exams, over jobs, over money. They especially wouldn’t have to worry about finding that one special person in their life. I snorted into my coffee at the thought, spraying the page I was reading, forcing me to pause and wipe it up before all the ink started running. I was sick of people telling me that everything would get better, that I just had to be patient, that I should never give up. What a load of crap. There was no ‘special’ person for me, no one could love me, it was just another harsh reality of the world. At least fifteen people could lay in eternal slumber never having learnt the cruel truth; ‘happiness isn’t for everyone’. At least they would never have to fret over brown paper bags.
For some reason I always felt slightly less pathetic at work. I think it was because suddenly I was on equal footing with the world. I was just another chess piece here, and no matter what I looked like, if I put in the time and effort, someone, would give me a pat on the back, if for nothing else but pity’s sake.
I was content enough just minding my own business in my cubicle, the six by four space that was my home away from home. I was just sitting down to deal with the latest accounts, safely enshrouded behind the grey fabric separators that kept my economical desk private from the rest of the world when a head popped into my doorway without so much as a knock.
I didn’t have a door, but that was really beside the point.
“Jordan! My man! How was your weekend?”
I excelled at keeping my face schooled, I had discovered. It was one of my few talents. The nauseatingly excited voice and face was followed by a tall thick body, Jace, the annoying co-worker who talked to at least everybody on the floor before he sat down to do a scrap of work. He had one of those moustaches that had obviously taken refuge on his upper lip in the early sixties, and had never bothered to update with the fashion trends of the eighties. My fingers always started to itch whenever I caught a glimpse of it. I really wanted to give it a good tug to see if it would come off. I tried to ignore his eyebrows that made even a mockery of his moustache.
“Like every other weekend I suppose,” I said guardedly, trying hard not to glare.
But Jace had his head in the clouds. I would have had to take a hammer to his head to make any sort of impression. He was one of those people who talked and asked questions even though he didn’t particularly care about the answers. I imagined he really only asked them because he enjoyed hearing his own voice.
“Oh good, good!” he said, head nodding distractedly. “Y’know I figured that you had a good one, with that look you had in your eye. I said to myself when you walked in, ‘Now THERE’S a man who got some action last night!’”
In the midst of taking a sip from coffee that tasted more like industrial strength detergent, I sprayed a good portion of my desk as I choked mid-swallow, accounts forgotten.
Jace was laughing harder now, “Ah, I see I see! That good huh? Well, just you don’t forget old Jace here when you go again, okay? Gotta spread the wealth, know what I mean?”
Then just like that he was gone, chuckling quietly to himself.
It wasn't until one o'clock when I was sitting by myself in a corner of the pasta shop across the way eating my lunch in requisite solitude that I figured out that he was making fun of me. Maybe it was time for another suicide attempt. It had been a few weeks after all. Maybe it would give Jace something to laugh about.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I sighed as I looked over my handy-work. The rope hung from the single metal beam that stretched across the ceiling. I had nearly fallen from the stepladder twice in my attempt. It was laughable. I had shouted when it had nearly tipped over. Stupid. Why worry about something like that when you're trying to commit suicide in the first place? This time would be different though, I had a plan. I turned to the mantel above the small gas fireplace. There sitting on the small wood ledge was all the evil incarnate in my life. The small innocuous enough looking brown paper bag was folded up on the shelf. I would not falter this time. I tugged once more on the noose. I would not fail this time.
I contemplated once again writing a note, but who would read it? An effort in futility. Let the Cops have a good laugh when they came in. With legs shaking I climbed back up the ladder and gripped the noose tight between white fingers. Here we go, this is the part I always dread. I glanced one last time at the source of my pain and hesitantly lowered the noose over my neck. It was silly, why did I even now have second thoughts? I had nothing I cared for, nor anyone who cared left in this world. I should be happy. Hell, the world should be happy to get rid of me. They should be jumping up and down in exultation that another useless waste of space would no longer be using up their precious oxygen.
It was easier once it was secure around my neck. Now all that was left was to take-
Riiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
The phone. Now who could that be? No one ever called me. Well, some co-workers had, but not for a long while. I had made it pretty clear I wasn't too impressed with their drunken antics.
Riiiiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiiiing.
Oh for heaven's sake. I fumbled with he knot that was pressing into my spine behind my neck, and shoved it back over my head. I unsteadily descended from my precarious perch atop the stepladder and marched into the kitchen and yanked the phone off its cradle.
“What?” I bit into the phone.
“Jordan?” came the strong voice on the other end of the line.
“Yea...that's me.” The voice was vaguely familiar. I struggled to remember who it belonged to.
“Yea hey, its Casey. Are you busy right now? If you are I can call you back later.”
I chocked off a sigh. Casey, just bloody perfect. Of all the people I dreaded talking too, Casey was at the tops of my list. He was the man I would have given everything too at the drop of a hat, the man I had fallen head over heels in love with…only to discover he was married with a kid. Just, peachy! “Well, sorta, nothing important though. What's on your mind?”
“Oh, great. Hey, howz the dog? What's her name? Lilly? She was pretty cute.”
I nearly bit off my tongue. “She's dead,” I intoned as coldly as I could. Maybe he would get the hint this was not the best time to be calling me. I had a date with death. Yea, ‘date with death’ sounded much more romantic than suicide.
“Oh, shit.” Pause. Here came the awkward silence where I was sure he was struggling to come up with something comforting to say. He really needn't have bothered. “That's...rough. When'd it happen?”
Like he actually cared. “Last Tuesday.” I didn't offer anything further.
“Are you okay?” Casey's voice sounded taught. He was obviously uncomfortable, and trying to salvage this call somehow. Good luck buddy!
“Yea peachy. Is there a reason you're calling me? Or are you just having fun dredging up painful memories? You're doing a good job so far.”
“Oh, umm...no.” Casey said quickly, he sounded like he was conceding defeat on the whole being friendly department. About time. “Listen, I was heading out to a club Friday, I was wondering if you wanted to tag along. It might be fun huh? We could go out to dinner beforehand. I think it'd be good to get you outta the house. Whaddya say?”
“N-” I paused suddenly in indecision. I was going to kill myself tonight, I had decided that hadn't I? I gritted my teeth as my motivation suddenly seeped out of the Swiss cheese that had once been my soul. What was one more week? I could always just leave that rope up, it would be waiting for me on the weekend. Why not just have one last fling before the end. How much worse could my life possibly get? “Yea okay,” I said, surprising myself as much as Casey. “You gonna come pick me up? Or are we gonna meet somewhere?” I could see the end of the rope swinging dutifully in the next room, I eyed it woefully.
“Oh? Great! I'll be by around 7pm. I got reservations at Le Chateau Poliviere. Formal.”
“Yea fine, see you then.” I hung up on him, angry with myself for agreeing to this stupid excursion. That meant I had one more week to get through. “I suppose I should take a look at the Becker account after all.” I said, sighing softly. I walked back through the livingroom, carefully avoiding looking at the mantle.
How I loathe the colour brown.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The week dragged on. The news battled with the weather as to what was smothering me with more soggy blanket-like depressing thoughts. I had to put up with another four days of Jace's pestering me about my new 'lady-love'. I was ever so tempted to just tell him, get it off my back. Yes, I like men. So, watchout!
My motivation for working was at an all time low. But they had cameras all over the office where I worked, so I compromised by filling my desk with all sorts of clutter: files and folders, and for good measure I littered my desk with old faxes. My boss came in four times that week, complimenting me on my hard work.
“Come Monday, you never know, I think you might find your name on a little plaque...” he had hinted with a wink. Now that was ironic. I worked my ass off every single waking moment in my life and not a person takes an issue with it. The week I decided I'm not going to accomplish anything, and fake working, is the week I get recognized. By Friday morning I was ready to strangle the next person who smiled at me. Luckily, smiles had started disappearing as the drab weather continued to rain on once perky spirits. That point actually made me feel like smiling, if only a little.
Friday rolled around, and it started off as badly as I expected. The Pasta place I loved so much a couple blocks down from my office had had a grease fire, ‘spontaneous and deadly’ the newscaster reported with a sombre voice. The owner and entire kitchen staff had been killed. I shook my head as I read the headlines over another cup of coffee. And to think I had been ready to complain about all those sirens blaring all day yesterday that had given me such a headache. Again I had to wonder why I bothered.
Rush-hour traffic was a disaster, the highway into downtown was blocked by a huge tractor-trailer that had spilled oil over both sides of the median, it took me an extra hour to get into work, navigating side-streets I hadn't even known existed last week. Personally I didn't see the problem, everything was drenched it's not like a little oil spill was going to cause any trouble, give it an hour and our sewers would take care of the messy burden.
To top off my extravagant morning, the elevator was broken. Yes, all four of them were out of commission for a safety inspection, so up the stairs I huffed and puffed, thankful for the forty pounds I had shed last month after a little liposuction—and that thought brought up a horrendous memory and the horrid colour brown again. I had to convince myself that the thirtieth floor was just not the ideal place to hurl myself over the railing. I might have, if there hadn't been all those people watching. Who'd have thought I'd get stage fright over a little suicide attempt? The noose was less intimidating. Definitely.
The day dragged on, I managed to finish up an account from last week. It was, I decided, the only real work I had done all week. Funny, my boss didn't even comment when I put the file on his desk for review. Maybe I should do less work more often, it seemed to make more of an impact—well, I would file that information for my next life, I certainly wouldn't need it after this Saturday. I had decided on Saturday, thinking someone might be offended if I offed myself on a Sunday—nothing against Jewish people of course, I just didn’t know any practising ones in my life.
Ahh, I was thinking too much again. I really needed to stop that sort of baloney.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Casey was late. Casey was always late, he was just one of those guys. By the time he did arrive it was dark, and raining again, and we would no doubt be late for our reservation. He was sharp enough in his blue blazer. I couldn’t really help not staring at him, and complementing him. Did straight guys complement each other when they had a guys night out? I wasn’t sure, still, he smiled so maybe it wasn’t that out of place.
Le Chateau Poliviere made me nervous. It was one of those posh jacket and tie restaurants that were impossible to get into without a reservation months in advance. Even the waiters seemed snotty, I had no idea what a French accent sounded like, but they might have had better luck talking out of their noses, for all that I could understand.
We managed to get a table near the back, a nice corner table. The food always took forever to come out after it was ordered, so we ordered as quickly as we dared and sat back to relax with a big glass of Mouton Rothchild. I almost objected when he had ordered it, the last time I had eaten dinner with someone and had this same wine, was one of my most hated memories, even if the wine was good. And it was good, don’t get me wrong, smooth and velvety, just heavy enough to keep me from getting really hungry.
“You’re pretty quiet.” Casey said after a while.
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“Jordan,“ Casey started, “you’re not being very-“
“So if we’re not talking, but I have nothing to say, then I’m assuming that you do have something to say. In that case, you’re the one being quiet, not me.”
Casey’s face firmed, he was getting annoyed. “OK, fine, how was work?”
“I didn’t do any work all week” I replied, annoyed at the linear route he was taking to get to the point. Small talk had never been my forte.
“Oh, your boss must’ve been angry.”
“Nope, never happier. I think I’m getting worker of the month award next Monday.” My fingers started playing with my napkin. I had always loved making them into little boats. It amused me for some reason.
Casey paused and rolled his eyes. “Right. So, have you found someone yet?”
“Found someone…?”
Casey leaned forward across the table, inviting confidence. “A nice woman to settle down with. You know, a guy like you, still single at thirty? Time’s wasting, my friend.”
“Am I your friend?” I couldn’t help myself asking. I didn’t have any friends last time I checked. I certainly didn’t want a married straight guy as a friend.
Casey drew up at the question. He set his glass down carefully. “Do you have to ask that question? I hope you’re just joking.”
I took a mouthful of the wine, and sighed after I let it slide down my throat. “Have you heard me tell a joke, ever?” When he shrugged, I shrugged right back. “That’s what I thought.”
“It’s not like you make this easy you know. I could have been doing a hundred things tonight, but I thought you could use a night out.”
“Oh, so you’re my mother now, not my friend. Ok, I can deal with that. Say, I have this shirt that needs hemming…”
“Jordan! Could you take this conversation seriously!? I’m trying to help.”
I shut my mouth and looked at him. It was a very alien expression on his face. His brow drawn, the slight curve of his lips, tracing a slight disapproving frown. I studied him for a moment longer before I answered.
“You’re not my friend.” I said solemnly. Maybe it was true. I wished it were true. I wanted to hate everything about Casey. They way his slightly curly hair was slightly mussed from the way his hand had worried through it a moment ago. I wanted to hate his lips, his chin. I wanted to hate Casey, because he was everything, I wasn’t.
Casey’s sigh was one of frustration when he grabbed his wine glass and took a big swallow.
“I’m gay.” Oops! That had just popped out. I had a moment of panic, what would he think? Would he yell, call me a freak? Ah, what the hell…I was dying tomorrow anyhow.
That got his attention. He paused and looked over the glass at me. “I’m sorry what?”
“I said I’m gay Carey.” Geez, how many times did he have to make me say it?
“No, I got that part. And my name’s Casey.” He said, taking another big swallow. His hand was so tight against the glass his fingers were turning white. “Why tell me?”
“Why?” What a stupid question. “I can’t see how you could possibly be my friend without knowing that I’m gay.”
“Alright, so you’re gay. Um, any prospects?” He sounded nervous. His eyes were suddenly watching the wall, the table--anywhere but at me. Maybe he thought I was contagious.
“Funny Carey, you asked me here remember. I’m not going to try and jump you if that’s what you meant.”
Casey drew back a bit, now he really was frowning. “You misunderstood the question.”
“Did I? Geez Carey, what do you want from me? I’m miserable and alone, does it make you feel better to hear it from my mouth? I’m bad at guessing what exactly you’re trying to tell me. Just say it out-right.”
I watched as he fumbled with his glass. He was looking mighty unsure of himself at that moment.
“Look, Jordan, I think there’s something else that’s wrong.” He held up a hand to forestall my retort, “and I think you need to get some serious professional help.”
“My parents tried that when I was little you know. Convinced me that I wasn’t really gay.” I laughed, it was funny after all. All the time and money they invested in a shrink to ruin my life—all out of love. It was such a touching thought I almost vomited all over the table. “They said I was confused, uncertain. I just needed to find the right girl. Well, guess what. I never did. And, look at me now!”
Casey leaned over the table, “Will you keep it down, you’re drawing attention” he hissed. “Alright, so you had a rough life, who hasn’t. What are you doing about it?”
“I’m not sure I see how this is any of your business” I said calmly. “Listen, Carey-“
“Its Casey!”
“Of course. Listen, I know you have the best intentions at heart, but I’m not stupid. I’ve talked to real professionals, and you know what the best they can come up with is? Loads of crap about how I need to look inward to find the answers to all my problems. They told me how, if I just took the time to analyze myself, I could make my life better—that everything would get better. Well I’m tired of all that, I’m tired of being something that everyone hates. I’m tired of sitting in an office doing work that maybe one person in the entire universe cares about.”
“God, Jordan, are you even listening to yourself? If you don’t like your life do something different, make a change.”
This was getting stupid. “Is that what you think? That I haven’t tried--if it was a question of effort I’d get an ‘A’, you son of a bitch. Don’t think you can talk about what I haven’t done in my life. Don’t pretend to think you know what I go through every single day knowing that I’m going to die alone and not a single person in this world is going to give a shit.”
“But it doesn’t have to be like that-“ he said, and I snapped then. Enough was enough. I slammed my hands on the table and stood.
“Thanks for the drink, I’ve lost my appetite.” I started to leave. I didn’t care that the entire restaurant was staring at us. Our waiter looked like he was about to faint.
“Sorry about the scandal,” I whispered in the prim man’s ear as I breezed past.
“Wait, Jordan! Come back-“
It didn’t hit me until I was outside that I had no car. For a moment, I was tempted to go back inside and demand he drive me home. But then I ditched that thought. What the hell, I mean, this was my last night of the planet. There was a club down the street that I had visited before. The memory of it still haunted my dreams.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and started off down the street. For once, luck was with me. It wasn’t drizzling as it had been all week. A small reprieve before it started again on Saturday no doubt. Or maybe it was God making fun of me again. I’d hate to think that the day I was going to kill myself was going to be sunny and warm. If I had to be miserable, the whole damn city better share it with me. Empathy, yea, that’s it. Let everyone feel what I feel. Let them deal with some of my pain.
The club was on fifth, a short fifteen-minute walk. It was the one and only gay men’s club that I knew about in Seattle. One visit had been enough for me…or had it? I strode past the bouncer without a backwards glance. He didn’t even try and stop me.
This particular club was fairly low-key. It was dark, but not moody. Tasteful blue and green lighting lit the lonely bar, where men sat and chatted while they nursed drinks. All mostly younger men, all guys out of my league. I had my own league. It was an exclusive club really.
“Jordan? Is that you?” The voice was familiar, bubbly, knowing. A smooth baritone that still haunted my dreams.
“Keith,” I said, and turned to face a man that stood a head taller than myself. He was eyeing me up and down with a critical eye. Doctor Keith.
“I see you’ve kept in shape after that lipo I gave you huh?” He leaned in and handed me his drink, smoothly guiding me over to the bar with an arm around my shoulders almost possessively. “That was quite the life saving treatment wasn’t it? Life…changing even?”
“I…I didn’t know you’d be here.” I stammered out. Stupid! Of all the damn people to run into, it had to be Keith.
He gave me an incredulous look before turning to the bartender who was breezing by on the other side of the lighted counter. “Hey Josh, gimme another one of these,” he said with a grin, pointing at the drink in my hands. A moment later he was dragging me over to one of the private tables.
He gestured to a seat and promptly sat down right next to me, his hand slipping into my lap. “Look Keith, I’m not really into that right now.” I said, trying to push his hand off my lap.
“Why? You like it don’t you? Anyone would in your position.” He pushed my hand away and grabbed for my crotch. I yelped when it came in contact with my member. He squeezed and laughed at my reaction. “Oh, please. If you don’t like it, I think you need to have a serious discussion with your friend Petey down here.”
“Fuck you. I’ve had enough of this. Just cause you’re a doctor you think you can-” I made to stand but somehow he had a finger through one of the belt loops of my trousers. He pulled me back down into the seat roughly. He grabbed his drink and threw back his head, draining it in one swallow, calmly.
“You’re lucky you found me tonight. Things are slow, and I’m horny. What say we ditch this place?”
When he smiled I practically shivered. “I may be lonely, but I’m not that lonely.”
His smile disappeared. “This is about the bag isn’t it? You’re still angry about the bag.”
“You make it sound like it’s not a big deal.”
Keith laughed then. “It’s not. You’re an ugly bastard Jordan, but if I forget about your face, you’re still a pretty hot fuck. And besides,” his lips and hot breath played off my ear as he leaned into me. “You want me so bad, don’t you? Come one, what’s one more night?”
One more night. The story of my life.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I’m not sure how we got upstairs, I just remember his hands roving all over my body. The smell of alcohol was wretched on his breath, but he was just drunk enough not to care who he was kissing. Hell, I was drunk enough not to care who I was kissing.
By the time we were through his apartment door, into the dark interior, he had my shirt and arms caught above my head, and before I knew it he was pushing me back onto the bed, his hands finding all the tingly spots on my chest, my sides. They were magical those hands, and I was past caring who those hands belonged to.
Keith had straddled me, pinning me to the bed as he struggled to undo the buttons of his silk shirt. I tried to help him but he shoved my hands aside with a drunken grin.
“What? The bitch wants it that badly.”
“Fuck you.” I retorted angrily, trying to push him off, but he was younger, and stronger than I was, even drunk as he was.
“Nuh, uh, Jordan. I’ll be fucking you, remember? I’m even feeling generous tonight, no bag! Feel privileged.”
I bit my tongue in an effort to curb the retort on my tongue. What was the use? He wouldn’t remember what he said tonight. He didn’t last time.
Having discarded his shirt, he unzipped his pants and freed his member from the confines of his boxers. He got off me then and discarded his pants. I felt so pathetic…but…I wanted to feel him. His chiselled body and rock-hard cock called to me no matter how pathetic I felt at that moment. He was full of vibrant life…something I desperately wanted. He didn’t give a shit about me. Funny thing was, I didn’t give a shit about me either.
He guided me to the floor. The long carpet soft on my knees. He spread his legs on the bed and guided my head to his crotch, his moans quickly drowning any more taunting. He was hot in my mouth, I swear I could feel every heartbeat with my lips pressed to him like that. The heat of his crotch on my face, his hand on the back of my head enjoying the sensation, I could almost imagine I was with a lover. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind he was just using me, but that was okay. I was using him too.
He spurt quickly into my mouth, just like the last time. He was already pulling me up as I coughed on his discharge. He shoved me over onto my stomach on the bed. A slight rustling caught my attention as he straddled me and his weight pushed me down into the bed.
“On second thought Jordan, put on the bag. I can’t fucking stand that ugly face of yours. It’s all right when you’re sucking my dick bitch, I just pretend its another ass, but seeing your face pisses me off. So put it on. It’s the only way I’m going to fuck you.”
I laughed. Something deep down inside me snapped. A darkness I didn’t realize welled up then, and anger that burned hotter than the heat of his dick that was pressed into the small of my back seeped into my whole body. My laughter was bitter, I reached for the bag, tears hot on my face. But this was only the beginning. And the end? Keith just didn’t know about the epilogue.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The wind was cold and damp against my skin. My legs shook as I looked down to the rushing water below.
Riiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
My cell phone. It rang and vibrated in my pocket desperately trying to gain my attention. With trembling hands I reached into the fold of my soggy pocket. It was hard to open with my hands numb from the rain and the icy gusts, but I did somehow. I’m not sure why I bothered. Something deep within me wanted to answer the phone. Maybe I was half hoping it was the police calling to tell me to surrender myself quietly.
“Jordan! Finally! Where are you? I’ve been looking for you since you left!” Oh, hello Casey. Good-bye Casey!
“I’m on the bridge” I said through chattering teeth. The thick metal post I was leaning against on the bridge vibrated in my hands as a gust of wind tried to rip me from my perch. I lowered the cell from my ear for a moment and shouted into the gloomy sky. “EVEN YOU WANT ME DEAD HUH? WELL, FUCK YOU!”
“Jordan, who are you talking to? Are you drunk? Stop joking around man, this isn’t funny. Tell me where you are and I’ll come pick you up.”
I chuckled, and my jaw rattled my teeth as a shiver wracked my body. “I toooold you. I’m on the bridge. You got a hearing problem?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “What the hell are you doing on the bridge at a time like this you idiot! You wanna get yourself killed?”
“That was the general idea, yeah.”
Casey’s voice was so soft on the other end, I almost didn’t hear it over the haunting whistling of the wind as it whirled through the big arches and stirred the water below. “Don’t joke about that man, not funny.”
This was getting no-where. “Listen, I’m hanging up now okay? You don’t believe me, I get it, fine. Read about it tomorrow in the paper.”
“Jesus, you’re serious aren’t you?”
“I’m hanging up now,” I informed him as another gust whipped my half-naked body. My pants were so soaked they clung to my legs. It was a disgusting feeling. But pants could be taken off and dried, and they would feel just like new. I couldn’t do the same with my skin. It didn’t work that way. I only had one life. God’s biggest oversight.
“Fuck! Jordan, don’t move,” Casey’s exasperated voice urged from my phone, “don’t do anything ‘til I get there okay? I’m coming, so don’t you dare…”
I closed the phone and hurled it off into the darkness. One second…two…then three and four passed before I heard the smallest ‘splish’ of the phone hitting the water, before even that was lost to the howling of the wind. I should jump now before he gets here, I thought to myself. But I didn’t, I waited. I’m not sure why, but I did. Maybe some part of me deep inside still wanted to live. I don’t know. My hand just didn’t seem to want to let go of that slippery metal post yet. So I waited.
I don’t know how much later I heard a car. The headlights nearly blinded me as it swerved onto the small sidewalk. The door opened and Casey stumbled out into the harsh light of his car’s headlights, dimmed somewhat by the rain.
“Jordan stop, we need to talk. Get down!” He was panicking, frantic and pale—goddamit, and he still managed to look sexy doing it.
I turned around to smile at him. “I’m don’t talking, Carey.”
“It’s Casey, dammit! CASEY.”
“I know,” I yelled back, “You always get mad when I call you Carey. Its funny. You’re cute when you’re pissed.”
Silence. The thunderous silence of the wind and rain. I turned back to contemplate the drop. With the lights trained on me like that, I could no longer see the water below. “Jordan,” Casey said suddenly, his voice trembling. “What the hell is on your hands?”
I blinked rapidly, and laughed. It was haunting, the sound of my laughter. Mad even. I liked the sound of it. “What the hell does it look like? Here’s a hint: It ain’t strawberry Jam!”
“Did you cut yourself somewhere, Jesus Jordan! Get down and let me take you to the emergency room!”
I was laughing again, I’m not sure why. What I really wanted to do was cry. I was so tempted then to just throw myself off the side then, but I didn’t. I’m a pansy after all. No guts.
“Its not mine!” I said after I caught my breath.
“What!? Jordan I don’t get it!” Casey’s voice was frantic with worry. “Whose is it then?”
“Ah, ah ,ah! No information comes free of charge. I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours!”
Motion out of the corner of my eye made me blink. Casey was climbing over the rail to get closer to me. His hair was soaked, and the way it plastered to his head made my heart ache. “Stop it Jordan! You’re crazy! You’re scaring me!” I had forgotten how badly I had fallen for him. But he was married. He was one of the untouchables. Straight as an arrow.
“Tell me now, or forever hold your peace!” I giggled a little.
“You’re crazy y’know that!” He shouted. He had crossed his arms to stay warm, he shivered as he thought. He had his back to the headlights, his face was full of shadows. “I…I didn’t know how to say this Jordan…but I’m gay too.”
I really laughed then. I laughed so hard my lungs started to ache and I almost lost my grip on the post and went for a long plunge. “You’re gay! Good one! Thank GOD you’re not a hostage negotiator Casey, you suck at it! You’re MARRIED for Christ’s sake. You have a KID. Don’t bull shit me!”
“I am, alright. I…I always knew I was gay! I was going to tell you tonight, I swear!” His eyes pleaded with mine, begging me to believe him. “Now will you get down you fucking nut?”
“Ha ha ha!” I couldn’t stop laughing. “This is great! Well, the truth hurts doesn’t it? You’re gay. Fantastic. And married! I thought I had MY problems.”
“Yeah, I’m fucked up, alright! I wanted a normal life. I wanted kids!” Casey shouted into the wind. “I…I had feelings for you before Brenda…” It was too much.
I held out my free arm to him. It was running red as the rain tried to wash my skin clean of the crimson that decorated my arms and chest. My laugh cut him off. Maniacal, sick--full of all the pain and angst I’d held inside all those years. “Is THAT why you kept asking me out for a ‘boys’ night out? All in the name of helping me? AND I THOUGHT I WAS DELUDING MYSELF!” I couldn’t seem to stop laughing. The sharp metal rivets of the post were digging painfully into my hands. I relished the feeling: The cold that had wrapped me in its deadly embrace, the despair that had my heart hanging by a thin piece of string, but above all—I relished the emptiness. “I figured out what’s wrong with this fucking World Carey, I finally fucking figured it out! Its all the fucking brown paper bags of this world!”
“What!? Jordan, get down! You’re not making any sense!” He stepped forward again but stopped short.
“But I killed one of my little brown paper bags! I ripped it to fucking shreds! You don’t know his name, but he won’t bother anyone anymore. I did the fucking world a favour, and look at me!” I cried, raging at the moonless sky. “The World PISSES on me for my trouble.” I shook my head as laughter bubbled from my lips again. “But now this. Now, you. You’re gay! All this time. You’re. Gay. And you…liked me. WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I FUCKING NEEDED YOU!?” One of my feet slipped on the wet metal rail then, I barely caught myself, clutching desperately to the slick unfeeling metal. Casey took a step forward fretting, then stopped.
“Oh, that’s right! You were fucking your WIFE. Pretending everything was OK. Pretending you were something else to make your life easier! Well, FUCK. YOU.”
Casey was wringing his hands now, that lost look on his face that was so endearing. It made me sick to my stomach. “I…You don’t understand Jordan…I couldn’t…I mean…”
I turned away from him then, and shrugged. “That’s Okay Carey. I get it. You’re just another fucking brown paper bag aren’t you? Well congratulations, you not only fucked up my life, your wife’s life, your kid’s life; but yours as well!”
“You selfish fucking bastard! It’s my life. I live it! It has nothing to do with you!” Casey winced and held out his arms, as if trying to placate some wild beast. “I…I didn’t mean it like that!”
“I take it back,” I shouted over my shoulder. “I guess everyone in the world has a little brown paper bag in their life. Mine was just the physical kind, but you’re not a brown paper bag, are you Carey? You’re just fucking hiding in one! And now…now you can NEVER leave! What are you going to do then when you can’t stand it anymore? When you’ve lied to yourself for so long you don’t even know who you are, or how pathetic you’ve become? What will you do when its brown confines start suffocating you? Will you let it smother you? Destroy you? Kill your wife? Desert her? Steal your kid away in the night? Tell me true, who’s the fucking selfish bastard now, CAREY?”
“Jordan…please, stop this! You’re drunk, you’re upset, I get it! Lets go somewhere warm, dry off…we’ll…we’ll figure this out together” he said, his hand reaching for me over the rail.
I swung to the other side of the metal column, the metal rivets ripping into my numb hands, leaving a smear of blood on the massive pylon. “Ha ha ha…Unbelievable! You don’t get it do you? I killed a man Carey--my brown paper bag. I killed him! It was so easy.” The hand withdrew just as quickly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have…but I did! That’s it, that’s all! Show’s over for me, folks. You can return to the melodrama of your own pitiful existence now!”
“You…you’re serious about that. You killed someone. Fuck Jordan! What the hell is wrong with you? No-one deserves to die because you hate your life! That’s not fair!”
“What about the people who MADE me hate my life? Should I die and let them get off scott free!? Hell no! Fuck them! Fuck you!”
I edged one foot forwards. Casey was sobbing beside me. That was good enough for me. I took one last look at him. His hair was mussed and soaked, he looked like a wet muskrat. Vulnerable, beautiful. “Hey, since I won’t be around, how ‘bout you live life enough for both of us, huh? Fuck, if it can’t be me it might as well be you.” I smiled one last time. I had almost forgotten how good it felt to smile.
One last shred of joy used up. One last gust of wind. My numb hand just let go. It was easy. No pain. No more fretting. No more loneliness. No more brown paper bags. Just a long fall, and blessed, blessed silence.
http://www.metanoia.org/suicide
http://www.have-a-heart.com/suicide.html
I got a call from Kevin recently. He won his custody battle. They didn't even go to trial.
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