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Circuit Stories
By
Ken Cimino
Chapter
Twelve: Exits
I can remember the last time that I saw Jack. At least, I like to think that I can. I’m not really sure what’s memory anymore, and what’s simply wishful thinking... wishing that things had turned out differently, or that things had turned out at all.
I tried to be there for you, Jack. I did everything that I could, and tried to do the things that I couldn’t. I suppose I didn’t really help matters, though, what with me leaving you like I did and ignoring you when you needed me the most. How does the song go?
You misread my meaning when I left you
I was thrilled when you told me that you were going to rehab; I guess it just shocked me a little when I realized that you’d been getting high on your way there. I worried for you, and I wanted you to make it... I wanted us to make it. But things just weren’t the same after that, and there wasn’t any way to change it. The first time I came to see you, you were distant; the second time, you told me it was over. So many times I wanted to come check on you, or at least call. It never happened, though. I never so much as picked up the phone.
Not that you can hear me now, or that it would have done any good if you’d heard me then. I just wasn’t the same, and I don’t really know why. After I heard it was over, there was something that just never really healed... a pain that wouldn’t get better, no matter how hard I tried to make it go away. I’m not saying that I was broken after Jack said that it was over, but there was just something that didn’t feel right. Maybe it was just the fear of being alone again, or the pain of losing someone that I’d let get so close to me. Maybe it was just the guilt of knowing that there had to be something I could have done to make things end up differently... whether there was anything I could have done or not.
I wonder if that’s how Tom felt.
Everything happened so suddenly after that... or, I suppose they did, anyway. It all seems like slow motion to me right now, but that’s how things get in memories, or what passes for memories. I heard through the usual grapevines that you were a changed man after you got out of rehab, and that you’d even started going to church. A part of me had to laugh at the image of that, since you were always just the opposite of the type of person I’d expect to see warming a pew. A larger part of me was sad, though... a deep, penetrating sadness that whispered to me that things would never be like they were. I was afraid that I was starting to go insane.
Of course, you became a big scandal in all the right circles after that... especially when word got out that you were moving back out to the Midwest. The people who really knew you, the ones who were friends of yours deep down underneath the cattiness and the backstabbing, they seemed to understand what you were looking for out there. Caesar was even heard to remark that maybe it’d be good for you... give you a change to make something of yourself that you could be proud of. If you ever ask him, though, I’m sure he’ll deny it.
The more we heard about how you were doing, though, the more people started to talk and laugh. I don’t know how much of it was true, but from the way that the stories had it you ended up in some sort of Christian rehab support group. It was supposed to be the answer to all of your problems, and was going to keep you off of the drugs and the drinks... and the men. So many guys on the circuit had a good laugh at that, trying to picture you in one of those programs designed to “cure” you of being gay as though it were just some infection that could be cleansed with the right medication. They were all just stupid catty bitches, though; whatever it takes for you to be happy, or at least content... that’s where you belong.
I just wish that I could find a place to belong.
There were so many times that I wished I could have just completely lost myself... throwing myself at drugs, liquor, and all of the sleazy guys I could handle. I came close, really close; something didn’t feel right, though. I actually walked out on one guy, leaving him half-naked and confused. It just wasn’t right for me. Nothing seemed right for me.
I used to worry that the world was turning gray; I reached the point where I looked in the mirror and saw the world in vivid color and myself as a muted shade of gray. I had turned into what I hated the most, and knew that I had become the embodiment of the boredom that I’d spent years trying to fight. I smiled an even laughed whenever I was out with friends or dancing half-heartedly at a party... I was something to be seen, a friend that everyone wanted to have. I hated it, because it was all a lie.
The worst part of all of it, I believe, is the fact that I was having to go through all of this more or less sober. As much as I wanted to dive into the drugs and disorientations that would be so easy to find, I didn’t want to go back down that road. You can’t be cured of a drug addiction, you can only be in recovery... or at least that’s what they say. If you get back into drugs, you’re not even doing that.
And so I continued my gray existence, seeing everyone else in the world living in whites and oranges, or greens and yellows. I couldn’t handle it. I needed color, I needed to feel; I needed release. I tried to tell myself that it would get better, and that I’d get over Jack... but I eventually realized that it wasn’t about him. It was about me. The rehab had changed Jack, and had helped him to find something in his life that made him feel important and gave him a reason to exist. I had finally realized that I didn’t have that anymore, if I ever did.
So that is when I decided that I needed to either get on with my life, or get it over with. I wanted so badly to want to live... I hoped that there was something in my life that would convince me that it was worth it no matter how rough things seemed. If there was, though, I couldn’t find it; for a moment I saw myself in color. The color was red.
I don’t really remember what happened after that. It hurt, in that weird way that it hurts when you get cut with something too sharp to feel it slice into you. The color was real, and I watched it for a few moments before I started to feel light-headed. I felt the too-familiar sensation as I started to black out, and wondered if I’d see Tom where I was going.
As always, though, things didn’t quite turn out the way that I’d planned. Apparently I’d managed to call 911 before I completely went under, though I don’t remember it. I woke up to a hospital room, with fresh stitches and bandages. I couldn’t help but think that I should have left a note, or something… even though I’m sure all of the paramedics and hospital staff wore gloves, it was still my tainted blood that they were having to deal with.
Weeks passed, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had done and how stupid it had been. I spent a lot of time cursing myself for letting my blood out, letting my disease have that slim chance at finding another life to ruin. I didn’t get out much, I didn’t even eat much for a while. There were times that I wished that I hadn’t been able to get to the phone, so that the disease would die with me… but the disease will never die. It’ll just carry on after it’s used me and thrown me away, just like it did before it found me.
Eventually, I felt the usual call of the wild and started making my way out into the world again. At first it was just to a local restaurant or two, but eventually I started to resume what one might call my normal lifestyle. I started going to places that I used to go, and trying to do things that I used to do. I fought to make it seem real, but something just seemed so hollow inside. It’s like I was watching my life from a distance, and no matter what I did I just couldn’t make the connection that I needed to make me realize that I was the one living it. I hadn’t felt alive since the moments before I decided to try and end it all; it was then that I decided to try and go back to the Circuit, since I knew that if anything could make me feel alive it would be the lights, the music, and the sheer mass of energy that the Circuit was made of.
The scar was still fresh on my wrist at that point, a blatant reminder of the lowest point in my life. I wondered what Jack would have said about it… either Jack, the one that I knew or the one that had taken his place (according to the stories that I heard every now and then.) He definitely wasn’t the same man that he used to be, but that’s okay. I could see his path, and I know that it was the right thing for him; hopefully, he finally found some peace. I even heard somewhere that he’d taken up amateur wrestling. That could just be a rumor, though, since he pretty much dropped off the face of the earth after he moved. You know how some of those rumors are…
Caesar died a few months later, with complications due to pneumonia. He went quickly; he was gone less than a year after he started showing the first real symptoms of being sick. The pneumonia worked quickly, and before you know it one of the brightest lights on the circuit had been snuffed out. No one really wanted to show their sadness, but everyone knew that it was there; you can’t lose someone like Caesar and not have the world notice. He knew everybody, and everybody missed him in their own way. Some of the rumors even said that Jack had come back to see him in the hospital, just before Caesar passed; no one knows for sure, but it certainly sounds like something that he’d do. I just wish that I’d gotten a chance to see him, even though I probably wouldn’t have found the words to say anything.
After Caesar died, the Circuit didn’t seem the same at first. I had stayed away for a while, letting both my scar and my shame heal a little more before I braved the world of the Circuit again. I let a few of the major parties come and go, knowing that they didn’t really have much of an appeal anymore. I gradually started to wonder what it would feel like to dance and to feel alive again, however; I stayed out of the scene for over a year, and finally decided to get back into things when the Circuit came back to San Fran for the Gay Pride Parade.
I felt ridiculous, there surrounded by so many energetic and nearly-naked bodies. I was sober, self-conscious, and couldn’t help but notice that the entire atmosphere seemed different without Caesar and Jack. It really stood out that Caesar wasn’t there, since no one would ever be able to take his place. I began to feel sad, thinking about how he was already being forgotten. Someone who shone so brightly and who carried so much energy with him should never be forgotten… I left early.
I was afraid that I just didn’t fit in anymore, and I dropped out of the Circuit yet again. I tried out different things to try to take up some of my free time, going so far as to deciding I’d write a book. I made it through the first chapter, and was part of the way through the second… that’s when I realized that I had no idea what I wanted to happen in it. The book was scrapped, and I began working through the day-to-day of living a life that some would call “normal.”
My life, my freedom… it was driving me crazy. I just kept thinking of everything that I had lost, and all of the people who were no longer around. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I would find myself simply staring at my reflection. As I would stand there looking, it seemed that I was aging visibly before my very eyes; it was as though I could see the disease stealing away the seconds of my life. At one point things got so bad that I actually broke one of the mirrors, punching the glass and looking with awe at the cuts that it made on my hand. None of them were bad, thank God, but I was fascinated at the deep, rich red of the blood. I finally forced myself to wash my hand off and clean up the cuts, closing my eyes as the water washed the tainted red blood down the drain. That night I ended up lying in bed and crying, feeling an emptiness that I know couldn’t be filled with any drug or drink. I wondered if Caesar felt that way just before he died.
Time passed at a crawl, and days slowly turned into weeks which then became months. The Halloween season was looming, and it would be the first Hell Ball without Caesar. He was already showing signs of his sickness the previous year, but he still had to make an appearance; he had some of his crew to help with his costume, and he was as fabulous as ever. At first glance it didn’t even seem that he was sick, but if you got close enough then it was easy enough to see the lines on his face and the hollowness behind his eyes. He did his best to hide it, and though I imagine he was afraid he never once let that fear show. The theme was the Greek gods, and he had decided nothing would make a better costume than for him to dress up as Dionysus, the god of wine and pleasure. Oddly enough, the toga design of the previous year seemed to make a remarkable comeback in his Greek costume.
I dreaded the trip to Hell Ball, but I guess there’s a part of me that really wanted Caesar’s essence to live on. Instead of simply playing the fireman or dressing up as a cowboy, I wanted to make sure that I got noticed the way that he would have gotten noticed. The theme was Roman this time around, so I borrowed the basic toga idea that Caesar used every year and ended up with a rich-yet-sheer purple toga that no one would he able to ignore. A part of me was scared to death, but I guess I knew that I was doing it for Caesar… or at least that’s what I told myself. Maybe I was really doing it for myself, using him as a scapegoat for my desire for someone to notice me and remind me somehow that I was still alive.
As I walked into the sea of humanity that made up Hell Ball, my mind drifted and I started thinking of all of the people that I wouldn’t see here this year, or ever again. Of course, with all of the people who had dropped out of my life I had never even stopped to think that perhaps someone would try to come back into it. Shortly after arriving at the party, I saw Rick through the crowd… and he saw me. He came over to chat me up, in the way that only a drug dealer could. I told him that I wasn’t interested, and he said that was perfectly fine; it was bullshit, and I’m pretty sure we both knew it. Rick was one of the best at what he did, and he knew that just because someone said that they weren’t interested in what he had to peddle didn’t mean that they wouldn’t pick it up anyway. He merged back into the ocean of bodies, disappearing into the lights and music of the night. I’m sure that if I would’ve thought about it, then I probably would have realized that he’d be back later.
Empowered by the music and high on the thought that I was helping to create all of the beauty and light that used to radiate from Caesar, I let myself get caught up in the evening. I wasn’t paying attention like I should have, and the rush of feeling alive for the first time in what seemed like ages dulled my senses to what was going on around me. A good dealer knows how to play to the crowd, and it wasn’t long before Rick walked by and handed me something. I wasn’t even thinking about it, since it was a scene that I’d taken part in so many times before. I simply popped the pills into my mouth without a thought; the realization hit me as I swallowed the X. I wanted to be angry, I wanted to scream… before long I was flying, but all of the sensations that I used to love now simply felt uncomfortable. I was fighting it too much, ruining the trip and letting paranoia and fear take over. I ended up leveling out toward the end, but I couldn’t help but berate myself for blindly taking anything that was handed to me. I’d spent too many years as an addict, and had too many reactions still hard-wired into my brain I suppose. I guess it’s true what they say about old habits dying hard.
Looking back, I know that I never should have gone to Hell Ball in the first place. Even though the X was rough, I think that I enjoyed being there much more than I intended to. I think that in the end I probably enjoyed the X more than I wanted to as well, and much more than I should have. Despite the negative experiences and the fear and anger that I felt at Hell Ball, I’ve hit two more Circuit events since then. To make matters worse, at the last event I was at I ended up taking some GHB even though I definitely hadn’t had any plans to when I arrived. There was a lot of it there, and I turned it down a few times… once I got into the music and was caught up in the scene, though, the instincts took over and I’d swallowed before I took the time to realize what I’d done. I keep wishing that I could just cut my ties and get away from the Circuit like Jack did, but with each passing day I can tell that it’s pulling me back in a little bit more. I tell myself that I’m getting too old and that before long I’m going to start showing signs of my disease, but after all is said and done I can still feel the Circuit calling and know that before long I’ll be entrenched in it again.
Last night I slept fitfully, but at one point I did manage to dream a little dream. I saw Tom, and Jack, and Caesar, and various other people who’d left me at one point or another in my life. I realized that they’d all been searching for something in their lives… Tom didn’t find what he was looking for, but I hope and pray that Jack did. Caesar reshaped his world into what he was looking for, but as long as he stayed on the Circuit then he just kept looking for a little bit more. I thought about this as I watched all of them fade away, wishing that I’d said something while they were around that might have been able to help them find the answers that they had been seeking. I opened my eyes suddenly, to the realization that they hadn’t been there after all… yet feeling that maybe somehow they had. Tom has always been with me, even before his death; and I think that now at least some part of Jack is always going to be along with me as well. And as far as Caesar is concerned, let’s just say that it’s hard to have known him without having some part of him to stick around.
Maybe the dream and all of these feelings mean something. I know that I’m dying, but for the longest time I’ve been trying to live my life like I was already dead. Yeah, I’ve been feeling a bit more tired lately, but other than that I’ve been in pretty decent health and have managed to keep my body in good shape. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all going to be over soon, but I also have this nagging in the back of my mind to enjoy my life while I can. I’m afraid that I’m going to lose myself to that voice and to the Circuit, wasting away however many years I have remaining on all of the things that I’ve tried to overcome in my life; at the same time, however, I know that if I stay focused on the end and on my disease then I’m going to waste those years on worry and doubt. I’m tired of seeing the world in shades of gray, or beige, or even red… I want to see all of the colors that life has to offer, with the greens and browns and blues and reds of nature in all of its glory. I want to stop hearing the soundtrack to my life in clubs and Circuit parties, and listen to the sounds of the world around me and let my voice become a part of it. Yet even as I think about all of this, there’s another voice that tells me about all of the lights and music and energy that I’ll be giving up if I walk away from the Circuit.
Blue Ball is coming up in a few weeks. Philly’s such a long way away, and I keep telling myself that it’s stupid to go… but somehow I get the feeling that I might end up heading there anyway. I’m looking for something, and every time I think I’ve found it I realize that the search has gotten way too deep into me. It’s in my blood, and in my marrow. The search is the only thing that’s in me deeper than my disease. It’s the type of search that drove Jack into rehab and kept him there for the better part of two months. It’s the search that kept Caesar always looking for new ways to top himself, so that he was always at the center of everything.
I just hope that I can find what I’m searching for before the Circuit swallows me up completely, because if I don’t then I know that I’ll never find it at all.
The
End
Copyright © 2006 Ken Cimino
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