Secrets Revealed
“Perhaps I’ll change some as I get older, but it seems to me that life (and I wonder how closely it parallels the experience of other men) is a long gray depression interrupted by moments of high hilarity.”
February 11, 2009
"Secrets are revealed," said Brian when he finally handed me the first four chapters of a book he's been writing. A memoir of sorts.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "What kind of secrets?"
"Things no one knows about me. You'll see."
"You mean your homosexuality? That's no secret."
"Ha, no. You'll see."
Brian has been one of my best friends for a long time, and although we've shared many secrets over the years, it won't surprise me to be surprised. He is, after all, full of surprises..
I'd been trying to pin him down for a couple of weeks, so when he asked if I was available last night, I shuffled my schedule around and made plans to meet him at seven. I got out of work at six, and despite walking slowly to his neighborhood, I was early. I called to let him know I was a block away.
"I need about twenty more minutes," he said. "I need to finish what I'm working on so I can give you something to read."
"Okay. I can grab a coffee or something."
"It's up to you," he said. "I can meet you now and give you the chapters another time."
I knew that if I didn't get the chapters now, I never would. He'd change his mind, or get bogged down in a rewrite. "No," I said. "I'll kill some time. Call me when you're ready."
We met about a half hour later at a Thai restaurant near his apartment. "How’s this?" he said, pointing to one of the uncomfortably hard wooden chairs. Once we’d settled, he undid a button on his shirt and showed me that he was wearing a back brace. "I finally went to a chiropractor today," he said. "She told me my back is really fucked up."
"Of course she did," I said.
"Seriously, my ass is crooked."
"Everyone is crooked," I said. "Everyone's ass, everyone's shoulders, everyone's face. It's not necessarily good, but it's not uncommon, either."
"But mine is really crooked. I have to do something."
"Can you work?" I asked.
"I've been working a little, but, dude, it's been brutal."
Despite earning a certificate as a Yoga instructor, his plan to teach hot, young models didn't really pan out the way he'd hoped, and he's been freelancing at his old gig, installing neon signs. Not that he didn't teach any hot, young models — he did—but he found it too distracting to be face to ass with perfect, not-crooked, leotard-clad young women. Torturous, in fact.
Although installing neon signs is murder on his back, Yoga is the straw that broke it. Yoga isn't exactly like riding a bike. You can't let it slide for months and then, one day, decide to go for every pose on the poster.
"I've decided to stay in New York," he said.
"I have to. I mean, I can live for free at my mom's house in Connecticut, work on my book up there, but I can't be a guy living with his mother at my age, you know? I can afford my apartment if I put my mind to it. Besides, I can't write at my mother’s house. She doesn't give me any peace. Not to mention, there aren't any ladies for me up there."
"Yeah, I imagine the dating scene is pretty dry," I said.
"So to speak.”
“How about here in town? Getting any action lately?"
"Not really. I've been hanging out with a couple of chicks, but I haven't banged any of them. One is a twenty-something hottie, but she's trouble. The other one is a 50-year-old stripper."
"A 50-year-old ex-stripper sounds like trouble, too."
"No, dude, not ex-stripper. Stripper. "
"Uh, boy."
"She's cool — completely out of her mind, though."
"I'm sure."
"So yeah, I can't go there. No way. I was at her place the other night, and it was like, I know I'm supposed to make a move here, I know she was waiting for it, but I couldn't do it. I just played dumb."
"Too bad," I said. "It would've been good material. It's good material anyway."
"Material for what?"
"For your next book."
"No way, dude, there's only going to be one. I'll finish this one, and then on to the next thing."
"What's the next thing?"
"Who knows?"
"Can't wait."
