Thursday, April 25, 2002

Take a letter

Dear Jason,

Yes, I think I'd be inclined to agree with you: being robbed, kicked in the stomach and called a faggot is not the best way to end an evening. Of course, you know what my idea of a delightful night is, because often you were there.

If it's any comfort, from your description you were very much in my thoughts at almost the exact moment you were lying on the sidewalk clutching your gut. We were at Freddie's (it's a new bar) and The Giant Queen had just turned to me and asked if I'd heard from you recently. I said I hadn't and he said, "I wonder what mischief the little fucker is up to these days."

So I was thinking about you and wondering the same thing myself.

Anyhow, it's a relief to know that you weren't badly hurt and, too, to know that you've found a job -- yes, I almost wrote "a real job", because I continue to become more and more like my mother -- and a place that you like to live. Jeff, I'm sure, will get many laughs knowing that you're selling underwear at Marshall Field's. My prediction of his response when I tell him: "He should be especially good during clearance sales. That boy had his own briefs half-off most of the time anyway."

Hey, how often the truth is spoken in jest, right?

The Chicago grapevine passed word to me that you and Karl were on the outs and I assume that's so, given the mention of your new apartment. It's funny how I've been able to keep track of you -- not in the scary, stalker sense, mind -- even though we haven't talked in over a year. Ever since The Actor moved to England, though, my most reliable (and there's a word I never thought I'd use to describe him!) source dried up.

I get up that way a lot, you know, and I want to see you, to hold you and to remind you that I love you very, very much.

Now that I know you have access to e-mail, I'll write often and keep you posted on all the Sturm und Drang down here. (You're rolling your eyes, aren't you? "Why can't you just say 'drama' like a normal person?!" you're saying.)

Well, you can't imagine how much has changed! But I'll save my stories until you divulge at least one of yours. Reciprocity, of one fashion or another, has always been the cornerstone of our relationship, after all. You could call, too, you know. I'm just saying. I miss you.

Take care of yourself, Jason, and hey, watch your back, OK? I'll leave you with the wisdom Grandma Graham gave to me when I ran to her house in tears after being bullied on the church lawn one day after school when I was in the third grade.

"Sometimes it's OK to fight, you know, especially when you're being picked on by somebody just for being you. God don't mind, and I sure as hell don't either. And don't be scared to fight a little dirty. Nobody's gonna think you're less of a man because you kick a bully in the nuts.

"Besides," she said, with that little sarcastic smile that, on more than one occasion, reaffirmed my faith in genetics, "if you kick 'im hard enough, he's the one who'll wind up with less."

Love from where you've been,

Brad