Rent Boy

by James Anthony Ford

  As soon as I casually walked free from the emergency ward I ran to where I had parked my car. I wanted to get away from this place as quickly as possible. At the same time I was in a complete rage of frustration. I was frustrated that I was kept sitting there with no correspondence or attention and felt as if no one really gives a damn. So neither did I. I sped off in my car going at 100 kilometres an hour down a sixty kilometre zone. I was in an erratic state of mind and no one would dare mess with me. My mind took over my entire body with complete hatred for the entire world. The lack of attention was like confirmation for me that the world really couldn’t give a shit about me. So why should I give a shit about anyone else? I sped all the way down Punt road, one of the busiest roads in Melbourne, speeding out of control. I scraped past a couple of cars whilst changing lanes with an indicator. I was lucky not to have cause a terrible accident. But I was totally losing it. Then some idiot decided to start reversing out of a car park space that was on the side of the road and he was simply in my way. I came to complete halt. I got of the car and screamed “YOU FUCKIN’ LOSER!!!!!” The guy, about forty something and overweight was just in a bit of a shock and just replied in a slightly smaller voice “Fuck you!”. I retaliated and wanted to start a punch on but a woman, who was probably his wife, got out of the car and intervened. For some reason even though I was fuming with anger I just back in my car and sped off, all the way home.

  The only thing I wanted to do was have a cigarette. And I did. I hated the fact that I had to have a smoke but I really didn’t care. I was thinking with any luck these cigarettes would kill me on the spot. Of course that never did happen. But there was still some hours in the day left, it was only about 6 pm or so. Plus I had hired a cr and I did not want to waste the cost. I still had to do my grocery shopping. I was still not in the right frame of mind to be in public but I had no food in the house so I had to go. I had to just get it over and done with and I had a car so it would be nice and quick.

  So I arrive at the supermarket. I barged through the automatic doors with a bad attitude. I didn’t want anyone to get in my way. I thrusted my trolley through the aisles whilst pushing aside everyone else’s trolley. The other people were just a bit shocked that I was doing this. I didn’t even give it a second thought. It was like my mind was being controlled by a outside force. I couldn’t control the amount of hate and anger inside of me. I hated everyone and I felt that everyone hated me. The supermarket manager was keeping an eye on me as he had noticed I had been acting a bit erratically. He didn’t do anything but he was watching me. Then there was some stupid fat bitch deliberately standing in the way right in the middle of the aisle. I said in a sarcastic voice ‘Excuse me please!”. She just gave me a stupid attitude look and she didn’t move. So I pushed my trolley right into her knocking her on the floor. People around just watched. They didn’t really react. I think they were just too shocked. But I just shopping and pushing my trolley as if nothing ever happened. Then that woman walked over to me and said “You did that deliberately!”. I replied “Well, I did ask you politely to move.....you fat bitch!”. She then just walked off offended. Well, she could have lost a few more pounds, that’s actually true!

  I get home completely exhausted from the whole event of the day. I just threw all my grocery shopping in the kitchen and sat on the couch. I just sat there thinking that I had actually been acting erratically and that I needed to take stock of everything and realise that I must change my way of thinking. Then it happened. I broke out into a burst of intense tears. I cried uncontrollably. I hated myself and was trapped. I also felt so alone. But I also hated the world, I was on an edge of frenzy. I didn’t know what I was capable of doing next and hated to think about it.

  I began to drink that night. I did not even have any dinner, I just did not have any appetite. But I was drinking quite heavily. This was something I don’t normally do as I had never been a big drinker of alcohol at all. This was the first time I had really hit the hard liquor big time. So it was dry Martini’s one after the other. I lost count of how many I had that night but I know it was a lot and I was plastered.

  It was around 10 pm and I got a phone call on my mobile. It was that nice triage psychiatrist from the hospital emergency room. “Where did you go?” she asked in a friendly and empathetic voice. “I just got sick and tired of waiting around, I had to leave, I just have had enough” I stuttered my words out. “Can you come to Fairfield House now and check in, they are expecting you and we have a room for you” she asked. “I will be honest, I have been drinking tonight, so I don’t think it will be a good idea that I go tonight, but I can tomorrow” I said sincerely. “Okay, come tomorrow, I will give you call about 10 tomorrow morning, now you get a good night’s sleep, okay?” she said with sincerity. I agreed. She really did sound like she cared but most of all it was like she completely understood why I was behaving like this and was willing to get me help. And I really needed it. Everything was coming to a deep dead end and this was the final straw. I cannot do anymore stuff ups and I think this will be my final chance in life. But right at that very moment, I really did not have any will to go on living and I don’t know why.

  I awoke the next morning at the usual time as I do, around 8 am or so. I was feeling quite sombre, almost numb. Not feeling pain or emptiness, just emotionless. I can’t explain it. I knew I was due to go into hospital again. But this time this was for ‘real’. This was going to be a real admittance and I have to take this seriously if I am going to keep on living. So I arose from my bed, made my morning coffee as usual, had a shower and packed my suitcase. The whole time I did these daily simple morning ritualized tasks, I thought of nothing. My mind was switched off. Then I sat on the couch silently waiting for that phone call. It was the call that the psychiatrist would call me to tell me to go into hospital at that moment. But I had to wait at home for her call, then I would proceed. This was my last chance, it had to be.

  I sat there motionless and emotionless on the couch sipping water just hydrating myself as I drank quite a bit of alcohol the night before so I was quite dehydrated. I did not really have any will to anything else so I just sat there with no emotion, no thoughts and no other thoughts to do anything else. I sat there for several hours and finally at 2 pm she called me. She told me to go to Fairfield House and just go to reception and they will take care of me. I went immediately.

  I got a cab to the hospital with one of those bloody chatty and nosey cab drivers that ask you ‘where are you going?’, ‘are you going to work?’, ‘what do you do for a living?”, blah, blah, blah. I mean, I couldn’t get a can driver of this nature at such a worst time. I basically told him ‘none of your fuckin’ business and just drive’.

  So I arrive at the hospital suitcase in one hand and laptop bag in the other. I arrive at reception only to be greeted by a friendly receptionist and told them my name. They were expecting me but seemed surprised at my appearance. I wondered why but I soon discovered that Fairfield House is mainly for those unfortunate patients who are really suffering, mainly from HIV related illness, some of them in their last days. It was sad, but the placed seemed to be of a cheerful appearance with the comforts of home.

  The doctors of the hospital immediately gave me the usual patient admittance examination when I was shown to my private room. They were pleasantly surprised that I was so physically fit, and I was. But my condition was purely psychological but effecting me physically. I don’t think the doctors there got the ‘low down’ of why I was being admitted before I arrived. I think they were expecting an old man withering away to skin and bone. But instead they got me, a mental case. But I was wanted to be helped as much as possible and co operated with the staff with all the blood tests and tests and more tests even though they got so very annoying. I told myself that I was going to make the best of this time in hospital and really think about just what it is that I want out of the rest of my life. I now had time to think.

  The next day a psychiatrist came knocking
on my door. Yes, another different psychiatrist, and this one had no emotion at all. His face looked like it was stuck in neutral gear. Once again I had to go through my WHOLE life story, again. I don’t know how many times I have had to do this. I was completely over it but I kept my patience and told him again about what my life has been like so far. Throughout the whole hour his facial expression never budged. He looked like a robot and needed new batteries. I really don’t know what his purpose was for me as I had my psychiatrist I already see on a regular basis and I was disappointed that he did not show up, instead he sent one of his colleagues and yet again I had to go through the trauma of discussing my past.

  After that ‘shrink’ left, I thought to myself long and hard. I thought, ‘why exactly am I here?’, I really didn’t know the answer but I dwelled on it and the more I dwelled on it the more Valium I asked for from the nurses.

  I had already spent a couple of days in the hospital, I felt quite comfortable there. For the first time I did not feel like I was treated like a mental patient. I spent my days just trying to relax and think about the future. It was difficult though as I still believed I had no future and that my life was coming to an end. I had to hold on as my instinct was telling me that there was something good, something really positive ahead of me. I just did not know what it was, but it was lingering in the distance. I had to hold on even if it was just for a little while longer.

  About three or so days after I was admitted to hospital I decided that I would go for a walk. In fact I wanted to get a bit of cardio and get my blood pumping and walk home and back, pick up my mail and walk back to hospital. My home was only down the road anyway, about 15 to 20 minutes’ walk so it would be good exercise even though it was raining and freezing cold outside.

  The walk to my home surprisingly felt good and revitalizing. Well, it was until I walked inside my apartment. I walked in the lounge and noticed that there was a large piece of glass in the middle of the lounge room floor. This immediately looked suspicious. In a panic I checked the windows and ensured none of my belongings were stolen. But everything seemed fine. There were no smashed windows or anything. I checked the bedroom and all was fine. Then oh, my god, there it was! The entire kitchen wall had caved in smashing and crushing everything in the kitchen. I froze in shock. I also thought ‘thank god I was not home’. I could have been crushed. I could have been killed and this terrified me. This was wake-up call to stop feeling sorry for myself and being so selfish.

  The whole kitchen looked like a bulldozer went right through it. It was an insane mess and or looked unfixable. For some reason this felt like karma and it was a sign. It was a warning. I truly believe this was god’s warning to pick myself up and stop feeling sorry for myself. But strangely enough I did not feel so shocked when I saw this disaster mess in the kitchen. I just stared at it like I took it seriously as a sign, it was a warning sign that I about to crash and I had to take action.

  Naturally I called the property manager and explained what had happened and they immediately took action to have it fixed. They were great and helpful and I could not have been more grateful for the property managers’ and landlords help with this disaster. But as all this was being fixed I went back to the hospital.

  It had been about a week now that I had been in Fairfield House. I had a lot of time to think about my future. I received word that my apartment was back to normal and I could go home as the kitchen was fixed which was great news but I also felt it was time I take control of my life.

  I requested to see a doctor and explained that I would like to discharge myself. They said “Are you sure.....are you ready?”. I looked at the doctor right between the eyes and said with such assertiveness and confidence:

  “Yes!...yes I certainly am.....”

  So I made my way home. I walked inside my apartment, suitcase in hand, and felt as if I had just taken some health and wellness holiday. I felt calm and relaxed. The first thing I did was I sat on the couch in silence. This was something I did a lot of whilst I was feeling sorry for myself. But this time was different. The sun was shining outside. The apartment no longer not so much felt depressing, it was like I had a choice of it to be depressing or to fight it. I chose to fight it.

  I held my head high and spoke out aloud to myself.

  “This is over Jay, this is it........You got a take control and getta grip!”

  I went to the mirror and looked at myself in the mirror. Although I was not truly happy with my appearance, I no longer saw the youthful hot handsome-like guy but I would not call myself ugly either. I looked okay. I accepted it. I am getting older and have to accept it. You can’t be 25 forever, nobody can. Sure I am no longer that hot 25 year old that got the attention of everyone when I walked into a room, but I am not that bad for 35 either. I want my life to start again, from now. After ten years of still not required to go on HIV medication as yet, I was not as energetic as I was. Something was not quite right but I was too stubborn to say anything, even to my doctor. I was not feeling right, both physically and psychologically. I think this will be the final year of being HIV med free and I need to get away from this city for a while. That, in Layman’s terms, means I need a holiday to find myself. This will be a challenge, not a luxury.

  …………………………………….

  Chapter eighteen……………So who do you love now?

  Another year and another Christmas was approaching. Although I love my family, who I only keep in contact are my mother, brother and his family, it was never, nor ever will be the same as it was when the extended family were together on Christmas eve. As usual I make the trek up to Brisbane to spend the Christmas period with my family and then take off on a holiday after that. Usually it was Noosa or Cairns and Port Douglas. This time I decided to go to New Zealand again, and do it in luxury this time. I know it sounds pretentious but it was business class all the way with five star hotels. I planned to fly from Brisbane, to Auckland, stay for a few days, fly to Queenstown, a few days there, and then fly to Wellington, and stay a few days there. First I have to get through Christmas day.

  Don’t get me wrong though, it was always a joy to see my mum and my oma each Christmas. Truly, it was. I looked forward to it. Mum, like always, was quite meticulous in her Christmas arrangements. She is much organised with attention to detail. Everything from the Christmas Eve barbeque with a sumptuous feast, Christmas day lunch with my brother, sister in law, and nieces and nephew.

  I arrive at Brisbane airport and it was always nice to see my mum. I always was a bit uneasy about how my brothers’ partner was going to behave due to her (how shall I put it)….her bizarre drunken sarcastic statements, often upsetting either my mum, or my oma. Really looking forward to what tricks she will be pulling out of her bag this year.

  Christmas eve was simple with a seafood barbeque with my mum, om and myself which was laid back but lovely.

  Christmas day arrives and chaos begins. My nieces (two of them step-nieces) and nephew scramble in with excitement. Reminds me of how I used to act at that age. We all head out the back patio and the adult instantly reach for the alcohol. Of course, it is Christmas. Everything began with small talk.

  “How are you?

  ‘What have you been up to you?”

  That kind of thing and then as more alcohol is consumed the ‘loud-mouth’ begins to drop to poisonous verbal statements that starts ruffling a few feather with vigour.

  As usual I tend to lay low and just ‘zip-it’. The observation of her guzzling down the Mexican piss (sorry, Corona’s) is a sight that is amusing enough. Bring me another Martini and I will make it through the day. Seriously.

  Without doubt my nephew is like a mini-me of me. He is full of vigour and love to play footy with his uncle Jay. They were such valuable times with my only nephew and I felt he looked up to me like he put me on a pedestal. I was a good uncle. Well, I thought I was and in fact, was always told. Not that I it was my duty but because I really treasured the time I spent wit
h my nephew and niece who I adored. But this day took a dark turn without warning.

  After drinks and nibbles we headed into the lounge to open gifts under the tree. The exchange of gifts went at lightening speed and I, like always, was the ‘giver’. Also the one who ironically received the least amount of gifts (nor complaining though!, just sayin’)

  Soon all the gifts were given out, underneath the tree was clear and I found myself with only two gifts. One form my mum, one from my Oma. Nothing from my brother and his bitch of a defacto gold-digger of a ‘leach’. I was not bitter, just disappointed. I knew the reason. This was due to that I did not give a gift last year to my brothers partner for something else that offended our small ‘unusual’ family last year. I won’t go into detail as it is too complicated and quite boring actually. Quite simple she is a spiteful bitch. Evil without remorse. My brother deserves better and god knows what he sees in her. He works so hard for his family but like always I cannot say anything. I love my brother as he is the only one I have but she works him into the ground. This time she has gone too far by totally ignoring me with no gifts. But this is not about material things, it is what happened next that set me off. The lounge was cleared of the tsunami of wasted Christmas wrapping and everyone cleared the room except my nephew and myself playing with a train set. As he played with a train he said without looking at me but in a casual and soft voice;