"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 105 "Only Shades of Gray"
I almost changed the name of this chapter (planned way before a
certain book usurped part of it), but this is a different universe --
Brian would never let anyone else steal his thunder, so I won't
either.
That said...
Brian ponders the future.
This is Chapter 105 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Brian Kinney, and features Justin Taylor, Ted Schmidt, Leslie Marn, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: It's not always easy to know what to do. Los Angeles, March 2004.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 102 "Interrupted"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/443967.html
Ch. 103 "Income"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/444663.html
Ch. 104 "Beautiful"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/445438.html
By Gaedhal
"When the world and I were young, just yesterday,
Life was such a simple game a child could play.
It was easy then to tell right from wrong,
Easy then to tell weak from strong,
When a man should stand and fight,
Or just go along.
But today, there is no day or night,
Today, there is no dark or light,
Today, there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray..."
***
Now I know I've hit bottom.
Fucking rock can't-go-any-lower-might-as-well-throw-in-the-towel bottom.
I'm missing a fucking ball.
I'm barfing my guts out 24/7.
I'm so exhausted I can hardly lift my head.
I'm being burned to a crisp like Chernobyl.
I'm fucking married.
My private life is plastered all over the tabloids, complete with photos in which I look like holy shit.
And -- this is the real proof -- I'm spending the weekend socializing on the boat with Theodore.
And I'm almost having a good time.
Won't someone please shoot me?
No, seriously. I need to be put out of my fucking misery. Now.
"What are you mumbling about?"
"Nothing."
He turns over and yawns. "Do you need some more ginger ale? Or I can make you some tea?"
"Ginger ale. Thanks, twat."
"No problema."
Justin slips out of the bunk and pads out into the galley. Shit. I forgot Ted is sleeping there on the air mattress and sleeping bag. Oh, well, it isn't as if Justin's ass is a state secret. Or his cock. As long as the only thing Theodore does is look.
It never fails that the harder you try to keep something secret, the more likely it is to end up front-page news. Now everyone in Los Angeles -- everyone in the fucking world, it seems -- knows I'm missing a ball. And they all think that means I'm going to fucking die.
Pathetic. That's how I feel.
I'm not going to fucking die!
At least not yet.
Fuck that! I'm going to live until I'm 98. And I'm going to use the one ball I have left until that final moment. I'll fuck the male nurse who comes to unplug me. I'll fuck the priest who comes to give me Last Rites. I'll fuck the undertaker. I'll...
"Here's the ginger ale. I put a little ice in it. I hope that doesn't upset your stomach."
"It won't." I take a sip. "Great." And it is -- cool and soothing. And my stomach settles down.
"Ted's out like a light."
"I know. I can hear him snoring. He'll wake up every seagull from here to San Diego."
"I'm glad you invited him to stay a few extra days. It's nice having him here."
And that's the really weird thing -- it is nice having Theodore here. He's actually been fending off anyone who comes snooping around. And he's been keeping Justin amused, which is more than I can say for myself. I'm not the best company lately.
"After your treatment on Monday morning, I'll drop you off at the house and drive Ted to the airport."
"I'll go, too," I hear myself saying.
"But..."
"I'll be fine. And if I'm not, who gives a shit? Everyone already knows I have cancer. That horse has already left the starting gate and there's no calling him back."
"I wanted to ask you, but I didn't want to say anything in front of Ted... But -- why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you buy Babylon, Brian? And why did you have Ted do all those financial deals for you?"
I shrug. "Why not? Ted's been doing my taxes and investing my extra cash for years. It's just a slightly larger amount."
"But the diner..."
"Security," I say, cutting him off. "That way Deb will always have a job. And the Liberty Diner makes money, believe it or not, so it's not a charity case. The same with Emmett's catering business. Even without Vic, it's growing. It's a good investment. I don't mind putting money into supporting people I know I can trust. Why do you think I invested in your education? By the way, I expect to be paid back one day in artwork -- and in a degree. I don't give a shit whether it's from PIFA or CalArts, but I want to see that diploma, you read me, Sunshine?"
"I read you. And I'll pay you back in every way I can."
"Just do good work. Show everyone who ever doubted you that they were fucked not to believe in your talent."
"You mean like my father?"
"I'm not naming names, but if the buttplug fits..."
He swats me. "My father has never worn a buttplug!"
"Maybe he should. Then his ass won't be so fucking tight."
"And what about Babylon?"
There's the rub. What about it?
"Well? Brian?"
"I heard the Sap was running the place into the ground -- no surprise there, since all his profits were going up his nose. I hated to see it turned into a straight club, or -- even worse -- a shopping mall. So I put a little money into it. Why not? I have a lot of memories invested in that dive."
"Me, too," he agrees. "So, are we ever going to live in Pittsburgh again?"
Another one of those difficult questions. "I don't know. But at times like this, with the tabloids barking at my heels, the Pitts doesn't look so bad. That's why I've kept the loft. I think we should keep our options open." I roll over onto my back. I'm dying for a fucking cigarette, but I know from recent experience that one puff could well set the puke-fest into motion once again. "And there's one more thing..."
Justin raises his eyebrows. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
"I thought you liked surprises?"
He laughs. "Only good ones."
"Then you'll like this one... I think." I wrap an arm around him and pull him closer. "I've been in touch with Earl."
Justin frowns. "Earl? You mean Earl from Put-in-Bay? Cardinal Lake Earl?"
"Do we know anyone else named Earl? Yes, that Earl. I made him a ridiculously over-priced offer on the cottage -- and I think he's going to say yes. So this summer we'll own another piece of unnecessary property. That should make you happy, twat. You can turn the place into your own private nudist camp."
He grins and kisses me. "That does make me happy! More than you can know. I think we should spend every August there. And invite Gus and Charity and Lindz and Mel and..."
"Wait until we actually have the place before you start inviting everyone we know to visit us."
"It'll be great for the kids," says Justin. "And for us. No one will ever find us there."
"Famous last words," I reply.
But he's right. We need a hideaway. And even La Diva is too close to the Hollywood grind.
"Do you know that I love you?" he whispers.
"You better," I say.
Better. And I feel better. At least a little.
I've done a lot of shit in my life, most of it without thinking through the consequences.
Justin is one of those things.
I picked him up, fucked him, and got tangled up in his life -- all without considering what it would mean.
It was the same way with Michael. With Ron. With Tim. With everything.
I used to think I knew what I was doing. That I was being so smart, so canny.
I didn't know what the fuck was going on.
I can admit that now.
All my plans were always just winging it. I never really understood what was happening.
And I still don't.
I can only hope it gets better. That if I reach out into the gray fog, he'll be there to grab my hand and pull me to safety.
If there is any safety -- anywhere.
***
Final treatment. Done. Ended. Over. Finito.
And now... the letdown.
Because I don't feel any different. I still come back to the house and puke. I still sit on the can in fucking misery for hours on end. I still can't eat. Can't drink. Can't smoke.
Can't fuck.
Fuck.
"Give it time," says Justin.
If he says that one more time I'm going to climb up on the roof and jump off.
But I can't let him see that. I can't let anyone see that.
My haggard face is plastered on every tabloid cover. Apparently I'm dying and no one told me.
It would be funny if I didn't feel like I really was dying. If I didn't feel like I wanted to die to end this rotten feeling.
"One day at a time, Bri," says Theodore.
Am I allowed to kill Theodore? Now? Would it make me feel better?
We drive him to the airport. Why the fuck didn't I just call Ramon and let him take care of Ted -- in any way he was able? But no, Justin -- the perfect host -- wants to take our guest to the airport.
Like a fool I go along.
At this point it's deciding which is worse -- hiding in the house and going stir crazy or stick my head out in public and risking another round of tabloid fodder.
What kind of choice is that? I don't know the answer anymore.
Fuck it. I can't live like that.
I ride along, sitting shotgun in a fucking P.T. Cruiser.
I have to get Justin a grown-up car because this is fucking ridiculous.
LAX is a mess, as usual. But we park and walk Theodore to his check-in. I'm incognito -- I'm wearing a stupid hat and I haven't shaved and I look like hell, which means I'll probably be recognized twenty times between the sidewalk and the gate.
To my surprise, no one looks twice at me. Maybe there's something about people focused on their own problems, their own fear of flying, the prospect of getting through security and all that shit that makes them not bother to look at the bum trailing along behind the businessman and the blond twink.
"It was great having you here, Ted," says Justin. And he hugs Ted. Now that's going over the line. I'm afraid I'll have to have the lad disinfected when I get him home.
"I had a wonderful time," says Ted. And he means it. Jesus. Listening to me puke all night and he had a great time. I guess he needed that Ramon fuck a lot more than I imagined.
"Swell," I say. "Don't forget to take care of my business -- or you know what will happen."
"I know," Ted says calmly. "I'll be eviscerated and the chopped up pieces of my miserable corpse will never be found in the dismal swamp in which they've been deposited."
I give him the patented Kinney glare. "Correct, Theodore."
"I'll do my best, Bri," he says.
And then... he hugs me.
"That's enough," I say, pulling away. Now I'll have to disinfect myself, too. "Have Earl call me if he has any questions about the cottage. And if he hesitates, offer him double what it's worth. Fuck that -- just offer him double anyway. I want that cottage."
"Got it," says Ted. Then he leans closer. "Think positive, Bri. One day at a time."
"Fuck the Program. Fuck 12-Step. And fuck you. I have cancer and not a monkey on my back. Have a safe trip."
Justin and I wave bye-bye to Ted as he steps through the security gate. To my disappointment he sets off no alarms and they pass him through without a strip search. Well, you can't have everything.
"I like Ted," says Justin as we head back towards the parking lot.
"You also like Cheerios and the Power Puff Girls. What you like does not compute."
Justin curls his funny little upper lip. "I also like you, old man."
"Even a stopped clock is right twice a day."
"Shut up or I'll withhold sex."
"Promises, promises."
A skinny woman in sweatpants and a blouse with a pussy willow pattern comes up to us just as we're about to go out of the building.
"Excuse me!" she bellows. "Aren't you Brian Kinney?"
I blink. "Brian Kinney? Never heard of the fucker," I say.
And out we sail.
***
"Brian." Leslie comes out of the office.
I'm sitting by the pool, reading 'The Great Gatsby.' So far it's been a good day. Treatment ended two days ago and the vomit-fest is slowly receding. I'm hoping the other side effects will begin to subside as well.
"What's up?"
Leslie hands me a printout. "This just came over AP. I thought you'd want to see it."
I scan the article. The California Supreme Court has filed an injunction stopping the weddings up in San Francisco. The Gay Marriage Frenzy has officially come to an end.
"What does that mean for us?" Yeah, and for all the couples who got hitched in these past few insane weeks.
Leslie shrugs. "I don't know. It only says that they can't give same-sex couples any more licenses or perform any more weddings. I think the whole issue of the weddings already performed is still up in the air."
"So whether we're legal or not will come down to some fucking judge." I think about the idiot who ruled on Justin's bashing and let Hobbs off with a slap on the wrist. Good old Regular Roy. He wasn't so regular after getting his butt glued to that toilet seat, was he?
Leslie nods. "You knew it would, Brian."
"What do I tell Justin?" I stand up. "Call Bill Brenner. I want to make a statement and he's the best person to give it to. He's a queer and he's freindly -- or as friendly as any reporter can be. And I want it to go to 'The Advocate.'"
Leslie gets out her notepad. "Are you going to talk about your cancer?"
Shit. This is fucked up. "I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. I don't want to mix our marriage with my cancer. Those are two separate issues."
"But people want to know about both," she reminds me.
"I know. People want to know. But first things first. I need to make a statement. That is -- Justin and I need to make a statement. And I have to prepare him for the real probability that our marriage is going to be declared null and void."
"Justin will be devastated!" Leslie sighs.
Yeah, Justin.
But what about me? What about me being fucking devastated?
I wish things were easy, the way they used to be. I wish I was clear about how I really feel and what I need to do.
As it is, we're in limbo -- neither here nor there, neither in nor out. Married, but not married.
What the fuck is going to happen now?
If I only knew.
***
"I remember when the answer seemed so clear,
We had never lived with doubt, or tasted fear.
It was easy then to tell truth from lies,
Selling out from compromise,
Who to love and who to hate,
The foolish from the wise.
But today, there is no day or night,
Today, there is no dark or light,
Today, there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray.
It was easy then to know what was fair,
When to keep and when to share,
How much to protect your heart,
And how much to care.
But today, there is no day or night,
Today, there is no dark or light,
Today, there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray.
Only shades of gray..."
(Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil)
certain book usurped part of it), but this is a different universe --
Brian would never let anyone else steal his thunder, so I won't
either.
That said...
Brian ponders the future.
This is Chapter 105 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Brian Kinney, and features Justin Taylor, Ted Schmidt, Leslie Marn, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: It's not always easy to know what to do. Los Angeles, March 2004.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 102 "Interrupted"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/443967.html
Ch. 103 "Income"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/444663.html
Ch. 104 "Beautiful"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/445438.html
By Gaedhal
"When the world and I were young, just yesterday,
Life was such a simple game a child could play.
It was easy then to tell right from wrong,
Easy then to tell weak from strong,
When a man should stand and fight,
Or just go along.
But today, there is no day or night,
Today, there is no dark or light,
Today, there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray..."
***
Now I know I've hit bottom.
Fucking rock can't-go-any-lower-might-as-well-throw-in-the-towel bottom.
I'm missing a fucking ball.
I'm barfing my guts out 24/7.
I'm so exhausted I can hardly lift my head.
I'm being burned to a crisp like Chernobyl.
I'm fucking married.
My private life is plastered all over the tabloids, complete with photos in which I look like holy shit.
And -- this is the real proof -- I'm spending the weekend socializing on the boat with Theodore.
And I'm almost having a good time.
Won't someone please shoot me?
No, seriously. I need to be put out of my fucking misery. Now.
"What are you mumbling about?"
"Nothing."
He turns over and yawns. "Do you need some more ginger ale? Or I can make you some tea?"
"Ginger ale. Thanks, twat."
"No problema."
Justin slips out of the bunk and pads out into the galley. Shit. I forgot Ted is sleeping there on the air mattress and sleeping bag. Oh, well, it isn't as if Justin's ass is a state secret. Or his cock. As long as the only thing Theodore does is look.
It never fails that the harder you try to keep something secret, the more likely it is to end up front-page news. Now everyone in Los Angeles -- everyone in the fucking world, it seems -- knows I'm missing a ball. And they all think that means I'm going to fucking die.
Pathetic. That's how I feel.
I'm not going to fucking die!
At least not yet.
Fuck that! I'm going to live until I'm 98. And I'm going to use the one ball I have left until that final moment. I'll fuck the male nurse who comes to unplug me. I'll fuck the priest who comes to give me Last Rites. I'll fuck the undertaker. I'll...
"Here's the ginger ale. I put a little ice in it. I hope that doesn't upset your stomach."
"It won't." I take a sip. "Great." And it is -- cool and soothing. And my stomach settles down.
"Ted's out like a light."
"I know. I can hear him snoring. He'll wake up every seagull from here to San Diego."
"I'm glad you invited him to stay a few extra days. It's nice having him here."
And that's the really weird thing -- it is nice having Theodore here. He's actually been fending off anyone who comes snooping around. And he's been keeping Justin amused, which is more than I can say for myself. I'm not the best company lately.
"After your treatment on Monday morning, I'll drop you off at the house and drive Ted to the airport."
"I'll go, too," I hear myself saying.
"But..."
"I'll be fine. And if I'm not, who gives a shit? Everyone already knows I have cancer. That horse has already left the starting gate and there's no calling him back."
"I wanted to ask you, but I didn't want to say anything in front of Ted... But -- why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you buy Babylon, Brian? And why did you have Ted do all those financial deals for you?"
I shrug. "Why not? Ted's been doing my taxes and investing my extra cash for years. It's just a slightly larger amount."
"But the diner..."
"Security," I say, cutting him off. "That way Deb will always have a job. And the Liberty Diner makes money, believe it or not, so it's not a charity case. The same with Emmett's catering business. Even without Vic, it's growing. It's a good investment. I don't mind putting money into supporting people I know I can trust. Why do you think I invested in your education? By the way, I expect to be paid back one day in artwork -- and in a degree. I don't give a shit whether it's from PIFA or CalArts, but I want to see that diploma, you read me, Sunshine?"
"I read you. And I'll pay you back in every way I can."
"Just do good work. Show everyone who ever doubted you that they were fucked not to believe in your talent."
"You mean like my father?"
"I'm not naming names, but if the buttplug fits..."
He swats me. "My father has never worn a buttplug!"
"Maybe he should. Then his ass won't be so fucking tight."
"And what about Babylon?"
There's the rub. What about it?
"Well? Brian?"
"I heard the Sap was running the place into the ground -- no surprise there, since all his profits were going up his nose. I hated to see it turned into a straight club, or -- even worse -- a shopping mall. So I put a little money into it. Why not? I have a lot of memories invested in that dive."
"Me, too," he agrees. "So, are we ever going to live in Pittsburgh again?"
Another one of those difficult questions. "I don't know. But at times like this, with the tabloids barking at my heels, the Pitts doesn't look so bad. That's why I've kept the loft. I think we should keep our options open." I roll over onto my back. I'm dying for a fucking cigarette, but I know from recent experience that one puff could well set the puke-fest into motion once again. "And there's one more thing..."
Justin raises his eyebrows. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
"I thought you liked surprises?"
He laughs. "Only good ones."
"Then you'll like this one... I think." I wrap an arm around him and pull him closer. "I've been in touch with Earl."
Justin frowns. "Earl? You mean Earl from Put-in-Bay? Cardinal Lake Earl?"
"Do we know anyone else named Earl? Yes, that Earl. I made him a ridiculously over-priced offer on the cottage -- and I think he's going to say yes. So this summer we'll own another piece of unnecessary property. That should make you happy, twat. You can turn the place into your own private nudist camp."
He grins and kisses me. "That does make me happy! More than you can know. I think we should spend every August there. And invite Gus and Charity and Lindz and Mel and..."
"Wait until we actually have the place before you start inviting everyone we know to visit us."
"It'll be great for the kids," says Justin. "And for us. No one will ever find us there."
"Famous last words," I reply.
But he's right. We need a hideaway. And even La Diva is too close to the Hollywood grind.
"Do you know that I love you?" he whispers.
"You better," I say.
Better. And I feel better. At least a little.
I've done a lot of shit in my life, most of it without thinking through the consequences.
Justin is one of those things.
I picked him up, fucked him, and got tangled up in his life -- all without considering what it would mean.
It was the same way with Michael. With Ron. With Tim. With everything.
I used to think I knew what I was doing. That I was being so smart, so canny.
I didn't know what the fuck was going on.
I can admit that now.
All my plans were always just winging it. I never really understood what was happening.
And I still don't.
I can only hope it gets better. That if I reach out into the gray fog, he'll be there to grab my hand and pull me to safety.
If there is any safety -- anywhere.
***
Final treatment. Done. Ended. Over. Finito.
And now... the letdown.
Because I don't feel any different. I still come back to the house and puke. I still sit on the can in fucking misery for hours on end. I still can't eat. Can't drink. Can't smoke.
Can't fuck.
Fuck.
"Give it time," says Justin.
If he says that one more time I'm going to climb up on the roof and jump off.
But I can't let him see that. I can't let anyone see that.
My haggard face is plastered on every tabloid cover. Apparently I'm dying and no one told me.
It would be funny if I didn't feel like I really was dying. If I didn't feel like I wanted to die to end this rotten feeling.
"One day at a time, Bri," says Theodore.
Am I allowed to kill Theodore? Now? Would it make me feel better?
We drive him to the airport. Why the fuck didn't I just call Ramon and let him take care of Ted -- in any way he was able? But no, Justin -- the perfect host -- wants to take our guest to the airport.
Like a fool I go along.
At this point it's deciding which is worse -- hiding in the house and going stir crazy or stick my head out in public and risking another round of tabloid fodder.
What kind of choice is that? I don't know the answer anymore.
Fuck it. I can't live like that.
I ride along, sitting shotgun in a fucking P.T. Cruiser.
I have to get Justin a grown-up car because this is fucking ridiculous.
LAX is a mess, as usual. But we park and walk Theodore to his check-in. I'm incognito -- I'm wearing a stupid hat and I haven't shaved and I look like hell, which means I'll probably be recognized twenty times between the sidewalk and the gate.
To my surprise, no one looks twice at me. Maybe there's something about people focused on their own problems, their own fear of flying, the prospect of getting through security and all that shit that makes them not bother to look at the bum trailing along behind the businessman and the blond twink.
"It was great having you here, Ted," says Justin. And he hugs Ted. Now that's going over the line. I'm afraid I'll have to have the lad disinfected when I get him home.
"I had a wonderful time," says Ted. And he means it. Jesus. Listening to me puke all night and he had a great time. I guess he needed that Ramon fuck a lot more than I imagined.
"Swell," I say. "Don't forget to take care of my business -- or you know what will happen."
"I know," Ted says calmly. "I'll be eviscerated and the chopped up pieces of my miserable corpse will never be found in the dismal swamp in which they've been deposited."
I give him the patented Kinney glare. "Correct, Theodore."
"I'll do my best, Bri," he says.
And then... he hugs me.
"That's enough," I say, pulling away. Now I'll have to disinfect myself, too. "Have Earl call me if he has any questions about the cottage. And if he hesitates, offer him double what it's worth. Fuck that -- just offer him double anyway. I want that cottage."
"Got it," says Ted. Then he leans closer. "Think positive, Bri. One day at a time."
"Fuck the Program. Fuck 12-Step. And fuck you. I have cancer and not a monkey on my back. Have a safe trip."
Justin and I wave bye-bye to Ted as he steps through the security gate. To my disappointment he sets off no alarms and they pass him through without a strip search. Well, you can't have everything.
"I like Ted," says Justin as we head back towards the parking lot.
"You also like Cheerios and the Power Puff Girls. What you like does not compute."
Justin curls his funny little upper lip. "I also like you, old man."
"Even a stopped clock is right twice a day."
"Shut up or I'll withhold sex."
"Promises, promises."
A skinny woman in sweatpants and a blouse with a pussy willow pattern comes up to us just as we're about to go out of the building.
"Excuse me!" she bellows. "Aren't you Brian Kinney?"
I blink. "Brian Kinney? Never heard of the fucker," I say.
And out we sail.
***
"Brian." Leslie comes out of the office.
I'm sitting by the pool, reading 'The Great Gatsby.' So far it's been a good day. Treatment ended two days ago and the vomit-fest is slowly receding. I'm hoping the other side effects will begin to subside as well.
"What's up?"
Leslie hands me a printout. "This just came over AP. I thought you'd want to see it."
I scan the article. The California Supreme Court has filed an injunction stopping the weddings up in San Francisco. The Gay Marriage Frenzy has officially come to an end.
"What does that mean for us?" Yeah, and for all the couples who got hitched in these past few insane weeks.
Leslie shrugs. "I don't know. It only says that they can't give same-sex couples any more licenses or perform any more weddings. I think the whole issue of the weddings already performed is still up in the air."
"So whether we're legal or not will come down to some fucking judge." I think about the idiot who ruled on Justin's bashing and let Hobbs off with a slap on the wrist. Good old Regular Roy. He wasn't so regular after getting his butt glued to that toilet seat, was he?
Leslie nods. "You knew it would, Brian."
"What do I tell Justin?" I stand up. "Call Bill Brenner. I want to make a statement and he's the best person to give it to. He's a queer and he's freindly -- or as friendly as any reporter can be. And I want it to go to 'The Advocate.'"
Leslie gets out her notepad. "Are you going to talk about your cancer?"
Shit. This is fucked up. "I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. I don't want to mix our marriage with my cancer. Those are two separate issues."
"But people want to know about both," she reminds me.
"I know. People want to know. But first things first. I need to make a statement. That is -- Justin and I need to make a statement. And I have to prepare him for the real probability that our marriage is going to be declared null and void."
"Justin will be devastated!" Leslie sighs.
Yeah, Justin.
But what about me? What about me being fucking devastated?
I wish things were easy, the way they used to be. I wish I was clear about how I really feel and what I need to do.
As it is, we're in limbo -- neither here nor there, neither in nor out. Married, but not married.
What the fuck is going to happen now?
If I only knew.
***
"I remember when the answer seemed so clear,
We had never lived with doubt, or tasted fear.
It was easy then to tell truth from lies,
Selling out from compromise,
Who to love and who to hate,
The foolish from the wise.
But today, there is no day or night,
Today, there is no dark or light,
Today, there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray.
It was easy then to know what was fair,
When to keep and when to share,
How much to protect your heart,
And how much to care.
But today, there is no day or night,
Today, there is no dark or light,
Today, there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray.
Only shades of gray..."
(Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil)