Over the next several days I heard that Patrick was in deep shit with Heidi. He confessed to her that he had messed around with me. They had a big fight, a screaming match in front of customers that got him in hot water at the record store where he worked. Then, finally, a week after returning from Mt. Pleasant, he called No Bev.
He murmured that he was sorry, he was really drunk, he was amped up after the gig, hooking up was a mistake and a bunch of other things that I let go in one ear and out the other. After he had spoken his peace, then finally I spoke.
I didn’t hold back. I told him that our hooking up had nothing whatsoever to do with alcohol, with being out of town, with any of that bullshit. “You’ve been hovering around me” I scolded, angrily. “for a year and a half! You let everyone know that I was yours. You might not want me full-time, but you’re damn well gonna make sure everyone knows that nobody else can lay claim to me. You want to have your cake, eat it too? I’m not fucking cake! I have feelings! You have known exactly how I felt about you. You knew all you had to do was crook your little finger and I’d come running. Don’t act like this was some spontaneous, shocking surprise. We’ve been building up to this for months.”
He was silent on the other end and then, passively, he agreed with what I said. He also told me he wanted to try to fix things with Heidi, work things out with her. “Fine” I said. “Do what you have to do. But don’t act like you didn’t want this. I’m not your fool anymore.” I hung up.
And with that, my crush on Patrick ended. We still were friends, still hung out and our connection would linger. But I knew our relationship wouldn’t go farther than and my feelings for him had hurt me and left a bitter taste behind.
Closer to the Stars…
I accompanied Melissa to a family gathering at a hotel somewhere outside of town on a sunny weekend in late Spring. Parked by the pool wearing a green bikini and a bucket of sunblock, I hooked up with some random guy visiting from out of state. Went back to his hotel room and experienced some pretty mind-bending … well, not sex. I was getting closer -- but not quite there.
Michèle and I began driving out to Ann Arbor on weekend evenings to visit Tony. Tony was renting a three bedroom apartment with two fellow U of M students – both Korean. Occasionally, Nancy would join us but she had terrible cat allergies and Tony had a couple of cats, including a striped orange kitty named Satan. Tony had a sizeable crush on Michèle. Deanne would often come, as well. She was dating a guy named Al, a cute Italian guy she met at the club.
We would go there to hang out but end up having these incredible debates. Tony, Kevin, Michèle and I, Nancy, the two Koreans and their ubiquitous paramours, whoever was present. The worst was trying to discuss Philosophy with Tony -- any word against his precious Camus turned into an existential standoff. Once, at Easter, Flip was there. It was late in the evening and I had slipped down the hall to use the bathroom. When I came out, Flip was sitting on the floor in the hallway. I plopped down and we began talking. I don’t know how the subject turned – the conversation had begun casually and innocently enough but suddenly he confided, “I know what Pat did. I can see how much he hurt you.”
I had never uttered a word to him about the subject. I felt tears well up in my eyes and I shrugged. How did he manage to say just exactly the right thing, at exactly the right moment? I didn’t know and still don’t. It felt so validating for someone to acknowledge my pain even if they could do nothing about it.
I wasn’t spending time with Patrick or The Colors those days. I was busy and my life was full. However, I was a little naughty -- at the mall I would stop into Ritz Camera where Quinn and Heidi worked. I would go in, chat with Quinn, and basically be a fucking nuisance just to spite my rival. I did see Andy frequently -- who tried to make out with me once that July -- but I got up from the floor of his Detroit apartment, brushed myself off and hastily left. I had no inclination to go backward in time. I wanted something new in my life.
About August 1st, during a ride home with Michèle from Ann Arbor I experienced one of the strangest events of my life. It was late -- perhaps three in the morning -- when we departed Tony’s apartment. We were in Michèle’s little aqua Honda Civic. At one point we were on Gotfredson Road, a bypass of the I-96. Now, whenever anyone had car trouble on the far west end that trouble seemed to always occur on Gotfredson. Hence, we called it “Godforsaken Road.”
I forget if we were still on Godforsaken but at one point Michèle was driving and we were listening to tunes on the tape deck. Cocteau Twins or something. Suddenly, ahead of us on the road, a swarm of possum ran toward us. There were hundreds of possum, ghostly white in the still darkness, a multitude of beady red eyes visible through the windshield glass. They were there and gone so suddenly and abruptly though that neither Michèle nor I had time to acknowledge them. They had run by us so quickly and I would swear that we didn’t hit any of them although they seemed to run right under the Civic. No sooner had the possum swarm gone under us than we found ourselves in a bank of fog as thick as I’ve ever seen in my life. The fog was impermeable and instantaneous. I think Michèle had time to utter a brief “Whoa …” when, suddenly, the fog quickly lifted. There, and gone, again in the blink of an eye. The possums, the fog -- they had occurred so quickly that we hadn’t reduced our speed, or swerved from our lane.
When the fog lifted, there were two headlights in front of us, some short distance away. As they came toward us, I gasped. But abruptly, the headlights swerved to our left and around us. The suddenness of the maneuver left a streak of pink and yellow light from the headlights smeared across the navy horizon. I whipped around to look behind us as Michèle clutched the wheel.
There were no taillights behind us. No sign of light or life to indicate a vehicle had just narrowly missed hitting us, head-on. I didn’t know if the car had gone off the road and out of sight, had been enveloped in the fog behind us or … We had drunk a few beers hours earlier and we were tired, but otherwise were lucid and clear.
The oncoming car had simply disappeared.
That’s when Michèle and I freaked out. “What the hell was that!” she shouted, her eyes peeled on the road ahead. My hands shook and I kept gripping my thighs to steady myself. “I don’t know… I don’t know.” I repeated.
For the next forty-five minutes we began to talk and to try to process what we had witnessed. In years to come I would explain of this experience “It was like someone had turned on a light in a dark room and then switched the light back off but the flash continued to strobe against the back of your eyes.” Something had happened, something was switched on, but I couldn’t quite see what it was.
I’ve had a few vaguely psychic experiences, including just prior to September 11, 2001. Many people don’t believe in psychic phenomenon and many think those who claim to have these experiences have a screw loose. I wouldn’t claim to have the ability to predict the future, but occasionally, when things are about to happen, I get butterflies.
I had never been interested in spiritual matters. I had distanced myself from the Church since Scott’s funeral and, really, since my mid-teens. Mostly for ideological reasons: a group of middle-aged white men, who did not marry or experience normal family life and responsibilities, had no right to impose their beliefs on how other people lived. At the moment my distaste mainly extended to my feelings about the rights of women and in later years my feelings would be deeply enmeshed with my support of the LGBT community and my disgust at the many scandals of the Catholic Church. Priests, I felt, were hypocrites and the Vatican, no more than an organized crime syndicate.
But God, faith, a sense of connection to the sacred? I had never thought much of them until that sweltering summer night when we nearly collided with the unknown. For both Michèle and I, this became a wake-up call. Within the week we were at the Downtown Detroit Library, gathering books and religious texts. Trying to research whatever phenomenon we had been so mysteriously plugged into.
We read the Bible, Nostradamus, palmistr
y, metaphysics. Everything that our eager little hands could get hold of, we devoured. This had to mean something, right? This must lead to some great awakening, some profound understanding. Didn’t it? We sat at the library, at Denny’s, at our homes, with highlighters and notebooks and pencils, exploring every little thread of the connection we thought we could find.
In time our efforts slowed, our interest waned although the search for enlightenment never fully ended. But, after a few weeks, normal life resumed: parties and concerts, friends, jobs and school. We wouldn’t look at ourselves, our faith, the same as before, however. For me, this is when I started to want more out of my life.
Find A Way Out…
In September, the company I worked for announced they were relocating their headquarters to Chicago. The Detroit-based offices were networked with a series of other offices across the Nation -- Chicago, Miami, Minneapolis, Los Angeles. But the Chicago office was the largest and the powers that be had decided that logistically the headquarters should be there, although the Detroit office would remain open as a regional office.
I had started as a telemarketer two years before and then quickly moved over to the Customer Service department. Occasionally, I was asked to fill in at the front desk during the lunch hour. I later helped Melissa get hired as our receptionist that summer. When my administrative talents became known, the Operations Department began asking for my help with reports and tasks.
When the announcement was made, the company publicized that three or four positions would be available in Chicago for anyone interested in trying out. Since this would require relocation, any seriously interested persons would also be able to spend a weekend in Chicago, at the expense of the company before making a decision to apply.
Melissa and I decided to take them up on the offer. I had been to Chicago on many occasions, including visits to see Naked Raygun in concert. Melissa knew that she wasn’t going to relocate but a free weekend in the Windy City would be fun.
We drove to Chicago on Labor Day weekend. We stayed at the Hilton and explored the city. I have pictures of us taken in front of Wrigley Field and other attractions. When we drove home, I knew the moment was right. Time for me to leave No Bev and Gravity and Patrick and the past and start something new. I interviewed for the Administrative Assistant position for the new Field Operations Department, was offered the position and told that I was expected in Chicago, ready to start work on Tuesday, November 1st.
I announced that I would be leaving No Bev and Detroit at the end of October. Nancy and Jen were very understanding of my decision. I never heard anyone say an unkind word about my leaving. In fact, I felt confident that our friendships would continue to grow. Chicago was just a four-hour roadtrip from Detroit, after all.
As I was planning to move away, Michèle was enlisting in the Navy. In talking with Michèle about my plans, she mentioned an acquaintance of hers who was also planning to move to Chicago and she put me in touch with Amy. Amy was a lively blonde who liked the dance clubs, worked in fashion retail and was already scheduled to interview with some of the Chicago boutiques on an upcoming visit. We met and I liked Amy. I thought she would prove a potentially good roommate. She was planning to do some apartment hunting when she and her father made their upcoming trip.
Deanne got wind of what was going on and decided that she, too, should join us in moving to Chicago. I liked Deanne. I wasn’t as close to her as I was to Michèle, but Deanne was sassy and engaging and we enjoyed one another’s company. She was easy to talk to and be around. I encouraged her to join Amy and I.
Amy and her dad went to Chicago and found a three-bedroom apartment at the corner of Ashland and Addison. There was a small convenience store across the way and a bus stop right out in front. The El-station was a quarter-mile away and would easily connect downtown to Dearborn Street, where my office was located.
Amy’s dad put down a deposit for us girls to secure the lease. Amy called me by pay phone, excited to share her find. Plans were set for us to move in by October 22nd. I wouldn’t be ready to arrive until the following weekend, Halloween, but Amy and Deanne made plans to rent a moving truck and drive out ahead of me.
Two weeks before I left, Michèle, Deanne and I went to see The Generals practice. Tony had recently returned to Detroit and rented a house on Stout Street, near Grand River in West Detroit. The Generals practiced in the basement and we had begun hanging out there recently, drinking and playing Pinochle.
Patrick was at practice that night, which was unusual. I don’t think Patrick thought very highly of The Generals, musically speaking. But he was there, and we were all sitting in the basement and drinking beer, chatting and having a few laughs. If I remember right, he and Heidi were on a break.
I was wearing the tuxedo jacket that Patrick had left at No Bev, ages ago. The jacket was perfect for fall weather over my clothing, before you needed anything quite so heavy as a coat. I wore the jacket because I liked it -- not because it was Patrick’s.
“Aren’t you going to give that jacket back to me?” he whispered, while the band tuned up for another song. I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“It’s my jacket …” he nudged me with his elbow. I took a sip of beer. The jacket had been at No Bev since the fall of 1986. He obviously couldn’t live without the thing, right?
It wasn’t that I intended to keep the jacket. I thought I was being cute, coy, playing games. I thought he was, too. Then he said, “If we’d had sex, you would have earned the jacket, but we didn’t so you haven’t.”
I turned and looked at him. Who the fuck did he think he was? I had been head over heels in crush with this guy for more than two years. I was just so over his snotty attitude toward me at that moment.
It was the last time that Patrick would make me cry. I turned from him, walked slowly upstairs and went into the bathroom. Locked the door, sat on the toilet. Had a good little sob, washed my face and then went and sat on the porch outside. I knew Michèle (who I had ridden with) would come up looking for me after a while, and she did. “Can we please leave?” I begged her. I didn’t even tell her why I was upset. She went to find her purse and we headed home.
I did have dinner with Patrick before I left. We had a decent evening together, talking casually. He gave me a hug and kiss goodbye when he dropped me off at No Bev. There were no explanations, no apologies -- from either of us. And I didn’t return the jacket.
The final weekend, Dave stopped by. I sat on the floor of my bedroom at No Bev. The black stain still marked the center of the room. My clothes, records, books were already boxed up. I sat there, with a large garbage bag, gathering up odds and ends, other possessions I had accumulated throughout my residency at No Bev. Dave held the Hefty bag open for me as I tossed pez dispensers, headbands, photographs, tax returns, poems into its dark depths.
Then Dave shared, almost under his breath, “Love stinks…”
You know what I did? I asked “what?” As if I hadn’t heard him, hadn’t heard what he said.
Holy shit. How did I not know that Dave loved me? How did that escape me throughout the time I had known him? I don’t know. I didn’t know what to say. I pretended I didn’t hear.
I wish I had responded.
I wish I could have told him I reciprocated.
I wish I had reciprocated. God knows, falling in love with Dave would not have been the worst thing I could have done. Dave who was honest and faithful and intelligent. A great friend who would have made an equally wonderful boyfriend.
But I was leaving. So, I said nothing, like a coward.
The next day, I loaded up the Nova and waved goodbye to Jennifer and Nancy. I got in the car, turned on the ignition and cranked up the heat. I pulled out of the No Bev driveway and drove west.
Brand New Age…
I arrived at the Chicago apartment after dusk. Deanne and Amy already had stories about their first week of adventures in the City. The apartment was on the third floor of a corner walk-up and was quite spacious. Lo
ts of beautiful, original crown moldings and hardwood floors. A living room and dining room were at the front of the apartment with Amy’s bedroom in the front corner. A long hallway led to the kitchen, bathroom, two additional bedrooms, rear door and fire escape. My bedroom and Deanne’s lay to the right of the hallway.
Deanne got a part-time job at a salon, sweeping floors and answering phones. Amy had a job with Le Chateau -- a Toronto-based clothing store. The LBD (little black dress) was the fashion then and Le Chateau had all the trendy black clothes of the time. Amy was quickly making friends at work and creating a social life outside of the home.
My supervisor at Longman, Sharon, had been our IT and Operations Director in Detroit. Sharon was a no-nonsense working woman of the Eighties with her power suits and Nike white sneakers. She also a young widow -- her husband died before I met her. When Sharon arrived in the office later in the week she got me hustling with reports.
Amy brought home a gray kitty in November. We named him Shakespeare and for some crazy reason that cat hated me. I would walk in the front door, enter the dining room and Shakespeare would come tearing out toward me from whatever corner he had been in. I had scratches all over my arms and chest from that damn cat.
I bleached my auburn hair a light blonde. I had been lightening my hair a little each year since moving into No Bev and thought I’d try blonde. The color did nothing for me. Pictures from that fall show me looking washed out.
Deanne needed extra income and Sharon mentioned that we needed a file clerk so I introduced the two and Sharon offered Deanne about fifteen hours a week. Deanne loved riding in on the train -- she loved to explore the city on her trips downtown and was forever telling me about cool places she would find. “The best French fry and cheese sauce stand in the world!” and such.
Amy was quite social and making connections through Le Chateau. She brought me along to several parties that holiday season. Her associates were club kids – they were nice but I didn’t meet anyone that I made friends with.
The Laws of Gravity Page 9