It has occurred to me on more than one occasion since I started this blog that one reason I wanted to do it is because I need an outlet, one which, in the past, has in part been filled by a best friend. I have never been without a really close friend, in whom I could confide just about everything. It has been two years since my Kent-doll (as I always called him) died, & I miss him so much sometimes it hurts fit to die. Tonight is one of those nights.
We were never what I would call lovers, per se; not like I was with Michael, & not like he was with Albert, or Elliott, or Marty (all of whom I at least met, if not knew very well). Yes, we were partners, in that we lived together, shared the same bed, & were close very much in the way that Michael & I were. But the greater reality was that we were each other's consolation prize, for lack of a better term.
Michael & I were a couple for twelve & a half years, starting in September, 1991. I know that I met Kent before that, because my best friend at that time, Kirk, tried to fix me up with Marty, who had been Kent's partner then. Word to the wise: If you are going to try to fix your best friend up with someone, no matter how well you think you know them, it is always best to make sure that the other person is: A. Interested, and B. SINGLE!
Anyway, Kent's & my paths crisscrossed & intersected multiple times over the years, most memorably for me when he & Elliott (Marty was gone by that point) joined a bunch of us from the White Horse to go to see Dame Edna, on what I believe was her first pass through the Bay Area on tour. But it wasn't until he came to work at the White Horse, in the spring of 1998, that we really got to know each other, & became close. I never envisioned that we would ever wind up as a "couple" of any kind; rather, he & Albert (his partner of about five years ) & Michael & I were something of a foursome, going to shows, the movies, concerts, Gay Nights at Great America, that sort of thing. Kent, Michael & I went up to my family's vacation home in the Sierra Nevada mountains a couple of times, before Michael's health became to precarious for him to risk being more than a 15-minute ambulance ride from the nearest hospital, so Kent & I went up alone a couple of times. Albert went with us just once, I think just to make sure that there was no hanky-panky going on; I also think he was partly disappointed that all that was going on was the ground-clearing for fire prevention, followed by a day & a half of pretty nonstop drinking, smoking cigs, & playing pool, backgammon, scrabble, or dominoes.
I remember that, back in 1994 or so, when Michael had his first bout with an AIDS-related illness, which probably brought it home more clearly than ever before that he had this deadly disease, Michael all of a sudden starting talking about my fathering children. This was not a new idea, for us or anybody else, I suppose; but when he was in the Recovery Room after his initial surgery, & thereafter for quite some time, he would bring it up, over & over again, sometimes garnering a not very pleasant response from me. Finally, I cornered him & demanded to know where all of this was coming from, & he told me that "he just didn't want me to be alone & unloved after he had passed;" I promptly retorted that he didn't have any say in the matter, & that he was TOO tough an act to follow for me to ever consider being with anybody else, which was, & is still for me today, quite true.
So, then along came Kent, who inspired envy in some, & rapid full-blown lust in others. Truth be told, he never really appealed to me in that way, but he was just so much fun to be with & around, always smiling & laughing, always making jokes. Even at the lowest points, like when he got fired from the White Horse, he still cracked jokes about it, even though I know it hurt him like hell.
He & Albert came to a parting of the ways; Albert found someplace to live in the South Bay, & Kent came to live with me. It was what it always had been at first, purely platonic; he had his new job at a restaurant, I was still working from home, & when we weren't together at the bar, we were at home.
Then came the night I went to this party up in the North Bay, one of those adult sort of play parties. It was a Saturday night, Kent was at home for the evening, I had the car. And then, somehow, I realized I didn't want to be there anymore, so I said my goodbyes & came home. It was only about 10 pm, & I usually didn't get home from those types of parties until well after midnight. Kent was still awake when I walked in, & asked why I was back so early, & I told him; I would just rather be at home with him than anywhere else. A few nights later, I was awakened from sleep by his standing over my bed; he asked if he could sleep with me. I told him he didn't need to ask, but it was really up to Truman (one of my dogs, both of whom slept on the bed with me, Truman next to me, & Dorothy at my feet. I'll explain THAT name game another time). So he crawled into bed next me, Truman made room for him, & the rest, as they say, was history. It was not too long after that when I told him that if there was anyone in the world for whom I could be completely monogamous, it was him. And that was that.
So we had about a year like that. Again, it was really more about being each other's consolation prize; he still really loved Albert, I still really missed Michael. But hey, we were two middle-aged men (OMG) who loved each other the best way we could. I know he felt guilty that it wasn't more, & there was nothing I could do to persuade him that I was perfectly happy with the way things were.
When he had his accident (he was drunk at work, & took a really bad tumble, falling backwards off the upper deck of the outdoor patio at the restaurant, & slammed the back of his head against the cement pavement below), I didn't find out about it until about eight hours afterwards. I raced down to the hospital to see him; he was a little incoherent, a little bloodied from having bitten his tongue or something, but was clear-headed enough to tell me his father's name, & remind me of the name of the town where his parents lived. I called them, told them that he had been in an accident, gave them the info about the hospital, & left it at that. I was pissed that he had screwed up the day for us; we had tickets to see "Jersey Boys" that afternoon. I tried to exchange the tickets but couldn't; I sold one to a scalper outside the theater, & saw the show alone. I stopped at the White Horse briefly on my way home, let people know what had happened, & then went home; the hospital was about 30 miles away. I called & got what info I could, & told them I would be back to see him the next day.
His father called me to let me know that he & one of Kent's sisters were flying in the next evening. When they got to the hospital the next evening, they found out how drunk he had been, among other things, & his father called me in hysterics. I tried to calm him down as best I could, & told him I would be down the next day; after all, I had to work too. So I went down on Tuesday afternoon; I divested myself of as much jewelry as I could, & tried to butch things up a bit -- what a bloody waste of time. When I got there, & got my first glimpse of his father, I prayed it wasn't him. It was.
Kent's father is a pentecostal minister; his mother is a Sunday School teacher in their church. Kent's folks were the only members of the family who had been unaware of Kent's sexuality until a few years before when they came to visit him, while he was still with Albert. It was kind of difficult to disguise the fact that it was a two bedroom apartment, obviously occupied by two men, with only ONE LARGE BED. So there I was, with his father, who was dealing with baby boy in bed in a near coma, & baby boy's partner there beside him. A little overwhelming, wouldn't you agree?
Over the course of the next week, I was down to see him every day for a couple of hours, but again, it was almost 60 miles round-trip to get to him & back home, & I had to work, take care of the house, take care of the dogs & cats, & on top of all of that, convey daily bulletins about Kent's condition to our dozens of friends. I finally put together a daily log, not unlike this one, which I would email to everyone every evening, so that I wouldn't have to rehash it over & over.
Kent's mother came up about three days later; his sister Beth, who had come with his dad, returned home, & his other sister Jeri came with his mother. His entire family could not have been kinder to me; much more than I had expected, or hoped for. After about five days, Kent had improved & stabilized enough that they moved him out of the ICU. Eight days after the accident, I came down to the hospital &, while he was less alert & responsive, he was still alert enough to respond when he heard me call him McGyver, another of his nicknames, because he was Mr. Fix-it.
Then, that night, his father called me at about 10 pm to say that Kent had been moved back to the ICU; they weren't sure what was going on. I went to bed early, & told him to call me if there was any change. The call came at about 5 a.m. to get to the hospital ASAP. I got there about an hour later; Kent had had a massive brainstem stroke, & was considered brain-dead. His folks asked them to wait until Beth could get back before calling it. So began one of the longest days of my life.
I went outside, ostensibly to have a cigarette, in reality to fall apart. A really lovely operating room nurse was out there, & she held me while I cried, screamed, yelled, cursed, & basically got everything out of my system. Then, the phone calls started; by the time I had called six people in my cell's directory, the answer was "I just heard; I'm on my way." Within an hour, a host of people started showing up at the hospital to say goodbye. My wife & her partner were among the first to arrive; they would stay with me until I left the hospital that night.
Jeri & I went to pick Beth up at the airport a few hours later; at about 2 pm, they did the tests they needed to formalize the official call. I met with the transplant coordinators to arrange for his organ harvesting; Kent wanted to "donate his body to science," but I knew that having his remains to bury would be important to his family. Just before they all left the hospital, I asked permission to attend the funeral. His father said something about not broadcasting the nature of our relationship to the rest of the family; I of course agreed.
It turned out to never be an issue; the flight that I had booked a seat on was canceled at the very last minute (I mean the LAST minute; we were on the plane & belted in when they made the announcement that there was something wrong with the plane). I couldn't get another flight to get me there in time, so I left the airport & went home. And worked. That afternoon Beth called me to tell me about the funeral; in spite of his father's desire to have it be small & simple, it had turned into a Cecil B. De Mille extravaganza. My beloved Kent-doll was the most loved human being I had ever known; childhood friends of his who had not seen him in years flew in from far-flung parts of the country to be pallbearers. But no one from his "real" life was able to be there for it.
Nine or so months later, I went down to Arizona to visit both his grave & the grave of my first partner, Michael; Michael's family lives in Scottsdale. I made the hour long day trip down to where Kent was laid to rest; a dreary cemetery in the middle of the desert, with plastic flowers, since there was no irrigation to support the real thing. I was there for about 30 minutes, crying, & listening to Celine Dion on the car stereo, our favorite singer, singing "our song." Then I turned around & came back home.
I probably won't go back. I don't think I can. It's too painful, too poignant, to think that the two men I have loved most in the world are both gone, both buried less than 50 miles from each other, & I can never have them back. I don't need to visit a grave to remind me of that. I am reminded every day.
I hope you're both resting in peace, you sons-of-bitches. God knows, I'm still trying. That's one of the reasons I work on this late at night.
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