by Milton Stern
“Would you like me to be?” he asked with a chuckle.
The emotional part of Michael did, but for once, the intellectual part took over. “No, that’s the last thing I need. Please, Steve, let me be alone for awhile.”
“Are you mad at me?” Steve asked.
“No, I could never be mad at you,” Michael said, knowing full well that he had and could and probably would be mad at Steve again, unless he left him alone.
“OK, mister, you take care of yourself, I’ll talk to you later,” Steve said and hung up.
“Did he not hear a word I said?” Michael said out loud as he put the phone down. “I said leave me alone. I need my space. Why can’t I have my space? Why does this guy have such a hold on me? Why does he insist on staying in touch?” Michael then realized he was talking to himself quite a bit lately when he should be talking to a professional.
He decided to send Steve another emotional e-mail. As a writer, one would think Michael knew better than to keep writing long e-mails. He should have just stopped and not responded to him. But no, Michael had to fix things.
“Dear Steve,
“I am not being dramatic. As I see it, I have three choices:
“1. I go on personal retreat and try to get over you, so we can be friends.
“2. I stalk you until you get a restraining order.
“3. I stay in contact in the vain hope you fall madly in love with me. I never eat or sleep and waste away to nothing.
“I am going for option one, although option three promises a new lean and mean physique! Please, let me do this. I do love you, and I want you in my life for the long run, but if I don’t take some time away, I will start doing some weird things and get angry at you.
“Besides, you promised to tie me to the bed and have your way with me. And, I don’t want love to get in the way of that.
“Love,
“Michael.”
Michael sent it and remembered it was Friday morning, and he had scheduled an appointment with a doctor Sharon recommended, as he wanted to see if he could get a prescription to help him sleep and figured he would get a physical while he was at it.
Michael would not see his e-mails all afternoon, which meant for once, he would not be sitting and waiting for a response from Steve. He had fasted all day, which was easy since he was not eating much of anything by this time anyway. Michael had entered into a state of depression like none other he had ever experienced, and he wondered if he should have told Steve he was in love with him. He came to the conclusion that was the biggest mistake he made. He should have just disappeared, not contacted Steve, and let this weird relationship fade away. As he walked to the doctor’s office, Michael pondered ways he could fix this. Should I tell Steve I’m really not in love with him? Should I apologize for his weird behavior? Should I buy a Hallmark card? Do they make a Hallmark card for when someone falls in love with a fuck-buddy?
Michael arrived at the doctor’s office ten minutes early, and while he waited, he was still thinking about him. Steve occupied most of his thoughts every day by now, and if it weren’t for his work, he would have become totally obsessed with the situation.
The nurse called Michael and proceeded to take his blood pressure, temperature and weight. Michael had lost thirty pounds in four weeks. Until that moment, he had not realized how little he was eating. The doctor came in for the examination and asked Michael to strip. He was cute, in a nerdy-Jewish sort of way, totally Michael’s type with black, curly hair, dark eyes and features, and a large Semitic nose, so Michael stripped rather quickly, thankful for the diversion. After the usual check for hernias and reflexes, the doctor asked Michael to bend over the table for what he referred to as the “Goldfinger exam,” and Michael said, “Do you promise to buy me dinner?” The doctor laughed, and Michael was glad he still had his sense of humor, but the doctor was not as gentle as Michael would have preferred. He had a friend who once told him to worry if the proctologist had both hands on his shoulders during an exam. Of course, with Michael’s luck, this would never happen. And, this cute doctor was all business.
The doctor then asked Michael to stand in front of him while he sat on a stool, and he performed the “turn and cough” routine. However, he spent an inordinate amount of time on Michael’s testicles. Although he was cute, Michael was getting a little nervous, since he was rolling them around and looking concerned. When he was done, the doctor told Michael to get dressed and meet him in his office. He dressed and sat at the chair across from his desk, wondering what bad news he would deliver.
“Mr. Bern, I’m going to give you a referral for an ultrasound. I found a lump on your left testicle. It may be nothing, considering you are over forty, but I want it checked out anyway,” the doctor said as if he were telling Michael the walls were painted blue, while reminding him that he was over forty.
“A lump? What kind of lump?” Michael asked with no emotion. Michael never was a hypochondriac, and since he always took care of himself, on the rare occasion that he was sick, he never panicked either. Anyone else would have been upset, but Michael just thought they would see what it was, remove it and that would be that. Michael was also too depressed at this point to get upset about much of anything.
“It could be a vericocele or a spermatocele. Nothing major, mostly benign and not needing surgery. Have you experienced any pain?” the doctor continued asking calmly.
“Only when they are tugged on too hard,” Michael said with a chuckle, trying to infuse some humor into the situation. The doctor smiled.
“I’m also going to order some extra blood tests as you indicated you have lost a great deal of weight in the past month,” the doctor said, and Michael did not disclose that he was depressed and simply not eating. “Here’s a referral. You can schedule the appointment at your convenience. When you’ve scheduled it, call here and see us about three days after, so we can talk about the results.”
He renewed Michael’s prescription for allergy and asthma medication and gave him one for a mild sleeping aid, and Michael went to the pharmacy on the ground floor of the medical building at 1145 Connecticut Avenue. Michael handed the prescriptions to the pharmacist and went into the lobby to call the radiology center to make an appointment. Michael didn’t know why he filled the prescriptions. He was so afraid of getting addicted to something that he would not take a pill unless he was in a dire condition. Michael had so many bottles of prescriptions that had never been opened, just in case he needed them some day, yet he would continue to go to a doctor for medication he would never take. His Aunt Flossie had a problem with prescription drugs that landed her in rehab, and Michael remembered what she went through. His father and both Bart Shimmer and his mother’s third husband Karl Stein were alcoholics, so he did not want to end up like them either, which was why he rarely drank. Yes, there are Jewish alcoholics, and Hannah managed to marry three of them.
Michael called the radiology center from the lobby, which had a bad echo. Every time the radiology center transferred him, Michael had to say, “Left testicle.” He must have said, “Left testicle,” at least seven times before he was able to get an appointment for the following Friday. People kept looking at Michael when he said, “Left testicle,” so to spice things up, he said, “Right breast,” once to one of the receptionists, which made a little old lady sitting near him do a double take.
Michael wasn’t scared. He was only upset because his left testicle was the one that hung higher, which meant without it, his right testicle would look like a pendulum, and he made a mental note to ask if they made prosthetic nuts.
He then went around the corner to the lab to have blood drawn and give a urine sample. They had no problem finding a vein as his weight loss was making them pop, and the only advantage to his newfound thinness was that he was becoming more defined. Michael arrived home around four, tired and actually hungry and thirsty, too. He made himself a protein shake and turned on his computer. And, he had an e-mail from Steve, which said, “Micha
el, please don’t shut me out. Know that someone cares about you – me.”
Against his better judgment, Michael e-mailed him that maybe this wasn’t the right time to step back as they just found a lump on his left testicle, going for the sympathy vote.
Michael then called him, and Steve actually answered the phone.
“Hi, big guy,” Steve answered.
“Hi, Steve. Did you see my e-mail? They found a lump on my left testicle,” Michael said to be sure he knew.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said in response.
Michael knew that was not a Jewish response. A Jewish response would have been first to whisper, “Is it cancer?” then to go into mourning and buy a burial plot after consulting with seven other doctors. Don’t be dramatic? How could he say don’t be dramatic? But did Michael argue? No.
“What are you up to?” Michael asked not pushing the issue.
“Oh, I’m making dinner for a guy I met online. I haven’t tried anything like this before, and I want to see how it turns out, you know making dinner on a first date,” Steve told him.
Michael’s heart sank even further. He had invited someone he just met online over to his home. Any more news such as this, and Michael would be walking on his heart.
“Oh, and I’ve never seen your place,” Michael said, sarcastically. “So, you want to come over and feel my lump?”
“No, it will make me deal with my own mortality,” Steve said.
How did he manage to make my lump his issue? It is all about him, Michael thought.
“Listen, there is a knock on my door, so I have to go,” Steve said.
“Go, go. Have a good time,” Michael said, hoping the guy would give him crabs, and whatever Steve cooked would give them diarrhea.
Michael could not describe how low he felt at that point. “Why was I not asked over for dinner? Why did he never want to date me? I should be knocking on that door. Where the hell is that door?” Michael said to himself.
Michael sat on the futon, thinking about all that had happened in D.C., when his cell phone rang. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he first thought it was Steve calling back. Michael looked at the caller ID and smiled when he saw who it was.
“Hi Sam,” Michael said, sounding down.
“Michael, what’s wrong? You sound depressed.”
“Oh, I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” Michael said, sounding ever so dramatic.
“Oh, come on, Michael, burden me,” Sam said.
He thought about what he should and should not tell Sam. He liked Sam, and he didn’t want him to think he was friends with a real nut job who got involved with other nut jobs over and over again.
“Well, I had my annual physical today,” Michael said, avoiding the subject of Steve.
“Are you OK?” Sam asked with genuine concern in his voice.
“Well, I’ve lost thirty pounds in four weeks,” Michael said.
“What? Are you sick? What’s wrong? That can’t be good!” He asked and exclaimed.
“I’ve lost my appetite. I’m just not eating,” Michael said, not telling him he was depressed. “My HIV test was negative as usual, and so far everything looks fine.”
“Why aren’t you eating? Maybe I should send you a care package,” Sam said with a chuckle.
“And, they found a lump on my left testicle,” Michael said with no emotion.
“Oh my God! Michael, are you in pain? What do they say it is? Are you nervous?” Sam asked, more worried than Michael.
“No, I’m not nervous. If it’s cancer, they’ll just remove it. It’s very curable. I have an ultrasound scheduled for next Friday,” he answered as he got up from the futon and walked outside to have a cigarette.
“Do you want me to fly out there and go with you to the ultrasound? I can be on a plane tonight,” Sam said, offering to be at his side.
“Oh no, Sam, that’s awfully generous and thoughtful of you, but I’ll be fine. Really, they’re just taking a picture. It’s going to be fine. I really appreciate it,” he said, really touched by his offer.
“I’m serious; I can be there by tomorrow morning. It’s no problem at all,” Sam said insistently.
“Sam, you stay put,” Michael said. “I’ll call you after the ultrasound. Enough about me, what’s going on with you?”
“Me, you want to know about me? You have a lump on your testicle, that’s what’s important,” Sam said.
“Seriously, Sam, tell me what’s going on with you,” he insisted.
“OK, if you insist,” he began, “Sid lined up a couple of auditions for me. I’m filming a commercial for a jock itch product …”
Michael started laughing, and said, “Now that’s ironic.”
“Yeah, I get to scratch my nuts for fifty million people,” Sam said.
“Sam, I’m glad your career is taking off,” Michael said. “And, break a leg with the auditions. Listen, I’m going to go take a nap now, but I’ll talk to you on Friday, OK?”
“OK, and if you change your mind, I’ll hop on a plane and be out there.”
After moving to Washington, Michael found out his father was not his father, he had a half brother, he met a man who ripped out his heart, and now there was a lump on his left testicle. Michael really hated Sharon at this point. That was when he made up his mind he was done with D.C.
Michael wanted to go home and never look back.
Chapter Nine
By the following Monday, Steve left for another work-related trip, and the e-mails became less frequent. The dirty talk had stopped, and Michael had not talked to him on the phone at all. He really thought he had scared him off, yet he knew that he should not have contact with him anyway, but he persisted. The depression was getting worse, and Michael was still not eating, and he had started chain-smoking, up to three packs a day. He decided to try to rectify the situation by sending Steve another e-mail, saying he was really not in love with him and hoping it would put Steve’s mind at ease.
It read:
“Dear Steve,
“I have come to realize that I am not in love with you. I thought I was in love with you because I miss you so much and was not sure what we had going on.
“I am just confused because we have this strange intimate connection, and I want everything to fit neatly into a little box.
“I don’t want to be your boyfriend or partner, just your friend for life. As we have connected in bed, I feel that I should accept that as some new kind of relationship for me, and I hope I did not frighten you with my declaration of love.
“My only concern was that you would get back together with Tom or some guy you met, and I would not fit in the picture. I need to get over that, and I will.
“You are a great guy, and I want and need you in my life.
“Love,
“Michael.”
Michael sent it, and after he did, he realized he had gone completely nuts. He was totally out of control. “What bullshit! I am in love with him. I am deeply in love with him. What was I thinking?” Michael said out loud after hitting send and regretting it. He was trying to undo what had already been done, and now he had made things worse. If he received something like this, Michael knew he would run for the hills.
He waited and waited for a response, but there was none. He chain-smoked outside and went inside every five minutes to check for an e-mail from Steve. When there was none, he decided to call, but Steve did not answer, so he called and called until Steve finally picked up.
“What?” Steve answered bluntly.
“Hi,” Michael said. “Did you get my e-mail?”
“Yeah, listen I’m busy and a guy is picking me up in a few minutes for a date. There’s a knock at the door; I have to go.”
He hung up.
Michael knew he screwed up.
Steve e-mailed Michael the next morning saying he was thinking of getting a dog. He then e-mailed Michael to tell him how tired he was and tired of traveling and sent two more that were
about how he was feeling and whom he was seeing. It was as if nothing had happened. Michael told him with his schedule it would not be a good idea to get a dog. He also e-mailed him about his day, since Steve never asked about it.
That evening, Michael received the following in all caps:
“OK MICHAEL, STOP!!!
“YOU SENT ME SIX EMAILS TODAY. CONSOLIDATE WHILE I AM ON TRAVEL. I RECEIVED 37 EMAILS TODAY, I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS.”
Michael was heartbroken. Four of those e-mails were responses to Steve’s e-mails. Michael decided then and there that it was over, but another e-mail came that Michael was cc’d on, and it was to one of Steve’s bodybuilder friends in Baltimore.
“Hey sexy! Congrats on the new job in Los Angeles. My dear friend Michael lives out there and perhaps he can help you find an apartment, Love Smithy.”
“Hey sexy? I get yelled at, and this guy gets hey sexy?” Michael said out loud as he read and re-read the e-mail. All of his hostility was aimed at Michael, yet Steve called him a dear friend.
Then another e-mail came from Steve with pictures for Michael to see. What is going on? Just a few minutes ago, I was told to stop e-mailing him, and now I’m receiving another one from Steve with pictures. One was of Steve leaning against a car, wearing a tight T-shirt and cargo pants; in another, he was standing in a field shirtless; and in another, he was standing in front of a mirror also shirtless. Michael then noticed something disturbing. Steve was so much bigger than the last time he saw him, which had been over a month already. He looked more muscular, if that was possible, and Steve’s face looked different, too. Is he on steroids? Michael thought as he looked at the other picture, where Steve was standing in a field with his shirt off, and he became absolutely convinced he was on the juice. He then thought about the e-mail Steve sent when he wrote in all caps. He was becoming hostile and unpredictable.
Michael knew people on steroids in Hollywood, and their personalities would change so dramatically, and in his experience, Michael was usually the target of their hostility. They had a guest star on Los Angeles Live once, an ex-football player, who threw a chair at Michael when he suggested rewriting a line because the football player could not pronounce one of the words in the dialogue. The guy just snapped with no provocation, and Michael knew to avoid guys on the juice. For some other reason, pregnant women also took out their hostilities on him, but he was sure Steve wasn’t pregnant.