‘Hammer would literally die before he ever came out,’ I say. ‘Honest to God, he’s one of those guys who equates his heterosexuality with his masculinity. He’d probably kill himself before he publicly admitted he was gay.’
Charlie’s face crumples in front of me, while I wish desperately I could cram those stupid words back into my head.
Because there was once a third person who knew about Hammer.
Charlie’s ex-boyfriend, Matt.
Who couldn’t publicly admit he was gay. And killed himself.
‘Charlie – shit – I’m so sorry – you know I didn’t mean Matt,’ I say.
Charlie tries to shrug it off, which makes me feel even worse, since it means he is absolutely not okay. ‘All good, dude, all good,’ he says. He stands up, takes his cigarette pack and lighter and abandons his Heineken. ‘Forgot I have work. Better head off.’
‘Charlie, don’t go,’ I say. Dammit.
‘It’s cool,’ Charlie says. ‘It’s not like last time. We’re not leaving on a fight. But I gotta go.’
He heads back into the lounge.
‘Charlie!’ I call out. ‘Wait!’
He turns, but not far enough for me to see his face.
‘I don’t want to go seven years without seeing you again,’ I admit.
My words hang there, flaccid and unanswered for too long. The grey-haired daddies in the corner look at us like they’re watching TV.
‘Tell you what: my new bar has its opening night next Friday,’ Charlie says. ‘I’ll unblock you and DM you the details, okay?’
He leaves without waiting to hear if it is okay or not.
The silver daddies in the corner are checking me out. ‘You alright, buddy?’ one asks.
I tell him I’m fine, and ask both daddies if they’d like to rail me in a cubicle.
We go back into the sauna, one of them making out with me while I shove the bottle of Jungle Juice to my nose, the other one fingering my hole.
Am I alright?That’s the question, isn’t it?
As long as you’re happy. That would be the answer, and now I know it isn’t.
I headed into Steam Works today to distract myself from how I have no idea what to do after graduation. How, after I shake the chancellor’s hand, I’ll be staring into a meaningless abyss that could swallow me, like a planet being eaten by a black hole. How school and uni provided this fake structure my whole life, buttressed by columns of deadlines and pillars of High Distinctions, and now that imaginary edifice is about to crumble. If you strip my shiny academic accolades from me, all that’s left is a broken boy who once split himself into two and never recovered.
I learned in high school that the brighter you shine on the outside, the darker you burn within. Since then, I’ve shone so brightly I might spontaneously combust. The public Zeke Calogero is an award-winning academic; a diligent employee; a responsible roommate; a good, honest son, brother and uncle; and most importantly, a massive fucking lie.
The private Zeke Calogero is the burnout, the hedonist, the Aussie Jack Kerouac, the free-spirited man currently spreading his hole for a daddy to eat in a bathhouse.
Every day for seven years, the two Zekes have gotten further apart, to the point where I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put myself back together. I honestly don’t know which one is really me anymore; which one to keep and which one to kill.
And if I don’t choose soon, I think I may kill us both.
2
JESUS OF SUBURBIA
CHARLIE
I make it fifteen minutes into my shift at the Tool Shed before I realise I’m gonna cry.
