He was to move out immediately, take his stuff and be gone.
At the time, a dear friend of mine, Gary, was dying of AIDS. I went to his house with a bunch of his other friends to say goodbye while my boyfriend was supposed to pack up his shit and leave.
We were all there, loving on Gary, drinking wine and celebratinghim as he lay, his eyes open, but not there, not in any real way. I had bought Gary a crystal ball years before, and at one point, I put it next to him on the bed. And even though he was far gone, we all watched in amazement as he reached out his hand to the crystal ball. His fingers moved around it.
“Oh, honey,” I whispered. “I love you, Gary. Goodbye.”
When I got home that day, once again I could see it and taste it, that scent of malevolence, of something so far off normal that no words could save it. Far from having left, my boyfriend was lying asleep on a futon in the living room. Next to him was a bottle of tequila and a bottle of Vicodin, both seemingly left open, I realize now, for me to think he’d swallowed a whole bunch of pills.
But I was just so exhausted from being with Gary that I heard myself very quietly say, “Okay, all right, whatever.” I poured myself a shot of tequila and lit up a cigarette.
I sat there, watching him sleep, hating the fact that he was still there. As I smoked, the phone rang, and when I answered, my mom’s voice came through.
“Gary’s gone.”
I started to cry, and as I did, this creature rose up from the futon and looked at me with that familiar stare, the look that seemed to say, “You’re dead.”
Here we go,I thought. I was used to it now.
What happened next was like a dream. Something was off, as though he had indeed taken a bunch of pills and tequila. He picked up my car keys and started to walk toward the door. But he was stumbling around, walking at an angle.
“Don’t take the car,” I said. “You’ll kill yourself.” I was trying to physically stop him from leaving. “You can’t drive right now. You can barely walk…”
But he was too strong for me, and he pushed past me out to the car and drove away. I immediately called the cops, telling them what kind of car and the license plate.
“You have to stop him,” I said. “He’s going to kill someone.”
They said there was nothing they could do.
I was desperate and called a friend of his in San Francisco to see if he’d contacted them to say he was on his way. As I was on the phone, he suddenly appeared in the doorway. He wasn’t falling around anymore. He seemed sober now, focused, like he had a mission, like it had all been a ruse.
I was relieved, and not. A part of me wished he had gotten into a car accident and died. The truth is, in my mind, I planned his death every day—that’s why I never had a gun. I used to think,I’ll put a bullet through his head if he doesn’t put one through mine.
I’m fucked,I thought.I’m fucked.
“How much did you have to drink tonight, Christina?” he said.
“Not that much…”
“You did too. You’re a fucking alcoholic.”
“No I’m not. Fuck you. My friend was dying. I’m not drunk. I drove…”
Before I could finish, a cigarette lighter flew across the room and split the skin above my eye wide open. I still have the scar. Blood was shooting out of my face, splattering all over a sleeping bag I’d grabbed.
“Oh, you want to be a little drunkenwhore?” he said, seething.
Now he was coming at me, the bottle of tequila in his hand. He grabbed me, pulled my head back by my hair, and, rather than beat me with the bottle, as I thought he might, pushed me to the floor, where he held my nose and poured the entire bottle of tequila down my throat.
The liquor burned. I felt the room sway. Was this really happening? I gagged on all the liquid in my stomach, hoping I could throw it up quickly, before I got severe alcohol poisoning.
But despite my almost instant and debilitating intoxication, I wasn’t stupid; I knew how to work my shit.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I deserve it. I’m sorry. Deserve it. I’m sorry.” I was sitting up now, placating him, playing him.
“I need to call my mom back, tell her everything’s okay,” I said. “She heard some of this, so…” I was insinuating that she might be on her way already.
He sat off to the side, his fervor yet again dissipating a little once his behavior seemed to have had the desired effect.
