JD, or Immaculate Hightop Whie Ponys, Pt 3

I rang his bell at the appointed time, and a big, burly guy met me at the door. Obviously one of JD’s straight trade drug buddies. I didn’t know what to expect, but suspected no good could come of the evening. I was led down to a basement apartment in total disarray, with pizza boxes and beer bottles covering the coffee table and much of the rug around it. I could hear JD’s voice cackling and joking with someone in the kitchen. I took off my coat and cleared a spot on the sofa, taking a beer offered by the guy who let me in. After a moment, JD came in looking drawn and oh so thin. With him was a woman I recognized without placing where. I was introduced to his sister for the second time in my life, and then to her husband (“Sexy bastard, huh? Keep tellin’ her not to leave us alone, I’d have his pants off in a minute”). The evening was subdued, with JD having a couple of beers and an anxious sister leaving around 9:30 (“So’s you’ll get some rest, ya fuckhead!”). Hugs and kisses at the door, a joke regarding the je-ne-sais-quoi of straight guy’s asses, and a long glance shared between the sister and me. I shut the door and returned to the couch.

JD told me all about his adventure with AZT, how he couldn’t tolerate the side-effects and stopped taking it. He’d found a Mexican herb that worked better, he said. His sister had already flown him down twice for treatments and he felt so much better. I looked deeply into those eyes and lied about how I could tell. We slept together that night curled up tight after some mutual fellatio. I dared not fuck his now-bony ass.

We continued to see a lot of each other that December, reminiscing on the “Good Old Days” which were decidedly a mixed bag and had only begun seven years previously. He would not let any self-pity intrude on his life, and I was too terrified to let my guard down. We settled down into a ghostly approximation of our old relationship. I’d meet him for a beer at Fritz after work, he’d cook something simple afterwards. I took him out once or twice, but he’d disapprove of the elaborate meals I favored and the money spent.

We spent Christmas Eve together that year, but had a strict no gift rule because he couldn’t afford anything and I didn’t want to make him feel bad. Sex had drifted out of the picture completely by then, and we were content to simply be together. The next morning, his sister came to pick him up to spend Christmas with her family. I spent a quiet Christmas with my sister, too.

Weeks passed and JD’s phone would just ring when I called. My roommate picked up his call one evening while I was out. He’d be staying with his sister for a while, he said. He left a number, but I didn’t call it. My JD demon was thoroughly exorcised, and with all the loss I’d experienced lately, chose to let his sister handle him. I had a little cry and moved on.

As a postscript, I did see JD one last time.

It was the next summer, 1990, in the brief interlude between my Spanish vacation and my escape to Paris. Jean-Marc had come to Boston that July for a week to meet my friends and family and collect me. I was completely enthralled with my little French enmerdeur and had endless fun showing him off to everyone.

We were walking down Tremont Street one hot afternoon when we bumped into JD. He was a walking skeleton, but a jaunty walking skeleton in immaculate white hightop Ponys. After introductions were made, we struck up a conversation centering mainly on hot incredibly hot JD found Jean-Marc. Although happy for me and all, wouldn’t I, couldn’t I get Jean-Marc to agree to a threesome, just once, before we left?

“It would make my whole summer”, JD said.

Jean-Marc, not understanding a word being said, asked me repeatedly to translate what was being said into French. I made up an almost plausible alternate conversation to placate them both, figuring out a way to have Jean-Marc end with a “Non”.

I shrugged, gave JD a big hug, and said “Maybe next time, baby”. posted by Bucko @ 7/23/2005 12:07:00 PM 3 comments

Comments

How do you manage something so heart-breaking?

This is so beautifully written brent, just so sad yet it reminds me of A Separate Peace in a way. Please do keep writing. You have a remarkable talent.
 
Jason-

I tried to keep pathos to a minimum, just as JD and I always did when we were together. But I have to admit that, sometimes when I re-read this, especially aloud, certain parts spring involuntary tears.

It's been 17 years since I've seen JD, and I'd bet he died within weeks of our last encounter as he was frail in a way that people got back then. In the early 90s, the sidewalks were full of jaunty walking skeletons, and I knew almost every one of them. Ironically, that was one of my main motives in moving to Paris.

A pal from another message board, to whom I sent a link, read it and said that he felt he'd seen a ghost (and he was another survivor from the Dark Days). Somehow I felt as though I'd done my job as a writer/chronicler of the time, and that perhaps I've survived to tell their stories.
 
This story is incredibly beautiful,albeit sad, Bbucko.
I know those bars, and the window where you worked, in Park Square very well! I used to sit on the little wooden fence with my two Dalmatians.
I always loved the unusual furniture and lighting in S.D. .
cigarbabe:saevil:
 
CB-

Thank you for the lovely comments.

SD/SG was the beginning of a career that would eventually last 23 years. I couldn't have done anything without the excellent training and base of knowledge I learned there.
 
Bbucko thank you so much for such a beautiful post. For it was beautiful. Why? because it showed that all of us who have lost, particularly in the early days have come away from it all with a better and bigger spirit.

Moved me to tears and back to an incredibly painful time in my own life. Your writing is stirring.
 
This blog is incredibly beautiful, very well written. It took me back to Atlanta 1988, losing my first ever long term partner to this dreaded disease. Thank you for bringing back some very beautiful (but also some very painful) memories of my Lester. Lester's favourite track was "You are my friend" by Patti Labelle, I play it from time to time to take me back there. When Patti begins to sing I feel he's with me..

Take care my friend and thank you again

Gary
 
Your response here is almost as beautiful as the blog. My respect for your obvious talent..

Bbucko;bt1678 said:
Jason-

I tried to keep pathos to a minimum, just as JD and I always did when we were together. But I have to admit that, sometimes when I re-read this, especially aloud, certain parts spring involuntary tears.

It's been 17 years since I've seen JD, and I'd bet he died within weeks of our last encounter as he was frail in a way that people got back then. In the early 90s, the sidewalks were full of jaunty walking skeletons, and I knew almost every one of them. Ironically, that was one of my main motives in moving to Paris.

A pal from another message board, to whom I sent a link, read it and said that he felt he'd seen a ghost (and he was another survivor from the Dark Days). Somehow I felt as though I'd done my job as a writer/chronicler of the time, and that perhaps I've survived to tell their stories.
 
Bucko, I am highly aroused by attractive male feet and by the feet of attractive males. The few pictures in your gallery are a treasure trove that delight all of my senses. With those few pictures you also provide an amazing "portrait" of who and how you are in the world. I often visit your gallery for the good feelings of wholeness and intimacy I find there. Up until tonight I came there just to savor your images. Tonight I decided ro learn more about you. I began to read your posts and stories. Remarkable writing! Delicious content! I regret not having done so sooner. When I read your poignant story reflecting on JD, I could go no further. i had write these words. My "JD" also withered away over a span of about 5 years from cancer of a different sort. At the time of his demise we had relished in each other for more than 25 years. Our "hookup" in 1980 was improbable from the start. He was 19. I was 42. He was Caucasian. I am African American. There were many other disparities, however, for us, they enhanced our relationship considerably more than they detracted from it. Grievously. for all the joy of our togetherness would bring to us, there was another dimension of our relationship that would come to bring unspeakable pain. Because all those years we were on the Down Low (deep down) exclusively for eacn other. During those years we were both married, fathered and successfully raised succesful children. divorced and re-married and became much loved Step Fathers and doting Grandfathers. Thru it aii we always there for each other. Sometimes our relationship was the only constant and stabilizing aspect of our lives. Then one day he called and ask me to meet him at a place we knew well. As usual, I was elated. It was short lived. All can remember of our coming together on that cursed day was "I have cancer. It is not operable nor cureable. There are some treatments that will extend my life but they will hurt nd make me sick. But I will fight it!" It did. He fought for more than 3 years. It won. He was only a remnant of himself as we shared our last "togetherness". Two weeks later I was at his bedside as he began his celestial journey. We looked nto each others eyes and saw the past and eternity at the same time. A moment as intense and satisfying as so many we had shared down thru the years. A part of me also died at that moment. It was my heart. Equally as painful as my loss (2 1/2 yeas ago) has been my inabihity to tell anyone of the grief that continuea to gnaw at my being. Thanks To LPSG for providing this forum and to you, Bucko, for giving me the inspiration to finally give words to these long supressed emotions. May Love, Joy, Peace and Happiness fill your life this day and forevermore
 

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