Monday, November 23, 2009

Roses

But I don’t like where all this is leading -- I want to tell you about the time JoAnne finally came to Boston, after Gabby and I had moved into our own place, we had a three bedroom to ourselves. JoAnne loved the list I had tacked up on the wall in the living room, actually it was all of my daily lists taped together, maybe a month of them -- various colors of scrap paper with tricks’ names and numbers; grocery lists; and then certain things written over and over again like INCEST, because I was getting ready to confront my parents. Sometimes JoAnne and I would stand in the living room and look at the lists -- there wasn’t any furniture in there, and we didn’t like looking outside at the kids leaving the school across the street -- JoAnne would look at me like a professor, purse her lips and ask in an exaggerated parody of a British accent: children, what are we going to talk about today? Then she’d wind her hand around in the circle with her pointer finger out like she was getting ready to read, Boston style, and boom the finger would land right on INCEST. That’s right, Professor JoAnne would say -- incest. Repeat after me: incest. Spell that -- I…N…C…E…S…T… Exactly -- now, go home and tell your parents.

Or, when Andee and I went to that party in New York -- it was a birthday party for Gregory, this boy who I had a crush on for at least a year, I mean we were friends and there was all this sexual tension but I knew he was never going to sleep with me because I was a whore. That happened a lot in New York, not the crushes but the part where they wouldn’t sleep with me once they found out what I did for a living. Anyway, that night I was in an after-trick spending mood, so on the way to Gregory’s house I thought I’d buy him a dozen roses, half yellow and half peach, but the person at the flower stand got confused and mixed two dozen together -- oh well, I thought, I guess I’ll give him two dozen. Globalization was hard at work providing roses for scarily cheap prices to East Village consumers like me. When we got to the party, I was embarrassed because Gregory’s boyfriend had brought flowers too, but only three Gerbera daisies. This was the party where, at one point, Gregory and three other fags were comparing Nikes -- they were all wearing the same ones, and I said something like: that’s enough to fund an entire sweatshop. Then one of them looked down at my boots, and said: well, together you’re wearing a whole cow on your feet. I want to tell you about how JoAnne jumped in and said: these boots are vegan! Then, on the way out, she somehow managed to stuff all the roses into her bag without anyone noticing, I should’ve bought them for her in the first place.

That was around the same time when my roommate’s brother started staying in our apartment -- we shared this enormous commercial loft space so there was plenty of room, but it was still kind of annoying the way Devon’s brother literally pitched a tent in the middle of our apartment, and then he would bring home women to fuck and there weren’t any walls and they would make all this ridiculously gendered hetero noise. I want to tell you about how JoAnne decided that if my roommate’s brother had moved in without asking, she could move in too, so she got a bigger tent, and pitched it right next to my roommate’s brother’s tent, and then when he and some new fling were fucking she started screaming along with them. Later things got messier, after the landlord broke in and stole everything, but at least we didn’t have to listen to my roommate’s brother. But back to Boston, Gabby and I were selling K to save money so that we could take the train cross-country and figure out where the hell to move -- we needed to get out of Boston, that was for sure. But then, instead of saving money, Gabby ended up doing more drugs, and I want to tell you about how JoAnne ended up going with me, but I can’t because JoAnne was already dead and I was moving back to San Francisco.

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