Confusion

I didn't know where I was going after I left Mike's house, but, before I left, I did promise I would return in two days. He didn't like the idea at all. Despite his protests, I called for a cab, once again swearing profusely that I'd return. I hated seeing him in pain. He didn't think I was coming back, and I tried my damndest to reassure him. Of course, I was convincing myself that I would come back at the same time.

But, I did leave. I needed to leave. An intense burning inside me drove me away from Mike, away from the familiar, into the great unknown. I wanted to lose myself for a time, enter a world where I would be alone, unnoticed, and never thought about. Living in a world where problems beat upon me in unbearable waves, I could think of only one place to go; downtown Chicago.

Chicago is much like any other city, I suppose. I couldn't know for sure, for I'd never been to any other major city in my life. All of my travels consisted of camping in the vast nowhere that the midwest seemed to be made up of or garish and loud theme resorts filled with tourists.

I loved downtown Chicago. The skyscrapers were tall, made of stone, reassuring and safe in a way that my life wasn't. The stone and steel was solid and unmoving. It would always be there as long as I was.

People, professionals, tourists, the homeless, and children, milled about, some brightening at some new, previously undiscovered aspect of the city. Others charged through the crowds, stopping only at crosswalks, then moving on with everyone else like a large pack of animals. Either way, people looked busy, but in a laid back sort of manner, never really rushed no matter how worried they appeared.

I had the cab drop me off on Michigan Avenue, close to Water Tower Place. I liked the Water Tower. It seemed like an old castle to me. It was a fixture in a swirl of people. Oftentimes, when in the area, I'd stop and walk over to the building, laying my hand on the beige bricks, just to make sure it was there. It was living history, something important in the middle of unimportant chaos.

I did the same now, leaning against the wall of it, letting it support me like an old friend. I folded my arms over my chest, watching the people pass before me. I don't think I ever understood the importance of other people. They flashed by me, their faces fading in my memory as soon as they were gone. It never registered that these were people. People with lives just like me. They weren't merely extras in the movie of my life. They had importance.

I had been contemplating this for awhile, taking in the colors and sounds of the city before moving onward. I was getting no thinking done, something I desperately sought to do.

I walked down another street, leaving Michigan Avenue behind. Several blocks along the way, I found a small coffee shop, one owned by my university. I entered it, once again wrapping myself in an ancient feeling. The tables within the shop were crafted of burnished oak, the benches the same. It reminded me of some 16th century pub that you might have found in England.

Pulling out my school ID, I secured some coffee concoction that I knew nothing about. It had a fancy name and cost about four dollars. When I took a sip, I was shocked that it tasted like, well, coffee. Go figure.

Taking myself outside again, I crossed the street, easily dodging the parade of traffic that steamed by. I quickly found myself on the steps within an alcove. I sipped at the coffee, resuming my people watching, leaning my head against the wall. I let my brain turn itself off, content to absorb everything that surrounded me.

The day grew longer as I sat there, the coffee cup emptier. But, I never moved from my spot. No one joined me on those steps. No one stopped to speak with me. I received a few nods and polite hellos from several passersby, but that was as involved as it got.

Finally, after several hours, I stood and stretched like a great cat, shaking the kinks out of my muscles, rubbing my bottom, and looking about to see what else awaited me within the metropolis. I decided to explore some part of the city that was unknown to me. Rounding the corner, I realized that there was a courtyard behind the building who's steps I spent a small amount of time on.

I entered the courtyard, my curiosity piqued by the worn cobblestones on the ground. As I passed under the threshold, all the sounds of the city faded from my ears, muffled by the red-bricked walls of the surrounding building.

A set of double doors caught my eye. They were huddled in the far corner of the building, scarcely noticeable in the shadows of the building.

I walked towards them, the wondering in my mind never settled until I have investigated something to the bitter end. Large iron handles were on each door, easily two feet high. I took a deep breath and pulled them open, a hush pouring out of the chamber beyond.

I found myself in a small chapel, gently lit in candlelight. It reminded me of a small shrine I saw once in a convent near my house. Marble biers lined the walls, the statues of saints hidden within dark alcoves. A small altar upon a dais was lit with two solitary candles, the white ceremonial cloth upon it completely unmarred.

"I'm going to church." The words echoed hollowly in my mind. At the time, I had no idea why I had said that to Mike. It seemed like something to say at the time. I didn't set out to find a church once I arrived downtown, but here it was, stumbled upon by mere accident. I wondered if it was a sign of sorts.

I had never been a religious person. I was Irish and had grown up Catholic. When learning prayers and Bible passages in Sunday school, I did it because I was required to pass the classes. I never really thought of them as an education in faith. Communion and Confirmation were simply occasions to receive large amounts of money from relatives. That there was actual belief attached never occurred to me.

But then there was that moment that comes in everyone's life where the simplicity of childhood ends, and the complexity of becoming an adult begins. I don't know when it happened, but suddenly in my teen age years, I discovered that I actually believed in nothing. I had no God. I had no faith.

My logical side had always dominated me. I couldn't blindly believe in something. I needed solid answers to questions. The Bible never held up for me. There were too many holes, contradictions, missing explanations. I couldn't have faith. I needed something I could touch.

Still, on occasion, I found myself in a church, kneeling in a pew, my hands folded with my brow resting upon them. I was never actually praying. I never did that, for I never really expected an answer. I would always have this conversation in my mind, pretending I was talking to God. I always saw God as a figment of my imagination, to be consulted only when I felt the need. He spoke the way I felt he ought to based on what little I knew of him according to my religious education.

God, or my version of him, wasn't an independently judgmental man. I always imagined him looking at me and shaking his head, as if I were a dismal failure in some way. I guess he was merely a reflection of myself or how I judged myself. If I thought he would see me as a failure, I knew that I thought of myself as a failure. What I was failing in was uncertain. I just knew I was.

So, I sat there in the pew, staring at the little grains of wood of the bench in front of me. Waves of depressive sighs passed through me, the feeling of having committed some wrong always whispering just over my shoulder.

And there it was again, the sense that I had to leave where I was as soon as possible. A definitive tension in my muscles, the slight shiver of anticipation, as if I were ready to take off at any time. To leave it all behind. A grand idea overall. It's the specifics of the thing that always confounded me. If I were to run, where would I go? How would I get there? What would I do once I got there?

The specifics of "leaving it all behind" always forced me to stay my hand. Once I began upon the details, once my mind set to the work of reminding me about every facet of my life, I would no longer have the ambition to leave. I couldn't just run off and leave my little brother behind. I couldn't run off and have the imaginings of Mike's face interrupt my conscience until the end of my days.

I wanted to stay with Mike. I wanted to be friends with my little brother. But, then, why were these things seemingly so difficult to achieve? Could I not have everything I've always wanted? I had the option of leaving my parents, that black stain on my life, behind without a backwards glance. I had the option of staying with Mike as long as I wanted.

Still, there was always that nagging feeling that I had to be somewhere else. I was beginning to lose my remorse, little by little. I had built a fairly thick wall around me in regards to other people, but now, I was beginning to edge that barrier a little closer to myself. The detachment was tightening its grip on me. I think that's why it was so easy for me to leave Mike's house that day. I was becoming distant to all my reasonable reservations.

I was becoming empty.

"Erik?"

"Yeah, Kyle, it's me." As I sat in the phone booth, I admit, I felt a little stupid. While sitting in that small chapel, it became suddenly very clear to me that I had to be honest with someone. Not selectively honest either. I had to purge myself of some of the weight ground me into the earth with each step in life that I took.

"Erik, Dad's pissed about something, but I dunno what yet. He's been runnin' around the house in a tantrum all day." He sounded really scared.

"Bro, you got ten bucks on ya?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

I nodded to myself. He had money, thank God. "Ok, I want you take the train downtown. Get on the subway and come to State and Lake. I'll be standing out in front of the Chicago Theater. I want you to meet me down here."

"Erik, are you crazy? I can't just leave. The folks will flip!"

"Of course they will. Now, get your ass down here." I hung up the phone. I knew he'd come. He couldn't help but listen to me when I told him to do something. In some ways, I think I had more authority over him than my parents did.

As I waited it for him, night settled on the city. The shadows grew longer until the glow of streetlights outshone the sun. The crowd of window shoppers thinned out until there was a steady stream of couples walking up and down State Street.

Two and a half hours after I called, he emerged from the subway, looking ruffled and slightly ticked. I smiled, thinking about how much I had hated public transportation when I first went to school. It grew on me after awhile, until I was no longer thinking about it at all. It became rather routine after awhile.

"Ok, I'm here," he said, screwing his face up in a pout.

I gestured for him to follow me and began walking towards the Chicago River. "We left some things unfinished yesterday."

He made a move to talk, but I silenced him.

"No, listen. I know what you heard last night must have been a little weird. I feel bad for laying all that on you without warning. But, you gotta know something."

He stopped and looked at me solemnly. "You're gay."

I thought I was prepared to tell him, but when the words came out of his mouth, I immediately wished it would have gone unsaid. All my explanations seemed to melt as the enormity of what I was doing finally occurred to me. I was telling my little brother something that he had never known. It was a big deal since we both seemed to know everything about each other. It was almost impossible not to after living with each other our entire lives.

"Do you want me to explain?" I was being very careful. I knew I couldn't exactly cushion the blow after the night before, but I thought, somehow, I could help him process everything a little more easily.

"Do you feel the need to explain?" He knew I needed to explain. The question was just a formality.

"All right. Um, I dunno where to begin." Sweat poured from my forehead and a lump formed in my throat. I wasn't comfortable thinking about the situation let alone explaining it to someone.

"I want you to know, first of all, that this wasn't exactly a conscious decision on my part. No one chooses to be gay, Kyle."

"Well, what about high school? You dated chicks. I know you did stuff with them."

I hesitated. He had a point. "I think that's just because I was confused. For a long time, I did what I was supposed to do instead of what I wanted to do. Don't get me wrong Kyle, I didn't just do shit in high school to hide what I am. I liked those girls, just not in that way, I guess."

"What about Mike?" he asked, with the same smirk he used when asking me about a girl.

I big smile crept onto my face. "I guess you figured us out, huh? It's cool. I don't mind that you know now. I guess I'm comfortable with that."

"Do you guys...."

"Do we have sex?"

He blushed.

I laughed. "Do you really want to know?"

"Not really," he smiled.

"I didn't think so."

We continued talking for awhile, and it felt really good to be so honest about everything. We finally cleared the air of secrets and lies, letting us be more like we once were as kids. Because the trains to the suburbs didn't run all night, I had to reluctantly let him go home.

I, however, stayed in the city. I knew sleep wouldn't come to me no matter where I was, so I figured that a slow walk around town would do me no harm.

I found my way to the State and Lake elevated train station, and looked at the large map hung up there. Red lines, blue lines, green lines, orange lines. Each one would take me into some nook of the city. But where to go?

Belmont.

I knew where Belmont was. It was up north. Why did that name seem stuck in my head for some reason?

I grabbed a map from the service counter and spread it out on the ground. Belmont ran roughly from the lake all the way out of the city. The two closest major streets that crossed it near the el were Halsted and Clark. So familiar.

After a brief struggle with the change machine, and a bit of confusion when I couldn't recognize a Susan B Anthony dollar, I was rocketing north on the red line. I stayed towards the back of the train, not wishing to put up with people staring at me. Sometimes people on public transportation are like that. They sit there and stare directly into your eyes, and you have to pretend you don't notice.

About fifteen minutes later, I was at the Belmont station. Surprisingly, I was the only person to get off the train. I descended to the street below the station and looked around.

Nothing unusual. The same cluster of small clothing shops, video places, coffee houses, and bookstores. Only a few cars glided past in the otherwise quiet night. A solitary couple walked up and down the street, pausing to gaze through windows at this or that item before moving on.

The couples. Something about them caused me to tilt my head, like there was something obvious that I was completely missing.

The couples were all men.

I looked more closely at the stores around me. There could be no mistake. The pictures of scantily clad men in the book store window. The highly alternative clothing hanging on mannequins in the clothing stores. Just the right hint of difference to let me know I was somewhere unlike any other place in the city.

Of course, the rainbow flags hanging from the lamp posts could have given me a clue too. Sometimes I just don't have an eye for details.

I was in Boystown, the very center of gay life in Chicago.

I felt my heart beat a little quicker, my breath come a little shallower. I had always feared finding myself in a truly gay area, because I knew I would feel foreign, like I did right then. I tread along the street slowly, keeping my hands deep in my pockets, practically clinging to the walls. I wanted to be as unnoticed as humanly possibly.

"Dude, got a light?" A shadowy figure emerged from a doorway towards me.

I took an involuntary step back, my fingers already fumbling with the lighter in my pocket. "Yeah," I stuttered, handing it over.

A young guy, I guessed to be around my age, stepped into the light, letting me get my first good look at who had scared the living piss out of me.

He was about as tall as I was with dark hair and dark blue eyes. He wore a baseball cap, like me, backwards, barely slanted to the side. A crooked grin was draped over his face just as easily as the baggy jacket and jeans. "So, what ya doin out here?"

I looked around innocently. "Me? Just walking around. Nothing really......nothing really."

He lit his cigarette and handed me the lighter with which I lit my own. "You gay?"

"I guess so." I looked at my shoes.

"That's cool. Twenty bucks."

I looked up to see a glint in his eyes. "Twenty bucks for what?"

"For a blow job." He made it sound like what he was proposing should have been obvious to me from the beginning.

I just stood there with my mouth open in complete shock. "Um, I don't think so. That's not what I'm here for."

"Really?" He laughed. "Could have fooled me. You looked like you didn't want to be seen. That's how most of the guys that come to me look."

"Oh, well, I didn't even know you were there. Sorry." I really didn't know what to say. Up until that point, my life experience had never quite brought me into this situation. I always figured my right hand was as good as anything else. Probably cleaner too.

"That's ok. You live around here?" He sure was full of questions. I was surprised he didn't leave after I said I wasn't interested.

"Um, no, I don't. I live in the suburbs."

He took a deep drag off his cigarette, burning half the thing in the process. "We don't get many burbs people up this way. At least not ones your age. Just thought I'd ask."

"Oh," I whispered. I didn't really know what to say to him. What does one talk about with a male prostitute? How's business? Got any diseases? How much do ya make? There's something to be said about tact at a time like that.

"I'm thirsty. Let's go grab something to drink." He started walking down a side street.

"Um, I really don't need anything. Sorry." I would have given him money, if I had it. But, I knew I had just enough to pay for the subway and train. I kinda felt shitty about that.

"Who said you wanted anything? We're just getting something to drink." He smiled and took off again.

I trotted up to him, mentally lashing myself for even following. What was I getting myself into? Mike would have flipped if he knew where I was at or who I was with. "Hey, Mike. You'll never guess. I was out with a male hooker last night!" Somehow, I doubt he'd have been enthused.

The neighborhood reminded me somewhat of Lincoln Park. It was full of narrow, two story homes with porches in front. My guide led me up the steps of one and opened the door. "Come on in." I hesitantly set foot in the house, not knowing exactly what to expect.

It was actually nice in there. Clean, white walls, leather furniture, a wide screen TV on the far end of the living room. A couple of rugs laid over a highly polished hardwood floor. Hell, this could be anyone's house. But, it was the last place I figured someone in this guy's line of work would live. Of course, my explanation was not long in coming.

"Nicholas, where have you been? Do you know how late it is?" A feminine guy swaggered into the living room, freezing me in my tracks. He was dressed well, definitely a Structure type of person, with his hair neatly combed and smeared with gel.

Behind him, a rotweiler puppy stumbled around, tripping over the man's shoes. One look at me and Nick, and it started howling. Ten seconds of that, and I could feel my temples pounding.

"Chill, Damien. I was out," Nick said, putting his cigarette out in a ceramic ashtray.

Ok, Nick was the prostitute and Damien was the man. I was starting to figure this all out.

"What did I tell you about bringing people into my home?" Damien had a very bitchy look on his face as he bent down to shut that fucking dog up.

"He's not a customer," Nick said in my defense. "We just came here to get something to drink."

"Well, go in the basement. You're upsetting the dog," Damien snapped.

As Nick led me down to the basement, I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Worse, I felt like I was drunk. I didn't know where I was. I was barely sure of how I got there. It was the very last place I expected to be that night.

"This is my place. What do you think?" Nick spread his arms out for emphasis.

I didn't bother to look around, as I was pretty shaken. I was with a prostitute! What hidden element of society did I blunder upon? My stomach sank further and further the longer I was there. "It's, uh, cool."

He smiled and got two beers out of the fridge, tossing me one. "Have a seat."

Gingerly, I sat on the bed. I didn't know what went on there, and I didn't want to know. I think I subconsciously began studying the white sheets for stains, just so I could keep as far away from them as possible.

"This is where you live, huh? How much is rent?" It was small talk, sure. But, I needed something to keep me rooted in reality, to keep me sane. I was seriously at the brink of dementia, because I was so out of my element.

"I'd say about two blow jobs a week and the occasional fuck," Nick stated matter-of-factly.

I had been taking large swallows of beer, hoping to calm my nerves. When he said that, I gagged, choked, then coughed, beer sputtering from my lips.

"You ok?" he asked, slapping me on the back.

"Yeah." I recovered quickly, but I was still less than happy. "Why do you do it?"

"Do what?" He said everything with such innocence. I was beginning to feel like was the one that wasn't normal. It was like living in the suburbs and going to school was very far from average. And maybe it was in that place.

"Why are you a...a...a prostitute?"

"Hustler," he corrected me.

"Hustler," I repeated.

"I don't have anywhere else to live. This is it. I don't mind. It's a nice place. A lot better than other places I've been." I didn't dare ask what "other places" were. "Besides, it's easy money too. I get paid to have sex. No biggie. An old fag gets in a fight with his boyfriend, and he comes to see me. I'm used to it." Again the innocence. The complete and utter lack of conscience. Or, maybe it wasn't conscience. You have to know better to have a conscience. I got the feeling that nothing in this kid's life could have been considered better.

"Wouldn't you rather be doing something else? Like get a job, go to school? I can't imagine anyone wanting to trade sex in order to survive." Of course, since I had never known true hardship, my logic was solely based around things I had taken for granted. The house, the food, the clothes. Those were all things I didn't have to consider when I made a decision. I was beginning to feel like a spoiled brat.

"Shit, dude. If I could find a job, I'd find one." He motioned for my lighter, which I promptly gave, and lit another cigarette. "Besides, I don't always have sex with people. I sell drugs too. Real drugs, fake drugs. Doesn't matter. Like I said, I'm a hustler. I do whatever I have to do."

"Ok. Let's say, for argument's sake, that I knew a way to get you a job? Would you take it?" I didn't realize how very naive I was being.

He just smiled at me and laughed, but not in a condescending way. "I've heard it a million times. No, dude. This is what I do. Ain't nothing you can do about it."

"But, I...."

"Nicholas!" Damien yelled from up stairs.

"Shit, dude, we better go. Finish up that beer." He darted upstairs with me in tow.

As soon as we got into the living room again, the puppy started up. "He doesn't like you," Damien sneered at Nick.

"Well, keep that thing away, or I'll kick it's teeth in," Nick shot back.

My eyes roamed the room as the two of them argued about the dog. I saw a man looking at the three of us. He was seated in a leather recliner facing away from where we were standing. I didn't see him before, and his silence unsettled me. He was just as quiet as Damien was bitchy. The quiet unnerved me the most. It was almost sinister. It made me think he was a cruel man for some reason. Sometimes I get this sixth sense about people, and my alarm was doing overtime.

"Dude, let's go." Nick grabbed my arm and practically pulled me out the door. I didn't hear what him and Damien were fighting about, but he seemed pretty pissed.

As I left the house, the man in the chair kept his eyes menacingly fixed on me. He swung around and watched me until we could no longer see each other.

"What was that about?" I asked, once we were outside.

"Nothing," he grumbled. "Just that fucking dog."

"Nicholas." Damien materialized in the doorway. "If you don't get in this house in thirty seconds, you can find another place to stay."

Nick looked up at me. I thought I could see tears in his eyes. "Sorry, dude," he said, squeezing my shoulder. He turned and went into the house, Damien slamming the door behind him.

I was dumbfounded. What had just taken place? I stood outside that house for a long while. Once, I thought I saw Nick peek out the window at me. But, that could have just been my imagination running wild.

I walked away from that place with the feeling that I was somehow changed. As if my perception of things would never be the same again. I had seen something that I had never been forced to see and had summarily ignored my entire life.

Nick's face burned in my mind. I could see it so clearly. He was boyish, much more so than I was. And that look of innocence. I knew, right then, that I would be haunted by his face for the rest of my life. I would never get over what I had seen. I would never understand why one person had to suffer that existence. It would never make sense to me. No one could explain it to me, and no one could make me accept it.

I shuffled through the streets of Boystown with a bitter taste in my mouth. This couldn't be what it was like to be gay. This couldn't be part of the reality of who I was. But, was it not a reality of everyone, not only gay people? Still, because I had seen it for the first time in that circumstance, I think I forever after equated feminine men with that.

Now, I had never had a favorable view of feminine men, but I never hated them. That was just who they were. And I was just who I was. But, after seeing Damien, and after seeing the man in the chair, I knew something was stamped on my conscience, and that I would always associate feminine homosexuals with cruelty.

I knew, deep down, that this was wrong. I even consciously knew that I was putting cruelty and femininity together in my brain. I tried to fight the connections the neurons and synapses of my brain were making, but it was in vain.

The incident had crushed something in me. Just as I was beginning to learn that being gay was ok, I came across this. Any sort of pride I had for being gay; the secret pride that I had locked down deep inside; the pride I never admitted to anyone, not even myself; the pride that I was so scared to have because I thought that it would make me truly abnormal; the pride I was just starting to accept. It was all gone. In bitterness. Because of one old fag and his silent, frightening partner.

I got on the train feeling very hollow. I was feeling uneasy with myself. I tossed, turned, shifted, and rearranged myself in my seat, because I couldn't become comfortable. Something felt different. I knew I didn't have things near as bad as Nick. I wasn't stuck in an evil world with no way out. I had opportunity, I had love. I realized I had more than I ever thought I did.

With that knowledge, my heart was near bursting. I had Mike. I knew I loved Mike, but now I knew how much I did and how much I didn't appreciate it. How could I have been such a jerk to him? How could I let myself hurt him, then excuse it with my own turmoil?

My behavior towards Mike became unpalatable and unconscionable. Seeing Nick had taught me how grateful I should have for what I had. I had Mike.

With a panic I don't think I've ever possessed, a panic greater than any fear, for it was not fear that caused it, I dashed out of the train at the next stop and frantically waved at a taxi.

And it was the first good panic I had ever had in my life.

I was panicked because I realized how deeply I loved someone.

tbc

Author's Note

Sorry the parts take so long for me to get out. I just get sidetracked a lot. This part was actually going to go a lot differently, but this week I met someone like Nick, and had that experience. I had to put it in the story because of the great effect it had on me.

I've got a stack of e-mails on my desk still that I'll be answering. By the time you read this, they may all be answered.

Also, I started a website for the story. I do get a lot of feedback, and figured I should create a forum where the readers could talk to each other, instead of waiting for my procrastinating butt to answer e-mails. So, check it out. There's a message board on there where you can post. The site's still new, so it'll need a lot of improvements.

http://homepages.gayweb.com/confusion/

Thanks,

Bob