All Gays Go to Heaven by Spirit Thinking

All Gays Go to Heaven By Reece Wyman Manley All Gays Go to Heaven – Galley Copy GALLEY COPY: Not for resale or distribution.

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All Gays Go to Heaven By Reece Wyman Manley

Assisted by Treva Nell Manley

Reece Wyman Manley 15530 Lewis Place #4729 Addison, TX 75001 214-206-1607 800-936-0812

GALLEY COPY: NOT FOR RESALE OR DISTRIBUTION WITHOUT THE EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION OF REECE WYMAN MANLEY. This galley copy may or may not represent the exact final version of the published version of this memoir. Please note some small typographical errors and grammatical errors are to be expected in a Galley Copy.

Special thanks to Treva Manley and Bob Manley, Mary Ann Butcher and the Gay and Lesbian Community

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COUPON for FREE COPY OF FINAL EDITION To redeem coupon: Mail a photocopy of this page with the author’s signature and inscription to: All Gays Go to Heaven c/o Advocate USA, LLC 15530 Lewis Place 4729 Addison, TX 75001 Approximate release date is December 1, 2010. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICITY AUTHORIZED GALLEY COPY

This galley copy is presented to:

________________________________________________________

It is Galley Copy Number ____________ of 200.

Love and Light,

________________________________________________________ Reece Wyman Manley

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Dedicated to the Memory of Gwen Sorrell, Ph.D. “The greatest thing you will ever learn is to learn to learn yourself.” “Resistance is not futile.”

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Contents Contents ....................................................................................... 5 Prologue – The Big Decision ........................................................ 8 Chapter One – New York State of Mind ..................................... 16 Chapter Two - What‘s With the Feet? ......................................... 27 Chapter Three – Hitting the Floor ............................................... 33 Chapter Four – Getting Out of the Hospital................................. 41 Chapter Five – Times in the City ................................................ 45 Chapter Six – Back to Big D....................................................... 51 Part Two ..................................................................................... 57 Chapter Seven – Cocaine and Classes ......................................... 57 Chapter Eight – Captain to the Bridge......................................... 60 Chapter Nine – Cocaine and Whiskey ......................................... 65 Chapter Ten – After the Snowfall ............................................... 73 Chapter Eleven – A Palace in the Clouds .................................... 80 Chapter Twelve – The Making of Dr. Manley............................. 87 Chapter Thirteen – You Give Love a Bad Name ......................... 97 Chapter Fourteen – International Pain Clinic ............................ 111 Chapter Fifteen – Chris and Green Eyes ................................... 118 Chapter Sixteen – A Midnight Ride .......................................... 131 Chapter Seventeen – Captain‘s Command ................................ 137 Chapter Eighteen – Captain and Crew....................................... 142 Chapter Nineteen – Back to the Boys .................................... 146 Chapter Twenty – Jeffrey and the McDonald‘s Moment ........... 154 Chapter Twenty One – Making the Grade ................................. 162 Chapter Twenty Two – Captain and Chris ................................ 178 Chapter Twenty Three – Back to the Chris Thing ..................... 189 Chapter Twenty Four – Love and Loss ..................................... 198 All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Chapter Twenty Five – The Other Battle................................... 204 Chapter Twenty Six – The Maslow Moment ............................. 214 Chapter Twenty Seven – Getting Angry.................................... 238 Chapter Twenty Eight – It Comes to Blows .............................. 253 Chapter Twenty Nine – The Aftermath of Hate......................... 264 Chapter Thirty – Life After Chris and Onto Tech ...................... 279 Chapter Thirty One – The Infamous Table Accident ................. 294 Chapter Thirty Two – The Champ Cure .................................... 303 Chapter Thirty Three – The Lubbock Solution .......................... 314 Chapter Thirty Four – The Spinal Cord Stimulator – v 1.0 ........ 325 Chapter Thirty Five – The Good Life ........................................ 331 Chapter Thirty Six – Spinal Cord Stimulator – v 2.0 ................. 341 Chapter Thirty Seven – Spinal Cord Stimulator v 3.0 ................ 355 Chapter Thirty Eight – The Last Party ...................................... 357 Chapter Thirty Nine – The Last Push ........................................ 365 Chapter Forty – The ER Again ................................................. 372 Chapter Forty One – The Hopeless Case of Wounds ................. 380 Part Three ................................................................................. 388 Chapter Forty Two – Christmas 2005 ....................................... 388 Chapter Forty Three – Back to Dallas and Depression .............. 395 Chapter Forty Four – Death Becomes Me ................................. 400 Chapter Forty Five – Back to Life, Back to Reality ................... 413 Chapter Forty Six – Learning to Walk Again ............................ 416 Chapter Forty Seven – Roxie Loves Reece ............................... 425 Chapter Forty Eight – The Long Arm of the Law...................... 429 Chapter Forty Nine – S*it Out of Luck ..................................... 432 Chapter Fifty – Goodbye Grandmother ..................................... 435

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Chapter Fifty One – Nuthouse. Room for one. ......................... 437 Chapter Fifty Two – The Nuthouse Rocks ................................ 441 Chapter Fifty Three – Waking Up Crazy................................... 450 Chapter Fifty Four – Waking Up Sane ...................................... 452 Chapter Fifty Five – Flame On ................................................. 454 Chapter Fifty Six – The Hard Times ......................................... 456 Chapter Fifty Seven – What About a Path? ............................... 462 Chapter Fifty Eight – Transitioning to Real Life ....................... 464 Chapter Fifty Nine – The Big Truth .......................................... 467 Epilogue ................................................................................... 473

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Prologue – The Big Decision The decision had been a hard one. How had I arrived at this? Here I was sitting in a doctor‘s office. No, check that, a surgeon‘s office. About to sign up for the total scrambling of my intestines with the surgical equivalent of the Magic Chef 301 (It slices! It dices! Call now! Supplies are limited!) about to be applied and directed to my cumbersome body by the current Manhattan Maven of Bariatric Surgery, Christine Ren, MD. The scales had bemoaned my 414 pound frame as I stepped on them just a few moments before meeting with Dr. Ren. 414 pounds. The size evokes images of baby elephants, huge sea creatures and even small extraterrestrial objects. It was not supposed to conjure a professional working man from Dallas, Texas. A man who had people working in his shadow which not only produced but loved him dearly. A man who has a loving supportive family. A man volunteering, mentoring and keeping the faith as best he could. 414 pounds. This was not the weight of a well-adjusted, happy, freshly minted ―sane‖ after two years of working through incest recovery and other demons recently untangled in a conscientious application of psychotherapy. This was not the weight of a man whose father, brother and mother were all proud of who he was and how he had lived his life. It was not the weight of a man who loved himself. But, it was my weight and it bespoke the demons still floating about my hidden life and the little ripples in the ―sane‖ department. On the outside, I was successful. I had a home, with a pool. I invested time and energy into mentoring. I gave lavishly to charities and to friends. I produced wonderful promotional campaigns for an ever expanding family company helping to bring in millions of dollars in revenue. My bonus check for the year was six figures. I occasionally made it to church and I always made it to work. So, again, how had this happened? My journey to find Dr. Ren began only a month before when I had fallen off of the wagon of Weight Watchers (again) and had got a glimpse of myself in my bathroom mirror All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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getting into the shower. I remember the image to this day as crystal sharp as they come. I truly believe I had never looked in the mirror in over five years. Subconsciously I avoided mirrors. There was only one in the bathroom and held my image for me on that fine spring morning. I had developed a daily routine of waking up and then jumping into my swimming pool sans clothing to make a lap before climbing out and into the shower. This action allowed me to shake off a hangover or general sleepiness – or both – before hitting the shower. Little did I know I had grown to the size that a nice little old man named Ishmael had moved in next door and begun working on a way to harpoon over my fence. The image of my body held me vexed in the mirror. The fat blubbered down the sides of me like some great glacier slowly reaching to make my belly drag the floor. I blinked and said a little prayer. I blinked again. The mirror did not waiver. Damn. It continued in cold insistence that I was indeed the creature it was reporting. I stuck my arms out to the side and was immediately rewarded by little waves making their way down to my nether regions which could neither be confirmed nor denied by the image of the belly flirting with the middle of my legs. I thought I might be having a panic attack as I took a seat on the side of my bed. My heart was racing. I began to pray. Again to the Wrathful God, please, please, please, I do not want to be this fat. How could I be with so much going for me? New house, new car, big checks, friends and family professing love many times a day. And, suddenly this fat? Bad mirror, bad! In reality, though, the story was different. The weight had crept up on me at the rate of about thirty pounds every year. There had been whispers and jokes from the family. There had been some lovers in the time I‘d been ballooning but these had been hired out by some sort or another- some with direct cash and others with party favors. I had had a hole in the pit of soul and the only thing I was feeding it at the time was food.

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I had noticed, in honesty, the jokes and prods from my Dad, had increased. Even my brother, insufferably supportive of his big brother, had mentioned my weight and said, ―you‘ve got to change so my boy has an uncle.‖ And, I thought I had changed. After all I had done Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Oprah‘s Optifast and a thousand other tries at shedding the fat. I had gone to seminars and support groups. I had gone to having to wear things that were 6XL in shirts. This after being advised recently that I looked like Barney the Purple Dinosaur by my nephew when I had sported a purple shirt that was more like a muumuu. As I pondered the matter more, it occurred that I wasn‘t being invited by my Dad to go along on business. I wasn‘t being invited by Ross to the movies. However, I had been being invited to go to lunch by almost anyone else with a weight problem. Kristie, a round faced, all the way well rounded, friend from work and I had a standing date for Pancho‘s All You Can Eat at least twice a week. I took another work associate, Marcus, for all you could eat meat at Texas d‘ Brazil, a Brazilian steak house which had waiters wondering from table to table delivering meats on a stick packed with overflowing wonders of tasty beef, pork and lamb. Oh, and don‘t forget Tokyo One. The favorite place of my mentoree, Jacob, to go and fill his teenage stomach and frame with all you could eat sushi, sashimi, tempura and cheesecake laid out on a resplendent buffet. Only teenage boys and the morbidly obese can think ahi tuna and ice cream belong on the same plate. I rose from the bed and took another chance the mirror had been wrong. But to no avail. I continued to blink at myself in the mirror. Catching the full gaze not all at once but in sections so as to better process the reality. Right upper quadrant. Left upper quadrant. Not any better, but symmetrical. But what could I try next? I made a quick inventory of available resources. Weed whacker in the garage? Painful and not practical. The herb shearers, again, not practical, way too messy. I finally entered the shower with the idea of liposuction going in my mind. Me, a Hoover Ultra and a large rubber tub. Perhaps science could offer something better.. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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After the shower I quickly dried, avoiding the mirror like the plague, and dressed. I had some time before I had to be at work. So, I booted up my computer as it made its dial up connection to the server. The Internet was brand new in 2001. Entering the worlds ―weight loss surgery‖ returns far fewer responses than it would today. I began to learn about the different types of surgery. The types which work most of the time, the types which work almost all of the time, and the one type that promises to work 95% of the time. The first one is of course, stomach stapling. However, it fails to work almost 50% of the time and staples must be removed. The other, stomach reduction promises better results, but still, 30% of the people go back to the original weight as they stretch out the remaining stomach tissue over time. Then my eyes read the words ―biliopancreatic diversion with duodenal switch‖ for the first time. Or, BPD/DS as it is innocently referred to. Truly a few initials are much better than a string of long medical words. 95% success. Intrigued, I began to learn about the procedure as quickly as the Internet could call up information. It took minutes which seemed like lifetimes when you were on the path of surgical gold and answers to the great question of ―how‖. The BPD/DS was found to be offered by three surgeons in the world. New York, Brazil and somewhere in far away France. The obvious choice was New York. The safe and solid American medical world had made believers out of us. The name associated with the procedure, featured by NYU‘s Tisch hospital is Christine Ren, MD. A quick call to the office brought all the information. Which in retrospect was amazingly little data to purview when the rearrangements of one‘s intestinal tract are the focus of the work. Two things stood out over and over 95% succeed and there was no dumping syndrome. I had to ask what a ―dumping syndrome‖ was because it sounded like something horribly embarrassing to have happen to one in polite company. I can‘t imagine saying ―Oh, you‘ll have to excuse that, I have a dumping syndrome‖ and being able to be excused from whatever dumping is. Turns out dumping has to do with the typical gastric bypass where the whole duodenum is removed along with most of the stomach. One All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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might think you could survive without anything that was routinely removed, but for most gastric bypass patients this means an extremely uncomfortable reaction to certain foods, especially those high in sugar and fight. Once they are eaten, the ―dumping‖ which would normally be handled by the now absent duodenum creates a stomach pain the likes of which haven‘t been had since childbearing. Or, if you are male, a really good punch in the whole privates. Not something I wanted to look forward to, even though it was supposed to inspire future eating behavior. I thought that was one area where I had plenty of inspiration. The decision was made. Off to New York and to the Maven of Medical Miracles of the Morbidly Obese. BPD/DS. These little initials made the biliopancreatic diversion with a duodenal switch seem much less ominous. ―We leave it intact so you don‘t experience dumping,‖ continued the doctor Christine Ren. She was petite and sincere looking, peering at me through a pair of glasses whose style would ride to fame in the 2008 vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin. ―You can literally eat whatever you want in a few weeks,‖ continues Ren, ―However, changing your eating habits will need to be a part of your new life.‖ My new life. This woman here in a tiny office of the rambling Tisch Medical Center and Hospital of New York University was going to give me a new life. Hubris on her part. But, of course, it was the words I wanted to hear. ―I was going to ask about how bad this hurts,‖ I said over her peering eyes. ―Well, may I begin by saying we do the procedure laparoscopically so it is minimally invasive. This means, the amount of incisions is minimal. Because less of the body is opened, the quicker the healing time and the less pain you experience.‖ I noticed the term surgery had become the word procedure as her speech continued she made several good points. This would be done with fewer incisions. It would be done more quickly. Although it was a very aggressive surgery, it worked out to be a rather simple concept. Open up a little hole in my side, remove my stomach and reconnect the duodenum to the lower intestine and ―tah dah‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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my plumbing is forever changed. Neat and simple, like changing out a hose on a car. These were the messages conveyed by Dr. Ren in June of 2001. But, of course, there were a few qualifying procedures to complete. All of this was taken in during a consultation with Dr. Ren on the 7 Floor of Tisch Hospital‘s Medical Office building in Manhattan. It seemed it only took a few moments before we were being herded out the door with our list of qualifying procedures, the assurance of Dr. Ren‘s excitement and a feeling of ―this is no big deal‖ before her next consultation. We also left behind a check written by my Dad for $12,000.00 to ―lock in my spot‖. As I trundled down the hall with my Father toward the elevator, one of the largest women I have encountered in my life emerged and headed for the door we just left. Her head was hung low, her eyes avoiding everyone and it was clear she was at the verge of tears and exhaustion. As she passed, Dad, ever the wit, and almost ever the inappropriate wit, said something to the effect of ―there should be an orange safety flag on that woman.‖ I laughed because I was supposed to. But, the comment sliced a little more deeply than any of the fat jokes he had ever made. I remember looking back at the woman in the non-descript business office wing as we stepped into the elevator. Sure enough, the woman stopped at Dr. Ren‘s office, seemed to offer a little prayer and entered as the elevator view closed its doors. th

Outside of the building, the sun was shining perfectly and it was a warm summer day in New York. There was no way we could do the items on the list this visit. In fact, we would make two more trips to New York in the summer of 2001. They marked the visits to change my life. However, this change wouldn‘t be exactly what I had been expecting. Lots of things happened that way in New York in 2001. I dreaded the flights back and forth. Not for a fear of flying. But, because I had to use the lap extenders for the first time in the flight up. It‘s embarrassing to have to ask for them. It was even worse when the helpful flight attendant got on intercom to inquire about the availability of a lap extension device from her crewmate. The small airplane seat was squeezing me from every direction and the flight was merciless from DFW to Kennedy. When we finally landed and I extracted myself from All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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the seat I felt my butt expand as if in a cartoon. I‘d never been so ashamed to be out in public the next day. Instead of taking in the sights, I was sizing up people. I wanted to go hug anyone else as big as I was and tell them I knew what they were going through. The only problem was that no one else visiting New York seemed to be as large as I was. Perhaps, others had found the lap extender too embarrassing to suffer a flight. I relaxed in the pleasant little room in the hotel. It was done in soothing earth tones and as I slipped into the reading of the procedures checklist I was tired and barely made it through the list before giving into sleep. It was a night full of dreams of insane images. I feel asleep with the question of ―Why I was so fat?‖ Morning came quickly and Dad and I grabbed breakfast at the hotel before returning to Dallas. I ordered Eggs Benedict and loved the dish so much I put another half a plate down. Dad didn‘t even offer a voice of objection as we had decided to try the procedure. We both figured it couldn‘t hurt to pack on a few more pounds. So, for the first time in a long time, I was free to eat without guilt! We returned to Dallas in business class and, thankfully, the seat belt fit without the additional extension. I guess business or first class is the way to go when your bottom end covers more geographical area that the law of physics should allow. Dad voraciously consumed the information from Dr. Ren‘s office until he had the whole thing down pat. The warnings were ominous, but they were in small print. Surgical conversion, possible infection and even death. But, the big print offered a safe procedure which worked for 95% of the people who still showed weight loss three years out. It offered up the fact that it would take three hours and I would recover and go home from the hospital in a few days. Arriving back in Dallas, dad immediately did his own research on the procedure from the office and, sure enough, before the end of the day, he came into my office and sat down. ―Reece if you want to try this, I‘ll be sure it gets paid for. So, don‘t worry about money.‖ One of the many times in his life these words would escape his lips because of this surgery.

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This miracle procedure which would lead to my death, in a roundabout fashion.

All Gays Go to Heaven ÂŠ2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Chapter One – New York State of Mind The next adventure to New York came in the first week of July. It was for psychological testing and heart stress testing. I was curious as to what the psych workup would entail and I noticed as I entered into the office his counseling degrees and credentials were fewer than mine. Oh, my. The man who is to judge me mentally fit to go through this program is less educated than I am. Won‘t this be fun? He introduced himself as Steve and explained the main point of this was to make certain I was not in any psychological trauma when I underwent the procedure. I had to laugh out loud. Trauma? Because I was 30 and I weighed 414 pounds? What could be traumatic about that? I had been through hell and back as a child and the weight had buoyantly protected me from any genuine relationship. Nope, perfectly sane as Jane I was. Was I concerned with any part of the procedure, did I feel fearful? What was to fear? I was about to have a mini-Cuisinart released inside my abdominal wall. Why, no, Steve, I had absolutely no trauma or fear related to this procedure. I started to say something to the effect of ―Steve, anyone who comes to you to consider this procedure is most definitely in some pretty big fuckin‘ mental trauma state‖ but instead my mouth formed the words ―I don‘t feel any special concerns about the procedure.‖ This pleased Steve immensely and he immediately checked off the ―okay‖ button. Sessions with Steve were twenty minutes and two hundred dollars. It seemed his entire practice was to do the assembly line clearance required by Dr. Ren. He was a quick stop on the conveyor from potential ―client‖ to qualified ―candidate‖. Dr. Ren was certainly running it as a business. And, a business it was. She wasn‘t selling surgery though, she was selling what all people will buy – a certain brand of hope. As I left Steve‘s office, I picked up dad in the waiting room and we headed out to the Murray Hill area of Manhattan. Tired from the walk up the whole span of two blocks (who knew there really was a ―hill‖ in Murray Hill?) we took a seat at the little All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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outdoor café. The plastic chair wobbled under me and then gave up the fight to remain upright. Plates, forks, spoons and dishes went everywhere as I clutched out to grab the tablecloth to slow the fall. Down came the ketchup, creamer and other condiments as waiters rushed to my aid. The chair was not going to recover and the patrons at the outside dining patio were stunned to see such a large man among them. Or, rather at their feet. I had managed to get up on my hands and knees, knocking the Ketchup bottle scooting to the streets of Manhattan. ―Well, fuck,‖ I managed as I desperately searched for something sufficiently well positioned to get me back to my feet. Waiters were everywhere trying to guide me and apologize and do everything they could. Two of the kind men even decided they could lift me and gave it their whole heart. Unfortunately, not only did I not budge but one of the waiters ended up with his arm underneath me as we crashed back down to the floor. Great, now I was going to have to replace a chair and a waiter! The whole thing seemed to have struck me as incredibly funny suddenly and I sat up among the scattered tableware, condiments and bodies and just laughed. ―Well, Dad, I guess we‘ll miss these moments.‖ I couldn‘t tell if my Dad was half crying or half laughing as he braced to pull me up. His 6‘4‖ frame held enough power to counterbalance the weight coming from my body and finally, I returned to my feet. I surveyed the damage, repressed a laugh as Dad simply said, ―I believe we‘ll do better with a booth.‖ Oh, if only Steve could have been along. Now, that would have been a fine trauma for him. The next day it was time to visit a gastroenterologist. Not only is it fun to spell, it‘s fun to.... Well, there is no fun there. Their job is to poke a camera down your throat to see what the devil is in your gizzard, if anything. A trip to one of these guys begins the night before. There is no delicate way to say you can‘t be full of poop when they check out your gastroenterological tract. To rid said poop, one has to drink a vile fluid which, despite its ―Peppermint Fresh Flavor‖ promise on the label, delivers a punch of chemical fire to your mouth which you quickly swallow. The reaction to the sodium phosphate (remember Peppermint Fresh!), is almost immediate. One‘s stomach releases contents more All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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quickly than the very worst case of Montezuma‘s revenge. I spent more than five hours in the bathroom that evening. I was afraid to leave the confines of the little safe room. I think I slept on the toilet that night. One hefty arm on the sink to balance the round body upon the precipice of the toilet. In the morning, the toilet and I parted sworn enemies for the rest of our life. The little letters on the medical instructions said NPO. It means no liquids or food after a generic midnight deadline. I arrived at the gastroenterologists stealing little sips of water. I had survived the night with Mr. Toilet and I was ready for anything. The doctor sized me up and said he‘d try to keep me sleeping during the procedure; however, he would wake me if necessary. He explained how the morbidly obese sometimes have their hearts stop suddenly when deprived of oxygen for any amount of time or encouraged to stop by sedating medications. So, essentially, if I died, he‘d wake me up. I was very assured. The doctor went on to explain the procedure (that damn word again) would include shoving a camera down my throat, esophagus, stomach and duodenum to take a look for anything that would prevent the surgery. At this point, there were papers to sign, releases to be given and I was trussed upon an operation table and an IV was started. The doctor said, ―This will hit you fairly quick. I‘m going to push it now and....‖ Nappy time. I awoke fuzzy headed but having been examined and declared fit for surgery. Dad and I took the required paperwork from him and dropped them off at Dr. Ren‘s office. Dr. Ren was not there but her perky ―assistant‖ Lisa was more than happy to take them. The only other test was one I could have done in Dallas and I was advised to arrive a week or so before the scheduled operation. The last test was a cardiogram and cardio stress test. I was dubious at best of the idea of climbing upon a treadmill. Much less one that was actually moving. Walking had become a necessity to me, not a joy nor even a simple matter of freedom of movement. If I had to use walking, I could. But, if I could scoot, shuffle, drive, fly, taxi or teleport; those were All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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preferred methods. So the idea of taking a happy little jog along the treadmills ever repeating path was akin to the idea of sleeping with Rosie O‘Donnell. Neither one of us was going to be happy about it. When I arrived the cardiologist reviewed the paperwork with a stern face. He finally said, after several attempts to begin in what was not his native tongue, ―Mistah Manlay you take too much fat. We yoose chemical aagent. Make heart go fast. You no move.‖ And, with that he was gone and the nurse begin to hook me up. ―Excuse me, nurse, what exactly are we doing here?‖ ―The doctor feels like you might have a cardiac problem already. So, we are going to use a chemical agent to speed up your heart and take the reading with you resting on the table,‖ she explained as she plopped a thousand little stickers onto my fine physique. A quick push of a button and, apparently, a small electrical signal said all was good to go. She inserted an IV and prepared the necessary magic juice. It was the easiest seven minute mile I ever walked. My heart beat faster, my breathing increased and I remained happily inert upon the table. The nurse took the reading from the printer next to the machine of a thousand tentacles. She made three marks and exited with the words ―feel free to remove the pads.‖ Oh sure, now I was going to have to work. It turned out there were not quite a thousand pads but there were over twenty. Each one was a little special delight because of my little body hair problem. As each pad came off, so did a part of my pelt. I left looking like and having the grumpiness of a polka dotted grizzly bear. We returned to New York in two weeks. It was the third week of July and the Manley‘s descended into New York in force. My father and his wife, Janice. My mom, Treva. My brother, Ross and his wife, Kerryann. Even a step-sister, Jennifer, accompanied the small army of Texans flying into New York for what we thought would be the biggest event the city would see in 2001. There was little to do with the surgery except to check in with Dr. Ren and present our reports. She was in ―procedure‖ so we handed the information to the ever present, ever perky Lisa for processing. That All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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done, we were free to turn into tourists in the Big Apple. Unfortunately, this meant walking and my knees hurt by the time we returned to the hotel. The hotel was the Clarion on 5th Street. It was a nice joint. Lounge, bar and restaurant along with spiffed up rooms and lobby. What a sight we were coming into the lobby for registration. A group led by my father, tall, fit and confident with his wife hanging on his arm, more diamonds than half of the yentas on Murray Hill combined. Mom helped me along as I struggled for breath and the simple will to move my frame from point A to point B. And, then there was Jennifer, my step-sister. Jennifer was suffering with a weight problems of her own and I guessed her at about 300 fairly easily. However, she zoomed about with a sassy confidence which belied her struggling to get from point to point. She was right at the desk with her mama checking out the spa offerings. I just wanted to get to the room. I wanted to find a bed. I wanted to fall down. Mom was to be my roomie and that was just fine by me. I had a sense of excitement leading up to the surgery day but there was also a little voice which complained about being on life support during a three hour surgery. There was something not quite right. I wish I had learned to listen to my inner voice at the time, but, instead it was brushed aside as Dad rang the room to tell us we had reservations at Tavern on the Green for the next morning. Tonight, it was to be the best Italian kitchen in the Murray Hill area. The freedom to eat without guilt was overwhelmingly enjoyable and I sampled everything but the waiter at the restaurant. The week passed quickly. We would do a touristy thing ever couple of days, caught one on Broadway show of Rent. Then we happened to check out Naked Boys Singing. Going with your mother to anything entitled Naked Boys Singing is embarrassing. I mean, our mothers are virtuous women, beyond reproach, it is in our collective consciousness. But, here was my mom going to see Naked Boys Singing and there was simply no stopping her, or any getting out of it. Dad, of course, skipped it. However, our concierge had come through with very good tickets. All Gays Go to Heaven ÂŠ2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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The play began and within minutes there were indeed Naked Boys Singing on the stage. During a bump and grind number, I ducked as a singer‘s manhood sailed on into the crowd before being retracted by its owner with a quick pull back. Still it had come within inches of me and I prepared to be ready for the next time. The next time never did. The ―boys‖ did enjoy torturing the few straight men that had been drug to the show. One quipped to a man in the front row, ―So, how‘s it going. You look uncomfortable.‖ The man squirmed in his seat. ―Is it my penis that‘s making you nervous?‖ The man tried to squirm under his seat. Positioning himself directly in front of the man, the actor said ―You can say hello if you like. Penis this is...I didn‘t catch you name?‖ The man looked left, right, up and down. Anything not to view the happy little fellow in front of him. The actor squeezed his muscles, causing his member to bounce up and down. As he did this, he did his best ventriloquist act to announce, ―I‘m Polly Penis and I‘m glad you are at the show. Very glad indeed.‖ The penis extended itself still pointing at the man now well under his seat. Sometimes a girl just can‘t catch a break. Our little band broke after the show and found a nice lunch spot. We did more tourist things that day including a city tour. I was disappointed to find myself winded after a block, and began to look for taxis no matter how far we were going. Having flagged one down, Mom and I returned to the room and Janice and Jennifer took off to the shops of 5th Street. The morning for the procedure finally came. I was on the dreaded NPO and had had to enjoy the ―Peppermint Fresh‖ taste again. The night had been spent bonding with the porcelain and I was glad to be anywhere other than in the bathroom. Or so, I thought. We arrived at the hospital at the appointed morning for the weight loss surgery to commence. Perky Lisa showed up with a sheet of releases to sign. I also settled down onto the bed. It was 9:40 in the morning and we all crowded into the tiny preparation holding room. The cursed blood sucking creature called the surgical nurse made a visit for blood work. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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We watched 10 AM come and go. And, then noon. About 2, Dr. Ren finally stuck here head into the office. ―We were to go to surgery at 4:00 PM because of the delay with finishing up another patient,‖ said Dr. Ren. At 4:30 a gurney arrived and I was able to plod from bed to table. I could tell the hospital workers were relieved! The idea of having to land this big of a fish would have made the work a bit harder. As my family kissed me goodbye and wished me well I entered into abject horror as I watched the ceiling tiles rush by overhead as the transport team escorted me from the room to the surgical waiting area. I practiced visualization, Farsi meditation and Christian prayer all within the course of the two minute ride to the pre-op room. Or, in my case, the procedure preparation area. There I balanced on the slim operating table, afraid to move lest my blubber begin a landslide down to the floor taking it with me. A sweet, African-American nurse appeared and started the IV that would carry the nappy time drugs to me. She assured me she‘d never seen anybody not come out of one of Dr. Ren‘s procedures. She and I laughed together as we made some quick jokes about how my right butt check oozed over to resting on the floor and asking if she‘d mind getting it. She buzzed about the ward reassuring those of us waiting for the call of our surgeon. There was Max, the older, big boned structured of a man who had known only blue collar work in his years. He was going in for a cardiac bypass. When he asked me what I was doing there, I started to reply but the nurse appeared, wrapping my curtain around me and presenting a slew of paperwork to me. I told her I was too anxious to read anything and she returned with a lovely drug which she injected into my IV. I felt a sense of giddiness and then total relaxation. ―Okay, hon, if it wears off before they take you, don‘t worry. You‘ll be happy again with another little push. Now let‘s get these papers signed for me, okay.‖ I was definitely in a much more cooperative state than I had been just moments before. Sign papers, sure? Marry her, not a problem? Turn the weed whacker loose inside my belly button, not a worry. Whatever was in the IV and was making its way into my blood was wonderful elixir and I signed everything and anything she placed in front of me. The anesthesiologist appeared to size me up before the surgery, no, procedure, could begin. He said he had bad news. I would have to be All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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awake during my intubation. With the drug coursing through my veins, it sounded like a very small ordeal. ―Of course, I‘ll get you to sleep as soon as I‘m in and know you‘re safe.‖ I was floating about the room, thinking about wildflowers, Naked Boys and the thin me I would soon have. I acquiesced to all of his ideas and, moments later, I was in the operating room. Then a horrible thing happened. Another injection and - whoosh – out went the magic drug. ―I‘m afraid I need you clean and focused for this buddy. It‘s not going to be fun.‖ ―What? What thing? Where did my poppies go?!‖ The anesthesiologist continued, ―It‘s going to be uncomfortable and I just need you to start swallowing and keep swallowing until I tell you to stop.‖ The jar of going from happily high to sane, sober and present in the operating room with a man about to have me swallow something was rather rude. Still, I‘d been known to swallow almost everything so I figured I could handle whatever he gathered up for me. I was wrong. The seemingly friendly man turned into Mr. Hyde as he approached me with a huge metal coil with a little line at the end of it. He gave the direction to the nurse to begin the push. I had no idea what that meant, nor if it was a good thing. I suddenly found myself unable to move my arms as the miscreant physician filled my mouth with the huge coil. I tried to cough but found myself completely unable to do so. ―Swallow, Reece, swallow,‖ came the command from beyond the metal snake being shoved ever deeper in my throat. I couldn‘t breathe! I began to panic and tried to move to defend myself. I had every intent of pulling out the large metal tube and beating the hell out of the doctor with it. Anger surged to replace fear and I told my arm to wrap my hand around the good doctor‘s neck. My hands did not respond. My arms did not respond. I began to tear up in rage, fury and helplessness as the strangulation continued. My upper lip was busted by the top of the coil and I could taste the blood flowing into my mouth. I was outraged and tried to curse the man, but he only forced the device further in and repeated, ―Swallow it, Reece, c‘mon, you are doing great.‖ Finally, I felt something slither past my throat and down into my lungs. ―I‘ve got him,‖ said the doctor. Push the rest. As the metal coil was removed, I was still angry, and tried to shout, ―You are All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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a mean son of a bitch, doctor, and I want up out of here because I intend to kick your ...‖ The push took over. One last cough and I felt air fill my lungs as I entered into the abyss of surgery. No, procedure. Everyone had gathered at the hospital. My family representation, a group of seven people who had come together in New York, a thousand miles from home, just to support me through the surgery and recovery. While I was blissfully unaware of the slow, deliberate process of the procedure, my family was left in the waiting room with no answers. Three hours passed. Then four. On hour five, they were informed by a surgical assistant that the procedure was taking longer than usual but that I was doing well. The same assistant would visit ever few hours to reassure my family keeping them at a low riot. After 9 hours, Dr. Ren and the assistant visiting Australian specialist. ―it went extremely well. I was able to avoid converting to an open procedure. I think he may be a record. It was much more difficult than I thought it would be.‖ My family released a collective sigh of relief. Dad described her as looking like a woman who had just given birth to a 12 pound baby. Apparently, Dr. Ren‘s hair was everywhere, she was sweating, she was pale, she looked like a warmed over off-strip hooker in Vegas (another euphemism from Dad.) My family waited for another hour in the lobby which had for all purposes become their private lair for the last three hours. Suddenly there was a flurry of action in the hallway. Down the hall sped three nurses and an orderly pushing me post-op on a gurney. I was beginning to groan from the surgery and I my stomach had begun to swell from being poked and punched. What a sight we made. The nurses trying to drive and balance me on the gurney while I moaned like a beached whale. My sister-in-law, Kerri shouted ―Reecer!‖ and the family was in immediate pursuit mode. The comic train continued with a struggling orderly guiding a unsteady surgical gurney. Three nurses with two I.V.s One moaning patient roughly the size of baby whale and the family following as if they were a Japanese whaling fleet with an easy target in their sites. Down the hall, up the elevator, down another hall and into a room all in the same line. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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I came to a bit more in the room. I had definitely survived the surgery but I had come closer to problems than I knew. As far as I knew it had been three hours and I couldn‘t figure out why it was dark and the clock said 3:00. I began to be aware of a terrible sizzling pain in my feet which didn‘t start but had been going. It‘s an odd distinction. Sometimes we just begin to notice things that have been going on for a while. That‘s the way it was. I didn‘t know when it had begun, but man this sizzling was a serious problem. I remember I threw back the sheet to see if I could see what the heck they had done to my feet but the view was blocked by my ever expanding belly. I lifted first one foot and then the next into view. Both were pink, perfect and fine. That little bit of physical exercise I did was a no no. My stomach immediately replied with a fire of pain that felt like the whole thing was about to open and give birth to an alien....some 7‘ creature which had been cramped into a slightly smaller space. The nurse was there in a flash as my father called down in his best business voice. A voice that commanded immediate notice and respect. A voice trained for news, politics and winning arguments in board rooms. ―My son in out from surgery and uncomfortable. Please do something for him immediately.‖ She fussled over me and her eyes went up for a moment giving away her newness to bariatric surgery. ―Mr. Manley, you came through just fine. Now, Mr. Manley, it did take a little longer than usual but it was done perfectly, and they stayed with the wand the whole surgery. But, Mr. Manley, you‘ll be uncomfortable for a while. This medicine will help some, Mr. Manley.‖ I‘d never hear myself called Mr. Manley so many times in a ten second blurb in my life. I also learned quickly the euphemism that would be the equivalent to pain – ―uncomfortable‖. Medically, this term means hurts like hell. It would be a term I would hear thousands of times over the next years of my life. The magic of the morphine worked and I was soon among the happy field of poppies. My blood and body was completely virgin to the chemical mix and embraced the pain relieving drugs immediately. Time seemed to shift and slow down as the nurse continued. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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―Now, Mr. Manley, you need to be aware of two things, Mr. Manley. These are very important, Mr. Manley. You see these two little holes. She indicated more too my family than myself, ―These are for draining the fluids out of the surgical area. They are called (Mr. Manley) special name. They are called Jackson-Pratt drains. They are designed to let the wounds inside of you drain off their fluid. And, they....‖ Her voice faded to gibberish as the morphine continued to make inroads with the pain and I found it impossible to keep up with her. My family was gathered around and I knew they would get whatever Nurse Mr. Manley said. I floated off to sleep with just one question still in my mind, ―Why the hell did my feet hurt so bad?‖

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Chapter Two - What’s With the Feet? The next few days in the hospital were as routine as hospital stays get. I was healing very well they assured me and soon the drains explained by Nurse Mr. Manley did indeed stop delivering the fluid from the disturbed innards and were removed. However, the strongest question remained, for me, ―Why do my feet hurt so bad.‖ It came about that it was time for the harpooned great whale to attempt to morph back to human and try its flippers on dry land. On the day, promptly upon the scheduled time, a team of large medical assistants, ―Morris, J. L., Physical Therapist III, NYU Tisch‖ read the label on one of the brave lads as he extended his hand to me. ―Okay, brother, we are going get you to the sitting up position first. I swung my feet over and off of the bed while Morris, J.L. did his best to pull me to the surface. He grunted and put his all into it and suddenly – pop – I was upright. My mom had a look of shocked surprise on her face that was just priceless. She had remained the stalwart guard for this special time in the hospital while my Dad had made the numerous calls and connections necessary to run the Manley Empire. Being upright was a change of view. And, being that delivering pain medicine was a necessity before physical therapy, I found the sensation quite liberating. Morris was still balancing me a little but I was focused on the view of Manhattan outside of my window. There were thousands of buildings and I remember wondering if any of the other windows held the view of mine and were peering in to see the little miracle of the scuttled whale that could sit up. Despite the morphine, my stomach did complain about the great shift of position it had just experienced and delivered a blow of mind clearing pain to my little poppy happy time. ―Feel that do ya brother, ― Morris asked. ―You‘re sitting up, baby,‖ said Mom. She looked so proud. It made me feel like a toddler that had made doo doo in the right place for the first time. ―Yep, ma,‖ I said, ―no hands‖ as I released my balancing All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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arms from the bed. Amazingly, I stayed in position. ―This is a very good thing. Look at you, brother,‖ Morris had an accent that sounded Jamaican. ―Now we are going to let you stand on up, if you can. You just go slow, brother, we got you. You‘ll need to scooch up though, brother, so your feet can hit the floor.‖ I scooched up and indeed my feet hit the floor. Abject and complete horror. A flash of pain so intense, so bright and stunning that it commanded my immediate focus. Stop! Fire! Cutting! No! Sharp! A thousand internal warnings formed in my mind and I muttered simply ―Awfuk!‖ Morris backed up a bit at the intensity. My mom was up and out of her chair and at my side faster than I knew she could move. ―How bad is it?‖ I asked through gritted teeth. ―How bad is what brother,‖ asked Morris? ―How bad is the cut I just got on my feet?‖ Both Morris and Mom looked confused. Mom looked down at my feet, dropped down and looked. ―Honey, your feet are fine.‖ ―The hell they are,‖ I managed to say without cursing in front of my mom. ―No, brother, your feet are fine. Really. Sometimes after surgery the blood gets cut off. Let‘s see if you can put a little weight on them. It might make you feel better.‖ It took every fiber in my being to will myself to move forward on my bed, but I scooched and part of my weight went down to my feet for bearing. I screamed and it must have been loud because Morris and Mom jumped like cats sprayed with a water bottle. A passing nurse stuck her head in. I started to cry. There was nothing else to do. The pain was so bad I just had to. It‘s the only outlet that the body has sometimes. ―My feet! My feet!‖ I don‘t know what happened next. I came back to consciousness back in bed and with my feet elevated and twice the morphine on board.

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My mother was standing over me stroking my hair, and my Dad had returned from his rounds of remote Empire running. ―There you are,‖ my mom cooed as if I were back to being five or six. ―You gave us a little scare.‖ My Dad came to the bedside peering down from his 6‘4‖ frame with a look of concern. ―What‘s wrong with your feet, son?‖ That‘s right. The feet. Even now with happy poppy juice flowing through me I could feel them burning on low. I couldn‘t feel a twinge of pain from my stomach or its injuries, but my feet were still reporting pain despite the best efforts of the morphine. ―I don‘t know, Dad. I‘ve been feeling the pain since I woke up from surgery. I don‘t know what it is? Has the doctor said anything? Have we heard anything?‖ I asked. My mom and dad looked at each other for a moment and then Dad began again, ―Umm, Son. You probably don‘t remember because of the morphine. The Chief of Neurology was down to see you. He asked you a few questions about the pain and when it started. Remember?‖ I had no more met the Chief of Neurology than I had played in a German Polka Band, but I decided to play along with Dad. There have always been holes in memory for me. Something I had learned to traverse with a little lie and a quick change of subject. ―Yeah, that‘s right. I just can‘t remember everything he said,‖ I lied. Dad took a breath and looked up as he recounted the conversation. ―He was a nice, smart guy. He said what you have going on is probably a very temporary neurological reaction to the anesthesia or to the positioning from the surgery. It‘ll clear up in a couple of days. Until then, they‘ll keep you comfortable while you do the rest of your PT. Tomorrow, you walk!‖ ―Great,‖ I said. If ever a half-hearted statement had been issued from my lips, this was one of them. ―What time do we do that tomorrow?‖

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―We‘re gonna give it a shot first thing in the morning. The PT guy, Morris, will be back to give you another go. We‘ll be sure you are comfortable before we try it. You get some rest, you‘ve had a big day.‖ Mom lingered a bit longer. She checked and rechecked all the drains, connections and IV‘s. Her fifteen years of nursing work was in high command and she was at the top of her game. Satisfied that her baby was hooked or unhooked correctly depending on the given IV she finally prepared to leave. ―You call me tonight if you need me, baby. I‘ll be here bright and early in the morning.‖ I found myself alone in the room. I took it in for a bit before falling into sleep. Tisch hospital had stood for many, many years and I could not help but think of other people who had gone through this room. How many had left happy? How many had left the planet? Finally, I settled on the thought of how successful my surgery had been. Tomorrow, I would try my first soft food to see if the intestines were ready to begin receiving new nutrition in their newly restructured form. ―The surgery went great!‖ I remembered Dr. Ren saying as she has visited that day. ―Of course, we sure worked on you for a long time. I went home and slept for twelve hours,‖ she had added. ―I‘ve got some new stories for my classes from you, Reece. I tell you, you were one challenge! But, we won and every objective of the surgery was met. You are going to be skinny in no time!‖ Skinny in no time!! What a perfectly wonderful idea! Me? Skinny? The thought found a happy place in my mind and was producing some wonderful fantasies as I drifted off to sleep. Maybe I would learn to run a marathon? Certainly, I would be able to date now? What fun it would be to show up at my high school reunion next year! Or, even more fun, my Texas State reunion. I‘d been so heavy when I completed my Masters in Counseling. Yes, that would be something. I drifted to sleep. The nurse came in with the scheduled pain meds and hung another IV of antibiotics. The pain meds sent a warm euphoria through my body and then took me to sleep. Happy nappy poppy juice, indeed.

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It was toward dawn that the great black bird appeared. The bird was huge. It stood 6‘ with a wingspan of the size of the room. It had dark, terribly intelligent eyes. Beyond, the intelligence was a seething malevolence. The beak was crooked and sharp. And, it began what would become an almost constant nightly encounter. It picked up my sheets in its beak. Watching me and moving away the covers at the same time. When my feet were exposed and in full view, the bird began to feed upon them. The first stab was fast, harsh and painful. It‘s beak pulled up as blood sprayed from my feet. It again fixed me with its eye and plunged in another stab. Tearing, vicious, animalistic. It began to feed with unfettered hunger. Blood was flying and chunks of skin were falling loose as it continued to eat. My feet were in terror and then the pain became so sharp and intense. My bladder loosed as the bird took yet another stab into my feet. How had this monster gotten in? How had it gotten....under my bed? It screeched in joy and I recoiled and screamed in horror. Trying to reach down but my body would not move. I screamed again. The room flexed inward as if a Star Trek warp bubble had moved past. I screamed again and the room began the transition from dream to waking. My feet were on fire and still the bird fed. Finally, I broke into consciousness and caught feathers out of my peripheral vision as I found the NURSE summon button. ―Help! My feet!‖ I managed to shout. Where had the bird gone? Why could I no longer see my feet? Instead the perfectly round stomach blocked the view. The last feathers disappeared into ethereal images as I gained full consciousness. A nurse rushed in and asked if I needed pain medicine. I managed to calmly say, ―yes, please‖ rather than ―what do you think you stupid little bitch, my feet have been eaten off‖. ―Would you check my feet for me?‖ The nurse looked confused then decided it wasn‘t worth any argument. She pulled back the covers and said ―Your feet are fine. How‘s your belly?‖ My belly burned slightly but my feet were screaming. ―I‘d like that pain med, please.‖ The nurse plunged the syringe into the IV stream and I was immediately filled with poppy juice. The feet slowed their screaming to a dull throbbing ache. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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―Did that make your belly feel better?‖ asked the nurse. I started to tell her about my feet and the bird but decided such things would make no sense here in the world of the consciousness. ―Would you please chart I‘m having foot pain along with the stomach, please.‖ She blinked at me as if she didn‘t understand and finally said she would. It was something Mom had told me to do and it ended up serving me well. ―Reece, you tell them to chart anything that you really want the doctor to see. If you ask them to chart it, they are supposed to chart it. If they don‘t the nursing supervisor will get on them,‖ Mom had advised.

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Chapter Three – Hitting the Floor The dawn continued and the pain did subside as the morphine pushed back the burning sensations from belly and feet. Mom arrived at the click of 7:00 AM when she could be admitted for visiting. Along with her was my brother and Kerri. Ross and his wife were leaving for Dallas and had come to bid a quick farewell. ―Hey skinny,‖ my brother said as he walked over to the bed. ―How‘s the belly, big bro?‖ ―Still big. No magical 200 pound weight loss yet. They really should explain that it doesn‘t happen overnight,‖ I quipped. ―It‘ll happen, though, bro. I can‘t wait to see you in Dallas but Dad is waiting to take Kerri and I back to the airport. I love ya,‖ and he patted my head in the way brothers do. It also conveyed the comfort that can only come from a truly caring sibling. It was a combination of love and support. It was one of my favorite feelings in the world – brotherhood. Anyone who doesn‘t have a sibling will think I‘m being sappy. Those who have brothers will know exactly how much that head pat meant to me. It was a wonderful moment. Kerri nervously kissed me on the forehead and said, ―Get better, Reecer. We‘ve got lots of places to go and you can‘t do that in the hospital!‖ Dad appeared in the doorway and assured me he‘d be back as soon as he‘d gotten Ross and Kerri off to Dallas. He gave me an ―you can do it‖ little nod as he added, ―Good luck on the big journey to the bathroom!‖ Soon the room was as it would be for most of my days in the hospital both this trip and the thousand yet to come, just Mom and me among the IV‘s, needles, and supplies of the room. ―How was your night, baby?‖ Mom asked as she took a look at the Jackson-Pratts. Not waiting for an answer she exclaimed ―Oh, Reece, these look great!‖ She continued to look me over and for a moment I felt like a puppy being sniffed by a mother dog who was checking to be sure I was hers and no humans had left any incriminating marks. ―Oh, you‘re healing beautifully.‖ Her voice was half relief and half confidence. Her smile, though, was genuine and it etched itself in my mind. Mom thought All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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things were going to be okay and the smile she gave me was the one reserved for just such occasions. ―You‘re gonna make this without a problem, baby.‖ I wanted to tell her about the dream, the bird, the pain. But, I didn‘t dare mention the creature lest I conjure it up again. Instead, ―Mom I had some foot pain in the night again. I did like you said and asked the nurse to chart it. I think she actually did it.‖ Mom‘s smile quickly went to concern. ―That should be getting better by now. The Head of Neurology said we should see it go away in 72 hours or so, so it should be gone by tomorrow. Do you feel like trying some breakfast?‖ While Ross and Kerri had been leaving a tray had arrived in the room. There was no smell coming from it but, oh, the delight, the idea of food! Food! Yes, now that would cure the stomach and kill off the bird in the side process. My mind quickly invoked an image of biscuits and gravy. Made from scratch and delicious. A breakfast favorite since I‘d been able to stick a spoon in my mouth. ―Yeah, let‘s bring it over and see what we‘ve got,‖ I instructed Mom. Mom whipped the cart into place, raised it too high, lowered it too low then finally got it where both me and my belly could be under the table at the same time. When you are the shape I was, the handy food tray became another obstacle and another reminder of the fact I was fat. As mom whipped off the cover I was stunned. There were no mesmerizingly wonderful biscuits. Instead a little cube of green jello wiggled in front of me. ―It‘s Jell-o?‖ I half said half asked. ―Yes indeed, son, that is Jell-o. I think you‘ve got a few days of this kind of thing before you get to move to solid foods. Maybe you‘ll get lucky and have bullion for lunch.‖ Despite the menu, I was hungry and so I decided to eat the wriggly little cube and it tasted, well, delicious. It‘d been a few days since anything but sips of water had been allowed in and even hospitalized jello was quite a tasty treat. I had intended to eat the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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whole thing, heck, I was even eyeing the plastic covering as possibly edible. Then the most wondrous thing happened. After two bites, my brain said ―whoa, you are full!‖ Now, usually, this signal was reserved for ONLY after eating the 72 ounce steak at the Big Tex Steakhouse outside of Amarillo, Texas. ―You finish it, and we pay for it, pardner!‖ Or at the very least on the fifth trip through Pancho‘s All You Can Eat Mexican Buffet. My record had been 16 cheese enchiladas. That‘s, of course, before I was placed on the ―Banned for Life‖ list at the top ten buffet destinations in Dallas. It‘s embarrassing to break those laws, too. The one time I tried Animal Control was immediately called. However, here I was feeling bloated after two bites of lime Jell-o. Then the pain hit in the stomach as it fired up the old system. It must certainly have missed the parts and pieces it has relied upon for 30 years to process food. At first the pain was sharp, and I was afraid the Jello had emptied out into my abdominal cavity without any direction at all! However, the pain began to subside quickly and the new directions demanded by the rearranged innards were accepted. I stayed feeling ―stuffed‖ on the Jello for an hour. I felt like it‘d taken Willy Wonka‘s magical food pill. The day went on until the time I‘d been dreading was upon us. Morris was back and he‘d brought a different but strapping partner with him. I pretended to be asleep. ―Mr. Manley, good morning, Mr. Manley!‖ Morris has obviously been doing this for years and knew sleeping was a usual ruse. ―Come on, don‘t you want to go home? You‘ve got to get to where you can am-bu-late, Mr. Manley!‖ ―Come on, baby,‖ Mom chimed in. ―Let‘s try.‖ I did not want to try. I‘d just had another dose of happy poppy juice and I wanted to dream a happy little dream about my new best friend – lime Jell-o. The feet had even been overcome by the morphine and I certainly had no intention of walking on them and going through the pain again. But, Morris was not going to go away. He playfully lifted my eyelid and looked me square into the eye and Seussed me with, ―It‘s a great day for up!‖

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With no option, I took Morris extended arm and heaved with my best effort. I was recompensed for the effort with a little dash of pain from my stomach. I swear I could feel a little lime Jell-O squirt to the left and then to the right. I came up to the sitting position much easier this time. It was, despite my protests, a brilliantly blue afternoon sky for New York. I took in the view from the window for a moment, hoping to grab a memory for later when I would be alone and in the dark of night. A pigeon lighted on the window sill of the hospital and I thought, ―how beautiful. To be free and flying above the city. I‘m going to be like that soon. Free of this weight and soaring above life!‖ The pigeon ducked his head, took a crap and flew off. So much for harbingers of joy. ―Do you have your balance yet, brother?‖ Morris asked releasing my body with his steadying hands. ―Apparently so,‖ I said. ―Good job, baby!‖ cheered Mom and I again felt like a three year old. I made momma happy. This was a good thing. ―Okay, brother,‖ Morris hesitantly began ―Yesterday we had some problems. Now the nurse juiced you up good so you may be a little fuzzy this time. Take your time and go very slow.‖ I knew this was the part which required the dreaded scooching and touching the floor. I heaved my left side and then my right side and my body responded with considerably more strength than it had the day before. I was soon on the edge of the bed and I tacitly dropped one foot to the floor. Contact. I waited for the flash of terrifying pain to come. And, pain did come. But, not quite as bad as it had been the day before. I was gratified to know I would not burst into flames every time I tried to put a toe to the ground. Little things like that are reassuring in life. ―Okay, brother, good job! Now we are going to help you stand up. This is going to be a little bit hard today, brother, but it will get better. No worries, okay. Whenever you‘re ready,‖ Morris said. ―Let‘s go on three,‖ I said after seriously giving thought to faking extreme stomach pain and pushing the activity off for the day. ―Okay, one, I scooched a bit more, two, both feet now flat on the floor and three!‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Morris and company managed to lift the majority of my bulk as I gave it my all. The flash of pain returned. My feet were engulfed in fire then, immediately, frozen as ice. They felt frozen as solid as if a sculpture made of frozen marble. Then, the pain gave another jolt and it felt as if my feet shattered beneath me. A thousand sharp shards went shooting through me as I grimaced into the standing position. ―Oh, honey, is it your tummy?‖ Mom had read the distress on my face. ―No,‖ I said, ―it‘s my fucking feet,‖ I seethed out through the now forming tears and terror. Morris held me upright, though, as he asked mom to bring the chair closer to the bed. ―We aren‘t going far, now. We are just going to sit in the chair here, brother mon, you can do this.‖ I found myself sitting in the chair, tears streaming down my face and breathing like a horse who‘d noised a victory at Belmont. Sweat began to flow from every skin surface. I soon did indeed feel like a fish out of water who had conveniently brought his own supply for just such an occasion. ―Good job, brother mon!‖ Morris said giving me a high five. ―Now our goal is 30 minutes sitting up today. How‘s your stomach?‖ The stomach? Who the hell cared about the stomach, what was wrong with my feet. ―Should it hurt that bad on the feet?‖ Morris considered for a moment and said, ―Let‘s prop them up while you are sitting. Morris surveyed the room for anything that might work. He quickly retrieved a small trash can, turned it over and slid it under my feet. ―Okay, brother mon, I‘ll be back in thirty minutes. Do you need anything?‖ ―Yeah, Morris, I‘m in a lot of pain. Would you please get the nurse for me?‖ He nodded and headed out the door. Now without a seat, Mom plopped onto the bed.

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―What‘s going on, Reece?‖ Mom asked me, serious in her tone. ―Tell me, honey,‖ she said taking my hand and giving my hair a stroke. ―Mom, it‘s my feet. There is something wrong with my feet. It doesn‘t seem to be getting any better.‖ We were interrupted by the arrival of the nurse with happy poppy juice. ―Oh thank God,‖ I said. ―No, thank Sheila,‖ said the nurse. ―That‘s me. What‘s your pain level on a scale of one to ten?‖ ―3,489,‖ I replied. It seemed an appropriate answer. Sheila had heard that one before, probably at least 3,489 times. ―Tensville, huh? Well we can fix that for ya,‖ the accent was New Jersey and she moved like a cat, with speed and purpose. ―Let‘s get you comfortable,‖ said Sheila. I didn‘t even see the needle coming before it was in and out. No push delay and my mind whirled around from biliousness to ululation. Finally settling on ―much better‖ within a few seconds. ―Oh, that‘s a happy look,‖ Sheila said, ―Anything else ya need I‘ll be a page away. Looks like we needed to find you a bigger chair. I‘ll see if I can dig one up from Bariatrics‖ As Sheila left, Dad came in. ―Hey! Lookie at whose sitting up. Miracles do happen,‖ he said in his best southern preacher voice. ―Amen. Fire up choir,‖ I responded. Dad approached hard times with humor and for the most part it worked for him. He‘s a handsome man still at 60 something, the legendary tall Texan millionaire incarnate. New Yorkers gave him a bit of berth even in the streets, which is simply something that isn‘t done in New York. Dad sized me up, ―Son, we‘ve got to get a bigger chair in here,‖ he said giving himself a mission. Dad despises inaction, at least for himself, and will always find something – anything to do. I could tell because of the quickness of his actions that the tears hadn‘t quite dried on my face. I tried to speak to him again, but the happy poppy juice was insisting it was nap time. I feel asleep in the chair. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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―Brother, hey brother,‖ Morris brought me awake. ―You‘ve been in the chair for an hour. We gotta get you back to bed. You‘ve done what you have to for the day.‖ I began to obey the command to get up when, to my surprise, I found the chair and I had become attached to each other. A simple matter of physics, no two objects can occupy the same space and time, had been ignored. My butt was stuck in the chair. Morris tried to heave me up and I tried to give him my best effort. But the butt-chair marriage had become a strong one. My feet protested the weight bearing loudly as I half-rose bringing the chair a bit up off the floor. I‘m sure it would have made a great comedy scene to someone not living it. Here was this huge fat man stuck in a chair with nothing more than a hospital gown. As the chair clung to me the gown shifted and everyone in the room got a touch of full frontal nudity. Again, though, I had the good fortune to have a stomach which, full of holes or not, hid my ―not not‖ areas from the view of those in the room and the passer bys. I fell back into the chair and the chair fell back onto the floor. I swear I felt the hospital tremble underneath me! ―One more time, Brother. You‘re juiced to the max, mon, so we‘ve got to get it done. Now on three. One, two.. three,‖ Morris commanded. I again came up halfway and the chair decided to let go and fall back to the safety of gravity but not without taking my gown with it. The buttons on the gown popped open as I plopped free as the chair gave up on its pursuit to become airborn. It was a sound heard through the hospital, no doubt. But there I stood, naked, upright, sweating and just a wee tad embarrassed! ―I‘ve got it, honey,‖ Mom flew into action and had me draped again in a flash with my hospital gown. Mom, Morris, the gown and I all started the shuffle to the bed. Some how between IV‘s and catheters, wound drains and hospital gowns I arrived at the bed without falling over, turned about and sat down in the bed. ―Good job, brother!‖ Morris exclaimed. ―You, too, brother mon,‖ I replied. I had survived the first journey to the chair and back and had made everyone happy campers. Morris swung my feet up for me onto the bed as I scooched back into the resting position. I still don‘t know how All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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much morphine I‘d been given, but it was a much higher dose than I had had since I‘d been there. As my head hit the pillow, my stomach lurched and bellowed until it finally landed in the correct position spreading itself over my frame with aplomb. Then it began again. The feet began to turn themselves up in great protest of the adventure to the chair. I again asked about the pain and was given the same answer I would receive for the rest of my stay in the hospital. ―It‘s temporary. Don‘t worry.‖ But, worry I did. And, Mom did. And, even Dad did. It would be a worry which would be with all of us for a long, long time to come.

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Chapter Four – Getting Out of the Hospital The next day, I would make a visit to the chair in the morning and then actually walk out of the room and back in the afternoon. The Jackson-Pratts stopped draining and my insides appeared to have adjusted to their new positioning. Dr. Ren stopped by and inspected my stomach first by pressing on one side and watching everything move to the left, the other, and the abdominal contents shifted to the right. Left, right. My stomach did the hokey pokey with all of its might. She assured us the operation had been a great success and I was healing beautifully. I would be out of the hospital the next day but would need to stay in New York for a week to ten days so Dr. Ren could see me a couple of times. Dad had to leave to return to the empire and left mom and me to our own resources with two of his credit cards and an apartment a block away from Central Park, rented for two weeks. Again, it was back in the days where money was freely available and the rental was a first class joint. The restaurant in the building had been instructed to allow any and all charges as had been the bar. Of course, I wasn‘t going to be drinking and mom never drank. I guess it was just one of the necessities Dad thought might happen and he liked to cover his bases. The day came for me to leave the hospital and transfer to the apartment for another week of recuperation. ―Hey, brother Mon,‖ Morris stuck his head into the doorway of the hospital room. ―You be getting out today? That‘s good, mon!‖ ―You know it, brother, mon,‖ I replied. Morris and I had built up a temporary friendship and alliance. He was there to help me focus on overcoming the disposition to be sedentary and embrace the idea of motion, any kind of motion, as being good for healing. It wasn‘t an easy alliance to make because the idea of me embracing motion was a foreign concept. Granted, I liked some forms of motion quite a bit. I could amble, rumble or lumber to a buffet in short order. But the idea of walking for joy or lifting heavy objects had been long ago abandoned as the pounds had added up. Being morbidly obese becomes a self-fulfilling All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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cycle. The heavier you are the less you want to do the heavier you become and around the bicycle wheels go. Until they are mack truck tires stuck in low and grinding away on an impossibly high grade. ―You did good in here, brother,‖ Morris continued. I felt as proud as a Kindergarten student getting his first golden sticker. ―When you come back and see me, you‘ll be skinny as a rail, you‘ll see.‖ This brought up something I had not thought about before. I remember being struck with the idea as Mom gathered up things for us to move from hospital to the apartment. The surgery had worked. I was going to lose weight. I, Reece Manley, was going to be thinner. And, soon ―normal‖. The thought struck me with both joy and panic. Normal! Regular size clothes? Really? What will happen the next time I‘m attracted to someone? Would they actually be attracted to me? Not just my money, but me? I couldn‘t fathom the idea. It had been years since anyone had found me attractive, and the one who had ended up having a severe psychological disorder. If you are a gay man and you weigh 400 pounds, you are not going to make the first round at closing time. Heck, most of the time you end up with no options, or the option of a party boy and their disposable affections. As I began to ponder the idea of being of normal size, I happened to bump my toe against the wheel chair which had arrived to take me curbside. Shearing, uncontrolled pain shot through me. I had not had my happy poppy juice as I was being dismissed that day, the medication had been discontinued. I sat down and shouted in agony. Morris actually grinned at first, thinking I was playing around with him in some form, but when I caught my mom‘s eyes, I knew she got it. My feet were on fire, and I could do nothing but breathe out and in slowly to keep from passing out. ―Morris, get a nurse, now,‖ Mom commanded Morris into action. I reached down to rub my feet, and the touch from my own hand engulfed my feet in the sensation of a horrible grinding pain. It was if my toes had been placed into a meat grinder. I could feel toenails being pulled off of toes, bones crushed and grinded, being poured out on the far side as a pulp of foot sausage. The sensation and the image were painful and abhorrent. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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―Mr. Manley, I‘ve got pain med, Mr. Manley, but, Mr. Manley, if you take it we‘ll have to watch you for an hour before you can leave,‖ the nurse said in quick clipped tones. I nodded for the juice. ―Okay, Mr. Manley. Here ya go. This will sting a bit.‖ The grinder began to slow, then went on down to just a low throbbing pain. I cried in relief. I cried in frustration. I cried the tears I would come to know very well in the next years. ―It‘ll work in just a second, baby,‖ Mom cooed. The room had been packed and I was in the wheelchair ready to take the trip to apartment. ―I need to see Dr. Ren," Mom told the nurse. ―If she‘s not on the floor, page her. We are not going to leave with him experiencing this kind of pain and nothing to take for it.‖ The nurse assured Mom there was a prescription for Norco, a tylenol-codeine mixture. Mom did not accept the protest and had the nurse page Dr. Ren. About twenty minutes later, Dr. Ren arrived. Her glasses, hair, and lab coat all perfect, crisp and professional. ―What is the emergency, Mr. Manley?‖ she asked clearly ticked at having her day detoured. ―I..,‖ I started. ―Dr. Ren, Reece‘s feet are not getting better,‖ my mom interjected. ―I don‘t know what‘s going on but this child is in pain, and I don‘t want to go somewhere he can‘t function. I don‘t know what you prescribed, but you‘ll need to up it.‖ Dr. Ren ignored Mom as much as she could and addressed me directly, ―Your feet still hurt? Worse than your stomach?‖ I nodded. The trail of tears had dried, but they must have been visible as I saw, for a second, a flash of sympathy in Dr. Ren‘s eyes. ―We‘ll check you again in four days. I want you to come into the office. I‘m prescribing some stronger pain medications. You will need to crush them up to take them,‖ Dr. Ren said. ―How often and how much?‖ asked Mom. She and Dr. Ren went on to have a conversation about scheduling regular doses versus just for breakthrough and other such matters as I gave into the happy poppy juice.

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―Okay, Reece, we‘ll need to see you in my office on Thursday at 10 AM. It looks like you‘ll have your own private nurse on hand,‖ Dr. Ren gave a little nod to mom. Her eyes tried to reassure me, but I could see clouds of doubt and the fear of something gone wrong. Liability was probably the word on her mind more than success.

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Chapter Five â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Times in the City The apartment was beautiful and spacious for Manhattan. Actually, it was spacious for anywhere. The unit had two bedrooms, a dining room, a living room, and a kitchen. The building was a hotel on the first 12 or so floors, and then amenity rich condos from 14 on up. There was a phone that reached the main desk, concierge, restaurant, and other services. There was cable with movies. Fresh housekeeping came every other day. Coffeemaker and coffee was provided as were paper goods. There was a bodega on the first floor and, a few steps away from the door, a florist shop. The view from the apartment looked out upon the world of Manhattan, and a block away Central Park sprawled its long rectangular joy over the cement of the city. Despite a few strange and exotic spices floating through the window, the fresh air was amazingly better than the medicinal smell of the hospital. Thai mixed with garbage trucks beat out the smells of alcohol swabs and body fluids any time. The unit was decorated in a modern style. The carpet was light beige and the walls were tastefully papered. The location was primo. It was a few blocks from NYU Tisch, close to the park, and provided a safe neighborhood for mom to go out and walk. Never leaving me for long, she would occasionally go down to the bodega and bring up fresh flowers. She coaxed and coached me every day to push myself a bit further. We arrived at the apartment in the rented wheelchair. I also had a walker and a cane for the progression I would make every day over the next week. The goal was to be ready to walk on board an airplane and depart for Dallas in ten days. We would avoid 9/11 by two weeks, but we would have our own tragedy firm itself up in our psyches before that date. The first days out of the hospital were a dance between pleasure and pain. People wonder why other people use drugs. The answer is simple: they work. And, they hold a double dip for people in genuine pain when the person begins to first use narcotics. Number one, the pain stops. Number two, euphoria kicks in. Those in chronic pain face a terrible All Gays Go to Heaven ÂŠ2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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dependency in the first days of managing their conditions. The temptation to remove pain is difficult to resist. The temptation to remove pain and enter into euphoria is next to impossible not to heed. I had never had pain in my life to speak of. I‘d never had a surgery or been in a major accident. My body was a virgin playground for the manipulation of serotonin and norepinephrine, enhanced neurotransmitters, and the other magic codeine delivered. The only down side to the codeine was that it made for a very upset stomach under the best of circumstances. I was now all but without a stomach, but that did not stop me from having the symptoms of nausea and vomiting. I‘m still not for sure exactly where food is stored in my body, but whatever cavern bids it welcome was very, very small those first days. Eating became a duty. It hurt every time and the nausea was awful. It was like having my favorite boppy changed out for a porcupine. Instead of comfort, food was now problematic and tricky, but a necessity. Mom ran the medication dispensary like clockwork. After 15 years of doling out drugs to the patients at the State hospital, she was familiar with scheduling and the need to adhere to it. I, for the most part, stayed out of pain for the week we were in the apartment save for the one time we visited Dr. Ren before returning to Dallas. Mom and I decided we had better find out where things stood, literally, with my feet when we saw Dr. Ren so the morning dose of happy poppy powder was left out of the routine. By the time we were dressed and in the cab, my feet were beginning to burn. By the time we reached the hospital, they were beginning to burn and crunch. I closed my eyes but the image of the great big bird returned. My eyes popped open fast. Nope, no wings, just a foreign cabby insisting he was as close as he could get to the front door. It was good 100 yards, but, alas, this was New York not L.A. and walking was expected. Mom went around fished out the walker while I paid the cab driver. Still tipping as a way to feel good about myself, he became quite friendly when he realized no change was expected. Yep, I could still buy a smile. Even from someone who had said the words ―muy gordo‖ into All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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the cell phone he had been absently speaking on as he drove a large man and his mother to the hospital. Someone once wrote about the magic of the hundred yards of the football field. At the beginning, you see the whole stadium, and then you start moving the ball, and suddenly you can only see the goal line. I experienced this tunnel vision as I made each step toward the entrance to the hospital. By the time I got there, I was in tears, teeth clenched, and sweating from every pore on my body. My head swam as my Mom opened the door for me, and I pushed forward, just a bit more, to a lounge seat that was poised on the hallway sides to the hospital lobby. I flummoxed into position. Mom summed me up with her best nursing eye. ―Sit here, honey, I‘ll go get a wheelchair.‖ Now, that sounded like a very good idea. She also suggested we had probably confirmed the foot pain was real, and she mercifully produced the happy poppy powder. There are fewer times in my life that I have wanted to hug my mother more than that moment! We had a bottle of water, and I hungrily swallowed the powder and almost overflowed. I couldn‘t take in more than a few ounces of water at a time, or I would overflow like a fountain because of the lack of anywhere for it to go on the adjusted gastric tract. Mom made certain I was propped up and in a position before disappearing beyond the lobby to find a wheelchair. I hung my head and prayed a prayer I neither expected to be heard nor answered. I simply didn‘t know God then and didn‘t know He could work at small miracles. I don‘t know if it was God, the overwhelming effort and resulting exhaustion, or a combination of the two, but I found myself in sleep almost immediately. Mom woke me up 15 minutes later as she appeared with a wheelchair and an orderly. Mom was no dumb bunny. She knew that 400 pounds, even in a wheelchair, was quite a load for a 127 pound woman. The pain had begun to peel away as the poppy powder power worked its magic. For the first time that day, I thought I might actually make it to Dr. Ren‘s office for the 10:00 AM appointment.

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The offices whizzed by as the Medical Transport Technician II pushed me along toward Dr. Ren‘s office. This hospital was big on titles and name tags. I remember the title because it sounded like something from Star Trek. I‘m not for sure what part of pushing a wheelchair falls under the Technician part, but I was going along for the ride. We arrived at the back elevators and rode up to Dr. Ren‘s office. While the Medical Transport Technician II and I had a brief struggle over whether the wheelchair was going back to the lobby (his view), or whether it was staying put right underneath me (my view), Mom checked us in and settled in order to wait for Dr. Ren. The Technician gave up muttering something about ―too fat to walk‖ and leaving me sitting in the chair. I plopped my feet up on the chair next to mom, and we waited for the appointment. Dr. Ren herself appeared in the doorway to the inner offices about twenty minutes late. She had had two arrivals since we had entered the building. Both were excited about the procedure and had a ton of questions for me. I guess Dr. Ren had caught my opinion about unexpected complications coming a bit too loudly and had decided to retrieve me herself rather than wait for her assistant. At Dr. Ren‘s insistence, I climbed from the chair to the scales to get my first weigh in. My body had done the impossible. It had dropped twenty pounds in the first week. Dr. Ren was overjoyed as I stared at the number in disbelief. Suddenly, the suffering in my feet was replaced with the joy that this was going to work. My little weight problem had only needed five little letters to fix itself – BPD/DS. ―You see there, Reece,‖ Dr. Ren said triumphantly, ―You are going to be thin, and so much healthier!" She motioned me onto the examination table and asked me to lie down. Dr. Ren then began to push on my stomach again, and it slid around in such a manner that she was pleased. ―How‘s the pain in the surgery spots,‖ asked Dr. Ren. ―Much better. Can hardly tell where you poked me open.‖ I replied. ―Dr. Ren,‖ mom began, ―He‘s healing well, but he still has a lot of pain in his feet. He couldn‘t make the walk from the lobby to your office because of the foot pain. What are we going to do?‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Dr. Ren had prepared for this one and began her practiced speech. ―I don‘t think it‘s a thing to worry about. Sometimes people experience pain in extremities after surgery. I‘ll be sure to give you enough to keep him comfortable while the pain fades away. Of all the things we‘ll have going on, it‘s the one I‘m least concerned with. Let‘s review how your life has changed now.‖ Dr. Ren began the lecture. I would need supplements for the rest of my life. Especially Vitamins A, D, E and K. I would have to watch my blood levels for protein and calcium. I needed to eat no more than 3 ounces at a time for the first month. I would need a donkey, a hat, and a cigar. Well, she might as well have said that for all I was getting out of the lecture with the poppies happily buzzing above my head. However, Mom was taking notes dutifully on the sheet which presented everything Dr. Ren was saying in a slick and stylish font. ―I got the second check today for your procedure, so you are all fixed up to go home. I want you to schedule a conference with your family physician and share with her the information I‘ve gone over. I‘ll have her forward test results. I‘ve already been in touch with Dr. Wright‘s office, and they know what procedure you‘ve had done.‖ Dr. Ren began to help me back to the wheelchair. ―Don‘t worry, Reece, you won‘t even want to be near a wheelchair soon because you are going to be running, jumping, and enjoying life as a normal sized person!‖ Dr. Ren concluded with a flourish of paperwork, a copy of the records, and asked me to sign a release that I understood everything she had gone over. One line of that document seemed harmless enough at the time but would prove troublesome down the road. ―Mr. Manley understands his extremity pain should improve as it was not directly related to any surgical actions.‖ I signed, sealed, and delivered. As we left the office the hopeful group outside had increased to four. Dr. Ren was about to begin her quick fire consultancy sessions. These people would leave $12,000.00 lighter from her office today in hopes of being hundreds of pounds lighter in the future. It was an aggressive surgery for desperate people, and I will never know if Dr. Ren All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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was genuinely sorry about the disability that had begun under her watch. The court would read back the above statement in a couple of years and would decide it was an elective surgery and the concept of ―buyer beware‖ should have told me anything could have happened. Mom and I packed our temporary home and arranged for the flight back to Dallas. As we headed for J. F. Kennedy airport, I caught a glimpse of the two towers which would stand in place for just another 21 days until a madman flew airplanes into them. I thought, well, that‘s my New York experience, I can check that one off the bucket list. However, I would return in a couple of years to spend another two weeks fighting not the weight but the little document I had signed an hour ago. As the plane lifted up, I fell into a deep, happy poppy sleep and didn‘t stir a bit until the touchdown of the plane into Tarmac. The feet hurt again so I took another round of pills. Happy poppies equal better feet. It was a nice little equation. Too bad it didn‘t last.

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Chapter Six – Back to Big D My first month back in Dallas was an exciting time. It was decided I would live with my mom for the first month and recuperate from the surgery. I had enough blood drawn to feed one fat and happy vampire. The good news was my body was adjusting to its severely changed internal plumbing. My primary care physician also happened to be my cousin, Aimee. She looked over every level on every report carefully and made some adjustments to my nutrition levels. Aimee also conferenced with Dr. Ren and continued to prescribe the Norco for the pain relief of the feet. The happy poppy powder maintained both its strength and its strange euphoria for a while, and I could be excited about what my scales said. Weight was dropping off of me an incredible pace! First, it was the breaking below 400, which happened in ten days. Two weeks after that, I broke through 375. My clothes quit protesting as much whenever I put them on. I actually could fit into a 4XL. This was down from a 6XL at the height of the weight. Then my dad made a promise. As soon as I lost the first 150 pounds, he was going to buy me any car I wanted as congratulations. I could feel my life changing as the weight dropped off. The pain, of course, continued, but it was no big deal. We‘d been told this over and over. I had no reason not to believe it. Just because it was so bad I had to take poppy powder every four hours, the poppies did their job. It was like having two cocktails with the benefit of also removing something as unpleasant as pain. Poppy powder was a good thing. I became strong enough to move back into my apartment and, soon, even to make a few outings with the gay boys. My friends were delighted to have me back in tow. After all, I had much more money than they did, and they‘d been thirsty while I had been gone. I didn‘t drink when I was first home. I knew the combination of poppies and alcohol was a no-no, bad-bad, and I would never hear the end of it if I were caught. Besides, who needed alcohol when pills were available? All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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The first 100 pounds were gone in the first three months and everyone was amazed. The feeling of being so much lighter and able to walk without gasping for air and sweating like a hippo‘s belly left me in a great mood. My life was going to change! There was one thing I began desire personally. I wanted to go back and complete my Ph.D. in Human Development with my undergraduate advisor Dr. Gwen Sorrell. She was the most intelligent mind I had ever met, and if it‘s possible for a gay 34 year old to have puppy love for a 66 year old lesbian, I was in it. It seemed like I could hang on every word and she on mine. We both championed women‘s rights and GLBT rights in the conservative University of Texas Tech. We were both interested in personality development. We were both interested in battered women research. We championed the underdogs, were both huge Star Trek fans, and she has just recently lost her last protégé to graduation. With my body changing so quickly, I decided it was time to let my life change back to be my life. I wanted to earn my degree and go forward and teach and research until I understood the intricacies of identity formation. I was tired of the family business. I had never had the passion for it that my brother had had. It was my dad and Ross‘ life, and I was very happy for them to have it. But, I wanted something more. As I neared the 150 pounds lost mark just shy of the fifth month out from surgery, I told Dad I wanted to go easy on him on the car and instead wanted to go back to school. Dad thought I had gone insane. Dad grew up near Lubbock and cursed the area vehemently anytime anyone mentioned it. I think Dad considered Lubbock beneath him on some level, but if that‘s what I wanted to do, Dad was behind it. I made my application to study as a Ph.D. candidate in Human Development and was formally accepted quickly. A few signatures from Gwen and I had plenty of grant money and a nice Research Internship working with her. As I hit the 150 off mark, my family gathered to celebrate. My dad made the announcement that I could go forth and buy any car up to $35,000.00, and he would also support me in going back to All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Tech. After that kind of announcement, there is only one thing left to go do – go shopping. I feel in love with her the moment I saw her. She was the hottest red I had seen since the 87 Camaro Z28 I had owned in High School. She was perfect, her interior smelling of leather and new car. She was a 2003 Mitsubishi Eclipse GTS Convertible, and I knew she was to be mine that day. I tried to act cool as the salesman ambled out onto the lot. He sized me up. An overweight man in his 30‘s, balding, not for sure where he was going in life – I was a perfect sucker for a sports car purchase. He asked if I had a wife and kids. I guess he‘d seen lots of 30-something, overweight, balding men buying sports cars as a sort of mid life crisis. ―Nope, I‘m gay,‖ I said. The salesman tried to take that statement in for a second. I could see the gears in his head going ―Oh, shit...can‘t talk about how hard his life is, and he deserves it...gay...this guy? But he looks just like me, surely it was a joke,‖ and then he finally blurted out a nervous, ―Good one. So, you‘re single then. This will make the next lady easy to get....‖ ―I‘m gay. Now let‘s move on,‖ I said. The salesman did not want to move on. He wanted to clear this up as a bad joke. ―Really, you‘re gay?‖ he asked. Beginning to be slightly annoyed, I said, ―Yes now let‘s take this thing for a test drive.‖ ―You know, I know a gay guy,‖ said the salesman, still trying to make some sort of sense out of an out gay man shopping for cars in Plano, Texas. I replied, ―One in ten people are, so I‘m sure you do. Got keys?‖ The salesman popped back into reality. Fat gay man want key, I can give key. This make sense. We go fast in car. Ahh, the freedom of the mediocre mind. Salesman go get key. Drive with fat gay man in car. Go fast. ―Yes, I‘ll go get the keys, my man, and we‘ll take it around the block.‖ As the salesman went to fetch the keys to this lady in red, I took in her every detail: The slope of the hood, the sensual curve of the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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fiberglass and steel. Glass and leather waltzing into the shape of a perfect outline. Dual tail pipes foreshadowed her power. Her wheels glistened in the sun as if to say, ―take me, take me‖. The salesman arrived, ―I‘m sorry about that earlier. My name is Gary and welcome to Huffines Mitsubishi.‖ ―Not a problem. Let‘s go.‖ I edged her out of the lot and got a feel for her. As we drove past the neighboring car lots, I asked, ―Can I open her up a bit?‖ Without waiting for an answer, we were at 60 in a little under six seconds. ―Whoa, there,‖ said Gary digging in his hands to the dash as we quickly came up on the end of an Accord parked at the red light looming ahead. The car responded, and I felt the catch from the seatbelt restraint. I had gotten my first hug from what I would come to call ―Hazel‖ for her fiery red hair and spitfire attitude. ―Oh, that‘s nice,‖ I said under my breath while Gary made a suggestion of how to reach the nearest turn back for the car lot. Big fat gay man try crush Gary. Gary no like. I acquiesced and turned Hazel around to head for the car lot. I took in all of her features: Sport transmission, the grand radio set up, the curve of the driver information displays. I even liked the clock. By the time the ten minute ride was over, I was in love. Gary was delighted to be back to the lot but even more delighted to see the look on my face. As we exited the car, I glanced at the MSRP which read $35,039.00, including destination. Now here is where it comes in handy to have had a life as an executive in a company working with the automotive industry. One knows there is no such thing as an honest sticker. Take the number; slice off 25% and you‘re getting close to what the dealer paid for it. The numbers when through my head as Gary led the way back to the showroom. ―Reece, buddy, I can tell you like that car. And, I want to get you in that car. We can make it happen today for only $33,500.00. I‘m taking $1500.00 off and, say, do you have a trade in?‖ The questions were being All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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asked in the right order and with the correct emphasis. In buying a car, you always want to get the dealer to tip his hand first, usually a challenge thing. I did a quick check of Gary to look for the things that belied a smooth salesman. The wedding ring was on, whether he was married or not. There were two very nice rings to spell out the success despite the suit straight from JCPenney‘s. A cross necklace was around his neck. Yep, Gary had been at this a while. ―I‘m not for sure about the trade, Gary. I still love that Mustang, and I may give it to my Mom. Let‘s see the number we can get to before we talk about that,‖ I passed the ball over to Gary. Gary seemed a bit sad he wasn‘t going to get to under valuate my trade right off the bat, but he kept marching. ―Well, what kind of payments are you looking to make a month, Reece?‖ Gary asked. ―I‘m not, Gary. This will be cash and carry.‖ Another little fall of the crest. Car salesmen were making vast fortunes from the easy subprime lending of the 1990‘s, and I had just taken away part of Gary‘s back end profits. ―Okay, cash it is. That would be $33,500.00, plus tax, plus title, plus fees. Let me get one of these sheets out here and let‘s see what the total is going to be.‖ ―Gary, you have fallen on your ever lovin‘ head if you think I‘m going to pay $33,500.00 for that vehicle,‖ I told him. ―Excuse me,‖ Gary stuttered, ―You saw the invoice out there on the sticker didn‘t you? Want me to go get it?‖ Gary asked as if wounded. ―Here‘s the deal, Gary. We can do this all day, if you like, but here‘s the best deal you‘re going to get out of me. We can bring the price down. You‘ll think you‘ve won. Then I‘ll ask you to give me a value for the Mustang. That‘ll throw you off your game a bit. Then I‘ll tell you I work in the automotive field, so I know the difference between dealer cost and dealer invoice,‖ I continued, and with each fact Gary hunched forward a bit more. Where had he lost control of this situation? ―But here‘s what we are going to do, I‘m going to write down a number, and you‘re going All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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to have my Mustang evaluated. Then you are going to write down a number. I brought one check and one check with me only. So, pay attention. I know I‘m not going to get my number, and you‘re not going to get your number. But, my second come back will be written on that check. It‘s either accepted or it‘s not. Now, how does that sound?‖ Gary cursed. ―You could have told me you were in the biz. Let me get on it.‖ An hour later I pulled out of the lot behind the wheel of Hazel. I‘d written down $26,500.00 on the check. After ten minutes of asking for even just $50.00 more, Gary had thrown in the towel in favor of lunch. I eased the most beautiful car in the world out on to the freeway. She opened up beautifully, the top dropped down, and she was shear heaven. I remember thinking I felt like I was on top of the world until the annoyance began under the right foot. The pain was coming back, and the poppy power was running out. I pointed Hazel toward home, enjoying the waves I got from people. Shiny and red and perfect. Hazel would leave my world in just 3 years when I decided to try to take my life. She would be totaled, while I would be taken away with just a few scratches. Her beautiful sensual curves would only get 35 months of life before being twisted into scrap metal. I would only get 35 more months until the insanity of the pain caused the first attempt. Car and driver headed home happy that night, though. Three years was a long time yet to come.

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Part Two Chapter Seven – Cocaine and Classes It was a wonderful feeling to be dropping the weight as quickly as it was coming off. I had more energy, and I was sleeping without apnea. I would awake feeling refreshed instead of feeling as if I had battled all night. I was waking up and looking forward to the days. The only challenge that remained was the foot pain, and, in 2002, it was still responding to medication. When the feet would become a worry, a couple of pills would banish it to an acceptable level while my day went on with the excitement of becoming a thinner, improved Reece. I, of course, heard back from Texas Tech almost immediately after submitting my application. They wanted me back, and they had arranged for me to come back with stipends to boot. A kind letter from Dr. Sorrell closed the deal with her writing, ―Reece Manley is one of the sharpest minds I have had the pleasure of working with since I began here in Human Development.‖ The letter had been a copy of the one she had sent to the Graduate School, and I knew that alone would have gained my entry, even if I had not had the 4.0 on all of my Master and Bachelor work. I decided I‘d return to studies in the fall of 2003. Until then, I would continue working at AdTel, and, hopefully, we would find out what was going on with the pain. Where was it coming from and why was it still there? When would it go away? An almost endless juggle of physician appointments began. First, there was Dr. Holubec. She was a short, inpatient woman who ran the Plano Pain Clinic. When I first visited, traversed the mountain of paperwork, and met her, she was openly skeptical. She had never heard of a weight loss surgery causing this kind of problem, and it was only after she obtained the medical records from Tisch that she was willing to continue the pain medication script. In the short time from surgery to the spring of 2003, the pain had become a stronger and stronger influence in All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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my life. I lived my life in a ritual of being comfortable during the day by taking higher doses of narcotics. The night was the hard time, though. Almost every morning, before waking, I would dream of the great black bird I had first met in Tisch hospital. The nights began to end with terror, and I‘d spent the first waking moments taking medication and suffering for thirty minutes while it would take effect. Because my body had begun to tolerate the codeine, it was necessary to increase the dosage on an ongoing basis. This is what had led me to Dr. Holubec. After Dr. Holubec would come six others in the Dallas area in the next six months. Each one would change up the approach slightly. Some added Neurontin and anti-depressants. Some added huge doses of Vitamin B12. Still others simply upped the amount of medication. Anything other than the narcotic seemed to have very little effect. Although, looking back, I should have been more patient with some of the methods. The thing about discovering chronic pain is a part of your life is that no one tells you at the first that it is an almost impossible problem to treat effectively. You receive your poppy pills and they work. You even get a little happy high on the side. What could be easier? The sad truth is tolerance is something that begins to set in immediately. First, you lose the little poppy powder high you‘d been enjoying with the medications. This was not a major loss to me. There were other ways I had been getting my kicks for years, and the poppies weren‘t even in the running for the top slot. However, tolerance also keeps the medications from working to stop the pain. Now this part will drive you crazy. What was working just a week before suddenly doesn‘t do the trick any more. You have to increase the dose. And, of the 400 times I‘ve had to increase the dose, my body has experienced the same side effects. You are either nauseous, or you throw up all the time. You have difficulty concentrating. Your dreams are weird. Occasionally, your bladder shuts down and decides not to work for a few hours, and visits to the bathroom become harder and harder to accomplish.

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Despite all of this, I pushed through until fall 2003. I managed to rent an apartment in Lubbock, close out my home in Dallas and make certain AdTel could function without me. It was wonderful to be back in Lubbock simply because it was liberating. I hadn‘t noticed in all of my years at AdTel what a short leash I was kept on. The 9 to 5 world was what I was expected to participate in and deviating from it brought consternation from my Dad. In Lubbock, if I wanted to go to a movie at 11:00 AM on Tuesday, it was okay. I simply had to maintain my A‘s and keep making it to class. Plus, I was suddenly learning something I had a passion for, not that I don‘t appreciate my ability to turn out a marketing promotion for a new AdTel service or making a new web application. But, they were far from my passions. As I walked through Texas Tech‘s hallways, both the old building and new, I could feel the energy of learning. It was on the face of the kids there for their first semester. It was on the faces of single mom‘s returning to classes after putting lives on hold for long instances. I‘ve always equated learning with hope. The change from one state of knowledge to another seemed one of the best things that could happen to a human. Here I was, about to achieve new learning. I was about to contribute to the bottom line of human knowledge of about how we develop as personal identities. It was going to be a great gig.

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Chapter Eight – Captain to the Bridge One of the first orders of business upon landing in Lubbock was to make a connection with Dr. Sorrell and have dinner at ―our‖ place. Catfish Station was a horribly greasy but terrifically tasting home style joint just a mile from the university. It was far enough away that the students couldn‘t reach it easily, but still close enough that the crowd was bound to have one or two professors in at any time among the local farmers and migrant workers, medical staff, students and hospitality industry. These were the main populations of Lubbock, Texas, and each was well represented: farmers, migrants, academics, medicine and hospitality. Gwen and I lined up to order our favorite meals. For me, it was the baked catfish, which I could eat exactly 1/6th of, while Gwen was considerably more adventurous. This Mensa-qualified, triple Ph.D. holder, women‘s studies pioneer, did have a few little dirty secrets, one being the #6 on Catfish Station menu. The entrée was called a Dirty Steak. It began with a chicken fried steak. From there, they piled on gravy, chili, and cheese. Then they sided it with fries. Sometimes, there would even be bacon crumbled over it, depending on not whether the Good Professor was feeling healthy or not. Today, she was feeling healthy, so she passed on the bacon bits, but asked for a little extra chili. We grabbed a seat on one of the picnic benches Catfish Station uses for all their tables. ―You grab the napkins, and I‘ll grab the drinks,‖ Gwen said. And, to my delight, she returned with two ice cold beers. ―Now, I don‘t expect you to finish that but have a sip with me and we‘ll call it a toast to having you back.‖ I clinked the mug against hers and gave a quick, ―Thanks, Captain.‖ Captain. That was another idiosyncrasy to this great woman of academia. She was a Star Trek addict. And, if you didn‘t call her ―Professor Sorell‖ (not Dr. Sorrell, she works way too hard to be confused with a physician) you had just better call her Captain. ―I got you something,‖ she said as she settled in. She presented me with a copy of a All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Master student‘s dissertation entitled, ―Possible Identity Development of the Betazid Woman.‖ I laughed. I can envision this poor little Master‘s student having survived countless other classes and ending up in Professor Sorrell‘s Advanced Identity Development Theories class. It had been the same topic I had chosen in the class. It was an assignment to come up with a weight to apply developmental theory to a fictional race of characters in the Star Trek world. ―Don‘t laugh, she almost outscored you!‖ ―Thanks, Captain. I think.‖ ―Oh, don‘t thank me, you‘ve got another twenty to grade by next Friday,‖ she said as she raised another little toast to me. ―Do you know how long it‘s been since I had somebody I trusted enough to grade papers?‖ she said, handing over a compliment and an assignment at the same time. With that, she began to dig into her dirty steak as I popped catfish into my mouth. ―So, you‘re ready to do this for real, are you now, Reece?‖ She‘d been disappointed when I‘d pursued my Masters at Texas State rather than staying at Tech for immediate doctoral work. ―Aye, Captain, I‘m all yours.‖ ―You‘ll regret that statement. I have no idea what constitutes a work load for you. It seems like you could do anything I put in front of you when you were a senior. But, I intend to find the limit!‖ She smiled up at me and I was, captured, as always by her eyes. The grey-green eyes held brilliance that showed through them. She could quote every piece of Shakespeare written and almost every word and chapter of the current issue of the Journal of Identity. However, her eyes are much more than just intelligent. They are curious, kind, and playful as well. ―What are you looking at, did I get chili on me already?‖ she asks. ―Nope, just wondering what Dr. McCoy would make out of your dining choices!‖

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―Well, it‘s all just part of being an enigma, Reece. You‘ll have to learn that making eccentric dining choices makes you all the more mysterious. Students like that. Boys like that. Even deans like that.‖ ―So, the secret to my success at Tech will be bringing down Dean Henderson and ordering the dirty steak?‖ ―It worked for me, didn‘t it? That and the $10 million in grants I brought in to this place last year. We‘ve got a bit of payback coming to us, and I can‘t wait for you to see the new office they‘re building for me at Women‘s Studies. If you‘ve got a minute after dinner, we‘ll head over and tour the updated office. They are crazy. They gave me a key to everything.‖ ―What do they have you working on right now, Captain?‖ ―Oh, they‘d be happy if I were working on ‗Why Sororities Cause Cavities: Too Sweet to Survive‘ but they‘ve given me some much more mundane tasks of administration to fill out the last of the year. Lots of trips to make and lots of hands to shake. That‘s why I‘m so glad to have you back. I need someone to mind the store.‖ ―No problem, so long as I get a copy of the keys to Registrar‘s office. I thought I‘d go ahead and grant myself the PhD and save you the time, Captain.‖ She pulled out a huge key ring that thudded and clanked down on the table. She said, ―If you can pick it out, you can have it!‖ I passed on the guessing game and took another sip of beer. I‘d had six bites of catfish, and I was slowing down quickly. Captain noticed and asked, ―So, tell me more about this weight loss surgery, Reece. What was that like?‖ I recounted most of the story for her while she ate her meal and stopped me at a few points for clarification. As I reached the end, she shook her head. ―So, what exactly is causing the pain?‖ ―We know it‘s nerve damage, but we‘re still trying to get things pinned down,‖ I answered, recounting a few of the doctors I‘d seen.

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―Have you been out to the Pain Institute on the south loop the University has opened? I hear they‘re doing some great things, and I really respect the chief neurologist they have out there. Her name is Jane and I‘d be happy to make a call for you and let her know you‘re on your way.‖ I appreciated the thought. However, I was beginning to lose hope on the front. None of the doctors wanted to tackle the pain with anything but medications and that left me feeling like I was just covering up the condition. But, I decided to make the appointment. The Captain and I drove over to the University from the little outpost of fast food gluttony. She was a short woman, and she looked a bit worn beyond her years. She had a determined face, but not a mean one. It was a face that had seen too many men hit her as a young woman. In her 40‘s she fled and returned to school. There she excelled beyond anyone‘s expectations. 20 years later she was the head of one of the most prestigious Women‘s Studies departments in Texas. She held dual PhD‘s, countless articles, and research grants and had formed the minds of thousands of students over the years. All of this and she was my friend. We pulled into the parking lot of the Human Sciences building and exited the vehicle. I remember standing there on that warm August night and the damn feet began to hurt. The medication was wearing off quickly. I took a few steps toward the college and simply had to stop. ―Captain,‖ I said trying to stop her forward advance looking for the right key on the huge key ring for the building. ―I‘m going to have to wait until tomorrow.‖ Professor Sorell swung around to face me, ―Reece, it‘s not that far...‖ She caught my eyes. They had tears in them. ―My God, it‘s that bad?‖ ―Yeah, it‘s not fun when it decides it‘s out of medication.‖ ―Yes, we can do this tomorrow. Can you drive?‖ I answered in the affirmative and the Captain came over and did a very rare thing for the

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Captain. She hugged my shoulder. ―You‘ll beat this Reece. You‘ll beat this.‖ She followed me back to my car. The pain was throbbing by the time I arrived back to my apartment. My friend Jeff was there and he knew the routine. He got things moved around so I could get my feet up and fetched the medication. It took a long time to work.

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Chapter Nine – Cocaine and Whiskey Two major events happened that fall at Texas Tech. The first was my time spent at the International Pain Clinic at Lubbock. The second was I found a substance that absolutely obliterated the pain – cocaine. I believe I‘ll begin with the second. Cocaine and queers have gone together like peas and carrots for a long time. I would hazard a professional guess that at least 70% of gay men my age has tried the white magical powder. I was about to begin a dangerous relationship, and it was going to begin in a little bar in west Texas. I had tried Cocaine before my surgery, sometime in 1996. I didn‘t get much from it. It made my head hurt and made my heart beat fast. So, I hadn‘t tried the drug for almost 8 years when I found the white lady again in the bathroom of a bar. It was my friend Jeff which hooked me up with my first experience. Jeff and James, Jeff‘s sometimes boyfriend and I went to a little club called Buck‘s. Buck‘s was a bar and pool hall dropped in the middle of what was called the Tech Ghetto. The ghetto was the collection of blocks of cheap housing, which attracted either starving students or poverty victims. There were apartment buildings which had been erected in the 1950‘s and hadn‘t seen any help or care since then. The rent went as low as $325 a month and people packed as many family members as possible in every unit. This kind of crowding and poverty made for blocks of drugs and gang activity. What in the world a gay bar was doing in the middle of this, I have no idea. Perhaps it was the only place rent was cheap enough. Perhaps they hoped the gay bashing frat boys would be afraid to venture into the depth of the neighborhood. Or, perhaps, they simply thought there was no better place for the rejected than in a block full of rejects. We arrived at about 7:00 PM to a large open room, painted dark and covered with neon. A pink strip went all around the room with the inverted pink triangle. The warning on the door simply said: ―This is a All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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gay friendly establishment. If you have a problem with that, you will not be allowed to remain.‖ It was opening night for Buck‘s, and we found ourselves among what appeared to be hundreds of people. Yes, the one in ten applies, apparently, to Lubbock as well. The age of the group ranged from the barely legal to the elderly gents who had come to see what this generation was going to do with the freedom they had once imagined. Certainly, youth is wasted on the young. Jeff led the way to the bar making contact with the bartender as we walked his direction. Jeff, I think, had probably been in every gay man‘s bed in Lubbock in his one year residency. He was handsome and friendly. He was also dying the slow death of AIDS. However, he never brought it up and would bristle if anyone else broached the subject, but the illness had begun to make the first signs of its presence on his face with slightly sunken eyes. Of course, these had been professionally covered over with makeup, and no one would see it unless they were searching. ―Brian,‖ Jeff shouted and waved, ―Girl! Cocktails!‖ He approached the bar and Brian leaned forward to give him a hug. We ordered drinks and settled in at the bar to take in the scene. We were only there for a few minutes when Jeff began to leave James and I while he floated from one newcomer to the party to another. It seemed every time the door opened, Jeff would bounce off his barstool and into their arms. A quick word and then he‘d return. ―Are you the welcoming committee, tonight?‖ I asked. ―You never know when Mr. Right will come in so you‘ve gotta kiss a lot of toads,‖ said Jeff, downing his second rum and coke. Another face appeared in the doorway, and Jeff sashayed over to receive his proper hugs and a kiss if he could get one. I was just beginning to relax and enjoy myself when the feet began. I ignored them. I was at a party, damn it, and I did not want to deal with this. I was much thinner than the last time I was in Lubbock, and I was beginning to see familiar faces and enjoy the ―Oh, my god, you look great!‖ ‘s that were flowing my way.

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Suddenly, there was a bustle at the door, and the room erupted in applause. It was the Lady Shamu: A drag queen of great fame for the tiny bar. The DJ spun a tune as the Lady Shamu waltzed her way into the bar lip-synching to Madonna‘s ―Celebration.‖ She went from one person to another collecting dollar bills like a bee on flowers. She buzzed her path from the front door to the small stage set up on the back wall. Brian leaned over the bar, ―Well, look what finally drug herself in here. She‘s two hours late. There will be hell to pay with the manager. She called in she‘d been in a car accident. The only thing that looks like a wreck is her make up!" There was, of course, a reason the Lady Shamu was called Shamu. She, um, he was 6‘2‖ and weighed in at about 360. 6‘5‖ and 390 if you counted the heels she had on her size 14 feet. The sequin dress she was wearing was bright gold and perched high upon her head was a tiara made of enough rhinestones to light a small city. ―Darlings, darlings, I know darlings,‖ Lad Shamu began, ―Can a girl get a drink? I‘m ab-so-lutely thirsty! You,‖ she pointed into the crowd, ―Fetch! Fetch! Go little boy and get the Lady a cocktail. You don‘t have to buy a lady a drink but if you don‘t I may have to sleep with you, and we‘d both hate that honey.‖ The young man immediately went to fetch a drink. ―Oh, darlings, forgive me for being late, you won‘t believe what I had happen to me,‖ she moved in perfectly graceful swoops of her hand. Her nails were manicured and polished. ―You see my lovely manie? Except for one!‖ She flipped her hand over and extended the middle finger of her right hand which was missing the nail. ―I was in a car accident coming here. Oh, my, yes. I almost died I‘m sure. But, they would not take me in the ambulance! Just because they didn‘t see any signs of trauma. Signs of trauma? Oh babies, that pissed me off. I showed them my finger. Now, is this trauma or is this trauma? Yes, indeed, they just went on their way.‖ As Lady Shamu went on to explain the happening, I happened to laugh and something in the vibration triggered the pain in my feet. Damn. It was bad. I wanted to cry, but I had learned the lesson that, when it All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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flared up, the event was over unless I wanted to end up crying like a baby in a room full of strangers. The next time Jeff floated by, I grabbed him. ―Babe, I‘ve got to go. The feet are killing me. I won‘t be able to walk out of here,‖ Jeff gave me a look and then gave James a look. It was a cue. ―I want you to go with James, real quick.‖ I began to protest but Jeff said, ―Trust me.‖ I followed James to the bathroom without any idea of what I was getting myself into. I didn‘t know if I was going to have to turn down a sexual advance or provide insights to a problem. I didn‘t know if I was going to be asked for money or just given a phone number. We arrived in the bathroom and the pain from the walk from the bar was overwhelming. The bathroom had a couch and I took to it and extended my feet up as I was trying to think what I needed to say, ―Look, James, I appreciate whatev....‖ James locked the bathroom door. ―Okay, try this. Just once. I live with pain in my back and this, well, I promise you‘ll be glad you did.‖ James fished out a little bag, a straw and then undid the zipper on the minuscule zip lock bag. Oh, God, I thought. Cocaine. Then, despite my best thoughts and intents, for some reason I took it. I sniffed in a deep breath, delivering the white powder to my nose. It took about three seconds to hit. Boom! It cleared my head instantly with energetic euphoria and bam! the pain disappeared completely. I don‘t mean it eased up or lessened or even became bearable. The pain was absolutely gone! ―I‘ll be damned!‖ ―Like that do you,‖ asked James with a crooked grin. ―Told you it‘d work.‖ His words faded as my mind continued to escalate in energy and ecstasy. It was like watching fireworks. My feet had been on fire, and then a final blast of pain was replaced with perfect relief. Oh, and the energy. I felt like I had woken up for a dream! The cocaine was delivering on its promise. I was feeling no pain. A part of my moral compass was trying to point through the high, but I took the second snort All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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and was off to the comfort of the powder. ―Damn!‖ I said. ―Damn, damn, damn.‖ What happened next is blurred. I was altered. I was out of pain. I was about to be a dancing queen! I had found a new best friend. It would be a hard friendship; it would deliver me to the door of my death. But, for that moment in a gay bar bathroom in Lubbock, Texas, I had found a new drug. No, I had found a new friend. A new illness. A new demon. If you have never done cocaine, there is really nothing to prepare you for the rush it delivers. I am glad it falls so short of what awaits us on the other side of life. But, for this world, it invokes all of the energy, euphoria, and excitement lying within the neurotransmitters in the brain. There is a small twinge of pain as the white powder enters up through the nasal cavity, then an immediate deadening of the skin, and then an explosion of ecstasy and clarity. As your body‘s chemistry shifts to accommodate the strange, foreign substance, a flood of endorphins are released as the heart races according to the strange directions it‘s received. Your mind sharpens to crystal clarity, and if you‘ve been drinking, the foggy, puffy, slow happy buzz is immediately shredded in favor of screaming rapture. You feel as if you are impenetrable and, without a second‘s pause, all pain is gone. It took me a second to realize I was no longer in pain. The initial power of the drug had knocked me over, laughing on the couch. It wasn‘t until James sat on my feet, which were still propped on the couch that I saw the magic of this new friend. The blood pressure then goes up. It is my understanding that one in 100 people who use cocaine die the first time they use it. It may be higher, but it‘s hard to bring statistics to things not talked about, especially in Lubbock, Texas. It was like a gay bar, something extraneous and unconnected to the small town ethos. It was odd as finding Gwen Sorrell, PhD, on these dusty south plains. A place where God, farming and good solid values were all that were expected, invited, or embraced. I was doing coke in a gay bar in Lubbock, Texas. Not the entry to any paragraph written about Lubbock, Texas before this one. Nevertheless, there I was and the action had been complete. I realized the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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cocaine I had had before was heavily cut and this stuff was more pure. The two could not be compared. I retracted my feet expecting a shooting pain to accompany the pressure. I braced for it, and it never came. I tested it. I pushed on James‘ butt on the sofa next to me. No pain. The toes reported touch to some object, not sensitive enough to tell whether it was floor or flesh. I repeated the experiment, ―Excuse me, what the heck are you doing? Playing tap ass with my Wrangler‘s?‖ ―Relax, it‘s not the first hard thing pressed against them,‖ I said flirtingly. What? I was flirting? Yes, I was most definitely flirting. I felt like flirting. Hell, I felt like running. I felt like hitting the dance floor. I felt like myself, pain free, from head to toe. I had not been this person since July 30, 2001. Not since the surgery. Not since something went wrong. But, not only was I energetic, flirtatious, and festive, I was almost thin! ―Okay, boys, hollah time,‖ I said as I unlocked the bathroom to find the divine Miss Shamu most in need of the facilities. ―Oh, baby, I was about to have to use the little Lesbians room! What you babies been doin up in here, don‘t ya know a girl‘s gotta refreshin after a show...,‖ the Lady Shamu‘s eyes widened with delight as she brushed off a bit of powder from my goatee. ―Yes, baby, yes. Now, that will make you a girl‘s best friend. You sure you want to leave? We can have a little party right here. You‘ve never seen me show RESPECT, baby.‖ Despite the Lady Shamu‘s offer, I simply gave her a quick hug and said, ―See the young man in the Wrangler‘s and put it on my tab!‖ ―Oh, baby!! You are divine!‖ she hurried me out as she pushed James back into the bathroom. I heard the lock slide. Jeff was standing outside the door to greet me. ―Somebody looks fabulous,‖ Jeff said as I walked toward him. The music of the club was intense, and I was catching every hit of base. Somehow I had missed it before, but now it was tempting my feet to move and my body to move. I had never had the desire to be out on the dance

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floor more in my life. ―Shall we dance, m‘Lord?‖ I asked Jeff. He giggled and gave me a c‘mon signal. We gyrated and turned to the tunes of Love Shack, something by Cher and a country song thrown in for the ladies of the room. ―Oh, girl,‖ Jess said exasperated. ―Cocktail time, cocktail time.‖ We approached the bar, black and square in the middle of the room. I had not noticed how smooth, black, and shiny it was before as we approached. And, then, I noticed Brian. He had seemed some nondescript barman when I had arrived, but now he seemed to be the most handsome creature in the world. I dropped into a barstool and stood transfixed. ―Um, what do I have on my shirt?‖ he asked. Jeff plopped down beside me. He waved his hand in front of my eyes and I didn‘t blink. ―Oh, my, he‘s got a boy in his eye,‖ Jeff said. The bartender blushed a bit. Actually, blushed! Over me! ―To answer your question,‖ I said to Brian, ―Nothing‘s on your shirt, but it shouldn‘t be on you.‖ Again, I was trifling with actual sexual overtones! I looked up and 7 o‘clock had become 11. I was running out of steam and then, the pain began again. It pounded, at first, as if knocking upon some heavy door for recognition. I tried to ignore it, but looked back over at Brian. I was just wondering what he‘d have to do with a fat, older guy like me. I was at least 7 years his senior and it was silly of me to even think. The pain exploded in. ―Shit,‖ I said. Jeff looked about. ―Who, what, where, when, why?‖ Jeff said his little query for confusing situations. ―Feet are back, Jeff. Come on let‘s go.‖ Jeff got up as if we were leaving and I followed him. As we walked toward the exit the pain had become a lumbering ball of pain. But instead of making the turn to the exit, he grabbed James. He led both of us into the bathroom where a couple was making out in very aggressive style up upon the sink. ―Out, bitches. Now! Out, out, out,‖ Jeff commanded and for some reason everyone obeyed. Jeff locked the door. ―James, round two for the good Mr. Manley, please.‖

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―Wait, Jeff, I just wanna go home. It‘s late and I‘m tired.‖ ―Fine, if you want to go home, you can go after one more try.‖ I started to half protest but the truth was I wanted to give it another shot. James and I repeated our ritual from before. BAM! Glory! I counted the seconds and the count reached seven before my feet again threw off the shackles of pain. My mind cleared. My libido returned. It was as if there was just a bit of magic captured right here on earth in a gay bar in Lubbock, Texas of all places. I don‘t remember the rest of the evening in full. I remember flashes of it: The bar, the dance floor, an after hour party. Brian, nude. More flashes. The Lady Shamu and others at IHOP.

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Chapter Ten – After the Snowfall The sun the next morning was painfully bright coming through the curtains. My breath smelled like Jack Daniels strained through a nice servicing of mashed peas and my mouth tasted worse. Realizing I was coming to consciousness, my head decided it could release the pain it had been wasting on sleep on a living victim, and my skull felt like it broke open from a blow from a hidden axe. As I tried to sit up, a wave of nausea hit and knocked me back to a lying position as my vision swam. I closed my eyes and tried to remember. Another wave of nausea convinced me not to play ―let‘s remember‖ but to be prepared for ―It‘s Time to Puke!‖ I started to get up, swinging my feet over the bed. They hit much faster than they should have if I‘d been in my own bed. That gave the cue to two things, one I was not at home. Two, I had forgotten to pay attention to the ... feet. BAM! Nausea was suddenly the least of my worries. Pain bolted through my feet and up my spine. Fire poured out from my toes and consumed my lower legs. Oh, God, I thought. I reached down to try to rub them and the insufferable pain became worse. ―Fuck,‖ I said to no one in particular. My hangover was still in full blast, but the pain was pushing out every other piece of reality. Jeff appeared in my field of vision suddenly. ―Nope. No fuck. Not that you didn‘t try, mind you. You‘ve got to not be such a tramp when you ride the white lady! Why, I thought I was going to have to pull you and Brian apart with a...‖ Jeff had turned to look at me and saw the abject anguish on my face. ―Oh, shit,‖ he knew me well enough to know a pain emergency. ―Do you have any meds?‖ he asked calmly. ―In my medicine cabinet,‖ I managed between clenched teeth. ―Help.‖ Jeff shook his head. ―No good, we aren‘t at your place. We are...‖ I could see he was trying to recall as he took in the fake Monet at the foot of the bed, a pallet of one mattress without a headboard. ―We are someplace?‖

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―Jeff. Call 911,‖ I was crying now and the words came out through the tears adding an extra desperation. ―Now!‖ I managed to add. ―Hold up, one second. Let me get James and see what‘s going on. Hang in. Don‘t call 911. You‘ll have the Lubbock police force up here and, honey, you don‘t want that right now. There‘s a 350 pound drag queen on the sofa. They wouldn‘t appreciate it at all.‖ I didn‘t care who knew where I was or what was going on. I just needed help. I tried to reach the phone by the bed but my feet sent another bolt through me. Intense and white hot they demanded I put them up. I lay back down in agony. For the first time, I looked over to my right. Brian from last night was now Brian from this morning. He was snoring hard and oblivious to the drama unfolding before him. He still had his clothes on, for the most part, and I took a moment. Thank god. Jeff finally reappeared through the doorway and made his way over the stained carpet to ―my‖ side of the bed. ―Okay, we are at Brian‘s. James said to give you this and you could owe him along with what you owe him from last night.‖ Jeff produced a baggie, a straw and the white powder. I made a bad choice at that moment. I accepted the coke because it seemed the only option. The inhale was quick and deep. For an awful moment images of news stories about death from cocaine flashed in front of me along with my preacher from childhood, then, just as I was about to release another flood of desperate tears – Zoom! ZOOM! The brain chemistry obtained the foreign drug and closed one set of receptors and turned on another. Euphoria and immediate and complete pain relief. Both or either, I‘ll never know for sure. That is, I don‘t know if I was out of pain because I suddenly felt so good, or I felt so good because I was out of pain. Either way, the pain vanished almost completely. The headache withdrew. The nausea, however, did not make the check list. ―Jesus! Jeff, that‘s a good thing! Now which way to the restroom?‖ I asked standing – standing! – to my feet. ―One door down, door to the left, it‘s empty,‖ Jeff directed, ―but I just came from there so excuse the smell.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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I arrived at the bathroom in the dark, grimy apartment and was expecting one odor, but instead found the smell of vomit. I tried to get the toilet‘s lid up, but didn‘t quite pull off that complicated mechanical workings to achieve the goal before the entire contents of my stomach emptied into the bowl. A deep breath and I added to the first volley. The aim of the first had been bad and the second was worse. But, as the cocaine continued to course through me, it seemed a small matter to sacrifice a half roll of t.p. to mop up my mistakes the best I could. I stepped over to the sink and turned on the water. I cupped my hands and rinsed my mouth. I took a second and third handful to my mouth as the water delivered a wonderfully cool and refreshing sensation. I reached for a towel to dry my hands, picked over several before finding one which looked clean enough to qualify, and instinctively looked up to dry my face. The image in the mirror was a bit frightening. My eyes were bloodshot with dark rings under my eyes. I looked a bit like death warmed over. I decided to wash my face with one more splash of water. It didn‘t help what greeted me in the mirror, but it assisted the ―high‖ in ridding the last of any negative effects of headache or a clouded mind. Instead I found my thoughts to be crystal clear, and as I looked down to my feet, amazed. I flushed again for good measure and then picked my way through the dank and darkened hallway to the bedroom from which I had emerged. I found Jeff about to write on Brian with a marks-a-lot. ―Property of Jeff, don‘t you think he‘d have fun with that?‖ Jeff asked as he was about to put pen to flesh. ―Jeff! Stop that. We‘ve got to get out of here. I want to head home,‖ I said in no uncertain terms. Jeff was about to speak when we heard a stiffing from the other room, ―Hollah! I say Hol-lah! Lady Shamu is alive, but she is NOT happy,‖ the announcement came from the living room. Jeff and I looked at each other and stifled a laugh. ―Shit, Jeff. How do you get me into these things?‖ ―Me? I didn‘t insist on coming here last night. You were the one that ... ―

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―I said, ‗HOL-LAH.‖ The good Lady Shamu was awake and grumpy. ―A girl is in trouble! TROUBLE! Oh, James, love, how good to see you, and what or what might you have for the good Lady?‖ There were a few whispers, and some hushed exchanges. ―Oh, yes, babies! Yes, yes and YES!‖ The Lady Shamu had been salvaged by James just as I had been, apparently. A few steps came tromping through the hall toward our door and the frame was suddenly full of sight not oft beheld by human eyes. Shamu was upright, one tit inflated, and one hanging out of the side of the dress. The dress itself was still wrinkled up from the last time the Lady had had to use the facilities, and one fake eyelash was gone while the other was still in piece. She looked like the Lady Shamu had lost a battle with a lawnmower, but she had the same new ―snow‖ glow I had seen in the mirror. ―Oh, girls, excuse me, I thought this was the little queens room. I‘ll be back in a flash, oh yummie,‖ she said as she spotted Brian. ―I‘ve got to hear the story about that one when I get back!‖ She left Jeff and I and the still sleeping Brian in the room. Jeff looked at me and put up one hand to his top left eye, fingers extended while he stuck on fist under his shirt and pushed it forward to imitate a left breast. ―Yes, yummie, do tell the Lady what happened?‖ he said in his best Shamu impersonation imitating blinking with his hand up and down over his eye. We started to giggle then to guffaw. By the time the Lady returned we were rolling in laughter propping ourselves up against the wall of the bedroom. The Lady had pulled herself together, had inflated and arranged, reapplied where possible and, on the whole, appeared ready to hit the stage again. ―Hi, babies! What are y‘all laughing at so hard? What‘d y‘all do to that poor little sleepin‘ angel. Something yummie I hope?‖ ―Oh, yes, something very yummy,‖ said Jeff. I laughed again as he was still in his impersonation voice. ―Well, you two got up on the happy meal side of life this morning. I‘ve got to go home. Don‘t you know the light is bad for skin? I‘ve got to go home and sleep so I may rise again this evening. Thank you Mr. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Reece,‖ she approached and kissed me on the cheek, having to bend down from her tall frame slightly. ―I enjoyed it divinely. Thank you for cocktails (kiss), pancakes (kiss), and a white Christmas (kiss, kiss),‖ she said in a flourish of deep southern accent. ―Now, I‘m off. Assuming none of you bitches parked behind me. If ya did, I‘ll be back. If not, I‘ll be where I am tonight. Hope it‘s where you are, if you‘re lucky!‖ And away went the Lady Shamu. We heard her exit through the door to the apartment and close it shut. Then we heard the lock turn. James appeared in the bedroom. ―What is going on in here?‖ he asked. Jeff replied, ―I don‘t know, but if that bitch locked us in we are going to break out!‖ ―Relax,‖ James said. ―That was me throwing the bolt. Once you get a drag queen out the door, never make it easy for her to get back in. Trust me on this.‖ ―Who all is here, then?‖ I asked. ―Just you, me, Jeff, and Mr. Sleepy over there.‖ ―Okay, where the hell are we?‖ James looked around at the Rainbow flag, Cher autographed photo on the other wall, and the badly stained brown carpet beneath his feet. ―This is Chez Brian,‖ James said indicating the sleeping body. James stuck out a foot and gave Brain a little kick. ―Brian,‖ James kicked again the body under the blankets Jeff had placed to cover the shirtless Brian from the Lady Shamu earlier. Brian stirred. James gave one more push, and finally brought Brian to speaking. ―All faggots out now.‖ We all laughed. ―Does someone have a hangover? Does someone have a grumpy little hangover, wover,‖ Jeff said sitting down next to Brian on the bed and baby talking to him. ―Yes, now out! Out of my home you are hereby banished!‖ Jeff continued to cajole Brian but to no effect. ―Don‘t overstay your welcome, Jeff. They‘ll never identify your body.‖ Then he switched voice style, ―Thanks, Reece. I enjoyed meeting you. You‘ve got my number. Call me.‖ Switch back to anger. ―Now, all All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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be gone!!‖ We were not going to get a welcome from him and so we left the bedroom of Chez Brian and made it to the living room to plot what came next. ―Let‘s go to Speeds and play some pool with the straight boys. We can drink beer and listen to them talk about what great lovers they are,‖ suggested Jeff. For a moment that appealed to me. After all, I was out of pain – again in less than 12 hours! But the face of the Captain could not be shaken. I had a class to teach at 6 PM, and I needed to be where I could pull it together. ―Jeff, baby, you can watch those boys, and I‘ve got a scarier thing to do. Watch myself take a shower. Can I drop you off?‖ Jeff accepted the ride as we made our way out of the apartment and reached the car. I opened my door and James leaned in to speak to me, ―When can we settle up?‖ Settle up? I had no idea what I had to settle with him. God only knew what I‘d said at the night before. ―You‘re in for $250 for the party favors last night.‖ $250? That was a lot of money to a graduate student. ―What?‖ ―Well, that includes the $50 bag I gave Jeff this morning.‖ The magic was expensive stuff. ―Plus the $50 you gave to Shamu,‖ (no wonder I had gotten two kisses on the cheek) he recalled with amazing accuracy, ―and then the three last night.‖ Magic, did indeed come with a price. I fished out my wallet and paid the money I owed. ―James,‖ now in full business mode asked, ―Would you like some for today?‖ I thought for a moment as I watched Jeff inside bopping out to some unknown tune on the radio. I finally said, ―No.‖ James could tell it was half-hearted refusal and made a mental note: Future Customer. ―Okay, enjoy your morning.‖ I felt regret as James made it to his little red Ford Escort, not for my actions from the night before, but for the having passed on an opportunity to obtain more of the powerful new friend I‘d made the night before. If I‘d known what the next few weeks held, I would have almost have certainly called him back and stockpiled. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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All Gays Go to Heaven ÂŠ2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Chapter Eleven – A Palace in the Clouds My apartment in Lubbock was one of the best I‘ve enjoyed in my life. It was located on the 11th floor of a thirteen story building in Lubbock, and the only apartment building of its kind. The strong winds of the south plains made it almost impossible to build skyscrapers, so the term didn‘t apply to any building in town. However, at 13 stories, Park Tower was the third tallest building in the city. Instead of building up, everyone builds out. It‘s much cheaper to buy another acre of land than it is to continue up another story. That‘s how flat the area is. I had rented the apartment sight unseen. I‘d been sent the blueprints and the 1000 square foot one bedroom was going to rent at $675.00. I had ordered paint colors for the apartment that I thought would lend a cheery décor. I‘d asked for a purple accent wall in the living room, a turquoise accent for the bedroom and an orange for the bath. When I first walked into the unit, I was surprised to find the accent wall was the entire south wall of the open concept unit. It was not a light, soft purple but rather a vibrant, deep color. In the bedroom, every wall was bright turquoise, and in the bath, a bright orange paint covered every surface of the little room. Bright orange in the shower walls, over the sink, below the sink. It was a little like the inside of a mango. The unit had a huge balcony connecting both the bedroom and the living room with sliding glass doors. The night I arrived in Lubbock was one of the few beautiful, wind-free evenings the city has. The late August day had had temperatures in the high 80‘s, but had cooled off enough to arrive in the city top down and blasting the air conditioner. As I turned off on 24th street following the directions, I looked for the parking garage and found it to the right of the front entrance of the building. I went up the steep drive before descending into the basement level parking. The gate was remote controlled, but since I hadn‘t picked up all of my keys, I did not have the right clicker. I waited for a few moments and soon an exiting vehicle triggered chain linked wall standing between the questionable neighborhood and the safety of the garage. I found my spot, number 21, right next to the elevator. I took the elevator up to the lobby. Everything All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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about the building was original equipment including the elevators décor. I arrived at the lobby level and found Gina, the apartment manager, looking through a massive list of paperwork. I knocked and was summoned in without her breaking the rhythm she had developed in checking the papers. ―Hi, I‘m Reece Manley, I think I‘m looking for Gina,‖ I began. She stopped, looked up as if I‘d announced my name is Reece and I‘ve come for your soul. A few seconds went by as her face shifted from paperwork to people interaction mode. ―Ahh, Mr. Manley!‖ she stood up and shook my hand warmly. ―It is an absolute delight to have you here. I believe you are in 1107, right?‖ ―You‘ll have to tell me that one. I‘ve just sent the money and had the movers by, but I hope 1107 matches the destination you gave them.‖ Gina‘s smile and warmth continued to increase as she happily laid aside her paperwork and grabbed a folder marked ―Manley, 1107.‖ ―Okay, ready for the grand tour?‖ ―You bet. Should I leave my bags here?‖ She indicated a spot to drop my luggage, and she grabbed a clipboard, ―We‘ll come back down and let you sign your lease. I just want to be certain everything is to your liking. I haven‘t had a tenant who asked for custom paint in quite a while.‖ I glanced at the board which announced vacancies and there were only two others -1106, 1107, PH1. I wondered what the penthouse looked like and on a whim asked, ―Grab your keys to the Pent House, if you don‘t mind. I‘d like to see what it looks like,‖ I said. Her friendly mood improved further. Well, that‘d be a big jump for you, but I like to show it off, especially on the two or three nice evenings we have here in Lubbock. Have you ever been in Lubbock? What made you leave Dallas? Do you still have job? Gina rapid fired the small talk questions in a way that they were conversational but probing enough to see where I stood in the financial arena. We arrived in the lobby which was decked out in its 70‘s finest. The design would have been chic had it been intentional and located on All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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the west coast. However, it was original here in Lubbock and just wee tad tacky. Gina continued in tour guide mode, ―Welcome to the Park Tower. This is our lobby. We have five companies doing business here in the offices. We have one available, should you ever be interested in it.‖ I took in the lobby which featured an atrium, two stories high. The light scones were lime green and the floors were a deep orange carpet with a shag cut. Groovy man, groovy. The lamps were spherical and colored to match the carpet. Like far out man. Gina continued, ―These are, of course the elevators. You have to swipe a card to make them work. She swiped and a door opened up on one of the elevators. It was a different one that the one I had come up from the garage in. I noticed as I looked up the roof of the elevator was missing. I guess I must have frowned a bit as Gina said, ―Don‘t worry we use this one for freight. They had a heck of a time getting your couch into you unit. They had to leave it off for a new move in just across the hall from you. Let‘s go up to the top floor first. As we reached the 13 th floor (they weren‘t concerned about the unlucky number business here in the Greater Lubbock area) and stepped off the elevator, I was pleasantly surprised. Before me was an indoor pool, and as we walked into the pool enclosure, Gina explained to me that the ceiling was retractable. The pool was heated and felt like the perfect temperature. Gina was giving the full tour and she turned a key to the roof engine. A minute later, the ceiling was full retracted exposing thousands of stars in the west Texas sky. ―And, of course, you can dim the lights right here. She showed me the little dial and bar and transformed the swimming deck into an observatory. With only the light underneath the surface of the water providing any illumination. It was the prettiest sight I would ever see in Lubbock Texas. I walked around the pool as Gina went on listing the pool rules. The pool closed at midnight and roof closed automatically on a timer. I was staring into the deep end of the water and a noticed a window. I stopped Gina mid-sentence. ―Why is there a window in the pool, Gina?‖ ―Oh, that‘s a good story. Park Tower was the go to place for hot new bachelors and businessmen in the 1960‘s and 70‘s. Someone came in All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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and rented the entire twelfth floor and started up a bar. The bar was quite famous for its hey-day. One of its features were swimming show girls every hour or so, or the legend goes. The pool had to be drained to install the window and, apparently, the old pumps used to deliver the water to the park across from us. It killed all of the grass over there and it still won‘t grow back because of the chlorine dump. Anyway, Lubbock was on the map for a brief period as having the only bar with a view of sexy swimmers. They must have imported the swimmers based on what I usually see up here.‖ Gail went back to her tour where she had left off and followed the pool rules. Next we crossed over from the pool to the fitness room. The room consisted of a small but adequate gym. It also included a cedar sauna. I was impressed. ―These facilities are open 24 hours a day,‖ Gina concluded her tour. ―Any questions?‖ ―I‘m impressed, and the pool is beautiful . The gym will work fine, and I didn‘t even know about the sauna. Looks like you guys are a pretty classy act for Lubbock,‖ I complimented. ―Thank you,‖ Gina said, ―we are trying to make a change in how things work around here and bring the building back up to its glory days. Another company had her for a long time and a lot of things went untended to and some rather questionable characters have been in and out of here. But, we are screening applicants much more carefully and trying to attract out of town people moving into Lubbock, such as yourself. Want to take a look at the Penthouse 1? It‘s available but it‘s $1300.00 per month.‖ Gina watched to see if it was something I could afford, and when I looked down it was a dead giveaway the unit was priced out of my student budget. ―Not to worry, when you a professor, you‘ll be able to pull it off! Come on, let‘s go see just for fun.‖ Penthouse 1 was a sight to behold. The foyer consisted of a little vestibule and a powder room. In the living and dining area, floor to ceiling view gave unlimited views of the flat but light-studded landscape and the last of what must have been a magnificent sunset. The kitchen was full of gadgets of its era like a built in coffeemaker, a wood burning sunken barbeque, and microwave. The rest of the impressiveness had to do with space. Huge bedrooms. Huge patio with a wrap around deck so All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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both north, east south could be fully observed. The window from one of the bedrooms looked down on the pool. ―You could have quite a party in this place,‖ said Gina. Oh, that reminds me. The clubhouse. There used to be a third junior penthouse and it‘s now a clubhouse available for rental. It has a ½ kitchen. Now, let‘s go walk through your unit.‖ We stepped off the elevator and went straight across the hall to 1107. She opened it up, and I ducked inside my home for the next year and a half. The purple wall greeted me from across the room with the last of the sunset shining in through the balcony and living room windows. Gina‘s crew had scoured the place until the appliances and hard surfaces of the unit were as clean and bright as they could be for over 30 years of living without being updated. ―I love that wall,‖ Gina complimented, leaned left and flipped up the switches. A hallway mini-chandelier popped on. It looked as if it belonged almost anywhere other than the apartment‘s small foyer it graced. Once upon a time it had been an elegant statement. Today it was kisch. The small foyer opened to the right into a small galley kitchen while straight ahead was the dining area and living room. She stepped into the galley kitchen with barely enough room for both of us. She pointed out the amenities and checked off their condition. ―Look close, if you see damage, we need to get it down,‖ Gina said. I was indeed looking close at the kitchen. I had left behind a home which actually had appliances younger than I was. But, the movers had done their best to unpack and put things up and it already had a sense of home. My glassware and flatware had been unpacked. I noticed only three of the Waterford flutes were present. Moving can be messy. ―I had a girl come up and supervise the unpacking. Your check more than covered everything we did.‖ Gina scooched me back into the foyer and led me into the dining and living area. She indicated an old phone outlet which had been painted over, ―If you find things like this which have been painted over, please don‘t try to use them. They are back from when the building had a All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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restaurant and residents could order food. There is one in the bedroom, too.‖ She caught the concern on my face. ―Don‘t worry, the working ones are everywhere, too! Your bedroom is through there. ― I walked down a short hall and had the surprise of my turquoise bedroom waiting for me. They had not painted an accent wall; they had painted everything that would allow paint to be taken save the door! ―Wow.‖ Gina looked at me and said, ―I know, I told them accent wall just behind the headboard, but they did the whole thing because I apparently told them to paint every wall where the headboard might go. So, they just painted it all.‖ While Gina said something like gem-like, I was thinking it was like being inside a smurf, but it had my bed set-up and made ready for the first night. The quick tour went on to the bathroom. Orange. Very, orange. But I had the feeling it beat the wall paper which had been painted over. Gina concluded her tour, handed me over all the keys, and we returned down to the office. Once there, she went over the lease and handed me the garage remote and a card for operating the downstairs laundry machines. ―That does it Reece,‖ she concluded. ―Just remember we are in a transitioning neighborhood and sometimes people get a little nervous about that. But, we‘ve got twenty new security cameras installed so you‘ll always be watched over.‖ I signed the lease and paperwork. I thanked Gina for the tour and gathered up my bags. I hung my first shirt that night before succumbing to exhaustion. I had not been that tired again until this morning and my body ached to get into bed. I popped a few poppy pills to deal with the reawakening pain. There was no denying the feet were already beginning to complain, but the headache and other hangover effects had gone. On the way to the bedroom, I grabbed a bottle of Gatorade which was empty by the time I reached the bed. I flopped down, fully dressed and shut my eyes for just a second.

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My alarm was screaming and my eyes fluttered back to consciousness. Certainly there was a mistake. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;d just set the alarm for 4:00 PM just a second ago. But, my head cleared, and I remembered all there was to remember about last night and earlier this morning. My feet were still hurting, but not quite as bad as usual. I had to rise and prepare myself to teach tonight. I headed for the shower while checking voice mail. All of the revelers from last night had left messages advising me of their current location, availability, and a welcome to join them. I was tempted. Not so much for the high and the remembrance of euphoria and energy, but for the immediate and complete pain relief. However, I had a commitment to the Captain and Introduction to Human Development was going to be getting underway in an hour. I was supposed to be there to deliver a lecture, assignments, and break students into small groups for study. It was a three hour class. I arrived with just 30 minutes to spare.

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Chapter Twelve – The Making of Dr. Manley I looked every inch the Ph.D. candidate. I was wearing my khakis and a purple polo shirt. I had on my glasses to lend an intellectual look. I had made certain the class had a desk which could be sat on and behind. I picked up my lecture notes and the handouts I‘d ordered from the Human Development offices, checked my mailbox, and then headed over to the newest building on the campus of Texas Tech University, the College of Human Sciences extension building. It was connected to the original college which was erected in 1929 made from the red clay bricks carved out of the area lands. It was a beautiful old building, made to be impressive to the residents of the area. Texas Tech had one national claim, it was the largest University campus in the nation. Again, it was so flat and so windy that it costs less to buy the acreage than it did to build a second story. As I crossed from the old building into the new halls, the decoration changed as well. The first clean, new smell of the concrete and tiled floors was enough to brighten my mood considerably. I stepped into the College of Human Sciences Atrium to Honor. It was simply a three story atrium stuffed full of big, leafy plants which reached out from the planting racks of the balconies on the second and third floors of the building. The new building had been built around the idea of the open atrium. Banners to the different schools of the college hung from the ceiling of the atrium. It housed the School of Human Development and Family studies, the School of Arts and Fashion, the School of Addiction Studies and the School of Restaurant and Hotel Management. We were a strange mix of schools all built around the idea of the human potential. We were also the most progressive thought college of the University. If it was a new counseling theory or idea, you would find it here. If it was a new movement such as GLBT Studies, or, new for Lubbock, women‘s studies, Human Sciences would indeed be the place to turn. It was the college bringing in the most grants so we had received the nice new building addition instead of the College of Arts and Sciences.

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The College of Human Sciences also attracted the most talented and forward thinking professors on campus. Professors like Gwen Sorrell, Ph.D., whose office I was now digging through to see if she had left me any specific class rules. I had been entrusted with a key to Dr. Sorrell‘s office and the Captain never did that. But she‘d done it for me and I treated every piece of information as 100% confidential. There were some things you‘d expect to find in a sixty something woman‘s belongings – icy hot, Tums, grocery lists. Then some things you wouldn‘t – a Star Trek communicator, a Klingon dagger, and a rainbow pride flag. All in all, she was one thing – an original. I found the folder marked ―Reece! Intro to Hum Dev‖ and picked it up. I opened it and found a note with her hand writing. ―Act like a Klingon. Scare the hell out of them. If they smell fear, they‘ll attack. I‘ll drop by sometime to introduce myself to the group. Captain.‖ Good advice, as always. I saved the note for some reason and placed it up on my cubicle‘s wall. It‘d be advice I‘d turn to many times in my short career in academia. I followed the numbers until I arrived at my assigned classroom. A gathering of nervous students were already in the hallway, some sitting, some standing. Groups had begun to talk and gossip about the semester‘s start. The non-traditional students, people who were not 18-21, seemed to match the traditional students for this night class. My enrollment had figures at 51. It was going to be a big group for my first encounter in teaching. I had prepared as best I could but I was a bit fatigued and fuzzy from the night before. I told myself I would not make the mistake again. I reached the door after carefully maneuvering around the little clique‘s of people sitting in circles in the hallway. The door was locked with a nine digit keypad. I entered my social security number and hit pound. Somewhere, a computer checked my credentials, matched me with the classroom and time and a green light appeared. I opened the door, walked in and placed the gathering of notes and the textbook on the pedestal. I was loaded down with syllabi, welcome to the course notes, and the DVD I had with the power point presentation. I stuck in the hallway. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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―Okay, Advanced Human Physiology, come on in,‖ I announced. It created a little panic and everyone checked their schedules almost immediately. I didn‘t say a word. I returned to the seat in the room while I waited for a moment, I loaded the DVD into the room‘s projection system. After a few moments, a girl came in and said, ―I‘m sorry. I‘m looking for Introduction to Human Development. I heard you say something about human physiology. Can you help me?‖ ―You bet. You‘re in the right place. Have a seat.‖ Instead, she ran out and gathered her friends and came in to the classroom. Finally, everyone in the hall came in again. I just answered every question with, ―Welcome. Have a seat.‖ The electronic bell rang and I looked outside the classroom and there were a few people were still hanging in the classroom. ―Okay, let‘s try this, Introduction to Human Development. If that‘s your class, you‘re in the right place. Welcome. Come on in. I have to get you in and close the door by 6:05 or apparently we all turn into pumpkins. I let the class visit and select seats for the few moments before the 6:05 chime went off. It told me I was to begin the course work. I picked up the notes I‘d been given by the college in regards to the coursework. ―Okay, everybody, I need you to pay attention. It no doubt has something for us all. It‘s the note from the Dean‘s Office to Graduate Teaching Assistants.‖ I began to read the note from the beginning. ―Dear Reece W. Manley, M.Ed., Welcome to Texas Tech College of Higher Education, College of Human Sciences, School of Human Development and Family Studies. On behalf of the college and your Advising Professor, Dr. Gren Sorrell, we are pleased to have you as a candidate for the Doctor of Philosophy in Human Development. We are also pleased you will be teaching this fall under Dr. Sorrell‘s supervision. Here are a few tips to help you in your teaching: All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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Review the course description and the syllabi used the semesters before you. This will help you set goals for your class. Remember, students are expected to attend all classes. This is essential for our night courses. During the class, you may provide breaks as you determine as necessary. Break periods may not exceed thirty minutes combined. You may not release your class more than 30 minutes early. The textbook title and materials for the class will be provided to you.‖ I held up the huge book. ―However, your students will have to buy the book at extremely inflated prices to feed the every growing publisher. We will also be happy to screw over your students by inflating the prices of pens and notebooks.‖ A few nervous laughs in the group. ―You will be responsible for keeping attendance of each student. If they are late, you are to ask them for a reasonable excuse. Whatever they say, you are to tell them to leave and fail them for the three hours of the evening. Unless, of course, they bring you a live duck, two onions, and a carrot.‖ More laughs. ―Remember to maintain an environment conducive to learning at all times. Try to speak in a monotone voice to lull them to sleep. If you catch them sleeping, rap them on the knuckles with your yard stick.‖ I picked up the yard stick as if I were continuing to read from script. More laughs. ―Students sometimes have questions. Remember to give them the best answers you can. Or, have them hike the one mile to the library find the answer to the question and hike back. Count them tardy. Fail them for the three hours.‖ The class had caught on and were having fun. ―Good luck with your semester and enjoy the magic of teaching a bright and brilliant group of people. Please turn in all presented ducks and vegetables at the end of class to Restaurant and Hospitality Management offices. They are making stew this week. With much love and tender affections, The Graduate School.‖

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I placed the letter down on the desk. ―Any questions?‖ Not a hand went up, but a girl did appear in the doorway. ―Is this Introduction to Human Development?‖ ―Yes,‖ I said. ―You‘re late. Where‘s the duck?‖ The class laughed as the late girl searched for answers and finally managed, ―I didn‘t get a class supply list!‖ More laughter. ―It‘s okay, please have a seat. Okay, guys, My name is Reece. I‘m a Ph.D. candidate for the Doctor of Philosophy in Human Development. That sounds impressive, but mostly it means I have a Master‘s Degree and I‘m studying Human Development. Specifically, I‘m interested in identity formation in gay and lesbian persons.‖ One two frat boys in the back make an instant ‗How gay‘ comment. ―You‘ve something to add? Great, our first class discussion is upon us. What‘s your name?‖ I said in as authoritative a tone as I could. I indicated toward the handsome young man in the white cap who was to be my first victim of the stability of sexism in the city of stalwart values. ―Craig Keller. Nah, I don‘t have anything to say. Sorry.‖ ―Really, Mr. Keller,‖ I said, not letting him off the hook, ―Because it sounded like either the word gay or lesbian offended you, entertained you, or raised such great lust in your heart your lips could not resist giving voice. ―No, I‘m just a Christian, so I think some things are wrong,‖ said Mr. Keller. ―I value your beliefs, Mr. Keller, but I do not value your unsolicited opinion.‖ I turned back to write on the blackboard to make my next point. ―Jeez, what a fag,‖ floated up to my ears from the back of the classroom. I pivoted around and fixed my eyes on Mr. Keller. ―What did you say, Mr. Keller,‖ I queried. ―Nothing, Mr. Manley,‖ Craig answered back in a defiant tone. I felt my anger rushing to the surface and my cheeks went red with the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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tough of rage coming up from my belly. ―Once more, Mr. Keller. Did I hear you say ‗What a fag‘ or not?‖ I used the word reserved for familiar kidding but external hatred. Craig‘s locked eyes were angry, too. ―I didn‘t hear anything, Mr. Manley.‖ I allowed my temper to come under control and then I said, ―That‘s your one strike, Craig. I believe you feel like you shouldn‘t have said what you said so we‘ll drop it. But, it‘s your one strike,‖ Then, to the class, ―I will not tolerate a few things in the class and it is part of College of Human Sciences that I make a few things clear, words designed to convey slander or hatred will not be tolerated. Secondly, you are to respect your fellow students at all times while on campus. You‘ve paid good money to learn in a hate-free environment. So, please check the attitudes at the door and come inside this and all classrooms with some basic human manners.‖ I concluded. I turned back to the backboard and could feel his eyes burning into me, I said, without turning to the class, ―Mr. Keller, can I see you at the first break , please?‖ I was about to write down my name when suddenly Mr. Keller was right beside me and filled with rage. He leaned in close, ―I‘m dropping your class, faggot.‖ I blinked for a moment and said, ―Jesus loves you too. Baby girl, take care,‖ I said in my best queen voice. It almost, almost got him to the rage point to take a swing, but instead he exited the halls and started yelling ―Texas Tech hires queers! You a fag, need a job, come on in.‖ ―Sorry, about that class,‖ I said. In the doorway appeared Dr. Sorrell. ―Captain!‖ I corrected myself, ―Dr. Sorrell!‖ ―Looks like I missed the floor show,‖ said Dr. Sorrell. The class laughed nervously at this new arrival. ―Mr. Manley, may I see you in the hall for a moment.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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I became nervous. The class looked nervous. The clock even looked nervous. ―Well, that depends. Do you have a guillotine out there?‖ I asked? ―No, just step outside for a moment, please‖ said Captain flatly. I obeyed. There was very little else to do. She positioned me right outside the door as she walked back into the classroom.‖ ―This is Introduction to Human Development and I‘m Dr. Gwen Sorrell, Head of Women‘s Studies and Associate Dean here at the College of Human Sciences. Welcome to the class. I will be monitoring this class. That means my name will be on your tuition receipts, and I will be overseeing your teaching assistant. But, first, I want to introduce you to someone. This gentleman has overcome great obstacles and has made serious sacrifices to be here with you. This gentleman is quite brilliant. He earned the equivalent of two bachelor‘s in a little under a year and a half. He attended what I believe to be the best counseling program in the state and earned a Masters. He is one of the brightest I‘ve worked with here at Texas Tech and I want to tell you how very lucky you are to meet him tonight. Okay, Mr. Manley, please come in.‖ I sheepishly made it to stool resting beside the lectern. It was something akin to taking a seat at the right hand of the goddess. I was almost as tall as Gwen sitting there with her at the lecture post and facing out to the 49 remaining students. ―Now, Mr. Manley, I believe you were covering the college‘s statement of inclusion. I want to say a few things right here and right now. It‘s better for everyone involved if what is said offends you that you drop the class. If you are here because it‘s a night class and it looked like an easy three hours, you might as well drop the class now.‖ She stopped and became deep in thought for a moment, ―Reece, tell the class why you are so passionate about the ‗fag‘ word,‖ she instructed.

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I tried to think how to best answer the question, then deciding on honesty, I said simply, ―Well, because I‘m gay.‖ The class shifted in their seats. ―And...‖ prodded Captain. ―Because I‘m very interested in how that identity formed. Was it nature? Was it nurture? Was it a combination?‖ ―Very good. Now I want to reiterate what Mr. Manley was saying. We do not tolerate hate filled language or disrespect of our students at any time. You are, of course, welcome to any small minded opinion you may hold. But, please hold it. Secondly, if you have a problem with Mr. Manley, please don‘t come see me about it. I‘m simply going to agree with him about it. So, please go see the Associate dean, what, no, that‘s me, too. You need to make an appointment with Dean of the College of Human Sciences. She travels quite a bit, so make it in advance. Now, I‘ll leave you all to get acquainted. Thank you for taking the class. If you don‘t understand something or, sincerely, if you do have questions, it is Reece‘s job. If he has questions, he‘ll come speak with me and I may visit again,‖ she walked out of the room. ―That was the boss lady,‖ I said. I went back to covering the syllabus and delivered my first lecture on the introduction of human development, and then broke the room into small groups for the last third of the class. The classroom desks were robin blue egg and lightweight enough to move readily. I was scooting around on the instructor‘s stool from group to group like a bee in a clover field. The assignment for the small group exercise was to introduce themselves to each other. Then, I had wanted them to do a basic historigraph outlining their immediately family and indicating any divorces, their sibling‘s status‘, and if they had children, what kind. When making this kind of map, the line between the symbols of the people could be interrupted with any number of factors. For example, an ―X‖ on the

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line indicated the person was died. A ―I‖ on the line meant the person was imprisoned. A parallel sign meant a divorce. As I spun over to group three, I noticed one student, one of the non-traditionals had drawn a questions mark between herself and one of her children. ―Great work you are doing. What‘s your name?‖ I asked. ―Lucy, Mr. Manley, nice to meet you,‖ she said happily shaking my hand. ―It‘s Reece, Lucy, and it‘s nice to meet you, too.‖ I motioned to the question mark between her and her child whose name was written as Denise. ―What is the question mark for?‖ Lucy looked down and said, ―I gave Denise up for adoption and I didn‘t know what mark to make for that.‖ I couldn‘t remember the correct notation either so I just agreed with her. ―That‘s really great, Lucy. I‘m impressed with anyone who can make that decision.‖ I pushed along and thought nothing of the comment. I‘d simply made an observation and had shared it. The last few minutes of the class sped by and the release bell caught me by surprise. ―Okay, I said, please leave your graph on the desk up front, be sure it has your name on it. You‘ll be receiving a 100 if you turned it in. If you didn‘t turn it in, ergo, you weren‘t here, you‘ll be receiving a 0. So, if you have friends who walked out at the last break, offer to turn in their graph for $50.00 or more if you think you can get it and enjoy lunch on me. See you next week!‖ I walked back to the desk began to gather up the paperwork from the class reflecting on all that had happened that night. Lucy had approached and was about to turn in her paper then hesitated. ―I think I‘d rather take the 0 than have you know this about me,‖ she said. I felt a lump come up in my throat almost immediately. I realized, suddenly, how very much I‘d asked the class to do. Those who were kids, freshman of the traditional sort, had simply had to write down mommy and daddy and perhaps a brother. It was the non-traditional students that I had asked to do more than could possibly be done in forty minutes in front of complete strangers. ―Lucy, I‘m sorry, you don‘t have to turn it in. Simply make a note that you turned it in. I‘ll give you the 100.‖

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Lucy broke down in the now empty and suddenly expansive classroom. There was little to do but wait for Lucy to break her heaving. She embraced me and I returned the hug in what I hoped was a supportive feeling. However, the lump in my throat was beginning to make its way to my eyes. Before I could do anything about it, I found myself joining her in a good cry in the most inappropriate of places. She heaved as sorrows from her past came out and I heaved in return of my own past stabs. Finally, she broke her embrace and began to collect herself as I did the same. ―I‘m sorry, I didn‘t mean to worry you.‖ ―You didn‘t worry me at all. Sometimes a good cry helps. Now, would you like a referral to some campus resources for talking things out?‖, I asked Lucy. She nodded quickly her Kleenex now dug out of her pocket. ―That would be good,‖ she said with another little sob. I let her walk with me to the College‘s Office display board and I helped her to find a name of a potential therapist in the program‘s counselor program. ―Lucy, come back next Wednesday. I will try not to make anyone uncomfortable, again, okay.‖ Lucy promised to come back and then left me there in the now darkened atrium of the college. I went back to the room and shut it down for the night. Pushed my code into the door and somewhere a computer made note of my exiting the room and closing out my first night of teaching. As I picked along the dark path back to the faculty parking, the incandescent lights above held out just enough to see. The bright blue strobe light of the student emergency stations were blinking on and off across the wide, flat campus of Texas Tech. It was a wonderful August evening as I drove home, I let the top down and enjoyed the night air and the cool of the evening. My feet had begun to burn badly but I felt a wonderful coursing of energy for the night. I had discovered another love, teaching.

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Chapter Thirteen – You Give Love a Bad Name The time in Lubbock was spent basically balancing the gay night life and specifically the drug which brought total relief and meeting the expectations of Captain. While doing these things, I would begin a series of treatments at the Texas Tech Institute for Pain Management. I would also have a short lived mistake of love named Chris Norton. Chris James Norton was tall and athletic looking. He was five years younger than I was. He was dangerously handsome. He had eyes the shade of grey and jade. Perfect portions hid behind his t-shirts and Lucky brand jeans. I had met Chris once in Dallas. He had been dating a friend of a friend named Greg. We had locked eyes at that time, but he had been off the market. I was grabbing a bite to eat with a friend from class at a little texmex chain restaurant called El Chico. Laura, who was in Ph.D. in Languages program and I had met at the campus LGBT support group. She was there simply to be a supportive straight peer and her generous size and positive outlook on simply everything drew me to her for some inexplicable reason. She and I had a standing date, twice a week: One lunch and one dinner. It was what we could afford to do as students. Laura had met me at the El Chico on a Tuesday night. We were busily swapping teaching stories when the waiter sauntered over to take our order. I began busily studying the menu and didn‘t look up at first. ―Okay, what‘ll you have to drink, pretty lady?‖ A memory tickled as I listened to Laura order a margarita with extra salt and lime. Then as I heard the words, ―and for you, sir?‖ I knew the voice before my eyes could fully recall the name. I looked up and Chris recognized me instantly and his broad, bright smile broke out. He was stunning in his black pants and white polo. His hair streaked with high lights and coiffed with a bit of gel. He certainly could‘ve passed as a 21 or 22 year old college student even though he was almost 30. ―Oh my God, Reece!‖ Chris exclaimed. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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He leaned in close to give me a hug which I returned enthusiastically. ―Oh, great,‖ said Laura. ―Yet again, the hot waiter is gay.‖ Chris‘ embrace was firm and a little bit longer than it should have been. ―I‘m so glad to see you,‖ he whispered. ―God, it‘s good to see you.‖ Chris pulled up and said, ―Margarita?‖ I agreed and Chris left our table while Laura leaned in and said, ―Do you automatically turn every waiter gay?‖ ―It‘s one of my superpowers, Laura. I don‘t like to talk about them, you know that.‖ I teased. ―Well, I wish you‘d turn them off just once so a girl could get a shot!‖ I quickly recalled the tale of how Chris and I had been at a party. He‘d been off the market but had flirted with me the entire time. ―What is this person doing in Lubbock?‖ Laura asked. ―I have no idea. I didn‘t know he lived in Lubbock. I guess Lubbock exports all of its gays to Dallas!‖ I explained. ―Not from Lubbock,‖ Chris said arriving with our drinks. ―It‘s worse, I‘m from Shallowater.‖ Recognition was instant in my mind. ―I‘ve got you beat, Chris. Anton.‖ Chris wrinkled his nose as he knew the tiny town 14 miles northwest of Shallowater which has been the home of my Granny V and Pa and my brother and I for many years. ―In that case, the margaritas are on the house. Not much out there trumps my Shallowater card, but Anton does!‖ Chris left and touched my arm as he did. Electricity shot out from the touch and my head couldn‘t help to turn to watch him walk back to the kitchen. ―Well, what is he doing here?‖ asked Laura. She had moved from jealously to matchmaker quickly and began her new role with fervor. ―He knew me when I was big, I don‘t think he even remembers me much.‖ ―Well, of course not,‖ said Laura. ―You were 240 pounds heavier the last time you saw him! But, he‘s into you now, I caught that smile and that whisper. What‘d he say to you?‖ I felt myself turn to blush. ―He said he was glad to see me here.‖ I tried to fish in my brain to recall the exact circumstances which had led me to being in Chris‘ memory and I found the connection hard to make. ―I don‘t know why he‘s glad to see me. Maybe he wants a loan!‖ I said defensively to her. That, after all, had been what most of the gay All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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relationships I had had in my fat years had ended up being a ploy for. Love for money. A dancer for money. Tina Turner only knew the other side of the whole arrangement. She had sang about the emptiness of being a private dancer from the dancer side. The deep abyss on the consumer side of the dances was something even Tina couldn‘t imagine. Chris arrived at the table shocking me out of reverie, and I bristled just a little in protection. ―Okay, guys, what will it be? Enchilada, burritos, a side of me...‖ He batted his eyelids, which looked ridiculous on his frat boy face, haircut, and body. Laura laughed, ―Which side? I might want to order twice.‖ I rolled my eyes as Chris received the classic Laura line when any cute waiter offered a side of something. ―I‘ll have to hear his order first, young lady, and then I‘ll let you know. But I‘m sure I can find you an enchilada in here somewhere.‖ ―I like burritos better,‖ Laura said. She was in full flirt mode. Good lord and butter, I thought, it‘s only 11:30 AM. I looked up to see Chris blushing and laughing with her. There appeared to be a genuineness to him and a kindness. He was playful and seemed very, very attractive at that moment. ―Okay, Reece, what do you want for lunch‖, then he quickly added giving Laura a shhhh, ―from the menu.‖ ―Just the lunch combo,‖ I said. He paused and when I didn‘t add the anticipated flirt he left in a little pout. ―What are you doing?‖ Laura asked. ―Reel him in!‖ ―I‘m going to let that one play on the line for just a minute. Let‘s see how he handles it.‖ ―Are you crazy,‖ asked Laura. ―Honey, it doesn‘t get any more fine than he is. It‘s simply not done! I thought about it and decided I wasn‘t crazy. Chris, if he knew me from Dallas, had a number of misconceptions from that time in my life. Although my ego wasn‘t any bigger, it was beginning to realize I was getting more flirting and more interest from the world around me. And, I‘d lost down until I looked good in clothes. Now, naked, I still looked like a deflated tent with enough loose skin to provide Cher with the hide All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley

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for three costume changes. But, in my polo and jeans, I was easy on the eyes. I‘d come to realize that I didn‘t have to pay for a date or a friend. People were not immediately seeing a fat person. They were first seeing Reece. That scared the hell out of me in some ways. I wasn‘t Reece the fine; I was Reece the pain sufferer. Already I had made bad decisions in Lubbock. To say I regret any of them would be a lie. ―Laura, let‘s just see,‖ I said. ―I don‘t know if I want to go out with anybody who knew me from Dallas.‖ Laura looked at me and shook her head. ―You have only a limited number of variables in play here,‖ Laura said to me in Latin. I caught the ―you‖ ―number‖ ―action (play)‖ out of the sentence. I returned back, ―Le jeune homme peut se permettre

d'attendre,” I fired back in French that I was young and could afford to wait. She switched to Greek and said, “Only a fool lets a donkey get from his tree without trying to tie on a green ribbon,” or at least that was my translation. “Five points to you, Ms. Linguist., I give. Unless you really wanted me to tie a green ribbon to him.” Laura laughed. “I said only a fool thinks about other green pastures when he has one in front of him.” “Well,” I raised my margarita to her, “This is to being a fool in the love game. I’ve never been good at it either.” Laura clinked my glass and we sipped the tequila laden limeade which passed for a margarita here at the fine dining of El Chico. Chris continued to visit the table and continued to make little pieces of body contact and flash his perfect smile. At the end of the meal, Chris slipped me a little note. ―Don‘t read that until you are out of here. I don‘t want it to reflect on my tip.‖ Laura grinned and grabbed the note. ―Rude!‖ I said. ―Bad linguist, bad.‖ Snatching the note back and showing it in my front pocket. ―Now it is safely hidden away in a place you‘ll never go.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 100

―Don‘t be so sure. I LOVE a little love note.‖ We paid the check, Chris was busier now with the noon crowd arriving, so he waved and made the universal ―call me‖ sign. We reached the middle of the parking lot and apparently Laura was about to burst with vicarious excitement. ―Okay, you can read it,‖ I passed the still folded note over to her. She read through it twice then refolded it. ―Nah, you wouldn‘t be interested.‖ ―Let me guess,‖ I said, hopes dying down a bit, ―he needs to borrow money.‖ ―No, not exactly. Guess again!‖ Laura was having great fun with whatever the little scrap of paper said and I grabbed for it. She ran toward her car. The sight of her scurrying at high speed in her stretched pants and 5‘4‖ tall and almost as wide, cracked me up. ―Stop running, girl, your feet don‘t hurt. I‘d taken my pain medication early, and it was beginning to greatly reduce the hope of the situation. Still, the thought of having a little love note written to me was a novel experience. ―Okay, okay,‖ you win. I want to know what it says,‖ I said arriving at her car. ―Are you sure, you want to know?‖ Laura teased. ―I could just toss it away for you. Even better my apartment recycles paper!‖ ―Give me!‖ I said snatching the note away and ending her teasing came a bit too early for her taste. ―Well, me, Mr. Manley, I believe you are human after all!‖ ―Thank you, I think,‖ I replied as I captured the note and unfolded it. I leaned up against Laura‘s Nissan and read the note:

Hi Reese, I don’t know if you remember how kind you were to me. Either way, I’ll have enough money saved to buy dinner on Wednesday. Are you up for it? Chris 806-766-5487. Hope to hear from you soon. Chris

―He didn‘t even get my name spelled correctly,‖ I said to the air. Laura had moved over to the driver‘s door. ―Details!‖ she said getting into the car. I went to her window and said. ―Life is in the details‖ Laura corrected me, ―No, the devil is in the details! Life is getting a love note at El Chico‘s in Lubbock, Texas from a gay waiter! Call me when you get home.‖ I went to my car after Laura pulled out and drove off thinking about the note. My God, it was the first time in my adult life I‘d ever been asked out. Ever. That was sad in and of itself, but now to get asked out by someone as hot and apparently nice as Chris. I couldn‘t do Wednesday because of class. I decided to call him that night and see if he‘d like to go out on Friday or Saturday. Sure, why not? I‘ll go out with the waiter from El Chico. It was a bad decision which would end in the beating of my life. I would mark Christopher James Norton off of my list a little over six months in the future. I would do it crying in my apartment after the beating with the Lubbock Sheriff writing down his name as I turned in the complaint against Mr. Norton. All points bulletin. Of course, I called him, and, boy, did I dress to impress. The 2003 Eclipse GTS Spyder I owned was washed and waxed until it gleamed. I had dropped by the Shade Hut, a sunglass shop in the South Plains Mall. I purchased a pair of knock-off Calvin Klein‘s latest shades style. Something between Wayfarer‘s and Elton John. While I was in the mall, I invested in a new shirt, some cologne, and had my jewelry polished. I‘d showered and scrubbed until I was as good looking as a 180 lb. man with a yard of extra flesh could look. The extra flesh, of course, was from the weight loss surgery, which had delivered the results and more. I put on a pair of jeans and the new Polo I had purchased. It was a good look and I got a few passing eyes coming my way while leaving through the J. C. Penney‘s. Okay, so what if they were from girls? I mean women. Okay, one woman with a child and no wedding ring. I‘m sure she saved that look for only those who score above a 9. Well, maybe a 7. Breathing? All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 102

Getting ready to leave, I called Chris, and he said he was looking forward to it and would see me in about twenty minutes However, I just needed to wait for him out by the curb. When he asked what my car looked like, I told him he‘d know it. I stopped by and bought him a single red rose. I figured, what the hell, if I was going to date I might as well go for the major romance angle. With the top down, I enjoyed the short drive out to the small town of Shallowater. The cool of the evening was beginning to spread and the wind felt fresh and promising as Ien courage the Eclipse up to 90 miles per hour. The car barely hit 3500 RPM‘s at that speed and I enjoyed driving immensely. I selected a favorite tract from the Footloose Soundtrack and suddenly I was holding out for a hero, according to the lyrics, that had to strong, fast and larger than life. I hoped I looked like one of these things as I eased the car off the exit from the freeway to the Shallowater exit. One more right and the little road became homes on one side and cotton fields on the other. I found the right street and made the left. Then I saw him. It was Chris dressed in a white t-shirt, khaki shorts and a blue ball cap. He was leaning against a car in the driveway, smoking a cigarette aimlessly. He looked impossibly cool as I pulled up. He had on his sunglasses, and I wished they were gone. If this guy living with his mom and dad, in the tiny burg of Shallowater, working for El Chico wasn‘t impressed with the full on Reece Manley package, there was something wrong with him! He smiled. ―Give a boy a ride, stranger?‖ he called. ―I don‘t know, how strange is the boy?‖ I shouted back. His grin broke wide, and he literally jumped into the car. It was as if he‘d made the maneuver a thousand times before. His perfectly proportioned body hefted up and over the closed door and landed exactly in the passenger seat as if he had practiced it a thousand times. ―Hi, handsome. Thanks for coming out.‖ ―No problem,‖ I said. I backed the Eclipse out and pointed it toward Lubbock. We made a few moments of small talk. Did I find it okay? Wasn‘t the weather great? As we made our way back to the highway and hit the open road for the short drive into Lubbock, the sound of the wind made All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 103

talk impossible. It was at that time, Chris did a very simple thing. He reached over and took my hand and held it tightly. He continued just to air guitar to the songs and stretch his other arm high above the roof line to feel the air. But, he held my hand the ten minute trip back to the edge of Lubbock. It was as long of an intimate contact as I had had with a guy in a while, much less one of Chris‘ seemingly great overall value. I had planned the evening‘s events with a stop by the Lubbock Inn‘s lobby bar, The Recovery Room. The venue was as laid back and open minded as it could be without being a gay bar. There were three or four regulars and then the guests that happened to be staying at the Inn because of its proximity to the major medical complex in the South Plains. Saint Mary of the Plains Hospital and Health Centers consisted of three campuses of hospitals, a nursing school and a number of medical specialty clinics designed to help the rapidly aging population of the South Plains. The South Plains was the geographical description of the Lubbock area and how they managed to find a saint to name the place after was beyond me. The Lubbock Inn landed smack in the middle of the hospitals quite by accident. It had been there since 1954 and the hospitals had grown up around it. The Recovery Room, making a throwback to not only to the thousands of surgeries taking place within in a mile of it at any given day, was also a place to go for recovery from when life‘s lows got to you. The Recovery Room hosted everything from divorce parties to wedding parties and probably took in more revenue that the Inn itself. But from 6 to 8, between the Happy Hours, one could have the bar pretty much to themselves. I‘d discovered it when a friend had taken me by one day, and I was hoping it would be Chris‘ first trip. I had some good stories to break the ice. As we pulled in the parking lot, I told him, ―I hate to let go, but I‘ve got to put the top up.‖ He said, ―I hate to let go and find out you‘re not really here.‖ It was one of the best lines I‘d ever received in my life. His shades were covering his eyes and mine were covering mine. Thank goodness. The sweetness of the utterance had more of an impact than I had expected, or wanted. My eyes went wet, and I got a lump in the throat. ―I‘m afraid I‘m really here. If you were All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 104

expecting Leo DiCarpio, I‘m surprised you hadn‘t noticed the difference yet.‖ Chris looked at me and sounded almost disappointed. ―Okay, we‘ll keep it light for now.‖ He looked out the window as the top fell into place. ―The Recovery Room or you are way ahead of where the date might go.‖ It just dawned on me that I had driven a date directly to a hotel. This was a nono etiquette in any playbook. Even in the gay one. Section III, paragraph 4, ―Things not to do to seem too much like a slut: Arriving at a hotel room 15 minutes after meeting for the first time.‖ Tacky. I tried to make a save, ―Well, it‘s a bar that‘s handily located near a hotel just in case the mad desire for wild monkey love should strike.‖ It sounded worse than any reply I could have made. ―Wild monkey love?‖ Chris pondered. ―Well, c‘mon, I‘m up for a banana daiquiri,‖ he said. Letting me off the hook with a bad line himself we headed up to The Recovery Room lounge. The lounge was located on the second floor of the Lubbock Inn. It had threadbare green carpet and wood paneled walls. The normal neon bar signs hung from every open wall space and the scene was complete with a front bar a little stage and tables and chairs. All had seen better days, but the Recovery Room fame lied in the strength and cheapness of their cocktails. Chris and I picked out a table over in the far corner of the bar. It was as far away from the front entrance as we could get. One of the bartenders I‘d met before was on duty, and I gave him a nod and he upped one eyebrow at us. I gave him a little thumbs up, and he knew we were not just two college guys having a drink but having a little date. I had made the practice of being 100% out since arriving in Lubbock for the first time in my life, and it was winning me both respect and scorn. From the bartender it seemed to win a little bit of respect or maybe I had just tipped him heavy. Either way, he‘d make sure the rednecks steered clear of the tables where easy eavesdropping would be possible. The waitress made her way over and, in unison, Chris and I both said, ―Cuba Libre‖. We smiled at each other in a Lady and the Tramp

meatball moment. ―You go first,‖ I said. ―No, really, you go first.‖ ―No, no, I insist.‖ The waitress was already on her way to the bar assuming she had got the order right. Chris leaned in, ―This is so cool. We‘re on a date in Lubbock! Wouldn‘t the people within the mile just die?‖ It was indeed cool. Chris wasn‘t what one would consider typical gay. He didn‘t have any track of lisp. He‘d played high school football. He‘d kept the athletic, easy going body. His voice was strong and masculine, most of the time. Whenever he did decide to ―queen‖ it was hilarious to hear the ‗typical gay voice‘ come from this man. With a last name like Norton, his bloodline could be almost anything, but he was tanned as if he were Italian. He had the gray – green eyes of heather sometimes found in Scotland. Only his hairline belied his age. It was receding at an amazing speed from the otherwise perfect physical package. Of course, this little sin was hidden from the world by a cap. ―So, what do you remember about me from Dallas, Chris?‖ I asked the question I‘d been most curious about. He‘d have to have known me as ―big Reece‖ from there, and I was intrigued what he‘d taken as positive about me. ―You don‘t remember do you? You were at the party for Greg Polk down at the Fraternity House,‖ Chris began placing me sometime in Dallas circa 1999 at the bar I once came close to purchasing. It was a cute place on a strip mall. Down close to the other gay bars, but on the other side of the Dallas Tollway and stuck in a little mall outlet center with a Pizza place on one side and a convenience store on the other. It was located in a rather disreputable part of Dallas but The Fraternity House had indeed seen me at more than its share of open hours. ―Yeah, I remember the party. I remember meeting you.― Beyond that, Chris has not made much of an impression on me. He and Greg had had a fight as the night had become late. Greg was feeling no pain, and Chris was drunk as a skunk as well. Chris had been trying to get Greg‘s attention. He was Greg‘s boyfriend, but Greg was in the middle of birthday bad behavior. One of the dancers which had been at the club that All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 106

night had accepted a tip from Greg and had bent down and kissed him deeply. Christ lost his temper and gave the dancer a push off of the stage. The stripper landed hard with everything cleverly covered suddenly being cleverly displayed! As the stripper, Ms. Ivana came out from behind the bar. ―That the fun for tha night, boy, you go, you go now from Ms. Ivana bar The Fraternity House, you go,‖ the owner who often bartended, had showed Chris to the door and I had followed. ―You remember, then,― Chris said, ―I had to get a taxi, and I couldn‘t afford it because I‘d spent all my money on Greg‘s birthday.‖ I seemed to recall the rest of the scene from the night in Dallas. Yes, Chris had become very upset and was sure to get a PI if he hung out in front of the bar. But, once Ms. Ivanah spoke, you were out for the night, God help you if you stuck your feet back in the club that night. I‘d gone outside and found Chris all upset. Apparently, I had taken him over to the all night pizza place next door, bought him a slice, and called a cab for him. I paid for the cab and wouldn‘t take no for it. ―Yeah, how come I never heard back from you after that?‖ I asked Chris. ―Because I was in Shallowater the next day. I‘d agreed to try Dallas with Greg,‖ Chris explained. ―But once he was that much of an ass, I just wanted to come home. I called mom. She told me, ‗I told you so‘ and paid for the flight and the cab to get me there.‖ I thought about the flee from Dallas many gay people go through after trading in the small town for the big city. Many of us from the South Plains had rarely seen four story buildings much less skyscrapers. Dallas glittered but not all was gold. On any given day, as many people were giving up on the Big D as there were people arriving to try their luck. ―So, essentially, Reece, you were the only white knight I had in Dallas,‖ Chris said looking into my eyes. ―And, now you‘re here. It‘s got to be something very special cosmically speaking.‖ A little alarm went off in the back of my head. It was quickly ignored by hearing words I‘d never heard from before but had always wanted to find myself on the receiving end of. Reece, White Knight, Fate. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 107

The combination of elements was unique and was coveted. Especially from what, in my eyes, was such a great guy. The waitress arrived and plunked down the two rums with a trace of coke and lime on the rocks. ―I promised myself I wouldn‘t do this again,‖ Chris said quietly. ―But, maybe this time it‘ll work. Here‘s hoping.‖ With that Chris clicked his drink to mine and took a deep draw, as I sipped. Pain medication and alcohol is not a good combination if you want to stay in control of your mouth or any of your limbs, but Chris seemed intent on loosening up. That was fine by me. As we left for the one dining place in Lubbock a same-sex couple could dine, Jay‘s Café, many things were left behind at the Recovery Room. Some known and some unknown to me. I was believing behind the belief that nobody was going to magically show up and be good boyfriend material. Chris was leaving behind sixty days of sobriety and trying to get his stuff together working a program of recovery and restitute. Had I known, I never would have taken Chris anywhere near a bar. Had I known the promise had been about alcohol and not about taking chances on dates, Chris and I might still be together today. There were enough common goodness in us. But, Chris was lost to demons of addiction which had just happily taken hold of his soul again. I wouldn‘t know it until it was all over. And, by then, it would be much, much too late. We spent that night together as new lovers often do. Shy and unsure at first then moving toward a familiarity only the shared act of orgasm can bring. The quiet after moments. There was no awkward rush to leave. No awkward rush to get him out. It felt as comfortable as the used Texas Tech t-shirt Chris now wore as we greeted the dawn streaming through the bedroom‘s floor to ceiling glass window. The South Plains was waking up and the protective darkness was leaving us to the realities of the morning. ―I guess I should be getting home,‖ Chris said, the back of his head lying on my chest. He reached up his hands and wrapped them around the top of my head playfully. ―What do you think Chrome dome?‖ he asked referring to my shaved head. ―I don‘t know,‖ I said scuffing his hair with my hand, ―Mr. Receeding hairline.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 108

―Hey, no fair. It‘s my Achilles hell,‖ said Chris, ―Every great hero needs one.‖ ―Your Achilles‘ heel,‖ I corrected. I had a Bachelors of Classics under my belt and Chris had stopped at a junior in High School. I gave him a point for even knowing something about Achilles. ―Yeah, well, whatever. It‘s my only weak point, I‘m sure.‖ ―Yep. But I think it‘s perfect. It makes you human, ― I said. ―You are human, right? You didn‘t turn into a pumpkin at midnight?‖ ―I think you would have noticed,‖ he joked and turned over to me to end up in a comfortable embrace, his head on my chest. After a few moments, ―I really do need to get home. I‘ve got to get ready for work. And,‖ he paused. ―What exactly do you do during the day? ―Well, it‘s Friday, so I go to Advanced Strategic Statistical Analysis of Human Populations Data class at 1.‖ ―I‘d need a class to decipher what you just said, brainiac,‖ Chris pulled his face up and looked at me. ―How could someone so smart be so cute?‖ My heart was being wooed and I knew it. I allowed it to feel good. ―Okay, so, let‘s get you home.‖ ―Well, we have a half hour,‖ Chris said and suddenly the half hour had passed in a wonderful way yet again. An hour later, we were showered and on the road to Shallowater. Chris was holding my hand the same way he‘d held it on the way in to the date. We felt like we‘d come a million miles since then. I still didn‘t have a clue about the right way to date. I was buying the fate of romance happens when you least expect it mythos and was perfectly happy with it that late August morning. As we pulled up in the front of his house, Christ gave pause before getting out of the door. ―Mom is watching through the windows so I don‘t guess I‘ll get one more kiss. But, I do think,‖ he removed the gold gay pride ring from my middle right finger,‖ I think I will guarantee your return, though.‖ He slipped the ring on his own finger, selecting the right ring finger for placement.

―Hey‖, I began to protest then was shushed, ―No scenes in Shallowater. You call me when you get me picked up tonight.‖ ―Don‘t get that stolen, it‘s worth more than you think.‖ ―Don‘t worry it‘ll be waiting for you when you are ready to be back tonight.‖ ―I‘m coming back tonight?‖ I asked playfully. ―For either me or the ring, you‘ll be back.‖ ―Aye-aye, baby.‖ I blew him a kiss and backed out of the driveway to head for Lubbock once again. There is a joke that goes, ―How do you know two lesbians are on a second date? The U-Haul is hooked up to the pick-up moving the one of them in with the other.‖ And, Chris‘ life I took that tract for the next few turbulent months in the in the Fall of 2004. In fact, within the week, Chris and I were a normal, natural part of each other‘s lives. There were other companions competing for the romance‘s time, the post-doctoral studies in Human Development, the ongoing and ultimately self-destructive relationship with the new magic pain reliever I‘d picked up with Jeff‘s enthusiastic help, and, of course, the pain.

Chapter Fourteen – International Pain Clinic The pain agenda had been regulated to the Texas Tech International Pain Clinic, and I had my first visit there the week following my meeting Chris and having the first classroom teaching experience. I had filled out all the paperwork for the Clinic in Dallas and had forwarded all my records, including the diagnostics which had led me to understand my problem. Dr. Garcia Racz, M.D., Me.ed., head of the operation had even made room for me in his schedule. The arrival at the Clinic wasn‘t any different from the other clinics I had visited over the Dallas area. Despite all of the forwarded records there was a lengthy questionnaire which had me repeating myself for the twentieth time. I also noted that I had been scheduled for a ―procedure‖ that day, although I had no idea what that meant. And, finally, the notice that the Clinic was a teaching facility and I agreed to ―allow all procedures to be recorded and reviewed for candidate training‖. Great, I thought, if I have to be hanging out of the hospital gown, there will be a camera catching it all for years of student research. There was no place to agree or disagree on the form. It was a requirement, and so I simply signed the bottom of the chart. I took a seat in the clean, new waiting room. It was playing soothing music and had a table top water fountain going on two pillars located around the lobby. The colors were earthy and comforting and the lobby was softly lit. The blacked out door to the dusty South Plains didn‘t let a shred of direct sun save when someone ambled into the clinic door. I was about half way through the form when the nurse called me back to the room. She instructed me into a patient room, which had not been redone in the calm of the lobby. The light was bright and glaring. The smell of disinfectant and alcohol swipes came as familiar reminders of where I was. A ―procedure‖ today. What the hell did they plan on doing to me? The pain zoomed up as the anxiety grew with each passing moment.

Suddenly, a bevy of white lab coats were in the room swarming about containing people of different ages, race, ethics and creeds. The leader of the new invaders was labeled ―Professor Gabor Racz, MD, Ph.D.‖ and he spoke the first in a very heavy accent that sounded almost Russian, ―Goot Mahrning, Mista Reece Manllay,‖ he said. I had to listen intently to get the meaning of each word he said. ―My name is Dr. Racz, and I am the director of the Clinic. You will be my patient. And, you will be their patient. You may meet them for a moment while I review your chart, yes?‖ With that the coats introduced themselves in a little line of white coats all emblazoned with a name ending in M.D. There were six of them, plus the good Doctor Racz. We made a full room of bodies in the little examining chamber. I did, indeed feel a bit like a lab rat. I was about to be asked to find the cheese. For what purpose and through what method I did not know, but lab rats got cheese. I just had to run a maze and that was what the good doctor was no doubt setting up as he scribbled a few notes down in the records. As the last of the doctors introduced themselves, their chosen focus of practice and their sincere appreciation for my participation, I began to want to crawl back in my cage and totally forget about cheese of any sort! However, Dr. Racz spoke before I could get off the table. ―Mr. Manley, you have a very special case. I understand you went into a surgery and woke up with very great pain in your feet, yes? And, since then you have seen 8 different physicians all of which have simply given pills and then sent you on your way to the next physician, yes? And you would like for something to happen other than to have a doctor give you some more pills with no real help, yes?‖ Dr. Racz managed it all out without breathing and in the space of five or six seconds. Without waiting for any answer, he turned to the lab coats and pronounced, ―Mr. Manley, case number 614510, has presented as cryptogenic sensory poly neuropathy. Demyleination was determined to be present on 12/2003. The degradation of the nerve was....‖ a barrage of medical information passed to the students as I lost track of the language. They all nodded in unison and shook heads in unison. The good doctor paused and asked for the doctors opinions on what should happen next. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 112

Again, I felt as if I were a rat waiting to be told to run a maze dancing left and right according to their answers. I didn‘t want some of the opinions I was hearing to become fact. Such things as ―removal of nerve‖ and ―disc diversion surgery‖ were terms I was glad to see a definite look of scorn form the head Racz of the group. After they all had expressed an opinion, Dr. Racz turned his attention back to me and said, ―This is why they are students, Mr. Manley. None of them had the first logical step, which is what we are going to take. The idea I want to try is this, Mr. Manley,‖ Dr. Racz scooted the little examining stool to between my feet. ―Would you might removing your shoes and socks, Mr. Manley?‖ I did as I was requested. The pain was immediate and intense as the cold air of the room hit my feet. They were definitely aware of the interest being paid to them. A few lab coats in the back of the room moved around to get a better look. ―Very good, Mr. Manley. I know this is uncomfortable for you. I‘ll try to be fast but though,‖ he said as he palmed a metal object with a sharp side and a blunt side. ―Now, Mr. Manley, I want you to maintain eye contact with me. As I touch you, I want you to tell me if you experience just the normal pain level, or if it is increased. We will do this with A, B, C, D and so on. Okay, here we go.‖ A push and I was aware of the touch of the instrument but no extra pain as the metal touched my higher heel. ―Okay, point A?‖ ―No,‖ I said. We continued the no‘s through point E at which point he released wildfire from the tip of my big toe. I instinctively jumped several feet into the air and clung to the ceiling! In reality, I withdrew my feet and said, ―Fuck! I mean, sorry, yes, pain.‖ ―Yes, Fuck,‖ Dr. Racz repeated. ―I take that as more pain, yes?‖ Nervous giggles of the lab coat people let me know there was an inside joke. The response was physiologically the same through point E through K. Somewhere around H, he switched feet from the left to the right. As he eased into the higher points of my foot on L through O, I could not bring the pain under control. ―Thank you, Mr. Manley, I know that was unpleasant.‖ Unpleasant is doctor speak for hurt like hell. There was more All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 113

medical speak between Dr. Racz and the lab coats. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there and started to put on my socks. Dr. Racz hand reached out to stop me gently while he finished an answer to one of the lab coats. After the little bevy of doctors was finally quiet with their questions, Dr. Racz said ―Mr. Manley, we will now move on to the procedure. Do you feel you can walk to the next room? It will not be long. The procedure is very simple today, and you‘ll leave feeling much better, I think, yes?‖ The bevy held its collective breath. Again, I felt like a rat looking at them through the cage of my desire to remove the pain versus the fact that a ―procedure‖ had always brought very bad things to pass. ―Yeah, I guess,‖ I acquiesced in with a lack of any enthusiasm. I was going to be the rat of the day. My affirmation sent the coats scurrying to the next room over, of all things an operating room. I forced myself up on the table as Dr. Racz helped me into position. ―We are in here simply because of sterilization protocols. Don‘t worry, we will not slice you open. Please put your feet up like this,‖ he grabbed my feet and swung me around, ―and lie back on the bed. That‘s no good, let‘s get your head elevated. Now, lift. ― Dr. Racz fussed with the table until it was a bit like a recliner. I could take in the room now and between the shoulders of the lab coats I could see the normal appointments of a operating room. Phones on one wall, a large sterilization sink, and starkly white walls. ―This is patient 614510 and today we will introduce a cortisone compound to the nerve branch in the heel to allow better blood flow and nerve conductivity between the forefoot and the ankles. We will begin by introducing the compound via syringe into the special...‖ The medical language became too fast at that point but the lab coats made notes and scuttled in and out to view the drawings Dr. Racz was now making on my exposed feet. For some reason he had drawn a small circle right behind the bone knot connecting foot to leg on each inner heel. Then I caught I question from one of the group members. ―Shouldn‘t we use some anesthetic before doing this procedure?‖ Yikes! All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 114

She had to ask! I started to answer in the strong affirmative on behalf of Dr. Racz when he cut me off, ―Procedures which take less than a minute to complete do not require anesthetic of any kind. It is not necessary and it is not cost effective. Besides, Mr. Manley wants to get on with this and on with his day, right Mr. Manley?‖ Wrong. Mr. Manley definitely wanted happy drugs, an IV would be fine, heck, even a martini would work. But, to face any kind of procedure without some kind of anesthetic would be madness, I .... WHAM! BURN! BURN! And that‘s the right side done and now the left, my right foot recoiled from the violation which had just been purported on it. The goddamn little man had stuck a 20 gauge (read, big fuckin‘ needle) into the heel joint of my right foot and squirted in a gel that expanded the area where nerves pass on the way to the foot. It hurt like hell! I finally got my breathe and shouted ―OUCH, doctor!‖ WHAM! BURN! BURN! The left foot recoiled as mirror image of the ―procedure‖ had been delivered. ―God damn, that hurt!‖ I managed which amused Dr. Racz. ―You never knew it was coming, the pain should be going about now, yes? And, we may have found a cure, yes? Very good, job. You are a very tough man, Mr. Manley, very good job.‖ He turned to his disciples, two of which were white faced and one of which had turned away. Great, I‘d been the ending point of med school for some poor lady who had been witness to the ―procedure‖. ―Okay, Dr. Karen, you stay with Mr. Manley and observe 15 minutes and then release and everyone else, we are on to the next patient. Everyone say thank you to Mr. Manley for allowing you to view this quick procedure which yields relief out until the 4th day marker....‖ The medspeak continued as he ushered everyone but Dr. Karen, one of the ones who had turned white, stayed behind with me and finished up the paperwork. ―Is he crazy?‖ I asked Dr. Karen. ―I‘m beginning to think so,‖ she answered, ―off the record of course.‖ She turned to take a look at the now two holes trickling a bit of blood down the sides of my feet. She grabbed a couple of alcohol swabs and gently cleaned the area, and they stopped bleeding almost immediately.

―What the hell happened just then Dr. Karen? What did he do to me?‖ I asked. Dr. Karen collected her thoughts after consulting the chart, my post-Doctoral study status was noted somewhere which helped her to find a vocabulary suitable. ―Well, it looked like it hurt like hell, personally. What Dr. Racz did was to insert a little pocket of gel right into the joint of your leg and foot. The nerves run along that area with the blood vessels. Now, he inserted in precisely at the point to where it will expand the cavity of the veins and nerve bundles. This will theoretically give a wider channel. The only thing we‘ll know is if the nerve was being pinched in this area.‖ My feet were still on fire, and I thought that sounded like taking a shot in the dark at a target fifty feet away. The man had just stabbed and pushed. He hadn‘t x-rayed or measured or anything. ―How can he be so sure he got it in the right area?‖ Doctor Karen looked through my chart a bit more. ―I feel very confident of the placement of the nodule. However, if you experience a feeling of a loss of balance or more pain than usual, you may have some anatomical oddities we need to check for.‖ She refused to meet my eyes. ―Any questions?‖ I started to ask, but I could tell she was programmed with only answers designed by Dr. Racz. ―When can I get the hell out of here?‖ ―You are free to leave as soon as you feel you can walk okay.‖ Instant healing was mine. My socks and shoes were on very quickly as I began to form a curse on this place. It was insane! I said, ―I didn‘t sign up for this, Dr. Karen. I don‘t think I‘ll be coming back.‖ ―Try to Mr. Manley. If the easy things don‘t work, we begin to treat you like a real person. I‘ve been looking at your file and your pain is real. Dr. Racz likes to try to scare away drug seekers. But, he, well, hmmm.....Let me get you scripts for the month for oxycontin. Come back in a month and we‘ll see how things are.‖ I headed straight out the door, forgot stopping, and I was just about to drive away when I realized, I only All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 116

had three days left of pain medications. If I didn‘t take these from the International Pain Clinic, I‘d not be getting anymore. I pushed the car back into park, cursing from the pain and the frustration and walked in to get the prescriptions. The I.P.C. had a drug store right inside, which was the only place one could fill the drugs. It was a new angle to the racket I had walked into. Pick up your prescriptions, and then have them filled down the hall. I waited in a chair, feet burning to the level that tears were beginning to fall. The pharmacy was taking its sweet time with my first order and they finally called me to the window after the fifteen minutes had passed on the clock I was watching. ―Okay, Mr. Manley. Here is a four week supply. These forms perform two purposes. They promise you will not obtain any other medications without the okay of an I.P.C. physician. This second form gives us the right to notify other pharmacies in the area not to dispense medications to you.‖ Well, hell, now I was trapped. The lab rat image came back. My whiskers twisting on my pink noise as I peered into the little room with the different piles and pills of cheese of different types. I‘d just limited myself to one maze and I hadn‘t even known I was here to play that game. ―Of course, because of your status at Tech, these are all free and so are your appointments here. If you wish to discontinue at any time, we will need a thirty day notice.‖ I hurt so bad that I didn‘t care. I signed, and signed. I gathered up my Roquefort labeled Oxycontin 80 and headed back out to the car. I drove out of the place cursing the whole experience. It would be a scene I would repeat several times before the whole collapse of the Lubbock scene.

Chapter Fifteen – Chris and Green Eyes I arrived home and both Jeff and Chris were waiting at the apartment. They were having the best friend versus new boyfriend turf war. I‘d given them both keys and both were trying to mark their new territory. But, being good gay boys, they had simply decided to be catty over cocktails and bad television. It was Thursday and I didn‘t have any classroom responsibilities due, and I was effectively off for the weekend. ―Hey, bitches, I‘m home,‖ I announced. ―Both come bounding up to me and Jeff pouted as I gave difference to Chris for the first kiss hello. Jeff pecked my cheek. Chris responded by pulling me close and planting one on me deep and tender. My feet suddenly felt better. ―Welcome home, honey.‖ ―Oh, please, that‘s just sick. Wrong. Twisted. Ohhh, channel up, channel up,‖ Jeff aimed a fake remote control at us and clicked it over and over. ―Hey, hey, you had your chance,‖ I said to Jeff teasingly. Jeff had indeed had his chance, and he had chosen friendship. At the time, I‘d been Big Reece, and despite his affection and affinity for both me and my money, Jeff had not been able to wrap his mind around, much less his arms around, being in love with a 400 lb plus man. But, today, I was 176, muscled up a bit and wearing real clothes with real labels. It was on these occasions that I would admit that part of me was still glad I‘d had the surgery. Even after all the doctors and pain and meds and procedures. I was, after all, thinner by over 250 lbs. The fruits of being in my position were few and far between, but one of them I still was enjoying was named, Chris. Jeff ducked into the kitchen to freshen his drink while shouting back at the T.V. which was tuned to Bravo. One of the first reality TV shows was being launched. I can‘t remember which one, but Jeff knew each character intimately. ―So, where‘s your man, Jeffrey,‖ I asked? ―Aren‘t we supposed to get together tonight?‖ Jeff shouted at the TV. Then only slightly less loud he said, ―Mr. Man picked up a shift, I‘m yours for the whole evening. Feed me in an hour. ― All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 118

Jeff was in ―my‖ seat on the couch perfectly in front of the TV. I sat down on him, ―Hmm, this couch got lumpy.‖ ―Off, off, I‘ll move, aaarghh,‖ Jeff protested. ―You‘re still heavy, girl, let me up.‖ Before he could move, Chris launched himself up from the side of the couch and landed, perfectly (how did he do that so easily!?) in my arms. ―Hi, babe. Weird couch you‘ve got here. It‘s wiggly.‖ ―Do not make a girl spill her cocktail! You will all go to hell! You know the rules, No Spilleth a Sistah‘s Drinketh!‖ Jeff was about to uncork himself from the pile, but was giving concentration on not spilling his drink. Finally, he succeeded in extracting himself and stood up and took up the seat at the far end of the sofa. ―Oh, I feel violated,‖ Jeff said. ―You wish,‖ Chris came back and propped his feet up on the middle cushion creating a makeshift recliner using my upper body for the seat and head support. ―Awwwe. Comfy. Now, dear, how was your day?‖ ―You don‘t want to know,‖ I began. ―Well, I guess we could just sit here and talk about the first thing that comes up between us.‖ ―T.M.I.! Way too much information,‖ Jeff responded to the flirt. I hadn‘t gotten it, but it clicked and I laughed. ―We can talk about how I‘ve got to get some meds down. I‘m dying.‖ ―Oh, shit, sorry, babe, I forgot,‖ Chris scrambled to get off of me. ―You stay seated,‖ I told him. ―Jeffrey. Fetch, meds.‖ ―Oh, goodie! Cookie jar time!‖ Jeff was off his seat and heading to the package of mediations I‘d dropped on the dining table. ―Forget it, Drugzilla, those are for me per prescription only. Read the label out loud please,‖ I instructed. Jeff read, ―Take 1 or 2 tablets as needed for pain, four times daily. Do not exceed 10 tablets in any 24 hour All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 119

period. Reece Wyman Manley. Dr. Gaybar Racz. ― Jeff paused. ―I like that first name, Gay-Bar. That‘s adorable, is he a cute, young doctor?‖ ―Jeff, concentrate!‖ Jeff grabbed a glass of water and two of the tablets and brought them to me. ―Thank you, now, put back the three you slipped into your pocket my little fiend.‖ Jeff looked hurt but knew he‘d been caught. ―Fine, be selfish!‖ He pouted over to the pill bottle and I heard the clink clink of two pills being deposited. ―Do you wish to count them, Mr. Manley?‖ ―Nope, I trust you, Jeffrey. At least as far as I can throw you,‖ I replied. I crushed the oxycontin between my teeth and swallowed the resulting powder down with a glass of water. I‘d been advised early in the treatments that my malabsorption with the new plumbing would be pronounced. It would be best to powder any medication before swallowed. Of course, it meant to crush with a spoon and measure it out into a glass of water and then swallow it. I had assumed the effect was the same if you just chewed once. It tasted awful, but it was quicker. This little trick would come back to haunt me though in a dentist chair as the enamel quickly surrendered to the overwhelming power of the opiods. The truth was that I was already on doses considered maximum for most people. However, all physicians were very aware of the ―special needs‖ of the surgery. ―Don‘t be mad, Jeff. If you‘d taken those two pills it could have killed you, and I can‘t have my maid dropping dead,‖ I said. ―Is that what I am to you now? A maid?‖ He was beginning to get a little mad. ―Of course, not, Jeffrey. You are a wonderful lifestyle assistant.‖ I had tried to think of a good title to sum up what Jeff was to me in addition to being a friend, and lifestyle assistant fit the bill. He was the source of hookups, parties, gossip and other necessary gay boy information that I would have otherwise have missed being the dedicated graduate student I was. ―Is that a good thing?‖ Jeff asked. ―Of course it

is. You can even have it tattooed the next time you get ink done,‖ I replied. ―Hush,‖ Chris said as the show came back on. Chris may have not looked like a queen, or talked like a queen, but he voraciously watched the most campy things in the world, from old movies (he could quote All About Eve) to The Golden Girls. I popped the recliner latch on the side of the couch elevating my feet and it shifted Chris to where I had to catch him before he rolled out on to the ground. ―Hey,‖ he protested as he placed his hands to balance and shift his weight back to where he was firmly supported. He never took his eyes or ears from the TV as he settled back into an embraced position with me where he was sharing the now reclining couch section ―Oh, fun, I forgot it did that,‖ Jeff popped his feet up and we all sat there watching someone live a life half as interesting as the one we had going at the moment. A commercial came on and Chris launched himself up off of me with a quick, ―Cocktail refill. Oh, baby, someone named Captain called.‖ I came to attention automatically. ―When was that?‖ ―About an hour ago, five o‘clock or so. You know you took forever at that appointment. What did they do by the way?‖ ―They molested me in the most horrible fashion,‖ I uttered in a southern Belle voice, ―I don‘t know if I shall ever recover. They were truly the most awful animals.‖ Explaining the cortisone gel and the theory of relief behind to Chris would been like having to explain rocket science to a three year old, much less Jeff. So, I left the details for the ordeal for someone who would appreciate it. Captain, My Captain. ―Did she ask who you were?‖ I queried Chris. ―Yes, she was very nice. She seemed interested to know you had a boyfriend so I filled her in on all the sorted details. She became a bit uncomfortable when we started talking about oral copulation...‖ I went white. Oh, my god. Chris turned and saw my face, ―Joke! Relax, joke!‖ He said. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 121

―That‘s not funny. What exactly did you tell her?‖ Jeff decided to join the conversation and mimicked a phone conversation. ―All he said was, May I tell him whose calling. And then, Captain will he know what this is in reference to? And, then, well I‘ve got him in handcuffs in the bathroom and he‘s wearing a tutu....‖ I threw a couch pillow at Jeff stopping him in mid-sentence with a face full of accent pillow. ―Look guys,‖ I began. ―Captain is Professor Sorrell, and she‘s a very important part of why I‘m here in Lubbock at all. Please, please be polite when she calls and tell me the second I walk in the door. This is important guys. I really need you to do this right for me. Swear,‖ I was serious in my tone and the guys got it. I decided to return the call in my bedroom. I propped the my feet up on the bed. The oxycontin was beginning to work but the two incision points were throbbing quite intensely. It hadn‘t helped to have Chris sitting on my lap and cutting off blood flow but I wasn‘t going to let a little something like severe pain come between me and the illusion of a boyfriend. I picked up the phone and dialed Captain‘s phone at her house. ―Professor Sorrell speaking,‖ Captain answered her phone in a tone to scare the hell out of any undergraduate who dared to dial her and with the authority that commanded respect from any other caller. ―Hi Captain, how‘s the evening going?‖ Her voice changed to the imminently warm tone she used with me. I was always honored to receive that tone of voice. A combination of a proud mother and an appreciative friend. It was a very special thing and I would never hear use it exactly the same way with anyone else. Yes, I loved my Captain. ―Well mine is not exciting as yours sounds as it might become. Who was the young man I was speaking to earlier?‖ The Captain did not beat around the bush. If she was curious about something, she asked. But, it was never as simple as it seemed. Captain inquired about things she intended to understand and didn‘t bother with anything trivial. So, I was both nervous and exhilarated that she wanted to know about my boyfriend! All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 122

―His name is Chris and we are just beginning to date,‖ I said to the Captain. ―I see,‖ she replied, ―Interesting he is at your home when you are not there. I was calling to see if you‘d like to have dinner with me and a group of professors visiting from Brazil. I‘ve talked them into Jay‘s and it‘s tomorrow night. I‘m sorry for the short notice but I did not know you had a social calendar all of a sudden.‖ ―When it comes to you, my Captain, my schedule is always wide open,‖ I said with the difference due her. ―Just tell me when to be there.‖ ―We‘ll have dinner at seven and probably meet in the bar about six. There should be several people there, including the Dean, so you may want to look, well, presentable,‖ Again the Captain was always refreshingly direct. She knew I preferred to spend time in shorts and tshirts, but I had dress up clothes at the ready. ―I was hoping you would be my escort to the dinner, but if you want to bring someone you certainly may.‖ I thought about either Chris or Jeff at a table full of intellectuals. Even dressed up they would be nothing more than eye candy. The last time I‘d taken Jeff to Jay‘s bar, he‘d ended up dismissing me in favor of a waiter who was getting off the time clock. And, well, Chris and I were just not at a place where I was going to roll the dice on him knowing the difference between research paradigms. ―I shall see you at 6:00 Captain, in the bar.‖ ―Excellent,‖ Captain said in the same wonderfully warm voice, ―We‘ll have plenty of topics for small talk, won‘t we?‖ Oh, god, help me. Captain was interested in my love life. That would be an interesting interrogation. I was collecting the thoughts when I hear Chris call from the other room, ―Company being ignored in the living room. Company being ignored in the living room. Paging Mr. Manley, paging Mr. Manley to the living room.‖ Jealous, already? I thought it was cute. Boy, was I wrong. I struggled up from my reclining position. My feet were less painful as the medicine began taking effect. I stopped by the kitchen on the way to the living room and grabbed a glass of wine. I did hover for a All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 123

second as I considered the chemicals already meandering through my system. ―I‘ve got to go to a University event tomorrow night,‖ I said collapsing on the coach. Chris took his place back at my side and Jeff remained, feet up and engaged with the events unfolding on the television. ―Wait, tomorrow night? We are supposed to go out?‖ Chris half stated half asked. Then, ―Can I come?‖ Again the image of Chris, utterly bored and disinterested in the conversation at the table and falling asleep during the middle of the soup, face down splashing an honored guest with clam chowder as he went head down. He wouldn‘t enjoy it, and he was just trying to be the number one slot on my calendar. Unfortunately, that slot was not open for debate at that time in my life. It belonged to Captain and her will. ―I‘m sorry, babe, one of those work things. Maybe you can pick up a shift tomorrow night? Friday tips are good,‖ I tried to put a positive spin on it. ―Fine. Whatever.‖ He scooched off of my lap and onto the middle cushion. ―Somebody is having a jealous moment,‖ Jeff chimed in. ―Shut, up, Jeff,‖ Chris snapped. Chris‘ demeanor changed. He went from the happy, gay and relaxed person to the tense, withdrawn persona I‘d seen a few times before. It was appearing more frequently and I had fed it. That‘s how he‘d ended up with a key to my apartment. He had already figured out I was an easy mark for guilt. Of course, I had no idea that an agenda was running on his part. I just thought it was flattering. Still somewhere in the back of my mind, a little red flag went up. ―We can still go out to the bar tomorrow night, Babe,‖ I began to explain to Chris. ―I‘ll be done by 9 or so. This is just one of those University events, Chris. I wasn‘t given the choice. I told the small white lie with earnest tone. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 124

―I bet Captain will be there, and you have to keep your little secret from her, don‘t you?‖ Chris was becoming more catty. ―Jeff,‖ I said, give us a minute. The sun was sitting and the light pouring in from the balcony lit Chris‘ beautiful grey-green eyes. Oceans where I would like to swim for hours. I was transfixed for a moment. The sun picking up the detail of every speckle in those eyes. Then, they began to tear up. At first just moist, then moving to tears forming and I caught the first one with my finger. I kissed my finger and put it on Chris‘ nose. ―You know I care about you, Chris. You know I also have to put school first right now. Besides, we‘re going out tonight, right?‖ Chris looked away and pulled himself together. He seemed to be fighting over some undisclosed item of great importance and then, suddenly, ―I just playing with you, I understand about school, you nut.‖ He bounced back into my lap, ―Now have the houseboy bring me a cocktail, won‘t you?‖ ―Jeffrey,‖ I called. Jeff appeared from the bedroom talking on the phone to God only knows who and gave me a little salute. He gathered up our glasses and headed for the kitchen with the phone conversation going, ―Look, girl, I don‘t understand why she has to act like that,‖ he said to the phone. ―What do you mean they didn‘t get that order filled. Well she‘ll have to cope won‘t she? Who was the boy? Oh, my, really? That much?,‖ Jeff continued his conversation as he dropped off the drinks, held out his hand for a tip. I feigned picking my nose and deposited it on his palm. ―You are one gross, big nelly thing!‖ Jeff exclaimed. ―Oh, not you,‖ he said to the phone, ―At Reece‘s, didn‘t you see the caller ID, yes, now what would you do with....‖ The conversation trailed off as Jeff returned to the privacy of my bedroom. ―You know, I think I‘d rather stay in tonight,‖ Chris said. ―Just you and me? No outside distractions. Let‘s order Orlando‘s and just watch TV,‖ Chris suggested. This went against the plans we had made with Jeff to go out to the bar and the little magical world of gay freedom that existed four days a week at Hunk‘s.

―Are you sure?‖ I asked. I‘d been secretly looking forward to visit the bathroom again. The relief from the pain coupled with the ride from cocaine had kept calling long after the previous Thursday night. I had been dreaming of the state and budgeting for it as well. ―We could go to the bar for a while and just enjoy the scenery.‖ I had managed to hit a sore point, again. There were a lot of sore points to Chris. ―Look at the scenery?‖ Chris said indignantly. ―What the hell is that supposed to mean. I‘m not scenery enough for you?‖ ―That‘s not what I mean, Chris,‖ I protested. He knew what I meant though. The bar almost held at least one good scene before the night‘s end. With its proximity to Texas Tech, it was almost inevitable that a lost frat boy would wonder in and have the education of his life. It was great fun to watch a lost straight boy find himself being bought drinks while two other guys made out next to him. Sometimes they would launch from their seats to the exit. However, occasionally would stay and realize they had found the only place they belonged. Either way, it was a fun to watch scene. Either comedy or heartwarming Movie of the Week moment where a gay boy finds acceptance under the shadow of the Bible Belt. ―I‘ve got all the personal scenery, I need right here,‖ I said giving him a squeeze. He smiled and started to give me a kiss. It was one of the most magical experiences I would have over and over and over. Chris‘ kiss was a little slice of heaven indeed, and with each one I seemed to fall a little deeper in love with him. Slowly at first but picking up speed faster than I should have allowed. ―I‘m back, bitches,‖ Jeff walked in from the bedroom to find us in lip lock. ―Oh, Jesus, hide the children! Close the blinds, call 911, take out the dog – gross!‖ The little barrage came out in clipped terms and in a fast little barrage. ―You two are disgusting!‖ ―Oh, yeah,‖ I said looking at Chris in his eyes, ―Very disgusting. Terrible. I better check it again.‖ Chris and I kissed again much to Jeff‘s discomfort. ―You wanna stay in tonight?‖ Chris nodded in the affirmative.

―Okay,‖ Jeff interjected, ―If y‘all are staying, I‘m going, and I need a ride.‖ Chris started to get up and held up his hands for my keys. ―I‘ll take him. I need to run by the grocery store anyway.‖ ―No. I need Reece to take me,‖ Jeff said. ―Reece isn‘t available,‖ Chris said. ―Wait, wait,‖ I said, ― I don‘t mind. I‘ll be right back in ten minutes. Okay,‖ Chris through up his arms. ―Yeah, sure, fine, whatever. Take Jeff first. I‘ll wait. Make plans with your school, I‘ll wait. Christ can wait, whatever,‖ Chris said in a half sad/half mad tone. It was an ominous sound and it was one I would begin to hear over the next three months more often, and at the most inappropriate times. ―Baby, don‘t be like that, let me get Jeff out of our hair. Well,‖ I said rubbing the tops of our heads, ―that wouldn‘t be accomplishing much but you know what I mean.‖ ―Yeah, okay, babe. I‘ll see you in a little bit,‖ Chris said. Jeff joined me in the doorway, ―Bye, fag!‖ Jeff called from the doorway, loudly enough to wake up the neighbors. Chris called back, ―Bye to you cocksucker!‖ Jeff snapped and turned. He pressed the elevator calling it up from the parking garage. ―I honestly don‘t see what you like about him,‖ Jeff said. ―They said that about you once, you know,‖ I told Jeff as the elevator arrived and we stepped down. The floors clicked by as we headed for the garage. ―He just says weird things,‖ Jeff stated.

―Like what?‖ I thought I heard the green eye monster growing in Jeff. ―I don‘t know, I can‘t put my finger on it. But, I‘m watching him for you, girl.‖ He shifted thoughts, ―Y‘all are coming out tonight, aren‘t you?‖ ―I don‘t know, Jeffrey. I‘ll see what the new ball and chain wants to do. But, of course, if I can be there, I will be there.‖ We arrived in the garage and dropped the top on the Eclipse and drove out into the cool evening air. Lubbock gets a lot of bad press about its weather and, most of the time, it is earned. Every once in a while though, as the sun went down, the air was clean and clear. It might be perfect for a convertible and I enjoyed the drive as Jeff played Cher‘s ―Believe‖ at high volume, happily lip-synching on the short drive to his apartment. It was located a block from the bar. Of course, Jeff wasn‘t on the lease but James had allowed him to move in. In this area, no one gave much of a thought to roommates or how many there were. ―You do realize you live in the ghetto,‖ I asked Jeff. ―On yeah, I do, a far cry from when I lived at your house in Dallas. I mean, they don‘t even have a pool here that isn‘t green!‖ Jeff had been around me long enough to qualify as close to family as a non-blood member one could be. ―Okay,‖ I said, ―You be careful. I think I see some bandits between here and your door,‖ I teased. ―Oh, honey, I still have a gun, and I know how to use it.‖ Watching him twist between the car and the door to his apartment, I realized exactly how scared one might be of Jeff Guinn drawing down on them. Talk about Annie Oakley. I stopped on the way back to the apartment at McDonald‘s and purchased one of Chris‘ favorite, la Big Mac. I ordered a smaller bite and coasted up University Avenue to the tall-standing Park Towers. I had learned which apartment was mine from the outside, and I noted the changing lights of the television and the balcony light indicated I was being waited for by the most incredible kisser in world. I went back down the little garage bump and pulled into my space. I gathered up the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 128

McDonald‘s loot and headed up. I noted that as I arrived another elevator was coming down. I stepped off the elevator, made the quick turn to my apartment. As I tried the door, I noticed it was locked. I fumbled for my key balancing two burgers and two drinks in my other arm. ―Hey, babe, I‘m back,― I called as I entered the apartment. Silence greeted me. The television was on but Chris was not on the couch. I set down the fast food on the dining table, ―Yo, Christopher,‖ I said moving to the bedroom. My quick fantasy of finding him in my bed naked, alluring and mine was suddenly replaced with disappointment. No Chris in the bedroom. The only place left was the bathroom, and it too was empty. ―How, odd.‖ I said to myself. My eyes finally spotted the note with Chris‘ handwriting.

Sorry, babe, but didn’t figure you’d be coming back soon so I left to go home. I’ll call you after work tomorrow if I can pick up a shift. Chris I dialed Jeff‘s digits. ―Hoes are us, we polish, we buff!‖ Jeff had some very weird ways of answering a telephone. ―Guess what,‖ I said. ―Hmm...he wasn‘t there when you got back?‖ How had Jeff known that? ―How‘d you know that‖, I asked? ―I told you he was saying weird things,‖ Jeff said, ―I don‘t know what you expect. I think he‘s a little off his rocker, Reece.‖ ―And I think you are a jealous little queen, Jeffrey!‖ ―Oh, I am. No doubt about that. But, I‘m still not surprised he wasn‘t there. He was saying things like, ‗I bet I can make Reece forget all about you‘ and ‗Reece is going to be my real thing, finally‘. It was very Glenn Close stuff,‖ Jeff responded. Then happily, ―So, you‘re available to buy me cocktails tonight! Shall we say about in about an hour?‖ Jeff plotted. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 129

―We‘ll see, let me see what‘s going on,‖ I told him. ―Don‘t be sad if I‘m not still available then,‖ Jeff warned. I replied, ―You have my permission to try your resources. May your quest to find deep pockets and easy pants be a noble one,‖ I mocked a blessing to him. ―Why , thank you very much, Clairee,‖ Jeff quoted a line from Steel Magnolias with a little dig at me. Clairee, the sensible and long suffering character. ―Oh, go make a conquest,‖ I said. ―Love your hair, hate your shoes, hope you win!‖ Jeff clicked off. He had a very weird way of ending a phone conversation as well. I grabbed a coke and the smaller burger from the McDonald‘s bag and the wireless phone. I landed on the couch and extended the recliner seat. I grabbed the remote and flipped through channels as I considered the situation. The phone call would be drama, no matter what the outcome. Going out meant being up way too late and the possibility of not dropping back down until well in the morning. My feet were tired. I was tired. It had been a big day, and I had an important function coming up tomorrow. My Captain occupied my thoughts. WWCD. What Would Captain Do? First, she wouldn‘t play into the guilt of the note. And, she most definitely would not go out and spend $100 so I could throw a party on a work night. Yes, staying home made the most sense.

Chapter Sixteen – A Midnight Ride I was being jangled awake by the phone ringer. I looked and saw the time was 2:30. The phone rang again demandingly. I looked at the caller ID half expecting it to be the Lubbock Police. They had caught a little queer boy, and could I give him a home until he dried out for only a $440 fine? Another ring and I made out the caller ID as Buck‘s Cantina. Oh, Jesus. The bar? ―This is Reece,‖ I answered. ―Reeceth, hi baby, oh baby it is good to hear your voice,‖ a voice slurred on the other line. ―Reeceth I fucked up. I fucked up.‖ The voice still slurring was now crying and it finally was recognizable. It was Chris. ―Baby, I need help here. Here talk to him. Talk to him.‖ I heard the phone being passed over. I repeated, ―This is Reece.‖ ―Hi Reece, this is Brian at Buck‘s. I need to see if you could come pick up Chris and settle his bar tab for the evening,‖ Brian said flatly. ―If you don‘t want him, I just need to know so I can call the police. Either way, I‘ve got to close the doors!‖ The phone passed again, it was Chris, pleading, ―Please come get me, Babe. They won‘t let me drive, and I don‘t wanna go to jail, please, please, baby.‖ Phone was passed back to Brian. ―If you want him, come and purchase him for the sum of $112.40. Not including gratuities. What‘s it going to be?‖ Brian was tired and he was quickly trying to find a place to pass off the problem patron. I could tell he didn‘t care whether it was the police or me. I cursed under my breath. My feet were hurting and the middle of the night was not supposed to be a time I was up on them. I considered my options and, finally, ―I‘ll be right there, Brian.‖

I again pointed the Eclipse into the night but I choose to leave the top up. I arrived at Buck‘s five minutes later after being sniffed over by two police cruisers on the way. I was apparently driving straight enough to be sober. However, I was not a placid set of emotions. I was angry and annoyed. I got out and walked up to the front door and banged. Brian cracked the door and said ―Round back for pick up, it‘s illegal to open this door this late.‖ I trudged around the building to the delivery entrance and walked inside. The bar was dark except for the store room where a very intoxicated Chris dozed in a corner, collapsed, his chin down. ―He tried to leave with a group without paying,‖ Brian said. ―He used a Credit Card to start a tab, but we couldn‘t ring it through when we tried. The little ―cut and kill‖ code came up on the return slip. Normally, we just call the police. But, he knew you and said you two were dating. I never would have called you if he hadn‘t insisted. We usually just send them off to the drunk tank and make a payment plan,‖ Brian was running through a speech it sounded as if he had given before. I went over to Chris and, at first, wanted to punch him. Then, I just felt a wave of guilt and confusion about the handsome, drunk, Romanesquely perfect man in front of me. I bent down to his ear, ―Hey, Chris. Hey, babe. Babe. Wake up,‖ I delivered a little slap to his cheek. He came to with a start, his fists going tight and body taking a fight stance. Then, very quickly, he realized who I was. ―Reeceth, oh, baby, thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you. I‘m so sorry,‖ he broke down into big sobs and stood up and held me in his embrace. He smelled like cinnamon schnapps. I walked back over to Brian, with Chris embracing my waist and half walking half collapsing. ―The damage is over $100.00. I took the three drinks he bought for me off of the tab.‖ There was a long list of drinks and shots listed on the bar tab. ―Who the hell was he buying these for?‖ I asked Brian. ―Well, Jeff and James, and then some Hispanic guy I‘d never seen before. He refused to hook up with the dozen or so offers he got, so a least he‘s a loyal little souse,‖ Brian said. Shit. I pulled out $140.00 and handed it over. Is that enough to cover the aftercare,‖ I asked. ―Sure,‖ Brian said happily taking the cash. ―Glad I didn‘t have to call the police. I hate to do that to us fellow gay boys.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 132

―Thanks, I think,‖ I told Brian, and I balanced Chris who was much more collapsing than walking now. ―Do you think you could help me get him into the car?‖ Brian helped me drag-walk Chris to the Eclipse‘s front seat. ―Here ya go, babe,‖ I said as I dropped him into the passenger seat and fastened the seat belt over him. ―Thank you, I love you, I love you,‖ Chris said through a drunken haze. ―Just don‘t throw up on the leather, dumbass.‖ I thanked Brian again. He said, ―You‘re welcome back any time. But, Chris will have the police called if he tries to rip us off again. Or, if he gets to where he can‘t sit on a barstool.‖ ―Two good rules and two I‘ll count on you to enforce,‖ I said. On the way back to the apartment, Chris did indeed throw up on the leather. Dumbass. Getting him back to the apartment proved to be a battle. His body kept going limp. After having several Lucy-esque moments on the elevator ride and the apartment door, I managed to get him to the bed and allowed him to pass out. I checked the clock and it informed me it was now 4:00 AM. My, how time flied. The phone again rang as soon as I hit this pillow, but it was in fact 8:30. I answered the phone, ―Yeah, what?!‖ ―Excuse me,‖ Captain said at me in a very flat tone. ―Oh, sorry Captain,‖ I changed my voice to a genuine one. I was always happy to talk with the Captain. A very loud snore erupted from the still unconscious Chris. ―Did I catch you in an awkward position, Reece? I do so very much hope so!‖ Captain was relentless. ―Awkward, yes. Compromising, no,‖ I replied, hopping out of bed and walking toward the relative quiet of the kitchen. My feet cursed my movement, and I headed for the medication.

―Oh,well. Awkward will have to do for 8:30. I have a favor to ask of you. You know I have visiting staff in today.‖ ―Yes, I know. Bar at 6 at Jay‘s. I‘ve got that down, Captain.‖ ―It‘s not that. Well, I mean you are very much going to be there tonight. But, if I may continue on with the favor.‖ Favors only came in one type with Captain. Very challenging. A ―request‖ was only a bit of a challenge. But, a favor conveyed effort of considerable sort and of a personal nature. ―Shoot, Captain. How may I be of service to the Federation, today?‖ I asked. ―I‘ve got at 10:00 AM Introduction to Human Development lecture scheduled. I‘d consider it a favor (that word again) if you would take the class for me.‖ I paused. I was running on 4 hours of sleep. I had Chris in the apartment, his car at Hunk‘s, and now a favor from Dr. Sorell. ―Of course, Captain. Not a problem. Not a problem at all,‖ I crunched the oxycontin and swallowed it down. ―Good, Ensign. You might make Lieutenant before long. I‘ll leave the instructions on my desk. Just pick up where I left off. We are on Ellis. I‘ll see you this evening. Just place their homework on my desk,‖ she paused, ―Unless you‘d have time to grade it this weekend?‖ Another pause. She was measuring my resolve and I knew it. ―Of course, Captain. Anything for you, but I‘m going to need some holodeck hours.‖ She was delighted with the reply, ―I‘ll see if I can‘t arrange those rations. Good job, Reece. See you tonight.‖ The Captain‘s phone call left me sitting on the couch greeting the morning light. I was very thankful that I did not have a hangover. I had come close to accepting Jeff‘s invitation. Another snore erupted from the bedroom. I thought how very grateful he had better be that he was not waking up as a guest of the Lubbock‘s Sheriff‘s Department. Very grateful. But, how to solve the problem of a Chris in your bed with his car All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 134

at the bar? Frankly, I didn‘t want him holed up sleeping all day. He‘d better pick up a shift and make some restitution. I thought how to best make it happen, and I decided to have Jeff come over and drive Chris to the bar and then Chris could go home, change, go to work, fall off a cliff, whatever. I dialed Jeff‘s number, ―Jake and Nanook, we bake and we cook. How may we serve you this evening?‖ Jeff had very weird ways of answering the phone. Very, very weird. ―Hey,‖ I said. ―Reecer! Oh, do I have dish for you! You won‘t believe who‘s probably in jail this morning...‖ Jeff began to settle in for a gossip launch. I cut him off, ―I know about Chris‘ little bar visit last night.‖ Jeff said, ―Oh, really? And, how do you know that?‖ ―I got the 2:30 call from Brian. Thanks for giving my number to him, I think,‖ I said. ―But you owe me.‖ ―I owe you? How?‖ Jeff asked as if it were the first time he‘d ever been in debt to me. I replied, ―I understand there were numerous drinks on the tab I got stuck with last night. And, some of those belong to you and James.‖ ―Whaat?‖ Jeff have screeched half screamed. ―I didn‘t charge a single drink to you. Honest! Really!‖ Jeff was actually innocent for a change. Sort of. ―Well, you put drinks on Chris‘ tab. Where‘d you think Chris would get credentials to open a tab, Jeffrey?‖ I asked. ―He had a credit card. I assumed he just wanted to finance the fun for the evening. Besides, James paid him back for every drink with a little powder.‖ I felt anger rising again. Not only had Chris gotten himself falling down drunk, he‘d had the audacity to get high at the same time. I decided to bite my tongue. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 135

―That‘s neither here nor there. I need a favor, okay?‖ I asked. Jeff replied, ―Yes and children in Ethiopia want shoes. What‘s in it for me and, of course, what‘s the favor?‖ I recounted the scene for last night for Jeff and then the phone call I‘d just taken from Captain. ―Okay, so you want me to get James, drive to your place, pick up Ms. Precious, drop her off at her car with instructions to go get a job.‖ ―You got it. Can I count on you? I‘ve got to get showered and get ready to teach a class,‖ I asked Jeff. His reply, ― Okay, on one condition,‖ you take me to class with you one day next week so I can see the frat boys! ― ―Done, but I pick the class. Now y‘all come on. If I‘m in the shower, come on in.‖ ―Yes, ma‘am,‖ Jeff said. I picked up what I‘d need to change into for school then grabbed my car keys. It wasn‘t just my keys but the car, the college, and Captain‘s office. My trust levels for Chris had gone way down overnight, and I just felt better not leaving obvious temptation lying around. Turned out it was right move to make. I should have done it every time. I heard the door open and voices in the house as I showered. When I came out it was blessedly empty in the apartment. There was a note from Chris which just said, Sorry I fucked everything up. Call me if you want. Chris. I didn‘t have time to play nursemaid to hurt feelings. I was trying my best to hustle out of the apartment. Jeans, shirt, socks, shoes, toothpaste, socks go on first, then shoes not the other way around – I was having an uncoordinated morning at best.

Chapter Seventeen – Captain’s Command I pulled into the University‘s reserved lot at 9:45 and hurriedly made my way into the college and up the elevator to Captain‘s office. I got the look from her secretary I always received. Marci did not like students having access to any office of any kind, much less her boss‘. ―Don‘t take anything out of there you‘re not supposed to,‖ she called at me as I rushed into the office. After sorting through the piles on the Captain‘s desk, I found the file marked ―10A Mon/Wed/Fri Intro‖ and snagged it stuffing it into my messenger bag. ―I won‘t, Marci. Do you have a list of classrooms for Dr. Sorrell‘s class times?‖ The file had not indicated which of the over 200 classrooms the University could assign in the College of Human Science. Marci walked into the office as I was walking out, and we bumped into each other. She nearly knocked me off balance and for a moment I could see us sitting in a tripped pile with the folder‘s contents scattered about us. Fortunately, I got the door and Marcy said, ―Well for Pete‘s sake! Slow down!‖ 9:52. No time to slow down. ―Sorry about that, do you have the classroom or not?‖ I asked with pleading in my voice. Marcy picked up that the situation was dire, at least in my mind, and took mercy, ―It‘s over in the Atrium on the fourth floor. Room 412. ― ―Thank you, Marcy. I owe you big,‖ I said. ―Just bring me back a diet coke when you‘re done,‖ she replied. I found the classroom and it was exactly 9:59. I punched Captain‘s code into the door which made a little beep and allowed immediate entry. There was a vast ocean of young, traditional students who packed the small auditorium. It had a seating capacity for 200 students, and I believed they were all there. I took a position on the rolling chair and finally opened the Captains notes and looked for the scrawling of today‘s date. Captain usually had lecture notes on each topic. My plan was to read these slowly to the class lest I run out of things to say. I turned to the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 137

little tab for today‘s date and I found a simple note: ―Wing it.‖ Now, Captain had given enough lectures in Human Development to do one on any topic with her eyes shut. I however could not. I looked out on the faces of almost 200 students, all being respectful and waiting Captain‘s arrival. She had already trained them well. She had a habit of dismissing any talkers from the class and giving them a zero for the day. Apparently, the group had survived a few rounds of training because they were quiet, notebooks at the ready, looking for guidance. I decided I was in no shape to deliver a lecture on today‘s topic, ―Secondary Natural Influences in Identity Development.‖ So, I scanned the gradebook and made a quick plan. This was an Honors course, so I had a room full of fairly bright minds. I decided to punt. I stood up, went to the lectern and introduced myself. ―Hello, my name is Reece. I am professor Sorrell‘s graduate assistant. I‘m pleased to meet you, and I will be teaching this period. All of her rules still apply, so please stay focused with me.‖ I clipped the mic on as I moved toward the blackboard. It gave a little squelch over the speakers in the room so I turned it down and then began to write: Hot Topics in Human Development. ―Okay, class. We are going to do something different today. I want to know your opinions for a few hot topics for the course you may or may not have thought about. Let‘s pick a few hot topics. Anyone?‖ I waited nervously to see if the class was going to go along with my new tact on how the course should unfold. Most of them had arrived planning to do no more than write down a few notes and now they were being prodded to be productive on a different level. ―Okay, I‘ll write down one.‖ Never miss a chance to educate. I wrote down ―Gay and Lesbian Identity.‖ There were some uncomfortable giggles. Then I asked the class again. ―Sin!‖ came the shout from the back. I wrote it down on the board next to Gay/Lesbian Id. ―Okay, let‘s get one more.‖ ―Divorce,‖ came a voice much closer to the front. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 138

―Okay,‖ I said, ―Divorce. Now that‘s three topics that can be controversial in understanding them in terms of human development. What I want you to do is to pick two theories and address how these issues might happen. For example, if Maslow were to consider these he would be looking at disturbances in the Hierarchy of Needs.‖ The class was beginning to get the idea of what I was calling for. I‘d managed to use enough theory to convince them I was the real deal, and they had better go ahead and follow my lead. ―What I want is for you to take a few minutes, write down a couple of theory notes on each of these concepts on the board. I don‘t want us to comment if they are right or wrong. So, let‘s change ‗sin‘ to ‗crime‘‖. I erased the word sin and replaced it with crime. ―Okay, this is for extra credit, today. If you do it, and hand it in, you get a 100. If you don‘t then you get a 0. So, I‘d suggest you get busy for the next twenty minutes, and then we‘ll change things up a bit.‖ 200 or so pens began to fly and scribble. I took a seat again and began to study Captain‘s notes on the class. One thing I loved about Captain was that she was blatantly honest in the scrawls next to students‘ names. They ranged from ―potential brilliance‖ to ―future sociopath‖. Of course, it was in a code should anyone ever summon her books to a hearing they‘d never be able to figure out what went with which. However, I knew her well enough to read the ―needs encouragement‖ students, and she had identified three in the class thus far. I picked up the names and noted them Amy L., Karen J., and Richard D. I wrote them down and when the class had twenty minutes left I called them back to attention. ―Okay, that‘s good. Wherever you are, if you‘d just stop for now. Okay, I‘d like to know some of your ideas. This again isn‘t right or wrong. It‘s your opinion backed up by theory you‘ve written. Let‘s see, I pretended to be randomly scanning the notebook of names Captain had kept. How about an Amy L.?‖ ―Sure, Mr. Manley. I‘ll tell you what I‘ve written. It‘s about divorce.‖ What followed was a thoughtful and succinct expose on All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 139

women‘s oppression and divorce as a tool of empowerment. Amy backed up her opinion with good theory and good logical thought. I could see why Captain had given her the high praise. ―Great, Amy. I‘m very impressed. Okay, anyone else want to go?‖ The class was quiet when a hand finally went up. It was indeed Richard D. Richard spoke about crime and sociopathic behavior with someone with a passion for the rehabilitation of the criminal elements. Again, I was impressed with the detail and thought the young man had managed to squeeze in such a short period. I was just beginning to call on someone else when the bell rang and cut me off by surprise. ―Okay, ladies and gents. Please, please be sure your paper gets to the desk before you leave. Thank you for the hour.‖ I got a few ―thank you‘s― and ―I enjoyed that‖‘s from the students as they exited. As a teacher, those little nuggets are gold and wonderful to hear. I wrote a note to Captain about what I had done with the class and the feedback given as I waited for the papers to be turned in by the students filing out of the class. When everyone was gone, I exited the class stadium and sealed the door with Captains code. Obediently, the locks engaged and the lights dimmed. The room waited for the next bevy of students. I‘d survived. I returned the materials to Gwen‘s office and left her a note. ―See you at 6. First two rounds are on you, Captain.‖

I headed back to my car and drove to the apartment. The place was blessedly quiet. I threw the deadbolt to the unit and I popped another couple of Oxycontin, crunched and swallowed. I was so tired, and it felt incredibly good to pop up my feet. As the medication eased my mind, I found myself falling to sleep to catch up on the rest I‘d been deprived of the night before. I woke up and the sun was beginning to go down. I checked the time and it was 5:05. I launched myself up and began to get ready for meeting Captain and company. Jay‘s was one of the only places in town that you could dress a bit for dinner and not feel stupid. A jacket said style there, while at every other restaurant in Lubbock a jacket said All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 140

overkill. However, I was dressing to impress, and a jacket and tie was going to be called for. I crunched the pain meds as the feet protested the movement from room to room. By 5:40 I was ready to head out. The feet had quieted and the reflection in the mirror was as good as it got. As I was gathering up my keys the phone rang, I looked at the caller ID. It was Jeff and I took a second to pick up the phone. He was upset. ―Reece, we‘ve got to talk. I‘m coming over, okay?‖ ―Come on over, Jeffrey, but I won‘t be here. I‘ve got a function to go to, and I‘m walking out the door. I‘ll be home by 9 or so.‖ ―You really need to hear about this, Reece,‖ Jeff was genuinely upset. I could always tell because the playful tone was out of his voice. Almost nothing made Jeff take any part of life very seriously, so something was up. ―Jeff, I‘ll deal with it tonight, whatever it is. If you‘re not okay, just come over and I‘ll be home. We‘ll talk then. Now, I‘ve got to go.‖ I hung up and headed out the door. God only knew what I‘d be dealing with when I got home, but I had a chance to escape all of it for a few hours for the life I really wanted.

Chapter Eighteen – Captain and Crew I pulled up at Jay‘s and saw the Captain‘s car already in the parking lot. I pulled in the space next to her little Datsun covered with feminist bumper stickers including ―Why did God make man? Just to annoy women.‖ It hung below a peace symbol and a rainbow flag. The vehicle looked like it belonged to a Berkley scholarship student, not an established and tenured Professor. It was just another thing that made Captain immensely reachable and grounded. I walked in past the reception to the side bar of Jay‘s Café. It was a bastion of class for Lubbock. The bar was long mahogany with paintings by local area artists hanging along the back wall. Captain was busy trying to instruct the bartender in the crafting of a perfect gimlet cocktail. The bartender looked like a cross between focused and annoyed. His 6‘ frame was being guided by a short, pudgy demanding woman. ―Annoying the staff again, I see,‖ I greeted Captain. ―Stupidity in any form is so exhausting,‖ she answered. ―You‘re in Lubbock. No wonder you are tired all the time!‖ ―I‘ll drink to that. At least I will as soon as the barkeep can pour out a libation resembling what I ordered.‖ I took a seat next to her and the bartender looked at me first for help, then seeing the alliance between the Captain and me, shifted his body, ―What can I get started for you?‖ ―I‘ll have the same,‖ I said. He spun back around to his mixology while I gave the Captain a quick hug. I was glad to see her, and I immediately felt connected, calm, and collected. As the bartender set out two drinks on the bar, Captain took one and sniffed it. She lifted the class and clicked it against mine. ―Here‘s to Friday,‖ she said. ―You have no idea,‖ I returned the toast.

―So, it looks like you enjoyed the class today. I liked your exercise,‖ said Captain. ―Yeah, Captain, that was cute. You couldn‘t have told me it was a class of 200,‖ I replied. ―What fun would it be to put you in a situation I knew you could handle? This way we were both pleased with the results!‖ She looked at me with a twinkle. She was proud of me and that was worth the whole experience to me. ―Okay, but next time, let‘s try to choose low limit challenges. I can‘t pull out miracle work every day. Don‘t think I‘ll get creative enough to please you every time.‖ ―Why, Reece! I‘m surprised at you. You know I allow one mistake per lifetime. I‘m certain you will make yours. However, here‘s to that not happening for years and years to come.‖ Another clink of the class and a little group of people entered into the Café. It was our Honored Guests and Captain arose to greet them. A little elbow to my side from Captain told me I was to rise and greet them as well. ―Hello Professor and welcome. This is my graduate assistant, Reece, he is working at some post-Doctoral work in Human Development.‖ I was indicated by her right hand. ―I‘m very glad to meet you,‖ I took the visiting professor‘s hand and shook. It was the light grip of the Latina culture. ―Please have a seat.‖ The rest of the group exchanged hugs with Gwen and hello‘s with me. As the conversation began in earnest it was like setting at an intellectual buffet. They were discussing studies and research. One was taking a look at influences of American culture on Mexican girls via the U.S. media. Another was following battering laws and their drastic changes in the Latin-America in the last ten years. I had a hard time following them, but Captain dipped in and out of them with ease. I was in over my head but in a wonderful way. ―Reece,‖ out of nowhere the Captain addressed me as I was following the increase of battering complaints in San Miguel de Allente

being discussed. ―Why don‘t you tell them a bit about what you are hoping out of getting out of your studies here at Texas Tech‖, she asked. I thought about it for a minute and tried to formulate an intelligent sounding way to state my main interest in the field, ―well, um. It‘s...‖ A nod from Captain said to go ahead, it was okay to speak out. ―You see, I‘m interested in later in life friendships among women, after their husbands have died. You see, I think they replace the primary relationship with another woman and sometimes this forms friendships for the first time for women. I mean of course, deep friendships. I‘m also interested in the affectional attraction being present in the women who choose other women for late in life friendships. I mean is it just because women are more abundant in the outer age markers, or are these women lesbians who never had a chance to explore their true orientation?‖ I managed to say the entire thing in the span of about two seconds. I inhaled, grabbed my cocktail and swallowed down the rest of the contents of the glass. I was more than surprised to see every eye in the group focused on me in wonder, including Captain. ―Um, of course, I could just be way off the mark,‖ I stuttered. ―Reece, it‘s a brilliant idea and concept to explore!‖ The Captain clapped her hands together. ―And, I thought you were simply here to be my rent-a-slave!‖ The group laughed and then it happened. Two of them at first. And, then, suddenly the whole group was having a lively discussion about the words I had just uttered. Questions. They had many questions about my idea and the whole thing became a surreal test of my limits of knowledge. We moved onto dinner, Captain proudly sitting me to her right. The questions and comments continued through dinner right up to the dessert. ―Reece this all fascinating, but we do need to spend a little time on the University Grants we‘ve made to Professor Garcia,‖ Captain announced and pulled out her statements from the University on how grants were given. She started to launch into the generosity of the Women‘s Studies Program and how it could best be used in our visiting All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 144

groups work. Then the unbelievable happened. The conversation shifted back to my topic. Captain was all but being ignored, and I was afraid she was going to be angry. Instead, she had the look of satisfied pride. She had done it on purpose! She had tried to interrupt the group just to show me the power of my topic and the interest it was sure to evoke. ―I told you that you had a winning idea for research on your hands,‖ whispered the Captain to me. We continued through dessert with me borrowing a notebook from Gwen to make notes about the study ideas being thrown out. Although I had only two cocktails, I felt drunk. The interest in my ideas and concepts were so powerful that I had brought an evening of conversation to academia. It was one of the best feelings I would have in life. Finally, Gwen told the group, she had to retire and asked for the check. The group elected to stay and return to the bar, but I decided to join Gwen in the exit from the group. I was already swimming in my head enough without going on to the bar for more conversations. We said our goodbyes to the group and I walked Captain out to her car. ―Outstanding, Reece, really outstanding,‖ Captain said. ―It‘s a wonderful topic with almost no past work done on the topic. You may have a published article out of it before you know it. Absorb and enjoy the evening, Ensign. You deserved it.‖ Captain gave me a quick embrace and slid down into her Datsun. I went around and drove the short hop back to my apartment at Park Tower.

Chapter Nineteen – Back to the Boys I was so high on the night‘s experience that I almost missed the fact that James‘s car was parked in the guest slots in the parking garage. But, it was there and I rode the elevator up not wanting to re-enter whatever drama awaited me beyond my apartment door. ―Hello. Get out!‖ I said as I walked through the door. I did not want to seem grumpy, but I did not want to lose the high of the evening. James, still not sure of what to make of me, started to do just that when Jeff came swishing around the corner. He wore the Addidas nylon workout pants that make the ―shh shh‖ and so swishing was a word that worked. ―Oh no you don‘t, Mary,‖ Jeff said to James. ―Reece and I have to have a little talk.‖ Jeff grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom, where I sprawled out on the bed. It felt good to be home and have the feet up. They had been in pain since mid-way through the incredible night, growing worse with each conversation, and I had chosen to ignore them. Now, they were out for revenge and raged at me as a laid down. ―Jeffrey, I‘m so tired, can‘t this wait until tomorrow?‖ Jeff had known me long enough to know when I complained about something it was really bothering me. ―Sit up and forget thou woes,‖ Jeff said in his best Charleston Heston Moses voice. With the lisp it sounded more like Elton John in his in the closet years. Either way, I raised a hand in protest. ―No, no. Shoo, shoo, begone.‖ Jeff tossed a little baggie of white powder on my chest, then a straw. ―I‘ve got to talk to you so get yourself out of pain and into focus.‖ I know why it was getting harder to resist the powder. It promised instant relief, and it delivered the promise. I sat up, grabbed the bag and straw, and inhaled deeply. Again, I was awarded with an almost instant relief from the pain with enough energy to string lights on all 119 balconies of Park Tower.

―Damn. Damn that‘s a good thing,― I said to Jeff. ―Now, thank you, but get out!‖ ―Uh-uh, honey, guess who was out at the bar tonight as soon as the doors open?‖ ―You?‖ it was an easy question to get right. ―And, James and probably the bartender and...‖ Jeff interrupted, ―And, Ms. Christopher Norton, a/k/a your main squeeze!‖ Lord, I thought, I suddenly felt so good and indulging in the gossip about to come felt like something I was definitely up to doing. ―Not so tired now, are you?‖ Jeff asked. ―So, Chris was at the club? What‘s the big deal?‖ I asked. ―Still at the club,‖ Jeff corrected, ―and he is getting many drinks purchased for him. Of course, I went up to say hello, I mean, I didn‘t want to be rude, and you won‘t believe what that psycho bitch of yours told me!‖ Jeff rushed out the words in a one second launch. I swung my legs over the bed bringing me to a sitting position by him on the bed. ―Okay, Jeff, I‘ll bite, what did he say?‖ Jeff leaned close as if he had the Secret to the Universe to share with me, ―That bitch told me I was dead if I told you he was at the bar and not at work. And, he meant it. He meant it!‖ Jeff waiting for a dramatic action leaned back to give me plenty of room to play out whatever exciting response I might offer. I‘d learned at least not to act impetuously off of one of Jeff‘s statements as the whole truth. ―James, oh James, my boy, come here for a moment,‖ I called much to Jeff‘s disappointment. ―Fine!‖ Jeff said and stood up. ―Ask James! He was there, too.‖ James appeared in the doorway timidly. James was a tall, good looking young man with a body like a male model, thin but toned. He had All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 147

graceful walk and posed every time he stopped moving, even though he didn‘t mean to do so. ―Yeah,‖ James asked. Jeff swished over to his side and started to whisper something to him when I asked, ―James, I understand Chris threatened to kill Jeff? Is that true?‖ ―Well, um, yeah. Chris is there and he‘s pretty drunk. At first he was acting nice and then he got paranoid or something. He told Jeff he‘d kill him if Jeff told you he was there. I don‘t think it was a real threat, but, it wasn‘t a very cool thing to say,‖ James summed up. Jeff pushed himself away from James in mock shock. ―Hey, this is my story!‖ Jeff took control of the conversation and I waved James to a seat. Still timid, James took a seat at the computer desk. Jeff launched on into his report with flourish, ―Yes, he did say I was a dead man if I told you! I can‘t believe I‘m going to be ignored on this topic. It scared me the way he looked at me!‖ Jeff said exhaling every word excitedly. ―I tell you, his eyes locked on mine and I could see he was dead serious. ―Okay, Jeffrey, what do you want to have happen?‖ I asked. ―Come back to Huck‘s with us! Come back and you‘ll see him and how he‘s acting. Well, come on and let‘s go!‖ I felt good as the feet had calmed down, and I was reveling in the memories of Jays. The last thing I wanted to do was go to the gay bar. I wanted to stay and journal about the great ideas I‘d had tonight during dinner. Captain‘s praise and the genuine interest from the professors gathered there. I wanted to think about the inclusion Captain had offered me and the right things I had done to get in the Captains good graces..... ―You‘re not even listening to me!‖ Jeff interrupted the revelry in my head and I came back to focus on the problem Jeff was so enthusiastically offering. ―You‘ve got to come and tell him he can‘t All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 148

threaten people and just get away with it. You‘ve got to tell him to leave me alone!‖ Jeff pleaded. ―Well,‖ I said, ―You could call the police and report a threat.‖ ―Oh, hell no. No police,‖ Jeff said, ―Besides what would they say about that little bit of white powder on your lip?‖ I brushed my face and it dawned on me how ugly police involvement could be. I thought about it for a moment. Then I realized I had anger rising in me and it was directed at Chris. He was supposed to work a shift. He‘d told me that he‘d picked up a shift. He told me he just needed the $50 I loaned him to pay for gas and to be able to eat. But, now I know where the money had gone. I became more angry. How dare he threaten my best little gay Gilligan? Would the Skipper put up with it, oh hell no, Mary Ann. ―Okay, let‘s go,‖ I said to Jeff. James spoke up, ―Do you mind if I just stay here. This thing seems to be between you guys. Or, I‘ll go home if you want me to and take Jeffrey.‖ ―Uh-uh,‖ Jeff said, ―I‘m going. That bitch has got to learn that I do not accept threats.‖ James thought about it. Then decided there was nothing to do with Jeff when he‘d decided a course of action. ―I‘ll be here watching TV and waiting until you guys come back. Jeff and I took the elevator down and Jeff was singing along to the radio in just a few moments. We came to a red light and Jeff reached over and pushed the button to lower the top and cranked up the heater. In an instant the top was down and the night seemed to stretch out forever in both directions. I looked at the clock. It was shortly after midnight. Prime hours for the gay bar scene. When we arrived, the music was pulsing from the walls and we found a parking space recently evacuated. Cher welcomed us to the club with the beat of If I Could Turn Back Time blasting out over the crowd. It was an eclectic mix to be sure: Turncoat frat boys exploring the other side of the tracks, a few packs of straight women who had come to dance without the hassle of boyfriends. And, a few elders still perched just as they were on my first visit. We All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 149

made our way to the bar and Brian shook his head as we approached. ―Jeff‘s still got 20 minutes before I serve him again, but what can I get for you, Reece?‖ I ordered a rum and coke and Jeff and I made it back across the dance floor to a back corner booth. I scanned the crowd for Chris just as Jeff did. However, Jeff was standing on top of the booth‘s seat so he could get a better view. ―I don‘t see him,― I began. ―Why don‘t we just go. We missed him.‖ ―The hell we did,‖ Jeff said, ―He‘s on the dance floor at about, um, 2 o‘clock.‖ I stood up and scanned the area where Jeff had supposedly spotted him. At first I missed him. Then, I saw the signature white cap. He was dancing with a young Latino man and they were arm and arm. They seemed to be enjoying every moment of themselves. Anger became a kind of rage which was soon unbridled as I walked onto the dance floor. Jeff was quick to follow behind me. I plowed through the crowd. Anyone who dared to catch my eye immediately deferred. There is a human instinct that moves our eyes away and down from anyone holding the look that was on my face. I reached Chris and his little friend. ―Hi there,‖ I said to the guy dancing with him, ―I need a moment with my boyfriend.‖ The guy stood there for a moment confused then, slowly getting what I was saying began to back off quickly as he spent a few minutes looking in my eyes. Chris had turned to Jeff, ―You little shit. I told you what would happen,‖ Chris seethed at Jeff. I reached up and pushed Chris. I didn‘t mean to push him as hard as I did but the push ended up being more of a punch and it landed right in Chris‘ chest. His eyes went from rage, to surprise, to pain, then I lost contact with them as he tripped backwards and landed on the dance floor hard. Seeing him down on the ground broke me of my rage, and I felt embarrassed as a dozen people turned to see what had started out as a push and ended up as punch of sizable impact. Chris began to scramble back as I reached down to help him up. ―Chris, give me your hand,‖ I called over the crowd.

―Okay, no more hitting, though,‖ he shouted above the Black Eyed Peas advising us that we loved their lovely lady lumps. ―Sorry,‖ I shouted and lifted him up off of the dance floor. The guy who had been dancing with Chris was still standing on the east of the dance floor and finally walked away as Chris followed me back to the booth. ―Wait, I need a drink,‖ Chris said. He needed another drink about as bad as Kirstie Alley needed another weight loss endorsement. Still, I dispatched Jeff to the bar with a $10. ―Rum and coke with lime,‖ I told Jeff as I linked my hand with Chris‘ and we walked to the table. His hand lay limp in mine as we walked then he tightened the hold interlacing our fingers. I could hear him beginning to break down behind me and as we arrived at the booth table he had turned on the full waterworks. ―Stop crying, Chris, I‘m sorry about the push. I didn‘t mean for it to be a hard hit. I‘m just very angry to find you here. I thought you‘d be at work,‖ I said. Chris continued to sob and just look down at the carpet. ―Look,‖ I said, ―You don‘t owe me anything and if we are not at a place to be exclusive, you just need to tell me that. I just need to adjust my emotions to where I don‘t think of you as a boyfriend but as a guy I date occasionally. And, that‘s what I‘ve got to do if you‘re going to pull this kind of stuff.‖ Jeff arrived with the drink and rolled his eyes at the sobbing Chris, still looking at the floor. ―Your cocktail, princess.‖ Jeff started to slip into the booth. ―I need a few minutes, Jeffrey. Go frolic for a minute. Keep the change and buy someone a beer.‖ Jeff thought for a moment and started to protest. ―Frat boy at the bar looks confused and thirsty,‖ I said to Jeff indicating a young guy, impossibly young, below 21. Jeff saw what I saw and decided that the young man wearing the Kappa Alpha mixer t-shirt did indeed hold more interest than a sobbing Chris Norton.

―Okay,‖ Jeffrey replied, ―but I need another ten. Consider it a delivery tip.‖ I fished out another ten dollar bill and handed it over. Jeff snapped it off and headed for his newly acquired target. ―I don‘t know what to say,‖ Chris finally managed between the sobs. ―Just say the truth,‖ I said. It was something I assumed Chris could do at the time. Over the course of the next two months I would learn Chris and truth just were not going to ever meet. But, at that moment, I sincerely waited for the response. ―No,‖ Chris said, ―I want to be your boyfriend. I don‘t want to be just some guy,‖ he managed between sobs. ―I care about you so much.‖ ―Then why lie to me? Why threaten Jeff, Chris? That‘s not necessary. I never asked for you to do anything but be honest with me,‖ I said. He went back to sobbing, ―I wouldn‘t hurt Jeff or anybody, not really. I just didn‘t want you to know I was here tonight. I just...‖, Chris finally raised his face and met my eyes. The grey-green ocean of his eyes held a thousand different thoughts, but they were clear of any anger or rage. But, they were troubled eyes. ―There is just a lot you need to know about me, Reece, and you‘re not going to want to be my boyfriend once you hear it.‖ He returned to sobbing and his eyes dropped again. I looked around and Jeff and frat boy were headed to the bathroom. Poor frat boy, he had no idea what waited for him. ―You can tell me anything, Chris,‖ I said, ―And, I promise I‘m not going to hate you for it. I don‘t really care what it is.― Chris again took my hand and interlaced my fingers and squeezed. The grey-green oceans came back into my view and I became lost in those eyes for a moment. ―Come on, let‘s go home and straighten things out.‖ Chris nodded in agreement. Jeff deferred to staying at the bar. As we entered, James was not surprised to find Jeff missing from among us. Chris looked at James sheepish in tone and form, ―James, I‘m sorry about tonight.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 152

―Well, that‘s okay, no harm, no foul,‖ James responded and shook Chris hand. Then to me, ―Any idea where Miss Jeffrey is at?‖ ―Yeah, he wanted to stay at the bar so I‘m sure you‘ll find him there,‖ I said. ―Forget that, I‘m going home and napping. Let little flighty flight flight get it out of his blood for the night.‖ James hugged me, shook Chris‘ hand and then took off for his home in the Tech Ghetto. After James left, Chris was all over me in a desperate way. I felt the flags go up in the back of my mind. I knew he was trying to fill some need that wasn‘t going to be sated by lovemaking. But, the weakness of the flesh was something I also understood. We spent hours entwined with only the blinking lights of downtown Lubbock to keep us company. That and a single song tract, repeated over and over. (I am No) Superman by the Dave Matthews Band. It played endless repeats while I lost time and space and meaning with Chris in the physical side of love that night. Both exhausted, the crisis of the night happily forgotten, Chris slipped my arm over him as he lay his head on my chest and began to snore. I was soon asleep, too, forgetting to take my medication, forgetting the report due on Captain‘s desk by 3 the next day and mostly forgetting that fear that I was never going to find love. Wonderful and again wonderful. Sleep found me feeling whole and complete.

Chapter Twenty – Jeffrey and the McDonald’s Moment I was startled awake by the doorbell. Then a click of the lock and Jeffrey‘s familiar voice, ―Hide the children, hide the girls, it‘s Jeffrey Guinn done in curls!‖ He chortled happily as he closed the apartment door and, finding the living room empty, headed down the hall. ―Oh, my! Cover that up! I brought breakfast not Pepto Bismol!‖ Jeff said finding the naked Chris sprawled on the bed. I was grateful I was a cover hog and was clothed in sheets. I flung the cover over the still unconscious and quite naked Chris. ―Poor thing,‖ Jeff said, ―I can see why he‘s a bottom.‖ ―What are you doing here this early, Jeff?‖ I asked him. ―I‘m the breakfast fairy. Wake up sleepy head! Oops, did somebody forget their pills last night?‖ he asked as he saw the grimace on my face as the feet finally made their situation known. ―Yeah, ouch, fuck,‖ I said. ―I bet you used that line last night, too. I‘ll grab ‗em for ya.‖ Jeff left for the medicine drawer in the kitchen, and I leaned over and whispered in Chris‘ ear, ―Wakeup, handsome, wake up. The nelly one hath arrived.‖ Chris eye‘s popped open, and he sat up as if he were about to block a blow coming from an unseen attacker. ―Whoa, babe. You‘re safe, you‘re safe, everything‘s okay.‖ Chris looked at me and for a second I was afraid he wasn‘t going to even recognize me. ―You okay, Chris?‖ Chris shook the fog from his head and, in his best caveman voice say, ‗Chris confused. Chris head hurt. Christ glad to be here. But, you bad man for waking Chris. Chris sleep now,‖ and thudded back against the pillow. Jeff arrived back in the room palming one of the pain medication tablets while offering me two other with a bottle of water from my fridge. ―Nurse Jeffrey, reporting. I don‘t know nothing about birthing no babies, though!‖ he patted my belly through the sheet. ―But lords I

do‘s know about pain. Here you go and chomp and swallow. Again this shouldn‘t be unfamiliar words.‖ ―Your know, Jeffrey, I really do count those pills,‖ I said as I accepted the two pain pills he offered. ―Including the one you have tucked away.‖ Jeff feigned being hurt by my comment. ―I just brought three in case you needed three. Really, I swear. One little $500 ATM oopsie and you‘re marked for life. ―Gimme, Jeffrey,‖ I said he handed over the third pill with a pout. The script said 1 to 3 tablets every 2 to 4 hours as needed for pain, so I knew I was in the clear on the dosage. ―And, what‘s this about breakfast? I had spotted a large coke on his way in and it sounded like just the thing. ―What do you expect, now?‖ Jeff asked, ―Breakfast in bed.‖ ―Hey, I‘m practically naked here. Why don‘t you give us both a break? I‘ll be in in just a minute, off to the living room with you and no peeking.‖ ―Well okay, Mister Sister. I shan‘t eyeball nothing,‖ Jeff said heading toward the living room. ―Does he live here?‖ asked Chris rousing over to come to rest on his elbow. I laughed a little, ―He certainly seems to think he does.‖ ―Can‘t you get a filter for him or some kind? Perhaps a Nelly Net? Electrified version?‖ Chris complained as I dressed in some shorts, shirt and cap. ―Hey, it‘s liquid and food Jeff bought. This happens once every 1000 years, so I‘m going to act on it. Get yourself up, too. You and Jeff need to have a little sober round table.‖ I walked in to find Jeff flipping through the channels and eating a Big Mac. The ketchup was already spilling out on the sofa. ―Jeff, that‘s leather, you know. Ketchup can‘t be good for it,‖ I said.

―Oops, sorry. Well, it‘s a cow, cows go well with ketchup. Right? Okay then so I was just getting a little ahead in the food chain.‖ Jeff began whipping the little spot as I tossed him a kitchen towel. Then it dawned on me. The food was from McDonalds. It was lunch. That meant it was at least 11. I had a paper due in Capain‘s inbox by 3 from the one course I was taking from her, Advanced Statistical Models for Human Research Campaigns. The paper needed four more hours of work at a minimum. Shit. ―What time is it Jeff?‖ I asked. ―About 11:15 or so, honey. I just left the last awake boy over at Brian‘s house and was heading home when I saw Lay Golden Arches and decided to stop and buy you brunch. I‘m a good Spegel or what?‖ Jeff said referring to the creature in the Lord of the Rings' trilogy. ―It‘s Smegal, and yes, you are a good Smegal. Master loves.‖ I grabbed a coke and a hamburger from the offerings. ―But you‘re going to have to do me a favor again with Chris since his car is at Shallowater...‖ Jeff cut me off. ―Not only no, but hell no. The last time I did that Miss Psycho in there threatened to kill me, remember. I may be a good Smegal, but I don‘t want to end up on a Missing Poster.‖ Jeff began to rattle off, then another thought popped in my head. ―Hey,‖ looking at Jeff, ―How did you get money to go by Lay Mac‘s? You usually don‘t have money to buy the free ice water. When did you strike it rich?‖ Jeff stopped and said, ―But, I want to give everybody at least one second chance, and if you want me to drive Chris out to Shallowater it‘s not a problem really,‖ Jeff offered avoiding the question. He felt guilty about something. ―Jeffrey, where did you get the money‖, I half asked half demanded from him. The last memory of giving Jeff money had been at

the club, and I‘d only spotted him a $10. At least I thought it was a $10. I got up and started walking toward my wallet. ―Oh, my, of course I‘ll be happy to take him home. I mean, where are my manners? You are kind enough...‖ I reached my wallet and fished out my bills. There was a hundred missing. ―Jeff! What the hell!‖ ―I didn‘t take it, Reece, I didn‘t take it! Remember last night when you meant to give me a ten?‖ he asked. ―What do you mean meant to, Jeffrey?‖ ―Well, I took it and assumed I‘d be dancing with Mr. Hamilton but imagine my surprise Mr. Franklin staring up at me with that extra zero! ― Great I‘d fished out the wrong bill to give Jeff. Instead of a ten, I‘d given him a 100. ―After Scott, that was the boy‘s name, the cute Frat boy, fine as hell, you remember him?‖ ―Jeffrey I don‘t want to hear how well you got laid last night.‖ ―I‘m just reminding you, that‘s all. Don‘t get so huffy, now. We came out of the bathroom and you and Miss Psycho had departed for parts unknown.‖ From behind us, by the bedroom, came Chris‘ voice. ―You know, I‘m getting tired of being called Miss Psycho,‖ Chris announced pulling on one sock and hopping up and down on one foot. ―Hi, Chris. Sorry. You look fabulous this morning. Some people look like hell after an overnight, but you are just gorgeous,‖ Jeff spouted compliments for a few moments until I cut him off. I had to laugh. The situation was absurd. Jeff looked like a kid with his hand caught in the superglue of the cookie jar. ―Okay,‖ I said, ―Essentially, I fucked up, and I gave you $100.00 instead of $10.00. So, take away, say $20 for drinks and $15 for this, I should still have about ....ummm $65.00 in change coming.‖ I held out my knife.

―Not exactly,‖ Jeff said. But, then, almost proudly, ―you do have some coming back. Jeff opened up his wallet and took the entire contents of the bill fold compartment. Between pieces of string, two condoms and three sticks of Doublemint Gum I counted out $16.‖ ―This is it, Oh, and this,‖ Jeff handed over two quarters in his pocket. He presented them as if they were hunks of gold well worth the difference. ―See, I‘m trustworthy and loyal!‖ Jeff returned to the couch were Chris had managed to find a coke and the other Big Mac. ―Please, help yourself,‖ Jeff said a little indignantly. Chris opened his mouth and said ―do you want it back now‖ between chews. ―That‘s gross,‖ Jeff said. ―No, it‘s psycho,‖ Chris said adding a little menacing laugh that bothered both Jeff and me. ―Eww. Stop,‖ Jeff said. I walked over to the couch and told Jeff, ―Move It or lose it‖ as I sat down and flipping the recliner out at the same time. I had to wrap up this little part of my world and get to the paper I had to have in to Captain in a few hours. ―Okay, guys. First off, Chris, please apologize for the misunderstanding before the two of you guys.‖ Chris thought about it for a moment, then simply said, ―I‘m sorry I threatened you Jeff. I‘m just not used to liking somebody as much as I like Reece and I‘m going to make some mistakes. But, you didn‘t do anything wrong,‖ Chris concluded the short apology. It helped that he had admitted he thought of me as his boyfriend. Of course, we‘d gone on three dates, had two fights and one terroristic threat. Looking back I really would have to adjust my definition of ―boyfriend‖. ―Thanks, Chris. I appreciate that,‖ I said and then, ―And, Jeff you accept Chris‘ apology and apologize for calling him Miss Pscyho.‖ Jeff thought it over and started to protest a couple of times but I kept my eyes

squarely focused on him. ―Okay, yes, of course, I‘m sorry I called you Miss Psycho and accept your apology, too.‖ ―That‘s okay, Jeff,‖ Chris said. ―After all, it‘s Mr. Psycho!‖ He playfully took Jeff into a chokehold and tickled him. Jeff responded with half-hearted protests. Jeff simply couldn‘t be really offended by anyone as handsome as Chris making any kind of body contact. ―Lord, what have I done,‖ I thought as a finished off the hamburger. ―Guys, I hate to do it to you, but you‘ve both got to clear out. I‘ve got homework – serious homework, and it‘s not going to happen with either one you here. I don‘t suppose Jeff could get you home and you not kill him, Chris?‖ Both began to have pouty looks on their faces. ―I was hoping I could at least get a shower,‖ Chris began. It was going to be a slow battle, I thought. ―Okay, never mind. I‘ve got access to what I need at the Graduate Office Lab. Let me shower and then I‘ll leave the place to you guys. I won‘t be home until late, though, because I‘ll need to hang out and see if the captain needs me.‖ Both Jeff and Chris seemed much more happy with this plan and with my flatscreen television, sofa, and well stocked liquor and fridge to keep them company. ―I‘ll be out in a minute. The pain had come down to a dull roar in my feet, and I headed for the shower, stopping to grab the clothes I intended to wear and, then, back to grab my wallet and car keys. Neither Jeff nor Chris noticed as they were busy fighting over the remote control, content to kill the rest of the day on the coach with no real responsibilities. ―Chris,‖ I called, ―be sure to let your mom know where and when you are. Oh, and you guys lock up when and if you ever leave.‖ I entered the bathroom, opened the back drawer, found my tissue box hiding place and deposited my keys and billfold in the back of the drawer and was just stepping into the shower when the bathroom door open. Damn, I had to start remember locks. It was Chris. ―I did not want to waste water,‖ Chris said undressing.

―I don‘t have time,‖ I said regretting that I really did not have time for any distractions. ―I know, babe,‖ Chris said innocently. ―Just doing my best to save the planet on drop of water at a time.‖ I begrudgingly allowed Chris to enter the shower. He didn‘t just save the planet. He managed to do it twice in the 15 minute shower we took. Sometimes, I was thankful for Al Gore. Save the planet, indeed. I stepped out dried off and left Chris in the shower singing happily to himself. As I slipped out the wallet and keys, I noticed Chris glance from the shower to the mirror. ―Jeff has sticky fingers,‖ I explained. ―I‘m sure he does. I‘m sure he does.‖ I excused myself to my bedroom and heard Jeff happily talking to the TV or a phone acquaintance, I couldn‘t tell which. I finished dressing, walked into the living room. Chris was still in the shower. ―Jeff,‖ I said, I leave you in charge. You know what that means and how bad it could be if something happens. ―Gotcha. What do you want me to do with Mr. Slip N Slide in there?‖ ―Try to take him out to his house. I‘m tired and really want to come home to quiet. Be as persuasive as you can be. But,‖ I grabbed my wallet out of my pants, ―here‘s $20 for food tonight. Not for beer, not for drugs, for food. And, promise me you‘ll get by IHOP and get that application in.‖ Jeff did his little happy dance at the receipt of the $20 and, if he‘d been a puppy, he would have been happily licking my nose. As, he was not a puppy, the behavior put me off. I gathered everything I needed, then, paused, got a blank DVD out from behind the computer and took a minute to save the homework I‘d done on the paper. With everything done, Chris still in the shower, and Jeff happy as a puppy, I grabbed my pain medication, stuffed my messenger bag full of

everything I could get into it, looked at Jeff seriously. ―Really, quiet, no people when I get home.‖ ―Aye-aye,‖ sir, Jeff faked a salute. The shower finally cutoff as I exited the apartment.

Chapter Twenty One – Making the Grade I hurried into the elevator and pulled into campus at 12:30 PM. I walked through the catacombs of the Graduate Student Resources Library and found half dozen students waiting to use the computers. I pulled out my cell and dialed Captain‘s office. Esther, her secretary answered. The Captain wasn‘t in and wouldn‘t be until 4 for her lecture. That meant the super fast, super-connected system on her desk was free. Since I had a standing invitation, I took it to mean anytime. I gathered up my little pile of things from the Graduate Student Resources desk and headed over to the Captain‘s prestigious office. I slid her fob over the door pad, and it obediently opened. A good thing they didn‘t have retinal scans. I found my way through the back office through a half dozen doors reading ―Faculty Only‖ to come up on the inner door to Captain‘s office. It was indeed abandoned, and I slipped my papers down on her desk. I arranged myself on her computer and opened up a Power Point presentation. I didn‘t have enough to impress on paper but a few searches here and there on the Internet would give me what I needed to doctor up my C‘s worth of material into an A presentation. After all, the term she had used was ―project‖ not ―paper‖. Although almost all the students would assume it meant ―paper,‖ I noted the difference, and knew I could pull off a great presentation in two hours for my study synopsis. After all, I‘d been doing the same thing in the corporate world for quite some time. I always thought Richard Gere gave great advice in Chicago in the song, Razzle Dazzle, and since we were peer graded and not given grades from the Captain herself, I set out in earnest to prepare a multimedia presentation of mundane facts and figures. Few people knew about Google Images back then, and I could call up pictures of the theorists I was covering. I made the fade in of quotes and images pop up and down from slide to slide. Within an hour and a half, I had a polished presentation of the information on a case study using three of the four statistical methods we had learned, an introduction on the author of the method, photos of the studies charts and plots and overall an enthralling All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 162

compares and contrasts table of pros and cons. Sarcasm came easy when academic information was the topic. But, it would pass. One more touch a printed out a customized CD Jewel Case, ―Reece Manley, DD, M.Ed., Homework Project 1, HDFS 8402, Dr. Gwen Sorrell, Ph.D., Professor‖ The clock read 2:58 as I slid the sheet of paper stapled around the CD Jewel case and shoved it into the time stamp device and handed it into Captain‘s slot. Two minutes to spare, and an hour to kill before said class conveyed. I decided I had better restore Captain‘s office to the exact order I‘d left it in. Much to my surprise as I popped back in through the Faculty Only door leading to her office, she was walking in through her main door chattering with Esther, who was delivering first one message than the next. To my absolute dread, I realized which folder lay on top of the desk. HDFS 8402 Grading Procedures. It was closed and I had not noticed it before. The possible ramifications ran through my mind. From the least, being booted from the program, to the worst, Captain thinking I would ever cheat on anything I would present to her as my work. After all, I was not here for Texas Tech University‘s offerings, I was here for Gwen Sorrell, Ph.D. and the teaching about human identity she could offer. ―Why, Hello, Ensign,‖ she began. ―Come in, come in. Or, rather looks like come back in, I should say.‖ ―Hi Captain,‖ I said, ―I was just in here finishing up some homework for class this afternoon.‖ She was busy studying her desk. Taking in details and the layout of a calendar, the stacks of folders, and, as she sat down, the sinking of her chair to a person much taller than she. Someone a bit taller to me. ―Wait, a moment, Ensign, there may be intruders aboard,‖ she said. ―You stay on guard.‖ I tried to speak up to claim the deed but she was enjoying the investigation. ―Hmm...it was someone with good knowledge of layout. Esther said I‘d had no visitors, so they didn‘t come in through the main door. So, All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 163

they would have had to access the room through the Faculty Only hall. The plot thickens...‖ ―Captain, I need...‖ ―Shhhh. Permit an old woman her thrills. I just love the destruction of an undergraduate student before supper. Now, they would have had to do the old credit card slip through the door.‖ Any of Texas Tech‘s secure faculty areas can be bypassed easily by slipping a credit card or student id card between the lock thrown and the reader. Tech had opted to have only a general data read when being bypassed. So, when the lock was being ―picked‖ by sliding a credit card, driver‘s license or any other card with a data strip on it, the reader became confused and registered the data as being present. Then another card could be slipped behind the first to manually lift the bolt up and out of position. ―That‘s odd,‖ Captain said. There‘s no slippage scrape on the fresh paint. You just wait my little pretty, I‘ll get you yet!‖ The Captain was very much enjoying herself as she returned to her desk. She activated her computer console. ―Of course, the webcam will have gotten them if they had been foolish enough to access my computer.‖ I tried again, ―Captain...‖ ―Wait, wait, here we go Reece, we‘re about to have video!‖ On the screen appeared a recording of me looking at the computer and accessing files as I had been busy pulling together the assignment. Captain‘s shoulders dropped. ―Oh, Reece, how could you...‖ ―Wait you said I could use your office any time I wanted to if you weren‘t here. I didn‘t get on any secure areas. I just used your Microsoft Office suite. I swear....,‖ I continued. ―Oh, Reece, it‘s not that. You spoiled my fun! I was about to get to send a letter home to a Buffy or Biffy! And, now we just have to talk about whatever boring thing you were doing on my system rather than having any good intrigue or mystery.‖ She straightened up. ―Unless of course you have a good mystery or intrigue to confess? Did you try to get on the Registrar‘s office? Payroll?‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 164

She had me laughing and I couldn‘t help it. I was so relieved. Captain trusted me. Trusted, me! I could have been assigning myself eleven A‘s and gotten away with it, but she knew I wouldn‘t do that. She knew I was one of the good ones. I suddenly felt as if I had received an A in life for one of the first times. I was doing this right. This relationship I was doing right. ―No, I swear Captain. It was dull day to day stuff. I hate to disappoint but the Graduate Student Lab was full, and you said drop by and use your office anytime, so I took you up on the offer.‖ ―So, you tried out the Captain‘s chair. How‘d it fit? A bit too high I see,‖ she readjusted her seat to her comfort. The seat made her bop up and down, like a jack-in-the-box. ―Well, that‘s as close to sex as I‘m likely to get this year,‖ she said. Again, I laughed. It was another laugh of joy at having found such a wonderful friend, mentor and having started out the relationship correctly. The motion of the laughter was sheer joy and I was beginning to get moist eyes. I sat down on a chair across from Captain‘s desk as she continued to play with the controls...up, down, left, right. Finally, coming on a position which seemed to suit her. She looked up and saw me in the middle of the waterworks. ―Reece, what‘s wrong? Reece?‖ she asked and handed me Kleenex from a box yielding the phrase: ―Attention Freshmen: Abandon all hope ye who enter here.‖ The box caught me as funny, too, so another reeling set of laughs went through me. ―God, lord, I‘ve driven my Ensign crazy!‖ Then the giggles caught her. She fought the laughter off a moment before she gave in. She and I began to laugh. At what we didn‘t know. She might as well have been pouring shots of whiskey. A good five minute passed by and we began to calm down. ―That was weird,‖ said Captain. ―No doubt some Klingon gas beaming in a nerve toxin. I swear, Reece, good cries are something I do have. But good laughs are rare!‖

We settled in for a chat as we quit giggling. ―Okay, now that is out of the way, tell me all about the young man that answered your phone the other day.‖ Captain had a way of making any topic not off limits when it came to me. I don‘t know if it was a standard she shared with everyone or not. But, her curiosity was her passion, and whether it was focused on the latest Identity Development theories, or what when on behind closed doors, Captain wanted to know. The questions surprised me a bit. ―Well, his name is Chris, and I met him again recently,‖ I began and I then recalled the El Chico moment for her and the happenings going on since then. Captain looked disappointed, ―No, that‘s not the question I asked. Tell me about him. What is he like? How did he come about in such a short time he was answering your phone?‖ I straightened up a bit and longed for the laughter we shared for a moment. ―Captain, he seems to be the one I‘ve been waiting for all of my life. He‘s funny and kind, most of the time. He helps sometime in cooking and transportation. We enjoy spending time together.‖ ―So far you‘ve described a Cocker Spaniel, Ensign. What‘s the difference?‖ ―Well, he‘s housebroken,‖ I replied. The Captain laughed as she rolled her eyes. ―That‘s important. I had such a time with that in my husband. Poor, stupid, bastard of a man.‖ ―I don‘t know, Captain. He seems to be exactly what I was wanting in my life and he just appeared.‖ Captain‘s face drew very serious as she contemplated on what I just said. ―Ensign...Reece,‖ she reached over and placed a hand on mine. ―Can I tell you something that is absolutely none of my business to tell you?‖ ―Of course, Captain.‖ Part of me said to listen up while another part of me was trying to block out every word. I deserved to have a little All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 166

romance, a little happiness and here this woman who didn‘t even know me was about to tear into me. As the inner voices grappled, Captain spoke. ―Ask yourself three important questions. Is it a need or a want? How did this become a ‗miracle‘ – did I do it or did the outside world do it? And, finally, have I given up any of myself in order to be who this man wants?‖ Captain concluded. Then she added, ―Reece, I am very proud of you. You are doing what everyone says can‘t be done with someone with a disability. But, I fear you are getting wool pulled down over your eyes somewhere. You are too nice and this seems to be too ... well, let us say, convenient.‖ ―For some reason, people like yourself, tend to be easy to sneak up on. I think you are a wonderful, intelligent young man. Don‘t get me wrong. It‘s just I want you to be very careful.‖ Something was wrong with Captain‘s face. She was holding something back and she was battling letting out some piece of information. ―Captain, if you know something that would be helpful to me, I really need to know it. I trust you but it doesn‘t help to be told to be careful unless you know a reason for it. ― I sounded a little indignant when I took a second to hear my own words. That wouldn‘t do when speaking with Captain. ―I‘m sorry. Didn‘t mean to sound defensive, Captain. Just tell me what‘s on your brow. You‘re furrowed up like a constipated Klingon.‖ ―I had a call from Chris,‖ Captain said. ―He was looking for you and when I asked who he was he explained he was an acquaintance of yours working on his doctorate in Human Development at Southern Methodist.‖ Captain held up her hand in a calming motion. ―You don‘t owe an apology for anything. Chris is an adult and made his own choices. I will never hold the actions of someone else against you. I just needed you to know, Reece, before you plowed on blindly into a relationship that might not be as genuine as you think. I hope I did the right thing telling you,

Reece, but I‘ve learned to speak my mind at my age. It‘s something that comes with rank.‖ I sank back in my chair. My mind running over a thousand little questions. ―We‘ve got to start class in a few minutes. Why don‘t you get some fresh air? If you want to walk over and grab a coke from the Student Union, that would probably be a good idea,‖ Captain concluded and stood up. She walked over to the inbox and saw my ―paper‖ was the last to be turned in among the small class. ―Oh, you are the creative one,‖ said Captain. ―Very few people catch the word ‗paper‘ is not in the assignment. Simply, ‗project‘. I look forward to your presentation. I always like a good show…‖ Captain found I had not moved an inch from the chair or had changed expression. ―Reece, I half expect to see little cartoon steam blow out of your head any second. Now, go walk a little of that out and grab something to drink. I‘ll see you at class here in 20 minutes. But, I‘ve got to have a few moments here to myself, so you are dismissed,‖ Captain emphasized the last part and it brought me out of a revelry of anger and shame. ―Um, oh, yes, sorry, Captain. I‘ll see you in class.‖ As I reached the doorway, ―And, Reece, don‘t give this all of your energy. If you‘d like to go to Riversmith‘s for catfish tonight…‖ I paused at the door. ―Thanks, Captain. And, thanks for the dinner invite. I‘ll let you know.‖ Sunshine greeted me as I exited the women‘s studies office and the early autumn day was picture perfect. I started over to the student union‘s building and my feet began to burn. By the time I‘d reached it, I was in tears. Half from the pain and half from the tale Captain had related. Christ Norton Ph.D., and pigs can fly. I grabbed a Lemondade from the Chik-Fil-A outlet in the Student Union, fished out the vial of pain medications and crunched three swallowing them down as I had a seat and grabbed a discarded University Daily newspaper on the table next to me. I scooted back into the booth allowing my feet to be propped up.

I allowed myself to collect my thoughts. I decided it would be best if I did not see Chris for a day or two. The anger would be too much. I pulled out my cell phone, dialed Jeff‘s pager number and entered 911 Reece as the message. Jeff would call back. He‘d never failed to return a 911, from anyone I know of but I did learn difference from Jeff and my cell phone rang with the caller ID being on my home phone, ―You do just live there, don‘t you,‖ I asked. ―Not all of the time!‖ came Jeff‘s reply. I moved on to the conversation. I was about halfway through the story. Jeff then paused and said for no reason, ―Yes, he‘s here and asleep.‖ Shit. Jeff must think Chris was listening in our conversation. I‘d heard the little click, too. The little click on the phone line created by an extension being picked up. I agreed with Jeff. We were most likely listened to, but I didn‘t care. ―You won‘t believe the lie Chris told,‖ I told Jeff, and most likely Chris, ―He claimed to be working on his PhD when he talked to Captain.‖ Jeff listened without commentary. Jeff was scared of Chris and he feared if he was overheard making any additions to the conversation, things could go badly for Jeffrey rather quickly. Jeffrey hated to have things go bad for Jeffrey. ―You still there?‖ I asked. ―Um, shocking,‖ Jeff said, ―How can I help?‖ ―Do me a favor and just make certain no one is at my house when I get home at 5. Oh, Jeff, that includes you.‖ ―Uh, well, fine! Wound me!‖ Jeff feigned a dramatic stab. ―I‘ll be on the streets, freezing, near death!‖ ―Spare, me Jeff,‖ I said. ―You‘ll be at your house with broadcast television. I‘ll call when I get home. I just need some time when I get home.‖

―I‘ll be sure to leave a note for anyone who might be here that you request no one be here. Anything else, Mister Man?‖ ―Nope, that‘s it. Just needed to clear things up with you.‖ I hung up and then paused for a minute. I decided to see how class went before making up my mind about hanging out with my mentor and now my informer after class. I had kind of pulled a Razzle Dazzle, and she might or might not want to have dinner with me. I knew the grade would be fine, it would be peer assigned. But I didn‘t know how well that would jive with the Captain. But an invitation to go anywhere or do anything with Captain was almost always a welcome diversion. Except, perhaps, the same day she had delivered news to me which broke my heart. I felt foolish and ashamed and angry and confused. But at least the feelings had names as I walked back to the classroom. The fresh air and the sugar from the lemonade helped as did the pain medication. I arrived back at the classroom a few minutes early and took my normal seat toward the front of the lab classroom layout. I took satisfaction in the fact that all of my peers were nervous as they gathered around what the Human Sciences Building called a ―lab‖ classroom. The ―Lab‖ was a conference table which sat about 16 people. At the end of the table was a multimedia station and a dais. From here, the instructor could lecture to the table or have the table turn its attention to the pop-up screen in the middle of the table. It was a very advanced classroom for a University out in the middle of the South Plains. But, great money had come the way of the College of Human Sciences. Not only did they have the likes of Gwen Sorrell to attract grant money, the College also housed the School of Substance Abuse and Addiction headed up by Carl Anderson. Dr. Anderson brought money in easily as his books enjoyed popularity at the time and the best in programs flowed to Texas Tech. We in Human Development enjoyed the fruits of our sister schools efforts as we settled into the plush, leather seats of the Lab. Of course, each Lab classroom bore a number and a name of a donor. Everything had a name at the School. Each donor memorialized behind the banality of the numbers above the door.

As we gathered into the Lab, Captain arrived at 4 on the nose. She despised tardiness and was never guilty of the crime herself. She locked doors at the exact minute of the starting bell. If you were there, wonderful. If you were not, wonderful, but you weren‘t getting in. It was one of the things that kept one on their toes in the Tech graduate program. Violators learned early and it either instilled a respect or a dislike of the woman for many students. I thought it was kind of a silly thing to judge a professor on – their classroom management style. But as many of us who thought the Captain a great teacher and mentor there were those who thought her a bitch. She relished both labels and once told me she must be doing her job right if half her students loved her and half wanted to hang her from the flagpole. ―Okay, Class. Let‘s come to order, please. We‘ve been talking briefly about the history of statistical models, although I don‘t know why. It won‘t help you to understand how to interpret them if you know where the designer was born and who his mother was, but it‘s part of the curriculum and, as a tenured professor, I am expected to abide by the curriculum. That brings us to this hour and a half‘s session. I see two new faces, and I will need to see you at break. However, if you registered for this class late, thank you and welcome. If you registered for this class and didn‘t come last week, I wish you well as you drop the class. I doubt you will be able to make up for the attendance zeros assigned to you. So, if anyone is in that position, then please, excuse yourself. The class requires everyone to show up every time unless you have a physician‘s excuse. There was a nervous rambling from the class and then there were 15 of us as one picked up his books and left to go complain to the Registrar. ―Okay, class, because you have to indulge me and I believe in building comradeship among peer groups, I‘ll be breaking you up to groups of 4. So let‘s just go around the room and say, One, two, three, four and include me in a group. Let start with Tish.‖ Captain had set it up where I would be in a small group with her and two students. The pressure just never stopped. ―Okay, let‘s get cozy with our groups now. Groups one and two, you will meet in the south corners. Group three around the mid-table All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 171

console. And, Group Four, because I am both old and lazy, well, come meet around me up here at the front.‖ I slid my chair up and over to the group with the Captain and two classmates. One another fan of Captain and her works and the other a young man decidedly feeling trapped between two women and a very out gay man. I almost felt sorry for him. Captain lectured for a few moments until she had summed up the homework assignment she had given for the class. She held 14 paper reports and my CD case. One paper was missing. Okay, I‘m one paper short. Who didn‘t get their paper to my box at 3. The timid hand went up explaining she thought that the three o‘clock check-in was for people who would be unable to attend and she had simply brought hers with her. ―That brings up a good point. When I say homework is due at a certain time and in a certain place, who does that apply to?‖ The class shifted in their seats, casting down their eyes. ―Okay, let me clarify then. If your assignment is from this class, it is due at that time and that place. Regardless of whether or not you are coming to class. If you‘re not coming to class, please don‘t turn in the homework as you will be failed on it unless you have a physician‘s note. This is rather clearly explained in your syllabus where it says, and everybody read aloud with me, is due at 3 PM before classes on Thursday. Homework will be assigned on Tuesdays and discussed on Thursdays. You must have homework you wish to have counted in the box for Dr. Sorrell, located in Women‘s Studies, by 3 PM on Thursdays. A physician‘s note must be attached if you will not be in class. ― ―I can see how that could be very, very confusing. So, I‘ll accept your homework today, but not in the future, okay?‖ Gwen had had enough fun making us squirm and so she turned to the business of handing back homework each with an ―In time, G.S.‖ scrawled on it. ―I believe it is important that you, as Graduate Students, become familiar with what it is like to give grades to people‘s efforts so you will be grading the homework presented in your small group. I expect four grades on the paper. First, your grade of the work, if you‘re smart this will be a 100. Then the grades of the three other people in your group. Being the lead All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 172

group, I will present a non-document style of homework first to show you what sorts of things can be done when you get imaginative. She fingered my CD jewel case open and showed the class the label on the DVD. ―Very clever, Mr. Manley, very clever. Do I just put it in and press play?‖ ―That‘s the idea, Captain, but I don‘t know for sure what will happen. I just thought an off-Broadway musical would be appropriate so if you‘ve got popcorn,‖ I began. Gwen shut me off, ―Let‘s just see what we have to learn today from Mr. Manley, shall we. The DVD slid into the computer and up popped the PowerPoint player. I took the click advancer and rolled over to the lectern. The project was a full on suck up to the Captain, but still informative, it began with voice clips from Leonard Nimoy in his Mr. Spock role speaking the words ―Statistical probability of different problems of the USS Enterprise for a few moments. Then it shifted to definitions of the Statistical Theory with photos of Sir Issac and Fairchild and other eminent authorities of statistical theory. Next, it addressed the homework point by point with different words, graphs and displays whizzing in and out. The last slide was a summary of the methods, models and information. All boiled down, of course, the information was about 2000 words of unique material. However, taken to the Razzle Dazzle it was 20 minutes of images, music and exciting material. ―Well, now, wasn‘t that fun?‖ Captain asked the class. ―Reece what are you going to give yourself on this?‖ I started to say 100, then thought better of it, ―89,‖ I said. Good now our other group members.‖ Both girls quickly gave me a 100. ―Hmm, I‘ll have to think about it,‖ the Captain said. ―I do believe I have been better entertained than I should have been by an introduction statistics paper. But, I see you put more focus on Razzle Dazzle than on deep information. I think I‘ll go with you 89. So that‘s an overall vote of 95. ―You get the idea class, okay let‘s go through it‖ Captain pronounced and papers shuffled around the small groups. Most popped up questions from time to time but the buzzer found the end of the class time. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 173

I hadn‘t gotten the highest grade that day, but I certainly had been the most original. I like that about myself. And, I was the only one who had a standing invitation with the Captain for a greasy pile of fish after the gathering. As the class filed out the Captain waited for me to pack up all of my belongings. I was moving slowly to allow my classmates to exit. As each one moved along I began to forget about the class and comeback to the anger and the need for answers I had from the Captain‘s and I‘s last exchange. How could Chris have embarrassed me like that? What purpose did it serve? How did this affect my standing with Captain? That was the one that made me a little sick to my stomach. Captain, of course, was a role model and, in my life, I only had a few female role models. The other major one was my mom. She had always loved me without compromise. When she‘d been able to do it, she‘d been there for me above and beyond the call of duty. I owed my Master‘s Degree to her working double shifts as an RN at Big Spring State Hospital. She sent money every month so I could not only graduate from the program in record time but do it with a 4.0 average, but mom was probably not a good role model for how to deal with men. Even In her current state she was married to a jealous and cruel man. But she was married. That seemed to matter so much to her. Did I need it to matter that much to me? Both of my Grandmother‘s had been incredibly close to me. One, my father‘s mother was not much help as she was impenetrable in her stance well meshed in fundamental thought, Meanwhile, my other Granny V, had died early. Although married all her life the more I learned of my Pa the less I thought he‘d been an ideal man of any kind and I don‘t know how my Granny V had stayed with him. And, now Gwen Sorrell as a model of womanhood. Not that I wanted to be a woman, mind you, but I did want to understand relationships with men. How important are they to overall happiness? What did you excuse in order to maintain a relationship with a man? How many of their lies did you accept? How sincere were the apologies? Why All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 174

did they hit so hard? Of course, these questions have clear rational boundaries which shore them up all as definite ―run‖ situations. But, logic went out the window for me when a chance of romance, no, not romance, but a chance for acceptance, raised its head. I was about to get a lifetime worth of lessons in the next few months. By the time Captain spoke, I was angry at Chris with an edge that found its way to my voice. ―That‘s got them all cleared out Ensign. Shall we go and dine? I happen to know a place of epicurean delights. Dinner‘s on me if you like?‖ ―That‘s a bad image, Captain. I can‘t imagine eating catfish off of your navel,‖ A good quip at the Captain‘s expense trumped emotional woes every time. ―Well, yes,‖ the Captain had to laugh, ―It‘s been quite a while since I played that game. Quite a long time indeed. But I don‘t think we‘ll try it with hot catfish, I blister easily.‖ ―Oh, Captain. Yes, yes, I would very much like to have dinner with you. Shall we take both our cars? I‘ll have to leave from there to head home.‖ ―Of course, Reece, of course.‖ She patted my shoulder as I exited the classroom and she gathered up the papers due and the other class materials. ―Allow me, Captain,‖ I said taking the pile of things from her and bundling them in my messenger bag. ―I‘ll walk over to the office with you, my car is parked there anyway.‖ ―Yes,‖ I noted. ―Stealing my spot is one way to get you dragged out by your ear.‖ I‘d forgotten I‘d been on campus for hours. She must have had to use the Faculty overflow. I‘d intended to have a moment to move it before class. ―Now, now Captain. You made the invitation. You didn‘t say it had to be at certain hours.‖

―Boundaries, Ensign, boundaries are something you need practice in. Specifically, boundaries in parking lots!‖ ―That‘s what those little yellow lines are for, Captain. I‘m sure I didn‘t infract the little yellow lines.‖ ―Not all boundaries are ones you can see, Ensign. You‘ll be learning that in life if you pay attention. Come, let us away to the bridge to deposit the bounty of learning you now hold close to your side.‖ Captain and I stepped out of the classroom which she sealed with her code, 95143. The room responded by darkening the lights and throwing the electronic lock back in place. We stepped out into the late autumn sun which was wonderful. The day was cooling and the air was blessedly free from dust and cotton. Gwen and I made small talk for the short walk. Through the weather and past the hideously ugly Texas Tech Library. The fact that ginning season would begin soon and add its cotton dust to the air. The South Plains was a nasty place to live if you had any allergy or asthma. The small towns surrounding Lubbock in every direction all had cooperative cotton ginning contracts and poured out dust and cotton burrs into the air 24 hours a day during their harvest. This dust tended to collect in the air and sometimes hang as a brown tint for days. Add in the extra joy of wind gusts of 45 to 50 mph not even being newsworthy, and you have the topic which stayed on everyone‘s mind – the weather. We reached Captains office and I followed her in. Esther had left for the day at 5. ―Where do you want these items dumped...I mean, thoughtfully arranged for you to review tomorrow, Captain?‖ I asked. She motioned to the pile in her ―In‖ box, already several folders high. I tried to balance the folder while Captain changed over her answering machine to after hours and the clocked out. The University always wanted to keep up with attendance, even from tenured professor who could choose to stay home and stand on her head if she liked. The pile began to move slowly and both the Captain and I reached for it at the same time. The result was a mass explosion of papers going left and right, sliding from the folders with some landing on the desk, All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 176

others on the floor and still others happily floating about the room. ―Well, hell, Ensign. What have we done now?‖ I helped here gather up the papers, which she took over to the only uncovered surface, a filing cabinet in the corner. ―That‘s where that will be when you come in tomorrow for your three hours of office time!‖ ―Yes, ma‘am.‖ ―Let‘s get out of here before we break something expensive. I‘d have to blame that on you or Esther. Being Esther isn‘t here, I guess we know where the ball would fall.‖ ―Out of here sounds good. See you over at Riversmith‘s,‖ I agreed. ―Oh, it may take me a few minutes to get there, I have to walk all the way to my car you know,‖ Captain knew how to hand out guilt. But, when I saw her Datsun only a few feet away I knew she was playing. ―I think you might survive the transgress required, Captain. But if you don‘t, I‘ll be sure to have a beer for you.‖ ―Oh, doesn‘t that sound good?‖ Captain smiled. One of the treats in life she most relished seemed to be cold draft beer. She never finished one and I‘d never seen her tipsy regardless of what she was drinking. But icy cold beer was one direct method to her good graces. I thought I might buy her two. ―Okay, Captain. See you there.‖

Chapter Twenty Two – Captain and Chris I started the Eclipse which rumbled to life ready to fly to the next destination and I happened to notice my cell phone sticking out of my messenger bag. I had missed ten messages. The first five were from my house, two from Jeff and then three more from my phone. ―Oh shit,‖ I said aloud. I decided to return one of the calls from Jeff first. ―Jeff‘s Bar and Grill. Deliveries in the rear, please,‖ answered Jeff. Some very weird ways to answer the phone. I hoped his mother didn‘t call him often. ―Hey, it‘s me.‖ ―Well, you aren‘t chopped up in little bits and pieces and stacked neatly like firewood, yet. So nice to hear from you! Where the hell have you been?!‖ Jeff screeched the last. ―Um, a little thing called bettering my life. Work, school. You know the dirty words,‖ I replied. ―Oh the lives of the bourgeoisie,‖ Jeff said. ―Very good, Jeffrey, you used a big boy word. Now what‘s going on?‖ ―You haven‘t called home yet?‖ Jeff demanded. ―Miss Psyscho ran me out like he ran the joint and said he was planning something special. When I pressed him for details, he just said you‘d never be upset with him again,‖ Jeff continued, ―What a relief you‘re okay. James and I were just about to go Urn shopping for something to keep your ashes in above my fireplace.‖ ―You don‘t have a fireplace, Jeffrey,‖ I said. ―Details, details, details!‖ ―Okay, drop out of drama mode. I know it‘s hard. But, just tell me what happened.‖ ―Are you sure you want me to drop out of drama mode? It sounds so much better in drama mode! Okay, fine,‖ Jeff took a breath as I dodged a red corvette with four handsome young men piled in together, ―Chris All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 178

told me he was going to make it up to me, but first he was going to make sure you never doubted him again.‖ I thought about it for a second. How was he going to do that? ECT? Fairy wand? No, only Jeff carried a fairy wand at the ready. ―Jeff, he didn‘t threaten you or me or anything, did he?‖ I asked. ―No, not exactly,‖ Jeff admitted, ―But, Reece, you should be careful. Come get me if you want to before you go home. I can be pretty as a picture in five minutes.‖ ―I‘m sure you could be, Jeff‖ I said, pulling up to a red light. ―But I‘m going to have supper with Captain. Then I‘ll head home. I need a break tonight from drama mamas. No offense intended.‖ ―None, taken, bitch. But, you should know Miss Pscyho has been happily munching on your pain meds and booze since before I left,‖ Jeff said. ―That‘s impossible Jeffrey,‖ I began, all my meds are right here with me. As I pulled up to the last light between Riversmith‘s and the campus, I emptied the contents of my messenger bag. The contents were varied as I thumbed through papers, pens, CD‘s and, finally, yes, my pain med bottle. ―Jeff I‘ve got my meds in my hand.‖ ―Yep, you‘ve got the bottle but is it a little lighter than it should be?‖ Jeff asked. ―Jeff just spit out what you think you know,‖ I said exasperated. The pain had begun again in earnest and I popped and chewed the two meds due for the pain. ―That is nasty,‖ I said about the taste. ―What?‖ Jeff asked, ―You can‘t see me! No kidding around.‖ ―I was talking about my meds, Jeffrey. Not whatever in the devil it is you are doing right now.‖ ―Oh, good,‖ Jeff said, ―Waxing is hell!‖ ―Jeff, I‘m about to have dinner, that is not a thought I need in my head!‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 179

―Well excuse me. Anyway, Chris sent me home while he said he was going to set up the house.‖ I pulled into the parking lot. ―Set up the house,‖ I asked, ―What does that mean?‖ ―I don‘t know, I don‘t speak Psycho,‖ Jeff retorted. Then added, ―Call me later and let me know how things are going. We‘ll be at the club after about 9. Now, I‘ve got to get some beauty rest. Don‘t want to show up looking as old as you are, deary.‖ I started to reply but let the call go. Captain was just now parking her Datsun and getting out fighting her purse and her duffle bag for the small exit space from her car. Chris could wait. ―Let me help you there, Captain,‖ I extended a hand to extract her from the smaller than Captain‘s hind end space. Out she came with a must undignified pop. ―Captain, why don‘t you invest in a new shuttlecraft for yourself?‖ ―Until they can fly, I‘m not buying another car!‖ she said rearranging her clothing and bags. ―You can lock that in my car, if you like.‖ ―I‘ll take it in so we‘ll have something to chat over. Besides, nothing makes a student think you were taking lots of careful time and consideration in reviewing their work than a food stain of some sort.‖ ―That‘d explain the taco sauce on my last paper, I suppose.‖ She grinned. Captain had the most wonderful smile that let you know she was simply enjoying time spent with you. She didn‘t use it very often, but when she did, you could bet she was completely satisfied with each and every little thing about a situation. ―Okay, Ensign, you carry, I‘ll open,‖ I hobbled after her. I had had to begin using a cane to walk. Sometimes the pain was so bad, I couldn‘t find my footing over the roar of the pain. I would assume it was on the ground when in reality it was on a curb or bump. I‘d had to take three or four bad spills before pride gave in. And, now I just used it when it was absolutely necessary to avoid falling over. ―Oh, my word Reece, why didn‘t you say you were having to use your cane today?‖ said Captain as All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 180

she tried to retrieve her duffle bag from me. ―Uh-uh, Cap‘n. I‘ve got it. Besides how are going to pay for everything if you don‘t have both hands free. And, you can even carry over the beer to the table,‖ as she relaxed her hand which had been tugging at the bag, ―very logical, Ensign. You win.‖ I followed Captain into the little shack like exterior and picked out a picnic booth with some space around it. I had a feeling this might lead to a conversation I didn‘t want overheard by the population of Lubbock. Captain motioned me over to sit and didn‘t even take my order. She knew what I usually had and she wanted me off my feet. As she left to take the order, dodging the neon Corona sign hanging from the ceiling, I settled in on the booth laying her duffle bag on the far side of the bench on her side. I took my seat and thought about what the heck I was going to tell Captain about Chris‘ lie. Why in the world had Chris decided to tell that whopper? I mean, he could have just said he was in EMT training, which he was supposed to be. Why a Ph.D.? Why to someone he knew would get it back to Captain? No sooner had the questions formed than a large mug of very, very cold beer plunked down in front of me. Captain plunked hers down as well and sat down across from me in the tattered booth slash picnic table. ―What shall we toast to?‖ I asked and raised my glass. Captain didn‘t miss a beat, ―Honesty. Something that is in short supply in the world and something that should always exist between friends.‖ I felt about three inches tall as a clinked my mug to hers. We both took a long deep sip of the frosty beverage. So cold ice was forming in it. We returned our glasses to the table and Captain began to speak. Stopped. Gathered her thoughts. She then drew her glasses out of her purse placed them on her face making her appear even more wise than she was. Her eyes were deep grey brown and infinitely kind at the moment. I saw honest and true compassion in them, and I felt a lump come up. Oh,

God, not a good cry at a time like this! The lump stayed but the waterworks did not kick in. ―Reece, this is one of those conversations where I need to be very clear about the role I am playing in your life. I am many things to you and you are many things to me. Right here, right now, I am your mentor. A mentor, to me,‖ Captain said, ―is someone who has life experience that another person lacks and is willing to share experience for the benefit of the other in the relationship. That said, mentorhood also implies friendship along with guidance. I do not want to step on your toes nor do I want to change your life, I simply have some concerns to explore with you. Concerns that I have had to deal with in my life and found them very hard lessons to learn. I didn‘t get it right until I was in my 50‘s so there is certainly no need to be embarrassed.‖ She paused and took another sip of her beer. To avoid having to give reply, I followed the motion. Sitting her beer down, she fixed her gaze on me. ―Tell me Reece, who is Chris?‖ I thought the Captain had lost her mind. She had met Chris and talked some with him before. She knew what he looked like. She knew who Chris was. ―You know Chris, Captain,‖ I began, ―Remember, we were talking about him earlier today.‖ ―Don‘t play stupid, it insults both of us,‖ she reprimanded lightly. ―Who IS Chris?‖ she repeated with the emphasis on ―IS‖ and I got the meaning, of course. ―Captain, I don‘t know much about him. He is quickly beginning to be someone very much different than I knew a month ago. I have no idea why he lies, but he does it often. I have no idea why, but he doesn‘t have a passion in his life, except it seems, for making my life difficult. But, Captain, he is kind, he is handsome and he is ... good in other areas of my life.‖ ―A fuck is nice but it‘s not love,‖ Captain said. I was surprised by the frankness of her statement and struggled for a moment trying not to give a laugh to the interjection. Finally, her smile spread wide across her All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 182

face, ―I give sage advice and I don‘t even get a smile back.‖ At that I laughed a good strong laugh. ―But, Captain, it‘d been soooo long.‖ ―Yes, I‘m working on year 11. But, one does become, let‘s say, above such things with time,‖ she was turning back to her serious side and the flip between lighthearted and down to the line serious could be an amazingly short trip for Captain. ―But, we are not here about me. Let me tell you what I know about, Chris, so far. I know Chris lies. I know Chris manipulates. I know Chris has placated you to the point he has access to your life that makes me very uncomfortable.‖ ―Uncomfortable?‖ I asked ―Captain, I‘d never let anyone I was dating infringe on duties I have to you or the efforts here at Tech. I mean, I‘d never let Chris hurt anything I‘ve worked hard for here in your department and under your tutelage.‖ ―I call bullshit,‖ Captain said. From serious to angry. Again I was astonished at how quickly she could switch tones and each one struck authenticity beyond question. ―Did you really give your homework your best efforts today? Have you given Chris access to your student‘s work? A private little tour of our offices?‖ My feet were on fire and being held to the fire at the same time. I felt the lump come up again. ―No, to all three,‖ I replied but not remembering if Chris had been in her office with me or not. ―Well, no, to the first means your academic efforts have been effected, right?‖ Captain held the feet a bit closer. ―Captain, yes. Yes, Chris has affected all areas of my life. But isn‘t what was a relationship is supposed to do. I mean, if you are in love, then that will affect every little choice in some way, right?‖ I asked and lifted my mug. I felt like I was on the defense now and I did not like the sensation of being out of grace with Captain. ―Yes, Reece. Being in love will affect everything. And, that‘s okay! It‘s more than okay, it‘s something we should all experience. But genuinely being in love with someone after a month and a half is not All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 183

something I‘ve ever experienced in all my years,‖ said Captain. ―Oh, my, I sound like a southern Baptist, don‘t I? Forgive me.‖ She paused a moment as a waitress delivered our order to the table. The basket of catfish was huge and piled in the middle of the table. The waitress put two plates on the table, one in front of each of us. The chip on Captains was noticeable but meant nothing to the waitress. ―Another sign of fine dining,‖ Captain held up her plate to examine how it was still holding itself in one piece. ―Only the best, Captain,‖ I offered enjoying a second of levity in the conversation. But the break was short lived. ―Reece, I‘m not angry with you. It sounded like that before I know and I want to make certain you understand I am not angry with you. You grew up in a very oppressive culture which never allowed you to develop the dating skills and boundaries of relationships most people learn early. You‘ve been through this horrible, horrible surgery which has left you for all intents and purposes physically disabled. On top of that, you have the curse of being a terribly kind person. And, of course terribly intelligent. It is such a rare thing, that. Passionate kindness and passionate intelligence. Something, I am not blessed with. The kindness side of the equation, obviously.‖ The Captain took a little break to pop a piece of catfish in her mouth and chase it down with an another sip on her draft. I tried to process everything she had just thrown at me. I felt complimented, and I felt stupid. I felt validated and I felt embarrassed. It was if her words were sending me on a carefully planned course of emotions akin to a rollercoaster. Warp speed, Captain. Warp speed. ―So, Reece, when I ask you ‗Who is Chris?‘ what I want you to think about is who is Chris in your overall life goals right now. I don‘t know how you are able to handle everything you‘ve got going on and then to add a relationship to it. A relationship with someone of questionable character much less. And, make no mistake Reece, Chris is a person of questionable character. I don‘t know if you can see that or not. You are, I‘m afraid, of letting in another big complication to what you can handle in your life. ― All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 184

With that the beginning of a pregnant pause found us both eating catfish appreciatively and the still wonderfully cold beer. Although, everything tasted a bit flat to me. I was having to deal with reality and it was something I never really enjoyed dealing with at that point in my life. Captain had laid it out correctly though. I was, in fact, physically disabled and already in a very challenging set of studies under the tutelage of one of the best regarded professors in the southwest. People failed out of the program daily and, Captain had a certain pride about weeding out those who would not make contributions to the field of Identity Development. It was her field of life and she‘d be damned if any weeds grew in the garden on her watch. ―What do you think I should do in approaching Chris about the lies?‖ I asked Captain to bring conversation again into the uncomfortable silence. ―What do I think you should do or what would I do?‖ Captain asked clarifying there were two different answers available. ―Let‘s go with what would you do, Captain.‖ ―What I do?‖ Captain contemplated the question and popped more catfish before answering the question. ―I‘m not going to answer that, Reece, because A: I think you know what I would do and B: this needs to be your actions, not mine. Now, what I think you should do, I‘ll give that a shot. Let‘s see, I‘m Reece.‖ She shut her eyes. ―I‘m Reece. I‘m Reece.‖ She was getting into character and I had no idea what was about to receive. ―Okay,‖ she blinked once more, ―Reece, I think I‘ll tell you what I‘d be considering as my top priorities if I were in your shoes. Number one, your health. You need to be doing everything and anything you can do to get out of having to use opiods to fight the pain. If you don‘t you‘re going to, somewhere, sometime down the road have tolerance problems. ―My number two priority would be the achievement of what I want to do with my life which can be done as a disabled person. I believe you would make an incredible Identity Development professor. I have seen All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 185

your work, unpolished as it is, and I see potential for greatness. But, that greatness, that potential is going need to be unencumbered. That‘s not something you are going to achieve without people who give to you. Now, hear me on this. People. Who. Give. To. You. Not, people, who take away from you. Reece, that I‘m afraid, is something you cannot determine in a month and half. Slow things down and be very careful.‖ Captain took a moment to have another piece of catfish and another sip of beer, which was beginning to lose the ice and becoming simply cold. Simply cold was something not to be tolerated by the Captain. That‘s one thing about Captain. She expected things to be what they say they are. Icy cold meant icy cold. She picked up both of our beers, and excused herself for a moment to replace the half empty mugs with fresh, iced ones. No wonder Captain never got tipsy. She never could finish a drink without it not meeting the advertised standards. As she stepped away from the table, my cell phone rang again. It was my home number again. Damn. I just could not pick it up. I hit the mute button as Captain returned to the table. Indeed she had retrieved icy cold beverages again. Properly frozen slushies of Corona. The site of them apparently recharged her as she took to the bench in speaking mode again. ―So what are your thoughts on my diatribe, Ensign,‖ she asked as she took her place across from me. I‘d had a thousand thoughts run through my mind. Ranging from ―Mind your own damn business‖ to ―Call him and tell him to go away for me‖. I was stuck between two truths for me. One, I had a hunger for a relationship that defied logic. I‘d never had one before that meant anything and, Chris, faulted as he was, was trying to feel the bill harder than anyone else I‘d ever known. Secondly, I would do anything to keep the acceptance of Captain. I had very little idea about unconditional acceptance. Captain had reached that plane with me. She cared for me without condition or reason. I was her mentoree and she‘d be damned if anything happened to me.

―I think you are right, Captain, about a great many things. My question is how to make a boyfriend out of Chris? Is he so flawed that he can‘t be redeemed. I‘m embarrassed about his behavior, Captain. So much so I could kick him. But, do I throw away the good things?‘ ―Ah, so there are good things! That‘s why I asked you ‗Who is Chris?‘,‖ Captain said enjoying another sip of Corona slushie. ―Sure, there are great things about Chris. He‘s kind, romantic and tries, really tries to get it right. I think he is trying to hard to impress, especially the people in my life he meets.‖ ―But, you do not mention qualities of honesty, loyalty, generosity. These are qualities I‘ve found in you, Reece. I mean, really. How many students would tell their professor they partied with a drag queen until 2 AM? You are honest but that integrity can be very fragile if it‘s surrounded by people without integrity,‖ popping another piece of Catfish. ―I believe I need to talk with Chris and lay some cards out on the table, Captain. You‘ve convinced me to do that.‖ ―Well, then, this exchange has been a valuable one, Reece,‖ popping the last of the Catfish into her mouth and smiling with satisfaction. ―And, a delicious one. I‘ll be up until 10 tonight if you need to call me. Now, I‘ve got to return to campus. Oh, wait, I brought you something,‖ said Captain. I perked up expecting some tome of wisdom I‘d missed or an article I would enjoy reading. Instead, the Captain handed me a rather heavy file marked HDFS 3310 Developmental Theories. ―This is my little special something for you. Guaranteed to take away any doubt that I value you greatly as your role of my graduate assistant,‖ she picked up the check and dug out a few dollars for the waitress. ―She‘s not very good, but I can‘t have her making $2.06 an hour. She‘s a woman and needs the help!‖ Captain was ever the feminist and assumed any woman anywhere was battling the man in some form or fashion.

―I‘d rather have the tip than this token of love, Captain.‖ I said getting to my feet and putting the folder in my messenger bag. ―Anytime I have you for a waiter, I will indeed tip you. But trust me, the little bundle of joy within that folder says you mean the world to me. Why if it weren‘t for you, I wouldn‘t be able to go home and get to bed at a decent hour. I‘d be up grading papers, just as you will be now. And you now, Ensign, you‘ll be in my shoes one day!‖ We walked out across the creaky wood planed porch. The restaurant had been made to look like a wooden fish shack one would find down in the bayous of Louisiana or Alabama. We reached the end of the plank porch and Captain turned around and faced me. ―Thank you for humoring an old lady with an opionated attitude for dinner.‖ ―Any time, Captain.‖ She gave me a little pat on the shoulder. ―You‘ll be just fine, Reece. Be true to yourself. And, for God‘s sake, get those papers graded.‖ With that she slipped into her old Datsun and cranked it up. It protested sliding into reverse with a loud whine but did finally comply and whisked Captain out into the traffic of 4th Street. To say the Captain was a bad driver would be an understatement. She weaved into the traffic barely missing a young man in a large red truck which blared a horn at her. Captain made a singular gesture which surprised the young man that such a thing could come from a little old lady in a 1987 Datsun. She was indeed a little old lady of many surprises.

Chapter Twenty Three – Back to the Chris Thing I was sliding back into my seat of the Eclipse when my phone rang again. It was my home number, ―Hey, babe.‖ I answered. ―So what‘s the deal,‖ Chris demanded on the other end. ―Where have you been?‖ He sounded both angry and pleading. His tone set off a little red flag. The little red flag was quickly covered over when Chris continued, ―I made you dinner and I‘ve been waiting here for you. Look I‘m sorry. Please just come home.‖ ―Chris, slow down. I‘m heading home now but I had dinner with Captain so I‘m not hungry. But we need to talk please wait for me and I‘ll be in in five minutes. ― ―You‘ve eaten? I thought we had a date night tonight. I even dressed up for it. Your Lucky Jeans fit just right!‖ he said making a joke I didn‘t get. ―We can still have a date night, but we‘ve got to talk about some things you said to Captain. Some things that seem to be a bit of a problem. Do you know what I‘m talking about ―Chris, I don‘t know what to say. I need you to listen to everything and then maybe we can figure out where things got confused. I‘ll be home in five minutes and we can talk about things then, okay.‖ ―No, you tell me now that you believe me!‖ Chris demanded. I did not like the way the tone sounded. ―I won‘t have you thinking I‘m a liar, Reece.‖ ―Chris, we just need to sit down and talk about...‖ My phone went dead. Geez, it was going to be drama for tonight. Just what I needed drama and about 30 papers to read. What fun. The lights along University Avenue were against me, each one turning red as I approached them. The lights ran long in Lubbock. Often having a minute go by with no cars passing through or traffic demand on All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 189

the other side. It was frustrating to wait at a light with no oncoming traffic. Finally, I made it through the lights and arrived home pulling into the garage at Park Tower and going down in to the garage. Chris‘ car was gone. Or, rather his sister‘s car which he‘d hijacked the day earlier. James‘ car was gone. Jeff wasn‘t up and about or he‘d be over to see how the drama was playing out. Apparently, there wasn‘t going to be drama. Or, date. Or a second dinner. I punched the elevator up button and sighed. My feet were throbbing beyond what could be handled by the pain med. I knew there was a hidden bag of magic white powder at the house and, well, fuck it. I‘d be happy to give it a try again. I was hurting as I unlocked the door to the apartment. ―Honey I‘m home I called, just in case Chris was there.‖ Chris was decidedly not in the apartment but had in fact cooked what looked like a great dinner of steaks and potatoes, rice and spinach. The table was set for two and the candles were still giving off smoke from being recently extinguished. The apartment was quiet and that was disconcerting on some level as I moved first to the bedroom dropping the messenger bag on the bed and kicking my shoes off. I rolled over and felt along the baseboard of my bed. I found the straw and bag and brought them up. I knew this wasn‘t the right thing to be doing, but the pain was beyond what I could bear. Nose to straw, straw to open packet. Snort. A sting in the nasal as the drug crossed over into the blood. Then – bam – complete and total relief along with a healthy dose of euphoria. I stretched out on my bed for a moment and studied the bedroom ceiling while my feet enjoyed total and complete relief that came with the illegal and expensive substance that had found its way in to my home. I still simply liked it in those days. I hadn‘t become where it made any noticeable dent in my routine, and it held little sway over me. No one knew I used the stuff save Jeff, James, a minor league drag queen. And, Chris. Fuck. Chris. I studied the ceiling for answers and none magically appeared. The boyfriend answer fairy did not visit me magically. Damn, those fairies. They couldn‘t be trusted. I launched myself up from the bed feeling the euphoria coursing through me. It was hard to be concerned about anything. But, the little All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 190

dinner setting looked so sad. Chris had worked hard. The candles. The two red roses which stood in between the candles. The bottle of wine which was actually not from the $3.00 bin at Sam‘s Discount. Yes, the little scene had been set up thoughtfully and that made me feel like a class A asshole. Chris knew he‘d done wrong and was ready to make up for the transgression. I hadn‘t even given him a chance. The sadness of the situation sent tears up to my eyes. I had no anger left in me for Chris. The resolve the Captain had conjured up was fading as the scene made its impact. I went to the couch with the telephone handset. When in doubt or feeling depressed, call Jeff. He can‘t be bothered with being down or sad. He simply did not have time for it. Nor, did he want anything to do with changing that. Jeff figured he was living on borrowed time and what could be sadder than that. So, he choose only the happiest out of any given range of choices. I could use some of that. I dialed the numbers to summon my friend. ―Jeff‘s cock and walk. Give us a show will make your rooster crow.‖ Jeff had a very, very, very weird way of answering the phone. ―Hey, Jeff,‖ I said. Before I could get another word out Jeff was on me like a chicken on a cricket. ―Oh my God, ― Jeff screeched, ―You are alive. Alive! Yes, lordy, lordy, he didn‘t do something bizarre to you. I was afraid I‘d be reading about you in the Lubbock A-J tomorrow under a headline ―Man Thrown from 11th Floor‖!‖ Jeff exclaimed. Why, I don‘t even have a good funeral frock!‖ I could tell Jeff had indulged in the White Lady as well. His not for pain of the physical type but pain of his own demons. Jeff continued, ―Then I‘d have to find a new best friend and do you know how hard that is to come by? I‘d have to get a billboard to get enough applicants to replace you, you know?‖ That was a sincere compliment from Jeff. Even with me exercising more boundaries with him, he accepted them as best he could and didn‘t begrudge me for a moment. After all, that‘d be emotionally deep and, along with sad, emotionally deep was something Jeff tried to avoid. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 191

―Thanks, I think,‖ I replied when he took a breath. ―Girl, you won‘t believe what Christopher had waiting for me tonight. It was the sweetest thing in the world. He had dinner for two. He must have spent his whole paycheck on this stuff.‖ ―Hellooooo, Reece. I was his last paycheck, remember. I‘d be spending it on a would be boyfriend, too, just to try to get my foot into the money door,‖ Jeff exclaimed. ―Speaking of getting the foot in the door, can I come over. James is sleeping because he has night shift at midnight and broadcast TV just ain‘t cutting it girl.‖ As Jeff had been talking I had been heading for the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As I passed by the table, I saw a hand written note I had missed when I came in from the bedroom. The note was from Chris. ―Hang on, Jeff, I‘ve got a note here I need to read,‖ I told Jeff as I set down the phone.

The note read: Reece, You’ll never know how sorry I am. I’ll get out of your life so you can do the things you need to, but it would have been nice to be a part of it. I’ll always love you. Chris. I picked up the phone and Jeff was still talking, ―Hey, let me call you back.‖ I clicked off the handset before the tears hit. I sat down at the table, took one of the red roses out and studied it while the tears came hard, fast, and furious. The tears came so fast I couldn‘t get an emotion put on them. It was impossible to keep up with the emotional flood. I was simply overwhelmed. I sat and cried, staring first at the place setting, then at the purple wall at the end of the apartment, then out to the small flickering lights that were downtown Lubbock beyond the balconies. It all seemed so empty. I felt so empty. I felt so alone. A knock at the door pulled me out of my reverie. Had Jeff had enough time to get here? Yes, probably. The boy could literally fly through traffic and he lived only a couple of minutes away. I wiped away All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 192

the waterworks and went for the door. ―Hey,‖ I said undoing the locks, ―Come on in. That was fast,‖ and as I swung the door open it was not Jeff who greeted me but Chris. He was holding a dozen roses and had been crying. His eyes were puffy and his face looked tired. And, perfect. ―Babe, I‘m so sorry,‖ he began to offer as I pulled him into the apartment shutting the door with my right leg. He pulled me in close and we kissed, at first lightly then more passionately as the hunger for forgetting isolation drove both of us. I slipped him out of his jacket and broke contact. ―Come in, baby, come in.‖ Chris, still holding the roses went towards the couch holding my left hand in his I let him lead me and then sit me down. He stretched out on my lap and kissed me again. This time tears started flowing down his face and soon mine joined his in a cry of kisses. ―I am so sorry, Reece,‖ he stammered out. ―I‘m so sorry.‖ ―Me, too, Chris, me too,‖ returning the cooed noises we held each other and I rocked him as a child in my arms. He was taller than I and filled out more, but still, he seemed small and childlike, very fragile. I felt the urge to protect him and hold him offering safety. Chris continued in my arms to rock back and forth. I don‘t know how long we held each other, it could have been minutes it could have been an hour. No kissing now, just holding and rocking and cooing back and forth, ―I‘m sorry‖ and ―I love you‖. I thought about a great many things while holding him. I thought of what Captain had said. I thought about how angry I‘d been before I reached here. I thought of the warnings from Jeff. But mostly I thought about the wonderful feeling of having Chris in my arms and the fact that the lights twinkling beyond the balcony did not look like markers of isolation but, rather, candles of hope. Little candles of hope as I rocked my boyfriend as if he were my child and he needed to be protected from some unknown, lurking enemy. He buried his head in my chest as his tears continued to come with ―I‘m sorry‖ and ―I was so wrong‖. It continued for another few minutes until I was soaked through my shirt with mingled tears. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 193

―Hey, it‘s okay, lets, um, unstick for a minute and talk. Okay?‖ I asked. It took him a minute to acquiesce to the request. Rocking still and silent for a moment before sliding off of my lap and onto the cushion next to me. He bent his head over and rested it on his hands. Staring at the floor looking as if he were expecting a beating. Another emotion was elicited from me. Pity. How was he supposed to know the repercussions of his actions? Had I not also been guilty of such a crime? I wrestled with pity, desire and anger for a few moments before I spoke. ―Chris, babe. Look at me.‖ He shook his head and remained transfixed on the carpet. ―Hey, c‘mon,‖ I said trying to pull his head up. He resisted with enough strength that I knew he intended to stay in that place. ―Why won‘t you look at me, baby?‖ ―I‘m afraid,‖ Chris said. ―Afraid of what, Chris,‖ I asked. I just want to talk about this. ―I know I fucked up,‖ Chris offered. Then he began rocking himself back and forth. I had no business telling Gwen...ah...Captain...whoever the fuck she is that I was someone special.‖ ―Chris, we all fuck up. But not talking about it isn‘t going to make it any better,‖ I said once pulling his head up gently and moving his head and his face toward me. He held his eyes closed. ―Open up those eyes of yours.‖ Again, Chris shook his head no. ―I don‘t want the last sight of you to be one of you angry with me. I‘ve got some perfect looks from you. That‘s what I want to remember if this thing is finished,‖ Chris said. ―How can it be finished, Chris?‖ I asked. ―So, you messed up. I‘m not perfect either. But you gotta be willing talk to about this. We‘re not over. We just need to talk.‖ Chris opened his eyes and I was immediately transfixed. Swimming in the deep grey/green of his eyes, his beautiful, handsome eyes. I stared for a time. Chris only braking contact to blink. Such wonderful eyes. No hint of malice behind them. Just a sense of deep regret. It almost brought me to tears again, but I held then back. I repeated, ―Chris, were not done. Not over just one thing.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 194

Chris nodded slowly as if he were hearing the words for the first time. ―Is it going to be hard to talk about?‖ He sounded again like a child asking about an early homework assignment. ―No, it‘s not going to be hard. I just want to know a few things, Chris. Like why in the world would you tell people you were a professor? You‘re an EMT student. That‘s just as good and in a lot of ways better.‖ ―Better, my ass,‖ Chris said. An edge coming to his voice. ―That‘s where you are wrong, Chris. Your life is important. Your wants are important. But, you can‘t tell people one thing and really be something else.‖ ―I know, I know,‖ Chris finally beginning to enter the conversation we had ahead of ourselves. ―But you don‘t know how it feels to be the most stupid person in the room, Reece, you‘ve never experienced that in your life.‖ ―Chris, I experience that every day! You don‘t have any idea how hard things are when I‘m sitting in the middle of a conversation of Ph.D.s and I‘m trying to keep up. Sometimes I want to stand up and pronounce, ‗Hi, I‘m Reece and I‘d like to just say I‘m the dumbest person in the room! Now, please continue,‘‖I said. Chris chuckled. ―That‘s exactly how I felt when I talked to Captain. Why do you call her the Captain,‖ Chris made the little quotes sign in the air. ―Why do you call her that anyway?‖ ―Why do I call Dr. Sorrell ‗Captain‘?‖ I asked. ―Yeah,‖ Chris asked, ―I mean was she in the service?‖ I laughed at the idea of Gwen Sorrell being in the modern Army. God have pity on the privates. ―It‘s a long story, Chris,‖ I began. Chris rolled his eyes. ―See, I hate that. You don‘t explain things because I‘m not smart enough to get them. But, Reece, I‘m smart enough to get things if you‘ll explain it to me. You don‘t have to just dismiss me every time. Sometimes I feel more like your child than your boyfriend.‖

Chris‘ tone had definitely gained an edge to it. ―And, I don‘t want to be your child. You‘ve got Jeff for that.‖ ―Whoa,‖ I said, ―I don‘t always or do anything every time. I know you are smart enough to get things, Chris. But, sometimes, they are just stupid little things I don‘t want to share. But, if you want to know why I call Gwen ‗Captain‘ then sure, I‘ll tell you. It has to do with Star Trek. She‘s got a thing for it and I have a thing for it so it‘s something we‘ve bonded over. Most people at Tech call her Captain. That‘s what she prefers. Now did that sound like it was something I thought was too deep for you to understand? No, it‘s just something I didn‘t need to give a full report to you." ―Arghh,‖ Chris said, ―I hate that tone!‖ ―What tone?‖ I asked, beginning to warm up anger in myself again. ―That tone you use when you think you‘re being kind or soft, but you are just speaking in a way to sound smart and teaching. Don‘t teach me things, Reece, I didn‘t sign up for any class by you!‖ Chris said rising up. ―You know, maybe you had just better go for the night, Chris. This is supposed to be about you lying and making me look like an idiot. I‘ve got a right to feel angry about that, and I don‘t have the time or energy to take emotional care of you right now. Much less teach you anything, which I‘ve never bothered trying to do,‖ I said in a rising tone. ―Oh, sure. If it‘s not going exactly like you want it to go, Reece, you decide its time to throw me out. Real mature, Reece, real mature.‖ ―Chris,‖ I tried to compose myself. ―Look, I don‘t want to fight. Why don‘t we save the fight, discussion, whatever this is for tomorrow? I care about you. I don‘t want to say anything tonight to hurt you, or that I‘ll wish I could un-say. ― Chris sat back down and looked back down at the floor. ―C‘mon Chris. What do you want from me? I‘m sorry I got mad over the lies you All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 196

said to Captain without taking things in from all points of view. Yes, I understand why you said what you said and no, we are not over because of it. I‘m just tired.‖ I sat back down next to him and wrapped my left arm around him. He reached up and took my hand. ―I do really care about you, Chris. Yes, I want to be your boyfriend. I think we are getting really close to something good. I just can‘t get it all worked out tonight. I appreciate everything you went through for tonight. I think it was one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me.‖ I waited for Chris to respond, but he stayed with his head looking down at the carpet. I signed and pushed back into the recliner. And, waited. Waited. Finally, Chris got up. Slipped his jacked back on. And, walked over to me. ―Stand up, Reece.‖ I stood up and faced him. ―I‘m just going to say this once. I love you, and I will do whatever it takes to make this work. It‘s the first time someone has been nice to me that didn‘t just want to have sex with me. You proved that by calling me back after the first night. I‘ve never got the second phone call.‖ I started to say, ―Chris, I care...‖ and he pressed a finger to my lips. ―Now,‖ he said, ―I‘m going to go home and let you clean this up. However, do keep the roses. There is a vase under the cabinet I bought for them earlier today. Call me tomorrow and let me know when you have time to go out just you and me. No surprise dates or dinner invite that include Captain or Jeff or anyone else. I need to spend some more time with just you to see if I‘m right, or if I‘m wrong.‖ With that, Chris pulled me in and kissed me. Pushed back and smiled at me a perfectly content smile. A beautiful, hopeful look was on his face. ―Don‘t say a word. Play the track cued up on the CD when you go to sleep tonight. I‘m outtie. Talk with you tomorrow.‖ Chris headed toward the door, paused, looked back at me, ―Tomorrow,‖ he said. Then he walked out the door down the elevator and into the night.

Chapter Twenty Four – Love and Loss I sat down at the table and considered what had just happened. I had not gotten to speak my mind, and I got told someone was in love with me. It was not exactly what I‘d planned, but it answered a need so deep that I didn‘t really care I‘d not gotten everything said. I picked up the plates from the dinner when I heard a key throw the lock to the door, ―Best friend coming in,‖ Jeff announced. ―Anyone naked? Do not want to see best friend‘s winkie! Do not, do not, do not...‖ Jeff opened the door slowly. ―Relax, Jeffrey, I‘m dressed.‖ I announced. Jeff squealed with delight. ―You‘re dressed and you‘re alive! Oh thank goodness I thought I was gonna have to find another bank, I mean best friend, I‘m so fabuolouslyhappytoseeyou,‖ Jeff ran the words together as he ran over and jumped into my arms and planted a kiss on my cheek. ―Hey,‖ I said, dumping him back to his own feet. ―I just survived a little drama, give a queen his due.‖ ―Oooo, do tell, Jeffrey want to know the scoop. Right after Jeffrey gets a cocktail.‖ I blocked the way to the kitchen. ―Jeffrey want cocktail? Jeffrey clean up kitchen while I get papers looked at.‖ Jeff considered things for a moment and his desire for free drinks overcame his disdain for work. ―Jeffrey clean,‖ he agreed. ―Then Jeffrey makes cocktail,‖ I stepped aside and headed over to the folder the Captain had given to me. I said down at a clean spot on the table as Jeff made himself a drink from the Captain Morgan‘s and seven up stuck in the kitchen cupboards. ―Okay, Jeffrey, impress me with your bussing skills.‖ I said. Jeff saluted with his middle finger.

I turned my attention to the imposingly full folder Captain had handed to me. I flipped off the rubber band holding in the bursting contents and found her directions:

Reece, only if you’re not too tired. Remember! These are the papers of hard work and effort and deserve our full abilities! Over and out. - Captain Captain cared for each and every one of her students. It made me feel a bit humbled. This great woman genuinely cared for each of these undergrads and their efforts as well as the entire world of me. Captain went far and above the call to duty. ―Whatcha doin?‖ queried Jeff as he removed the last of the dining items from what had become my desk. ―I‘m grading papers, let‘s see what‘s involved,‖ I flipped through the pages of papers each four or five pages long, stapled, numbered and not named per the Captain‘s method. For major assignments she always ―ticketed‖ papers. She would dump the tickets in an old Folgers‘s coffee can and students would draw out a ticket. One ½ they would write their names, the other they would leave blank. They wrote down the number of the ticket on their paper, and after grading, Captain would match the numbers up to the names on the back of the tickets. It was another step she went in keeping everything as full of integrity as possible. ―Looks like 30 papers. Of course, I‘ve got all the way until tomorrow.‖ Sarcasm was lost on Jeff most of the time and tonight was no different. ―Great! Well, grade then let‘s go get frisky! The bar has dancers tonight!‖ Jeff said twisting around the corner. ―I do love me some boxer brief dancers!‖ ―Forget it, Jeff. There is no way I‘m going out after a day like today. There simply isn‘t any fathomable way I could go with you.‖ One line of cocaine, one more excuse and off I went. The bar was crowded and thumping when Jeff and I arrived. I noted James‘ car in the parking lot. As we opened the door Jeff squealed All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 199

like a school girl! ―They‘re practically naked!‖ And, grabbing my hand, I soon found myself on the other side of the bar matching the gyrations of the nervous dancer. It was obvious one of his first times and, yes, he probably was straight. Here he was in nothing but a pair of clingy boxer briefs. ―Can I have a dollar?‖ Jeff asked. ―I wanna play!‖ I peeled out ten ones and gave them to Jeff. ―Now make it last, dear, it‘s your allowance for the night. Jeff immediately stuck a bill in the boxer briefs of the dancer eliciting a little yelp of surprise from the muscled frame as Jeff placed the bill, umm, carefully. The dancer‘s face was red when he turned around but Jeff locked playful eyes with him. Jeff started to pull out another dollar then thought better of it. ―Come on, let‘s go get a cocktail.‖ I followed Jeff to the bar to see what was going on with Brian and his service tonight. People were actually stacked one or two deep around the entire serving area. The owner was there, which was rare being he ran several of the straight bars in the Depot District where the college kids flocked. Being seen here would be corporate suicide in the berg of Lubbock. Jeff leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. The owner whispered and Jeff whispered back, too. In less than five minutes, Jeff had made two people blush. The boy could be scandalous. Our cocktails arrived ahead of everyone else waiting to be served. Jeff took my hand again and we headed for one of the booths with easy access to Jeffrey‘s new friend Dancer. ―Hey stranger,‖ James said as he slid in next to Jeff and smacked him a kiss. ―Long time no see.‖ ―Reece was in crisis. We had to do an intervention!‖ Jeff exclaimed. ―Why he was this close to death at the hands of Miss Psycho! I‘m sure the dinner was poisoned. Thank you for rushing me over to his house.‖ James‘ eyebrow went up then remembered he was talking to Jeff. The eyebrow lowered to normal, ―Hey, Reece, good to see you, too. You okay?‖

Before I could answer, Jeff interjected ―I just told you he almost met death tonight, honey. Can‘t you see he‘s rattled to the core? The only thing that will make him feel any better will mean a trip to the little boy‘s room! I‘ll come for moral support.‖ Jeff and Florence Nightingale, the great nursemaids to the dying and desperate. I soon found myself in the Boy‘s Room feeling no pain. As we emerged into the bar from the bathroom, my feet were fine, my outlook was rosy, and I had the whole night to figure out any problems with Chris. Then, my memory protested with the papers piled high on the kitchen table. I found myself trying to protest the protest, but the Captain was someone I could not overcome. Or, rather, the guilt I would feel if the Captain ever knew where or what I was up to that night. ―Boys, I‘ve got to go grade papers. It is a one hundred percent thing.‖ Jeff and I had invented the ―percent thing‖ somewhere early in our friendship. It gave an assigned sincerity value to any statement. The 100 percent limit was something that Jeff recognized as what it was – nonnegotiable. ―Ahh, no fair. We just got here,‖ Jeff said. ―Jeff, I hate to break it to you, but James is who you are spending the night with. Remember. Now, you just stay here with him and have fun. And, no, you can‘t have any more money,‖ I said as Jeff‘s hand reached halfway to me. Fast on his feet, Jeff changed the motion to a hug instead of reaching for a hand out. I received the hug and thanked him for all his care and interest for the evening. ―You can bus my table anytime, Jeff.‖ James rolled his eyes. I headed out into the parking lot and took a deep breath of the cool, clear air. I‘d passed on the cocktail Jeffrey had wrangled for me earlier so my mind was clear. My feet didn‘t hurt a bit and there was still a slight euphoria coursing through my veins. I figured I was as in as good shape as to grade papers as I ever would be. I pulled the Eclipse into the Park Tower garage and made it up to the apartment without any incident.

I paused at my front door. The TV was on behind it. Had I left it on when Jeff and I left? Had I left the volume up that loud? No, I remembered I had started to grade papers when Jeff had talked me into the role of bar taxi. I listened at the door. A car commercial was on television. Then a fast food ad. It must be really turned up. Chris? What the hell would he be doing back here tonight? I listened to one more commercial then through the bolt to unlock the unit. ―Hello!‖ I demanded of the noisy room. ―Hello?‖ I again asked the apartment. No response came as I crossed across the living room and reached the remote to turn the TV down. It has been on a high volume and I knew it was a good thing my apartment had been built when there was plenty of insulation. I poked my head into the bedroom, the closet, the bathroom. The only thing which appeared to be disturbed was the TV. Then, it hit me. The roses were gone. I went to the door and threw the double dead bolts. Cocaine makes you anxious and hyper vigilant, both of which seemed perfectly reasonable given the current set of things. I poked my head in the kitchen once more, grabbed a bottle of water and picked up the folder of papers. I retreated to my bedroom and took a deep breath. I said a little prayer of thanks that I was okay. The stupidity of the things I had done that night came crashing down on me. Much of it has been outside of my control, but what I‘d chosen had not been the right things to choose to be the success I demanded from myself. As I opened the paper folder with my grading pens in hand I closed my eyes for just a moment. Just a second to rest. The only image which came were the grey-brown eyes of the Captain and her speech from Riversmith‘s. In my mind they were both encouraging and disappointed. Hopeful but at the same time full of judgment. Captain, my Captain. What had I been thinking? The papers slid out of the folder as I slid into sleep. What I did not know was that as I slept, Chris had arrived at the bar only minutes after I departed. He told Jeff I‘d sent him because I needed to grade papers. Jeff, always happy to see pretty much anyone, All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 202

embraced him and soon he and James were having a high ol time. Chris told James to just put everything on my bill. James had shrugged. Why, not? I‘d covered it before. The bartender, Brian, assumed the same. Jeff, not knowing any better, helped Chris run up quite the debt with both James and Brian. It ended up the Dancer was ―bi curious‖ and he joined the group after his dancing gigs. I, in absence, happily bought all of his drinks and cocaine. It turned out Dancer was quite a hoover. It also turned out that ―bi curious‖ meant ―confirmed family‖. The morning would find Chris at Dancer‘s apartment. It would find Jeff still ―up‖ and playing on the Internet from his and James‘s place. It would find Captain at her 7:00 AM Women‘s Business Breakfast, and it would find me oversleeping and gathering papers in a desperate effort to make a path to the restroom. Picking myself between papers, staples and folders to hit the head on feet screaming in protest.

Chapter Twenty Five – The Other Battle What had happened that night was a tone to how much of the semester would go at Tech. The pain however would become more progressive, Chris less stable, and Jeff as Jeff ever was. I would eventually fail as I succeeded in breaking the appeal of cocaine, which left the door open to the pain, which would reduce my chances of being an effective human development professor to almost zero. Of course, I would try with my whole heart, including making sincere efforts at the Texas Tech International Pain Center. The placement of the Center, for both research and teaching, was perfectly located in Lubbock. The surrounding small cities support farmers who were aging and had the need for pain management. Most of who relied on the government for health care. Any time there is a glut in demand for services and a reduction of available money, institutions love to step in to open research and teaching centers. They provide supposedly competent health care in their specialty by making student physicians available to serve the mass of patients. It is a noble endeavor of a University with often ignoble results. There was no doubt in my mind I was nothing more than a guinea pig to the International Pain Center. In the six months I was working in post-Doctoral studies at Texas Tech, the IPC performed over 10 ―procedures‖ on me, each more invasive. At first, it was the hellish stabbing by Dr. Racz. Next, it would be what they called nerve blocks. I arrived at the IPC one November day in the course of my spiraling studies at Tech. Captain was already aware of how much the pain was taking its toll on me. Chris knew it was bad. Jeff knew it was bad but couldn‘t be bothered with something as negative as pain. So, often, it would be my mother who accompanied me to the little ―procedures‖ to be held at the Center every couple of weeks or so. Mom was living with her latest husband in a little town south of Lubbock. She and I talked almost every day. She felt trapped in her marriage. She had said ―I do‖ out of desperation and fear of her aging. She thought she had to have a man and the man she‘d selected was vile. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 204

Of course, he‘d been all charm and flash at first. But things changed horribly after the marriage. He became emotionally abusive and forbid her from visiting me except under emergencies. It wasn‘t that he disliked me. It was that he wanted to control Mom‘s every movement. And, he succeeded most of the time. However, as always in my life, when I had to have my mom, mom managed to appear. Mom arrived with me in that November day. For her to show up meant she had gone through a terrible battle for the right to attend. Together we entered into the IPC ready to see what that had available for the guinea pig today. Nerve blocks are simply injections of a material at the nerve ―head‖ in hopes of interrupting pain signals from traveling up the nerve and reaching the brain. I was amazed at how much anatomy and physiology I had picked up since the nerve studies had commenced. For example, I did not know that nerves were single cells which ran the entire length of the leg as a single, stretched, miniscule thread. The nerve ending opened up at the end and connected to a patch of skin. When your foot is touched, the nerve is activated and fires of neurons to reach the nerve bundle in the small of the back to be considered by the brain. A nerve block was designed to keep that from happening. Today, I was going to have the fun of an advanced block on L2. In medspeak, they were going to inject silicone and a hormone at a place in my lower back on both sides of the spine. I was checked in by Karen. Karen and I had become as close to friends as patients and ―Patient Services‖ workers could be. She greeted me at the door to the little medical examining rooms. ―Good morning, Reece!‖ she said in her perfectly practice perky voice. ―Ready for some more therapy? How are you doing? And, who‘s this? Your sister?‖ Karen gave mom the compliment, but I guess, in reality, Mom looks very young for her age and because I was aged by both dread and pain, the statement may have even been genuine. ―Hi Karen. This is my mom, Treva, she‘s here because today‘s fun apparently requires a driver after the procedure. Watch out, she‘s a retired All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 205

nurse,‖ I introduced Mom and the two shook hands. I‘ve found in dealing with the medical world it helps to have Mom along, especially if I introduced her as a retired nurse. Most of mom‘s nursing had been done in Big Spring State Hospital. She had retired from the gig as the highest ranking nurse the State Hospital System can convey to a nurse. Since the majority of her nursing had been at a State Hospital she didn‘t know much more about the procedure I was facing that day than I did. The State Hospitals of Texas are a nice euphemism for the state ―nut house‖. ―Okay, you know the drill,‖ Karen said as we arrived in Exam Room 2. There on the table was a folded hospital gown, booties, hair net and alcohol swabs. The drill was to get naked and into the gown. The room temperature that day felt to be in the mid-40‘s, and I really noticed the cold as I slipped the booties on over my socks. The cold also found itself around all of the different areas of the gown not covering exposed skin. I always had to do a little dance to get the damn gown to cover as much as possible as quickly as possible. ―Okay,‖ I called to Mom who had excused herself out of the room while I changed. ―Did you get done okay, kiddo?‖ Mom asked. Indeed I had gotten the damn gown on correctly. The first nine times I changed I did have trouble with the gown. Once, my right leg ended up in the opening of the gown designed for the head. Once I had buttoned it, I appeared to be ready for a mental health check. My right leg protruded from the gown and I looked like a blue Easter egg, with one leg. I had had to hop to the examination bed on one foot with the rest of gown flapping about me like two great wings. Whoosh went the gown, hop went the foot. Whoosh went the gown. I felt, and probably looked, like a giant, flightless bird suddenly given bright blue wings and having one of its legs removed simultaneously. Whoosh. Hop. Plop. That day it had taken seven hops to reach the prize of the examination table. And, I found myself on the exact same examine table seven weeks later. ―Right, I think I got it right. It‘s never an easy thing to do.‖ Mom arrived in from the hallway and immediately began straightening up the gown and tugging things into place. I hopped up on the table and Mom grabbed a blanket. Mom‘s instincts were still spot on and in this moment All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 206

in time I was not a 35 year old man but her child about to face and unpleasant medical experience. ―Is that better?‖ Mom asked getting the blanket over me. ―Yep,‖ I replied and we settled in and waited for whatever would come next. Today the procedure was supposed to be more ―aggressive‖ than the other procedures performed. The Center had advised me to have someone drive me there and take me home as I was going to be somewhat sedated. The word aggressive is another term used for something that was going to be excruciating. However, my feet had begun to be excruciatingly painful, even with medications. I had sworn off cocaine after Chris‘ fiasco trip to New Orleans for Southern Decadence, and without the white powder in my life, I never had complete relief from the pain, even immediately after the medication. The solution was simple enough; I would need to increase the dose of medication. However, the medication was controlled by the physician‘s Center and doled out by their pharmacy. The previous visit had brought only a two week supply. This assured my arrival for the procedure about to be commenced. ―Hi, I‘m Dr. Lance and I work with Dr. Gabor Racz. Today, our objectives include introducing bilateral injections at L2 in hopes of relieving some of the pain you are experiencing,‖ the man in the white lab coat wore the official crest of the Texas Tech Health Centers, Something Lance, MD. He might as well of said, ―Hi. Today we are going to shove needles the size of irrigation pipes into your back. But, we don‘t know for sure where, so we‘re going to have to let them bounce off your spine and then retract them. Don‘t worry, you‘ll get a lollipop.‖ The objectives sounded just as ominous. ―Why is this thought to be helpful?‖ Mom asked the doctor. The doctor was caught off guard by the lady behind him and spun to face mom. It was the first time he had looked up from the chart since he had entered the room. ―I‘m sorry,‖ said the doctor, ―I don‘t understand?‖ Mom rolled her eyes, showing her confidence level was dropping quickly. ―How is this going to help, Reece?‖ Mom restated the question,

trying her best to use small words. Dr. Lance was stumped for a minute. ―Well, Dr. Racz feels this is the best procedure to try.‖ ―I understand that,‖ Mom said, ―but how is this different than what you‘ve done for Reece already? Why do you think this will last longer?‖ ―Umm, uhh,‖ Dr. Lance began brilliantly, ―This will be delivering more of the injectable substance deeper inside the root bundle. Did you know nerves are really cells?‖ Mom and I looked at each other and it was a laugh, cry, or panic moment. We chose to laugh. The laughter confused Dr. Lance who consulted his chart with great attention looking for the line that no doubt would read, ―If a patient laughs, proceed in this manner.‖ The chart seemed to be missing that page and Dr. Lance excused himself saying, ―A nurse will be in to get you ready in just a moment. Thank you.‖ The good doctor left the room quickly leaving Mom and I and the sounds of the fluorescent lights for a few moments. ―Mom, I‘m scared,‖ I confessed. Mom came over to the exam table and took my hand. ―I know, baby. I know.‖ There was tenderness in that moment which would be repeated probably a hundred times in my life from that point forward. Mom, partly because she was a nurse and partly because she was, well, Mom, knew the depths of the suffering. I know she got it. Captain got it because she had seen it take its toll on me and she had, as Captain always did, researched the condition to the point of exhaustion. I knew that pain was in my immediate future. However, the idea that the pain was incurable was just beginning to form in my understanding. The condition of the nerve was simple enough. It would only require the injection of a few stem cells in the right area and they would probably regrow the myelin sheath covering the nerve body. However, the idea of stem cells was new and just beginning to be explored. Even so, when stem cells were considered the American politics took over the concept, making it a fight between religion and advancement. A battle between the good of the people and the profitability of the procedure. Such as it was in the battle to provide effective therapy. In this place, solutions did not matter. The IPC was All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 208

going to provide a common solution for ameliorating the symptoms. They were going to make it hurt like hell in hopes of making it a little bit better. The nurse arrived. She was one of the ones I knew and liked, Lucy. ―Okay, Reece, more fun for you again today! You know the drill, come with me and we‘ll get this going. Hey,‖ she sounded a happy noise, ―you get some relaxation juice today. God help you. They never do that.‖ Mom hugged me and took her place back in the corner of the room. ―Another plus, you get to ride in bed. No walking for you today, your Highness,‖ Lucy gave a little mock bow. ―Oh, yes, I feel so fortunate,‖ I said, ―I‘d like to thank the academy,‖ I began as Lucy got an IV started and situated me in the bed. ―You must be Mom,‖ she said to my Mom. ―Oh, yeah, I‘m sorry,‖ I said, ―This is my mom, Treva, and she‘s a retired nurse. As I became mellow from the drugs, Mom and Lucy chatted about nurse things. I seemed to be content just to become one with the buzz of the florescent lights. A few minutes later, one of the transport people came and took me to the procedure area. On the relaxation juice, the place seemed less menacing than before. It was an area of three beds, separated by curtains. Full surgical equipment awaited in each area. Intubation kits and ventilators stood at the ready should deep sedation be necessary for patients. Monitors of various kinds stood by awaiting connections. Shiny, ammonia smelling instrument trays held all sorts of tools and instruments. Some scary looking, others utterly unidentifiable. We arrived at the second bed, and I went from wheelchair to table top. Lucy reappeared and asked me to lie on my stomach with my backside up in the air. I was soon wrapped in blanket from the waist down. Lucy, who had become simply a pair of booty covered feet, was joined by other bootie covered feet which scurried from place to place, in and out of my very limited range of vision. I felt the cold swipes of the sterilization swabs on my lower back and felt the drape go on. The bootie covered feet scurried very quickly than stopped as I heart a familiar voice All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 209

in the room. It was Dr. Racz. My heart sunk and my head swam to attention. ―Okay, Mr. Manley, we are going to do a deep nerve block. I will need you to be clear headed enough to tell me when you feel your feet tingling so I will be reducing the flow of medication now. If you feel it is necessary, simply ask for the medication and we will give some more, yes? We will begin by deadening the skin in your back where the injections will go. You will feel sting now.‖ I felt the sting now. Man, did I feel sting now. It was as if a wasp the size of a Yugo had decided to land and insert its lancet in my back and deliver a burn of medication. ―Mr. Manley,‖ came the voice of Dr. Lance, ―I‘m going to insert the first block now. You will feel some pressure but there won‘t be much pain. I need you to tell me when you feel tingling here in a second. I‘ll ask, and you just let me know.‖ I was unprepared for what happened next, and I let out a loud cry as the plunge of the needle entered by back, glanced off my spine and ended up somewhere in the area of the target. My scream included many choice phrases and references to Dr. Lance‘s heritage. But, mostly it was a scream of pain. The burning and burrowing sensation, the ―clang‖ on my spine of a needle. It was horrid. ―Turn up the juice, you son of a bitch,‖ I managed to say. The little feet I could see scurried nervously. I could smell blood and felt the wipes going on my back. ―I can give you a little bit, Mr. Manley, hold on with me.‖ No further relief came. Instead a whelp of pain burned inside my back as the blocking agents flowed in. ―Let me know when your feet begin to tingle,‖ said Dr. Lance. I had no intention of increasing the length of this insanity by allowing this to continue. ―It‘s tingling, it‘s tingling,‖ I called out to the Doctor. Surprise in his tone, ―Are you sure? Mr. Manley are you sure you feel tingling?‖ asked the voice of Dr. Lance. ―Yes, sir,‖ I said. I thought ―sir‖ might be better than ―you stupid bastard‖ although it was difficult to replace the two terms. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 210

―Let me explore just a bit further, Mr. Manley, we are increasing the medication flowing to you. You should feel some relief.‖ There was a second where my mind registered more medication flowing, but it felt miniscule and the relaxation was easily ignored for the panic I felt as the needle was still in my spinal area. I was aware of my predicament. I wanted to move very badly very quickly. Flap, hop, roll and into the chair is what my mind was screaming to do. But, there was some foreign instrument very close to my spine. Moving would not be wise. It‘s a very difficult thing to do, to overcome the panic response. I wondered how many people had simply leapt off the table. Why did they think I wouldn‘t? The IPC had collected certain information over the course of my visits. From this they knew I would tolerate pain to the extreme. They knew I was intelligent and understood the complications that would result from scooching an inch much less jerking straight up off the table. I guessed they were playing the odds that I would tolerate the pain out of a sense of self survival. They were right. The burn continued to build in what felt like a mass the size of a grape became a mass the size of a lemon. One of the sets of feet scooted over to the other side of the table. ―Okay, Mr. Manley, you‘re doing great. We just have to do the other side and we‘ll be finished. You are doing very well.‖ I was doing many things in my mind, but doing very well was not one of them. I wanted to get off the table the second the needle came out. I wanted to reclaim my clothing. I wanted to take back my dignity and my ability to be in control of at least my body. I was certainly not going to put up with another assault. Not another dig of needle on the other side of my spine. Were they crazy? How‘d the hell did they expect me to put up with a repeat performance. ―Doctor, look, I don‘t think...‖ The needle plunged back into the flesh and the cycle started again. I released a very audible ―Fuck!‖ Nevertheless, the procedure continued. I gritted my teeth. I answered the questions. I held on to consciousness rather than passing out. I endured. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 211

The ride back to the room was mercifully short. Lucy appeared with an injection of Demerol as my Mom, close to tears, came over to me in the wheelchair and bent down and hugged me. I couldn‘t take it. Soon my mom and I were both crying. Tears mingling together. She knew the misery and the injustice. The complete violation I felt. The complete helplessness. I don‘t know how she knew but she did. As she got me back to the bed to recover for an hour or so. I lay on my side, my back still protesting the recent invasion despite the Demerol the nurse had just injected. The rest of my body relaxed as the medicine took hold of the last strains of resistance I had. And, as I passed over from consciousness to the bliss of sleep, my mom caressed my head as she must have done when I was a very small child. I felt immensely comforted by the action, and as I fell into sleep only one thought remained. Why did my feet hurt so bad? That was my last visit to the International Pain Clinic. I had been through my last experiment with them. I left that day with my entire lower body tingling. Making it to the car, I looked like a combination of a drunk and someone suffering with epilepsy. I would tell my feet to move and every other time, they actually obeyed. It was hard to lurch from any place with dignity, but I straightened up and did my best. I dutifully made the appointment for 30 days return to the Center. I picked up my medications from the pharmacy. Then lurching forward, Mom balancing one side and a cane balancing the other, I had made it to mom‘s car and managed to kerplunk into the passenger seat. As Mom pulled her maroon Grand Marquis away from the non-descript Center of Torture of Various Kinds, I knew I would not be returning. I was finished with this particular part of the journey, and I didn‘t care one bit that I would be out of medication in 30 days. I did not care that they had only six more procedures planned before they would finally hit upon the device that would bring me relief. That was six months‘ worth of visits and procedures. I had danced my last dance with the IPC, and as it faded into the rearview, I watched it as if examining something of great significance. I knew it was one of the turning moments in my life. I felt deep inside a burning anger and frustration. I had been duped that day, and I was beginning to be tired of being duped. It would happen several more times,

but not at the hands of the IPC. Nope. This little rat had had enough of that particular maze, cheese be damned.

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Chapter Twenty Six – The Maslow Moment A few days later found me in a much more pleasant environment. It was Wednesday night and it was my night I got to play professor and during the semester I had come to enjoy the experience more and more. My class, no, check that, Captain‘s class that I had been entrusted with the stewarding, had shrunk in size from the first night. Texas Tech allowed students to drop courses without receiving a failing grade almost halfway through the semester. And, after the first major exam, the class had shed most of those who thought a Wednesday night class would be an easy A. I had not designed the exam that cut short the numbers in the class by almost twenty students. I had simply been the bearer of the Captain‘s will. One of the Captain‘s Laws was ―There Was No Easy A.‖ It was a law I had learned the first class I had taken from Captain a year before and now being on the other side of it, I felt pity for those who were unprepared. The exam had been announced in the syllabus of the class. The first of two major exams was to be given a week before the drop option. However, the results of the exam would not be given until the day after the drop option. In all fairness, Captain had had me grade the exams and post the scores via the last four digits of the student‘s social security numbers outside my office deep in the tombs of graduate assistant cubicles. I had dutifully posted the grades and had several students buzzing nervously around as I posted the scores. Everything from ―Yeah, nailed it!‖ to ―Stupid bastard. Fuck them!‖ was uttered from the little mass of students. My shining star student, who had been the one with the nervous breakdown at the first class, had scored the only 100. She hugged me excitedly, jumping up and down. I gave her a pat on the shoulder and told her well done. Her head was held high as she walked down the hall and she gave those slouching and licking their academic wounds a look of superiority. It was a good moment for her. Most of her life, she was a short, nervous, overweight woman who clerked at United while making her way through a useless program. Today she was academic excellence. Not just an A, but a 100. And, not just a 100 but the only 100. She had All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 214

excelled. I had the honor of bestowing the numbers to her that allowed the transformation. It was hugely gratifying. For a moment, the underdog truly had won. She might not have been pert, cute, sorority material. But, today she was better. I had watched her all the way down the hall and her head never cast itself down. She was proud and deservedly so. Heck, I hadn‘t even made a 100 on the same exam when I took it. I entered into the classroom with the magic code. Although I had pressed the buttons a hundred times before, it never lost the magic on me. Access was granted. Lights came up. The students shuffled in in various states of dress, readiness and attitudes. But they were united in purpose, learning. At least for the most part. They were my flock and I was here to shepherd them through to their 3 credits for the class. A stepping stone on the way to a degree. During the semester, my skills had improved. For one, I didn‘t have any big cries with students. Captained had summed that up as ―a bit of a blurred boundary.‖ I had learned not to pick on students one on one. One of the white hat frat boys had an uncle on the Board of Regents and Captain had said ―while all life is not politics, all of life is political.‖ I had gotten the gist of the message. Don‘t piss off the nephew of a regent. It caused waves for the Captain. But, mostly I had learned how to hold the class‘ attention. It was no easy feat. This was a three hour class on a Wednesday night. From 6:00 pm to 8:50 pm, with two breaks in between. The idea of ending class early was verboten per Captain. ―There is a world of learning to present to these people, how are you going to do it in the precious little time you have, much less releasing them early? It deprives them.‖ Tonight we were beginning the class with returning the exams and reviewing the material contained within them. As I passed back the exams, ten remained on the desk with no owner to claim them. They had evidently panicked and dropped the class. The class as a whole had done much better. They were almost all pulling A‘s and were voracious to maintain their grades. I walked through the classroom handing the three page exam in one hand and using the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 215

other to give pats of congratulations or encouragement, whichever the case. I noticed as I matched name with face and made quick mental notes of the grades and areas students were having more difficulties with that Maslow‘s hierarchy of needs seemed to have a number of students baffled. It was as good a place as any to begin the exam review. As I finished up passing the exams out, I took a seat on the makeshift recliner I had created in the classroom. ―Okay, guys and gals, there is learning afoot,‖ I began. ―I noticed our ranks are a bit smaller than they were last Wednesday, so I want to first congratulate all who are here tonight. I promise you will pass the class from this point forward so long as you show up, you can‘t blow it.‖ There was actually applause from the class so I joined in with a few claps. ―If you‘re here, congratulations.‖ ―I noticed quite a few people had difficulty with Maslow‘s concepts,‖ I began the review. ―I wanted to take a moment and review that material tonight.‖ I had made Power Point presentations along the way for each class night‘s materials. I had pre-loaded the CD with all presentations. ―Before I begin are there any specific questions?‖ ―Can we go home early tonight,‖ came the last remaining white baseball cap. ―I think we deserve a break tonight.‖ ―You certainly can go home any time you like,‖ I started the canned response, ―However the class will continue to meet until 8:50 and to pass the class, you have to do what?‖ ―Show up.‖ The class responded in unison. I had trained them pretty well. I touched the room remote to deploy the projection screen. The ceiling opened and motors whirred as the screen came down, the projector turned on and the light in the room dimmed slightly. I had covered Maslow in module eight of the syllabus. I pushed through the files of the Power Point presentation until I reached the Maslow pyramid and then paused it on the graphic representation of Maslow‘s Hierarchy of Needs slide.

―Okay,‖ I picked a random person who had done well on the question, ‖tell us about what we are seeing here.‖ The slide showed a pyramid with different layers beginning at the bottom with physiological. These are our most basic needs, food, water and breathing. It was also the stage which was most obviously met when we arrived on the planet. ―Well, um,‖ the student looked for her voice and memory of Maslow, ―It‘s like this, the bottom layer is called physiological and it contains the basics of human existence. Then the next layer is safety, it contains things like protection, family, and parents. Things like that.‖ ―Great I replied, keep going,‖ I said, glancing at the screen. I advanced to show the labels: Physiological, Safety, Love/Belonging, Esteem, Self-Actualization. ―Safety, is like, well, protection, family, a sense of being okay,‖ she continued. ―Then we have Love/Belonging which includes marriage, partnership, friendships. Then esteem is, kind of, getting respect for you, getting respect from others, too. Then the self-actualization which means morality, creativity, umm...things only you can do.‖ ―Very good. Now why is it important to us to look at these things as important to human development?‖ I asked the class in general. The silence was common when a question was asked. But, it always ended when a student got frustrated with my style of patience. I had once waited fifteen uninterrupted minutes of silence for the class to answer what they had thought was either hypothetical, unanswerable or off-topic. I had just about resolved to answer the question for them when a student finally spoke up. Captain had been right, patience is the instructor‘s best friend, next to confused silence. ―Maslow‘s theory is important because it shows one way of looking at how we cycle through development over the lifespan.‖ The answer was verbatim to the notes I had written for the lecture so it wasn‘t surprising the answers had come from Mary, the student I had shared a good cry with. ―Great! Now on exam question number four was:

4. Considering Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, explain what level a newly married bride would be experiencing. Exclude any unnecessary levels. ―Most of you left out self-actualization, which was not necessarily wrong, depending on the short essay response. But, I noticed very few had decided to include self-actualization. Why do you think you avoided that?‖ The class grabbed notebooks and flipped back to the notes from the class where Maslow had been the topic. Mary again, ―Well, selfactualization has to do with things formed within us and is expressed by our creativity, morality – things that are uniquely us. I don‘t think a young newlywed bride is terribly worried about that. She is going to be concentrating on love/belonging, safety and things like that.‖ ―Thank you Mary, how about you Theresa?‖ Theresa shuffled notes and replied with an ―ummmmmm‖. ―You see I think she would be definitely finding herself. And, she‘s going to have to express a lot of creativity and she‘s going to have to express her individuality. These are all things that have to do with self-actualization, right?‖ I pondered a second upon Theresa‘s question. The truth of the matter was that I disagreed with Maslow who thought only a handful of people ever achieved self-actualization. ―I think you are right, Theresa, certainly in some ways. Now, Maslow would strongly disagree. He would say the newlywed was behaving exactly the opposite of selfactualization. He would probably say she was being concerned with the safety/belonging levels of his pyramid. Or, hierarchy. Speaking of that, why is it called a ‗Hierarchy of Needs‘?‖ the question went out to the class. A minute ticked by before the challenge of silence finally elicited a reply. ―Maslow thought of his stages as having to be achieved step by step. That‘s what a hierarchy is, right, I mean you start climbing step by step until you achieve the next level. And, if you took away one of the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 218

layers, you had to hit reset and try again,‖ Theresa answered to break the silence. ―I don‘t buy it,‖ I said, taking the class by surprise. ―I don‘t mean I think you‘re wrong, Theresa, you‘ve given a good answer. I just don‘t buy that we have to move level by level with no chance of advancing until we have the layers in place,‖ I was giving the class my two cents, which they hadn‘t asked for but were going to get that day. ―Well, how do you define it?‖ asked a student. I contemplated the question. Maslow had also been a bit of a burr in my saddle. I didn‘t like his concept, especially the concept that set self-actualization as having very little of the population ever reaching it. ―I think,‖ I began, ―And, mind me, this is simply my opinion, that Maslow missed the mark a bit. Do I agree with the life challenges he sat forth? Yes. But, rather than moving a straight line to the top. I think it is more circular. It is more of a sphere than a pyramid. We are constantly moving from novice to expert, novice to expert. For example, in your life, Theresa, you are much stronger and your successes are more apparent in certain areas of life than mine would be. I would have some areas where mine were stronger than yours.‖ ―Can I ask a question?‖ Marry popped up her hand. ―Of course, shoot.‖ ―How does this work, I mean, when you mess up on one level, why don‘t you think we don‘t have to go through each level each time?‖ I was going to have to get creative to get my point across and I thought about it for a moment while my mouth reported my canned answer. ―Human Development is a journey, it is not a destination. We don‘t start at x when we are born and end at Z, with some Y thrown in. We are continuously cycling.‖ By the time the canned response had been voiced I had had an idea. ―Let‘s look at it this way. Extra credit time! Okay, I need seven people front and center for 15 points of extra credit!‖ I felt like the bulls All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 219

at Papaloma with the way they rushed forward. Extra credit was rare and like little nuggets of gold. Mary got up so quickly that her desk tried to come with her, refusing to release its hold on her plump rump in quick order. She shook loose and still managed to be in front of the small crowd. ―Okay, 1,‖ I took the person behind Mary, much to her dismay. I gave her a quick wink, letting her know I had something special planned for her. I arranged the volunteer members at the front of the class. ―Starting with one – physiological needs. Two – safety. Three – love and belonging. Four – esteem. Five – self actualization. Now six. You are going to be calling out different associations. And, Mary. You‘ve got to tend to the needs. The needs are one through five up here, okay.‖ The class was beginning to get the idea, but had a ways to go. ―How do we know we have needs class?‖ Silence, shuffling papers and then, ―well, like, you just know‖. ―Okay,‖ I responded. ―We know when we have needs. Let‘s just assume that, as adults, we know what we need. Let‘s say we have an internal voice that tells us when we have needs. So, let‘s give these life needs, one through five up here, a voice. Okay, number one, what is your need?‖ ―Eat, poop, breathe,‖ summed up a student who was playing the most basic level of needs, ―Good, I like that. Eat, poop, breathe.‖ ―Okay, number two. What is going to be the voice of your need?‖ ―Safe, watch my back. Don‘t steal my food! Don‘t take away my ability to poop!‖ ―Okay, we‘ve got a poop theme going,‖ I said and the class giggled a bit as they began to be interested in what was unfolding before them. ―Next up, Level Three. Love and acceptance,‖ I placed the third volunteer to the right of the second leaving enough room to maneuver easily between the three. ―Okay, what‘s your voice?‖ I asked.

―Well, I can‘t really think about a poop way to say this.,‖ said the volunteer. ―That‘s fine. We don‘t have to be full of poop, today. Just what do you think a statement from love and belonging would sound like. The need from that level, if it had a voice, what it would say?‖ ―I guess something like ‗Love me, love me, love me‘,‖ said the student in a quickly, clipped voice with a mockery of a whiney child. It got a laugh from the class. ―Okay, the desperate love voice, we all know it well, I‘m sure,‖ I smiled at the budding young actress who was enjoying herself and the attention. It was a testament to the class and its material. This same student had been painfully shy and withdrawn during the class period and now she was joking around. ―Now let‘s get self-esteem and self-direction going on.‖ I took the student who had volunteered next. ―Okay let‘s hear your need‘s voice.‖ The student looked down at the ground thinking over the concept. I waited patiently as did the class. After a few moments, ―I think mine is going to be different. I have self-esteem and self-direction but I don‘t want to have it taken away.‖ ―That makes sense. So, what‘s a statement that that need might make to your inner self?‖ ―How about, I am in control. I need to feel good about myself?‖ The student said the statement loud and with enthusiasm. It was loud enough I jumped slightly. I decided to feign a heart attack much to the delight of the class. I enjoyed the moments in the spot light. ―Dang, girl. You scared me to death. You stay in control, then!‖ ―Okay, last up, self-actualization This one is a hard one because even Maslow didn‘t know if it existed. Or rather the concept of it. Let‘s think about morality. Morality is doing something right because we believe it is right and for only that reason. In other words, you have a need to do things based on your own belief system. Not to do it for any All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 221

other reason or need. If you think about our behavior, it‘s hard to find things we do without any external reason.‖ ―Our creativity comes from self-actualization. It‘s something we do from deep within ourselves simply because we need to do it to be okay with ourselves. How many have you had a moment where you did something just because you thought it would be a neat thing to do? Like grabbing a handful of roses just to put it in your house for your own enjoyment. Not taking the flowers to someone else. That would be love/belonging. Not taking the flowers to try to get a good grade. That‘s safety. But, if you just grab them and put them in your house for the heck of it. The only person who is going to benefit from it is you. Let‘s see hands?" A few hands in the room went up. ―Okay, now remember. You grabbed these flowers just because you wanted to. Now, why wouldn‘t that be self-esteem? You took the flowers to make yourself feel better. To answer the need of nothing but sheer creative action? Or, did you do it to build yourself up? Maybe you need a little beauty in your apartment? That‘s back to self-esteem or even safety since it‘s dealing with your dwelling.‖ Now hands still up if you‘ve done this. I dropped my hand with most of the class. ―No, I haven‘t done something like this without some other need being present. Whether it was love, belonging, safety, acceptance. Have I done anything for self-actualization?‖ I paused and let the class think over my own confusion. ―Okay, now my answer is yes, I have done things just for the sheer reason of expressing creativity or acted in a way that benefitted only myself. But, not a lower need such as safety, or, in this class, for the reason of poop.‖ The class laughed. Poop had become the word of the day and I wasn‘t going to let it go. Poop, afterall, happens. ―Let‘s assume, though, that self-actualization exists. What voice might it give to express the need?‖ The class again shuffled through notes and avoided meeting my eyes like the plague. ―Well, the good news, is, we already have number five up here and she‘s going to give us the answer.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 222

I turned to look at the surprised student who had volunteered moments before. She was staring down at the floor with great intensity. I bent down and faced the floor with them. ―I know what you‘re thinking. These floors would look much better in hard wood, wouldn‘t they?‖ The class gave a little nervous laugh as the student looked at me with pleading eyes. ―Nope, you‘re not getting out of this just because it‘s hard! But, I will give you twenty extra credit points because it is hard as hell. But try to give a voice statement.‖ ―I owe myself some nice things just because I am who I am,‖ the student said. ―Great!‖ I prodded, now louder. She repeated the statement. It echoed off the back wall. My group was ready to go. ―Okay, we‘ve got our Needs lined up. One, two, three, four and five.‖ ―Let‘s hear each one of you give your statement as we get to you. Paraphrasing is allowed.‖ ―One,‖ I called. ―Eat, poop, breathe!‖ ―Two,‖ I called. ―Safe, watch my back, don‘t take away my place to poop!‖ ―Three,‖ I called. ―Love me, love me, love me.‖ ―Four,‖ I called. ―I‘m in control!‖ Again with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader. ―Five,‖ I called. ―I owe myself good things!‖ ―Okay volunteer number six. Here‘s your job, I want you to make a quick list of life situations. They can be anything. New job, marriage, new boyfriend, break up. Anything you can think off. Do that now,‖ I directed. The student began listing in earnest.

―Finally, Mary, volunteer number seven. You are going to be our brains. Rather, you are going to be our minds. We are going to see how a mind works with the Hierarchy of Needs,‖ I explained. ―Maslow assumed all the needs were going, so get ready needs. Okay, where‘s our list of life activities and situations? Are we ready? Okay, Mary. As she calls out a life situation, you are going to have to go to each need and make a statement to its statement. Let‘s see how this works. Can we have the first life situation?‖ ―Meeting a friend for lunch,‖ said the Situation Room lady. ―Okay, meeting a lunch for friend. Needs! Speak up, all at once, and Mary go to work. When you‘ve answered a need, pat them gently on the head like this.‖ I patted Mary on the head gently. ―Now, needs, if you buy what she says has meet your needs, then you can be quiet. If you don‘t think she has answered all of the need, just keep repeating the need until she gives you what you need. Now, everyone, go!‖ The class erupted with noise as the needs went to work and Mary ran over to work with Step One. ―We are getting food!‖ Patted her on the head for need. Over to two, ―We are safe. We know this person. She is a friend.‖ Patted her on the head. About that time One popped up with the inevitable, ―But can we poop?‖ at the top of her lungs. The class erupted with laughter again. As I was turning to watch what Mary did next, the class came to a dead quiet, almost instantly. I turned around to see why all the needs had become silent. I spun around to meet Captain standing directly behind me. ―Capt...Professor Sorell,‖ I stammered, ―Welcome.‖ The class stayed its silence watching to see what would happen next. ―Apparently, Reece,‖ said the Captain, ―I have met all your needs! How fortunate for you!‖ She retained her pose, a look of wisdom, hands of folded. Then, ―May I see you outside for just a moment.‖ The class stayed as silent as a cemetery and poor Mary was stuck in mid pat. ―Oh, Needs. Continue. I‘m not that good. I can‘t meet all of you. But, let‘s not over focus on poop, shall we?‖ The class laughed and the Needs All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 224

continued to demand physiological, safety, acceptance, self-esteem and self-actualization continued to play out behind me as I moved to the hall with the Captain. As we exited the room, I was thinking I had committed hubris. I had strayed from the syllabus for the class. Diversion from established Standard Operating Protocol was not something many of the Captain‘s students did. ―Hello, Reece,‖ Captain said, ―I am in need of the very basic level. Food. Care to join me after class for a late supper. I hear the call of Riversmith‘s.‖ ―Captain, don‘t do that to me!‖ I said in a breath of relief. ―Do what? Invite you to supper?‖ ―No, you know what I mean...‖ The Captain couldn‘t keep a straight face. ―Oh, you rattle so easy these days, Reece. Meet me at the office at 9. We‘ll go from there. Oh, and enjoy being needy for a few more moments. ― With that, the Captain turned and walked out of the hall headed for the office. The University had established two different offices for Captain. One, the fabulous and impressive as Head of Women‘s Studies, the other, an older one in a nondescript, gray, standard issue wing of the Human Sciences old building. I‘d call her after class to see which one she had landed at after making her sneak attack. ―I returned my class to find the merriment still going with the Needs being ever louder in their demands. The class was having a good time with the exercise, but I wanted to stop to make certain they had understood what the exercise was all about. ―Okay, okay. Thank you needs. I think we get it. Everyone back to your seats.‖ ―Okay, the point I have with Maslow and the one thing I wanted you take away from this class, is this. Our needs are subjective needs. I mean that every time an event triggers a need, it may or may not go to the safety and then fill it before advancing up to the next need. A situation may happen in life where you don‘t have to go back and meet the basics, All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 225

because the basic may always have been met in that situation. For example, if you go to dinner with family, you are going to know the basics are covered. Maslow would say this need is being acted upon because of loving and belonging. But, what if you hate your family? Or, if they just stress you out? You are going to have a different set of needs coming up to meet, then. And, what if you are very evolved, and you see the opportunity to be with your family as a time to spend teaching them. Then you are meeting the need of self-actualization. A need some of us will never even need to have. Everyone feeling needy now?‖ The class stared back at me blankly except for one or two faces which seemed to be tuning into the idea that needs in our life are very often situational. There are always two things in a need: Us and the event, thing or situation in which we are attracted to act upon for bettering of ourselves. Or, making ourselves safe. Or, making sure we had a place to poop. In developmental theory, it often came down to eating and pooping. So much is the science and art of human development. The 8:50 buzzer dismissed the class. I would have five more weeks with them, but some of them had at least laughed hard. A few had been touched and were a bit misty eyed as they came to understand their own actions and reflect upon them. I watched after them as they left the classroom and, when it was empty, I punched in my code to close the room down. Somewhere deep in the information technology center a computer logged me off at 9:05 PM. The system darkened the lighting in the room and retracted the screen. The LCD project switched off and the room awaited its next class. ―Captain,‖ I said as she answered my cell phone call, ―Which office are you in?‖ ―The one right above you.‖ I took the elevator to the sixth floor and found the hall barely lit as I picked my way along the industrial looking wing. The building had served many purposes while its life had been here. It had been annexed by the College of Human Studies after the College had updated its name from the School of Home Economics to College of Human Studies. The top floor, which now All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 226

accommodated various professors and staff, had been a work of interconnecting offices, labs and kitchens. In some offices, they had left the hookups for gas stoves and various plugs and buttons. Gwen had taken the opportunity to explore each one and she had installed a small fridge and an ancient Amana range for boiling water for tea and coffee. So, the office looked like a self-contained efficiency apartment. Mind you, nothing fancy, just the opposite. Almost quirky in its sterile nature. Captain had taken the liberty of splashing Star Trek memorabilia all over the walls and shelves. She didn‘t display her secret affection at the official Women‘s Studies office, but here, on the sixth floor, her office was hers to do with as she chose and she chose to show off her geek side. Captain‘s geek culture was truly earned. Although she had failed to keep up with the latest languages, she had programmed in Fortran and ancient punch card systems on IBM‘s the sizes of Greyhound buses which had been replaced by flash drives in only thirty years. I arrived at her office and knocked. ―Enter,‖ came Captain‘s voice. I stepped in and she lit up like a child at Christmas. ―Reece, you have to see what my friend from China shipped me! Captain got up and picked up an oblong wooden box. The symbol on the outside looked like three twisted triangles around a circle. I knew the image and was just about to say, ―Hey, Captain, isn‘t that the symbol for the Kling...‖ Captain beat me to it and finished my sentence. ―The Klingon Empire and this,‖ she said lifting the box lid open, ―Is a Batlff reproduction they are going to be replacing from China. The Captain looked ridiculous! A Batliff is a weapon of the Roddenberry‘s Universe‘s Klingon Empire. The weapon was about four feet wide and had double edge‘s at the ends of two swords tied together and curved with a handle in the middle. The Captain lifted it above her head and I expected her to topple over. ―Captain, I surrender. Put that down before you poke your eye out.‖ ―Leave an old warrior alone, Reece. I‘ll get it down. Now let‘s get off to dinner.‖ ―Kom-plah.‖ It was the only Klingon I knew. It meant, I think, ―Yes Ma‘am‖. Either way, it solicited the smile. ―I‘m parked right in All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 227

front, Captain. If you want to ride with me, I can bring you back to your car.‖ ―No, need. I parked next to you. It‘s hard to miss the bright red Eclipse with the Pride sticker on it in Lubbock.‖ I pulled the old office‘s door closed behind her and checked the lock. A matter of small chivalry, but one she appreciated. We rode down in the elevator making chit-chat about classes, the age of the building and why I had invested enough to buy a small house in a car. I followed her Datsun to what had become a house of wisdom for me. I didn‘t know if she purposely brought me here for my own edification or if I was simply her only colleague, no, her only friend which would put up with this style of dining. In her circle of friends, I was the only one who didn‘t consider a stack of fried catfish in newspaper beneath their gastric blue noses. She was Lubbock blueblood through her association from academia. In the land of farms and hospitals, a Ph.D. granted her a certain social status. Being elevated to the head of a Department, especially as one as prestigious and esoteric as Women‘s Studies rendered her Special with a capital S. Not the kind of lady who enjoyed a chicken fried steak covered with chili and gravy. At least not in the company of her peers. We pulled into the parking lot and found ourselves at the same picnic table bench we generally sat at. It afforded a quick trot to the reorder of beer with the frosty cold float and an easy view of who was coming and going. There, among the farmers, Hispanic community and other common Lubbock natives sat Captain and I. Me, simply a student. Her, worth millions of dollars to Texas Tech by her simple signature. As she arrived at the table, she raised a glass to me, ―Here is to meeting needs.‖ ―To meeting needs,‖ I repeated and clicked mugs with the Captain. She settled in well and fixed her eyes on me. ―Well,‖ she asked, ―What did you learn about yourself tonight in your class.‖

I swallowed and thought about the question. It was one of those deep, reflective questions that would have been rhetorical had it not come from Captain. ―Captain, do you bring me here just to make me play self therapist or do you just enjoy watching me squirm?‖ ―Me? Want to see you squirm? My Ensign? My protégé? I didn‘t even think about that when I clinked your class.‖ She feigned shock and dismay. ―Uh, huh, yeah, right, Captain.‖ I took a deep sip of the cold brew as I considered my answer. ―I know one thing, Captain, you help me meet a need I never knew I had before this semester.‖ ―Oh, really, pray tell?‖ She smacked off her beerstache and dug into her ―dirty‖ chicken fried steak. ―What did I help you meet?‖ ―Captain, I never would have guessed I loved giving information to new minds as much as I do. I never would have known it met a deep need. It is worth a great deal of suffering, challenge and putting up with a very odd life, just to make that Wednesday night course. Just to have those three hours where I speak your words and they listen.‖ ―Wrong, Ensign. You speak your words and they listen. I never have had a class erupt in laughter. I have never seen true joy on a student‘s face while I was at the lectern. Save, perhaps you and a few others over the years. You don‘t have just a need, Reece. You have a gift. Very few people can make a class of people do what you had my students, I mean, of course, your students doing tonight.‖ ―My name be going on their grade roles, but they will have earned the A, B, C or F because of your passion for teaching. No one else could inspire them exactly the same way. ― I was glowing. If the whole room went dark the people in the far corner could see their catfish nuggets just fine from the sheer radiance of All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 229

pride I felt at that moment. Captain was giving praise and I was exceptionally grateful. She chomped on another bite of the melting meaty concoction she was enjoying and continued, ―I do, of course, have a question,‖ she managed before having to slug down a sip of iced beer. ―As you might have guessed.‖ Yes, I had expected something to follow the statement. Captain didn‘t offer praise without reason and so I was anticipating what would come next. ―My question is what need is teaching your class meeting for you?‖ asked Captain. It hit like a ton of bricks. In my mind, I saw the students lined up one through five and each shouting their needs. ―Well, poop,‖ escaped my lips as I was considering the answer and the Captain‘s right eye lid went up. ―No, not poop, Captain. It‘s just that‘s a big question, give me a minute.‖ ―Take your time. This is a conversation over dinner not the Spanish Inquisition,‖ Captain replied. Of course, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, especially over a late dinner at a second-hand restaurant. I looked up and studied the neon jalapeño advertising ―Corona, It‘s true Mexico!‖ No help there. The students in my mind were not helping either. ―Captain, I guess it touches on all of them save the physiological,‖ I answered and took a sip to allow a directive on how to flow the answer. ―Doesn‘t it? I mean it certainly has physiological components. You face pain every time you do it. I‘ve passed by the class on some evenings to look in on you without disturbing your class. I‘ve seen you wince when you get up in my classes. So, physiological is involved, yes?‖ I hadn‘t thought about the concept of pain as being directly related to a basic need. ―Captain, I‘m not getting you. Forgive the density of my grey matter. It has been busy today and may have checked itself out.‖

―Rubbish,‖ Captain said. ―You are as bright now as you are at any other point in your life. Sure, you may be tired, and in pain, and worried about what‘s going on at home...what‘s going on in your social circle. But you‘re capable of answering a simple question.‖ Another ton of bricks dropped. I felt like Wile E. Coyote and the cartoon anchor had just hit me upon the head. Home life? What was the Captain digging for tonight? What was she trying to get out of me that I hadn‘t already confessed to? And, why was I feeling like I was in the confessional all of a sudden? ―Captain,‖ I said ―Respectfully, I don‘t think ‗What needs does teaching meet?‘ is a simple question.‖ It was in fact one of the harder ones to take a look at for me. The simple answer was all. And, yet the one I wanted it to be was self-actualization. I decided that was the best answer to give. ―All,‖ I responded. ―I guess teaching meets all of the needs in some way and yet only touches on them. I am trying to get it to where it meets self-actualization.‖ ―There,‖ Captain said her smile returning to her face, ―was that so hard? You must realize, Reece, that it really is okay to have an opinion or an answer to things. You do tend to overanalyze things in a most annoying fashion,‖ she said with a little bit of chili stuck to her chin.‖ ―Sage on,‖ I decided to give a little bit of hell back to her, ―Oh wise one of the chili mouth.‖ Captain, realized she was dribbling and wiped it off. ―It‘s a joy to be on the top of the food chain!‖ Captain answered back, dabbing her chin and holding it up for my inspection. ―All clear, Captain,‖ I said as she got the last speck of chili from her face. Funny, I‘d never really studied the Captain‘s face fully before. She was graying everywhere in her hair and beginning to grow a few ―wisdom whiskers‖ as my Granny V had called them, from her chin. Captain had been, and still was, a beautiful lady. But, it was a different kind of beauty. One that conveyed deep intelligence and ambition. Not, All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 231

the vapid kind of beauty that is easy to find on almost every sorority sister crowding the campus. ―Very, good, Captain, very good.‖ ―Okay, back to your answer, you were telling me teaching meets all of your needs?‖ Captain quizzed as she gave a disdainful look in her beer. The ice slushie effect was fading. ―Well, not quite, Captain. I was telling you I believe teaching touches on all of my needs. The physiological, as you pointed out,‖ I said, ―but more importantly it gives me a sense of belonging I‘ve never had before.‖ That jerked the Captain to full attention. Then a strange thing happened, she literally beamed. ―That‘s one of the finest compliments I believe I have received,‖ she said. ―Oh, we have to toast to that. But, wait. We‘ve gotten to the good part with completely unacceptable beverages. I‘ll be right back and you hold that thought. I want to hear more about this.‖ Captain had reached her tolerance level for her watered down beer mug and assumed I had as well. Frankly, I could have been sipping down the beer to the bottom no complaints. But, I‘d said something right so I was more than happy to allow the pause. As the Captain was at the bar edge retrieving the ice cold mugs and returning the melted ones and arguing for the credit, my cell phone rang. It was my house calling, ―This is Reece,‖ I answered. ―Well, aren‘t we sounding official tonight?‖ came Chris‘ voice. Not something I wanted to deal with at the moment. Our relationship had been as rocky as any romance, but for the moment, I‘d allowed him back into my heart with full guards. How he‘d gotten into my apartment I didn‘t know the answer to that immediately. However, I‘d have to deal with it later. ―I‘m at dinner with Captain, Chris. What are you doing?‖ ―I‘m over at your place. I thought I‘d see if you were home since we hadn‘t talked since Monday. I just wanted to see you. Are you coming home soon?‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 232

Captain had retrieved the beers and was heading back to the table. ―Yeah, I‘ll be home in an hour or so. I gotta go now.‖ I hung up as Chris professed the canned ―I love yo..‖ ―My, my,‖ said Captain, ―I can‘t leave for a moment without your phone ringing. Can I?‖ She allowed a moment in case I wanted to add something to her comment. I let it go and instead hoisted my glass up mid-air. ―I believe we had a toast coming.‖ ―Yes,‖ Captain hoisted her mug to meet mine, ―To belonging,‖ she pronounced and we clicked glasses. She took a pull of the correctly icy beer. ―Yes, what a compliment! A sense of belonging means a great deal, doesn‘t it?‖ I‘d been thinking on the comment I‘d made. Yes, I really did feel as if I belonged when I was up in front of the classroom. I felt as if I belonged when I walked the hallways to my office, to the Captain‘s office. When I pulled up on Campus, I felt a since of both pride and belonging. It had become the place which embraced me with both acceptance as a gay man and as a potential professor. When I walked through the doors to the College of Human Sciences, the building itself even accepted me. The last five digits of my social security number would open up any door or lock, save the dean‘s offices. It was a sense of belonging and a sense of empowerment. ―Captain, I feel proud. Is that meeting a need? Which need is that meeting, if we were going to stay strictly with Maslow?‖ I queried the happy face of my mentor. ―Pride,‖ Captain began, ―Can be a very good thing. And, you should feel that way. The College is proud of you. You have made an A in each class you‘ve taken. You‘re on the fast track to the Ph.D. and the College is impressed if they grant that. So, you should feel pride. Now as for Maslow,‖ that Captain paused to munch a wayward hushpuppy, ―You‘ll find he is much like other developmentalists. You have to take what you can from each one and pull them out. I think Maslow would say you are not feeling pride but rather an absence of the need to belonging because it meets your need in significant ways. But, we have to take looks All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 233

at each developmentalist and add to it and take away from it until we have our own thinking identities as a teacher.‖ ―I gotcha, Captain, I don‘t think we can really give more weight to Maslow than we can to anyone, else, can we?‖ I asked. ―Exactly,‖ said Captain. ―You will want to see the right balance in everything you do. Including everything you feel, Reece. Remember that. We are entrusted with a great deal of knowledge because that is the garden we have decided to tend. I know nothing of fishing in the artic seas, or how to grow a cotton plant, but I do know about human development. I have a duty to be self-directive and self-governing with that information. You will have to see that as well in yourself." The Captain delivered her discourse before taking another step in her thoughts. ―The reason I lit up, and yes I noticed you noticed, when you said you felt a sense of belonging is that it is something I hope for all of my students. And, especially the ones I take a particular interest in. I want to see that sense of belonging. I want to see the passion they have for the same work I have chosen for my life. And, that‘s why I was so proud of what you had to say just a moment ago.‖ A lot of information had been conveyed by Captain in the last minute. My brain worked to absorb the different angles. I bought a little time by sipping on the icy beer. It had formed little ―icebergs‖ in the top of the surface. I felt like that, maneuvering between icebergs. ―Captain. I‘m not for sure what you‘re looking for. I love teaching and I love what I have at Tech. It seems to be meeting my needs and I seem to be meeting its needs at the same time.‖ The Captain sighed. I took that to mean disappointment. Instead Captain said, ―I wish I understood how it works, too, Reece. It‘s hard to get the majority of a sense of belonging out of being a beacon at Texas Tech, isn‘t it? But, I‘ve done it and I think it can do it for you.‖ My phone rang again and I ignored it. The Captain raised her mug to her lips and began a sip. ―Trouble in paradise?‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 234

―A sense of belonging I should not have allowed to continue, I‘m afraid, Captain,‖ I replied as a popped a bite of catfish. ―I‘m afraid I have no idea where that part of my life is going.‖ ―Really? An intrigue?‖ Captain leaned forward ready for a good juicy bit of life. ―You wouldn‘t want to hear about it.‖ ―Oh, Reece, do tell. I haven‘t gotten any view of that part of life in quite some time. A chance to live vicariously is all I have. And, it will allow you to change the topic!‖ I weighed the options. I didn‘t want to continue the reflection of how much teaching meant to me. It was something wonderful and precious and the only person who could take it away from me was sitting across the table. I didn‘t think the Captain had the least intention of doing so, but her queries were always motivated by something. And, what it had been that had motivated tonight‘s discourse I still had no clue. ―Well, what the hell, Captain,‖ I began to feel as if I were a confessor and penitent. ―Chris has been a mistake, I‘m afraid, and I don‘t know how to undo it. I think I love him, Captain, but he...he treats me very different ways at different times. Sometimes he is charming, sometimes he is a snake.‖ ―Sounds like a relationship to me,‖ Captain said pushing back a bit. ―They all have those changes.‖ I couldn‘t help but continue on with the story. My eyes went wet and I started three or four times to get the words out to Captain. ―He‘s slept around on me,‖ I said and Captain leaned forward again. ―Now that‘s something I like to hear about,‖ Captain said. ―That and I‘m sorry, of course. But, I had a sense something was weighing at you, Reece, you are simply too easy to read. So tell me, why are you here with an old woman instead of at home making whoopee?‖

―The making whoppee part is a part of the problem. Chris likes whoopee a little too much, too often, and with too many partners!‖ I sat back for a minute. ―Two words for you, Captain. Southern Decadence,‖ I waited to see if the Captain was clued in on the event. ―Southern Decadence,‖ repeated Captain as her eyes went up and to the left trying to place the words. ―Oh, my. The big gay party in New Orleans, right?‖ Captain had done her homework on gay and lesbian studies. There was very little that escaped Captain‘s radar when it came to major events and Southern Decadence was a big one. ―It‘s more than a big gay party, Captain, it is THE big gay party. The gay Mardi Gras, if you will. Chris and I went a few weeks ago and things have been crazy ever since. Let‘s just say, he brought home playmates when I was expecting to have a romantic time, he and I. It‘s just not something I can deal with, Captain,‖ my eyes misted up again. ―Shit, Captain. I mean...I don‘t belong in the gay community because I think in terms of monogamy, and I don‘t belong in the straight world because just the thought of being with a woman makes me a little nauseous. But I want the straight ideals in my love life. One on one, and only one.‖ The icebergs were shrinking in my glass fairly quickly but not from the ones I was talking about in my life. ―There are rules for being gay and lesbian now?‖ Captain asked incredulously. ―No, of course not, but there are rules for how I want to live my life. I don‘t like the idea of bed hopping, especially since one wrong hop can mean your life. Plus, it just loses the magic that is possible. Well, the magic for me that is possible when you find the right partner.‖ ―You‘ve voiced all of this to Chris, I assume,‖ Captain finished up her dirty chicken fried steak entrée and pushed the plate to the side. ―Of course,‖ I replied, ―Over and over, and I still get the run around. It started at Southern Decadence and now, here at home, I‘m hearing that he‘s doing the same things,‖ tears came into my eyes again. I All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 236

wasn‘t ready for this conversation. I wasn‘t ready to throw it all out there on the table. ―Captain, we are going to have to pick another topic.‖ ―Reece, I‘m so sorry. That‘s going to take a lot of your energy to get that cleared up,‖ Captain said. ―Look, what I came here to do tonight was to say ‗Good job and I think you are making a great teacher‘ and beyond that to see if you had any problems with your students. Should we visit about that for a few minutes or are you doing fine?‖ I cheered up again at the compliment. It had rolled off her tongue plain and simple. That would have been much easier for her to say in the beginning. But to have said so would not have been Captain‘s way. Captain made you think and analyze to earn your praise. She had not meant to stir up the Chris issues. ―I‘m doing fine with that part of my life, Captain, and thank you for the compliment. Captain bowed her head in a simple little gesture she often used when she was leaving a meeting or greeting her superiors. Although she did not have an Asian heritage that I could tell, she had always spoken of the Japanese as the only civilized nation. She had picked up the habit somewhere in her life and it suited her well. At her modest body size her bow did convey humility just as some great athlete might use against the press. Instead it conveyed respect and a conclusion of a topic as well. If you took a class from Captain, you also realized the little bow meant the class session was over. The bell might ring, the next class might begin arriving. However, if Captain was in the middle of a thought or writing something on the blackboard, we stayed at full attention until she gave the bow. One Asian-American student, from Japan, bowed deeply in return. Her culture and the Captain‘s making contact in a rare moment. The student spoke a few words in Japanese, the Captain quickly replied and the two laughed. Captain was fluent in several languages and had a smattering in many, many more.

Chapter Twenty Seven – Getting Angry These thoughts were in my mind as I crossed over the parking lot to where my car was waiting to take me the one mile north home to my apartment on the 11th floor. One mile, eleven floors and not one second that I wanted to deal with Chris tonight. It had begun to be a rough relationship fueled on hope and desire for acceptance. I had been trying to get Chris to see the possibility of either a unity ceremony or call it off. I had called it off many times before and, Chris, full of charms, had managed to return. The latest indiscretion at been at Jeff‘s report. Jeff fancied himself many things including the role of private investigator. ―Your private Dick is on the job!‖ was a phrase Jeff loved. I went ahead and allowed myself the anger I‘d been feeling to take shape. ―Fuck this,‖ I said to the air about going home and settling into another lie, charm and hot and heavy session. I fumbled for my cell phone as the light turned red at the 19th street corner of Texas Tech University‘s campus. I dialed not home but Jeff instead. ―Jeff‘s and his trained fleas, tell us how we can please!‖ answered Jeffrey in one I had not heard before. ―Jeffrey. Bar, ten minutes, gay or not gay?‖ Jeff replied immediately, ―Gay. Were you expecting the other? See you at Hunk‘s in ten minutes. I‘ll see you in person in five though because I need a ride. Come over and take a load off.,‖ Jeff instructed, ―I‘ll be in the shower, no peeking.‖ ―As if!‖ I said to his last directive. Jeff knew seeing him in the shower was very low on my priority list. ―But, I will pick you up. Chris is at my house and I just can‘t deal quite yet,‖ I said turning the Eclipse toward the Tech Ghetto where Jeff and James lived. ―As a physician,‖ Jeff replied, ―I recommend cocktail therapy. What is your conclusion Dr. James,‖ Jeff screamed at James over the 560 square foot apartment. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 238

―Cocktails are indicated!‖ James screamed back. ―Okay, then. Wait, why do you need a ride, hooker?‖ I asked him. ―If James is home, ride with him.‖ ―No can do, Mr. Manley, James has actually acquired employment. He is legal and I am so proud.‖ Jeff had been very nervous with the idea of selling drugs. Well, not nervous about being in the drug business but worried about being caught! Being in it was delightful, but prison had not been the joy Jeff had thought it might be. Three meals a day, all men, nothing to do but be amongst the men. A small stretch of time had cured him of the desire of returning to prison. ―It‘s nothing like the movies and they are sooooo bossy in there! I mean spread my what?‖ Jeff had not been amused. And, if he had been on the receiving end of another felony he might be facing some very serious time. As it was, James was apparently getting out of the business and taking up a real world position. ―Where is James going to be working at?‖ I asked, moving around a blue Honda cruising in an erratic pattern and probably containing another drunk driving kid from the campus. ―IHOP,‖ said Jeff, with evident pride. ―He is the new Assistant Manager on the Day Shift.‖ ―Well then we‘ll have to get him something nice,‖ I said making another turn. ―Okay, I‘m in your parking lot, chop, chop. I‘ll come on in.‖ The Eclipse was definitely out of place save some other student who had been given a Hummer for graduation, if I were guessing. Either that other business was taking place at the fine Campus Hill apartments. There was no hill at the Campus Hill. The apartments were in a horrible condition having stood for years without any meaningful maintenance. The landlord didn‘t have any big reason. If a resident left, another student wishing to escape the dorms or another family with Section 8 clearance would be waiting. I parked and picked my path through the winding sidewalks of the commons. I would not be surprised had a figure jumped out and demanded my money and the keys to the car. That sort of thing happened All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 239

occasionally over in the area. However, it would never make the news. Lubbock worked hard on preserving its safe and clean reputation. Especially for any place or business which dealt with Texas Tech. If someone wanted to rent an apartment sight unseen for the upcoming semester, Campus Hill had a lovely website and a posting of supposedly happy tenants. In the pictures, you would not see the three apartments that had been burned out and left for the last three years, nor would they see the ladies of the night who often kept an apartment at Campus Hill for incalls. Yes, the Campus Hill was home to a motley mix. It was a perfect place for Jeff. I reached the door and inserted the key. The door was open, though, and pushed in on the applied pressure. There was no one immediately apparent in the apartment. Soon, though, walking through the door, I heard Jeff singing from the shower. James had left a note on the table,

Reece, Y’all come see me after you get done at the bar. Jeff has what you need. James Of course, I knew what that meant. Jeff had the cocaine. And, I needed a lift. I hadn‘t yet sworn off the substance because it continued to work its magical ability to totally remove all pain from the feet. Even if for a few minutes. There was also still the benefit of a time of euphoria. I could use that, too. ―Jeffrey! I‘m here!‖ I cried as I walked toward the bathroom. ―James said he left me something.‖ ―Upper cabinet, under the porcelain chicken,‖ came from the bathroom. I checked the spot and, sure enough the chicken had laid a little baggie. I patted the chicken on its little ceramic head. ―Good chicken.‖ ―Did you find it,‖ another scream from Jeff from the bathroom. I went and closed the apartment door and threw the bolt.

―Yes, Jeff, and I think half of the complex now knows about the magic chicken.‖ ―What,‖ came the scream, ―did you find the coke or not?‖ again came Jeff‘s scream loud enough to be heard by me and half of lower Lubbock. ―Shut up, Jeff! You are screaming too...,‖ the water cut and I found my voice six or seven decibels louder than I intended it to be, ―loud, you dumbass.‖ The sentence finished and reverberated around the apartment. The little ritual to use the substance had become simple, fast and effective. About 30 seconds later I began to be rewarded for the ingestion. My feet became delightfully free of pain as I sat down carefully on the stained sectional couch which overwhelmed the tiny living room. Jeff looked around the corner of the living room on his way to the bedroom and saw me in complete contentment. ―Looks like drinks are on you,‖ Jeff said. They always were. Going out for Jeff, whether to the grocery store or to a high fashion event, was a special opportunity. He treated every escape from his tiny apartment as if it were highly important. This meant lots of prep time. Jeff seemed to have a ritual. He‘d pick out what he was wearing and model it. Then he would go through five or six other outfits just to end up with the first one again. In between changes he would gel his hair five different ways, and again end up with the first choice. He couldn‘t help himself. He was a queen. Proud of it, too. ―Presenting for your runway pleasure,‖ Jeff called from the bedroom. ―It‘s Jeff Guinn in the fabulous look of James Dean‘s jeans and white t-shirt and leather jacket.‖ Jeff MC‘ed for himself as he did his little catwalk on the narrow strip of hallway and between the living room. I recognized the Lucky Brand Jeans and the leather jacket both from my closet. The t-shirt he had come up with on his own. Jeff reached the end of the hallway, struck a pout poise of the imaginary crowd. Flipped around, and walked back toward his bedroom. I could tell by the

enthusiasm he had every intention of doing the whole ritual, while I did not. ―Jeffrey, you are not doing this tonight. What you have one is fine. Heck, it‘s better than fine, it‘s mine. So, before I decide to seriously limit your wardrobe, let‘s go!‖ I wanted to get somewhere and feel safe. The Campus Hill apartments were not such a place. Outside I could hear a couple arguing in Spanish and it was heating up by the sound of things. As I peered out of a curtain, I noticed a couple of young men admiring my vehicle. I hit the remote in my pocked to make the headlights flash, and they scurried away to regroup a few feet away looking toward the car and the apartment entrance. Finally, they gathered themselves up and disappeared into the sidewalks of the commons. I jumped as Jeff tapped me on the shoulder. ―Whatcha doing, Miss Voyeur?‖ ―Wishing I‘d brought a gun. This place is dangerous, Jeff. I don‘t see how you don‘t have problems,‖ I turned away from the window I‘d been peeking through. ―Honey, you got to have stuff before you worry about stuff. I am about as stuff free as you can get,‖ Jeff replied, putting on the leather jacket. Jeff had been winning his private war against the HIV infection the last few months. However, back at the start of the summer, he had struggled with blood test results showing the virus making headway at an alarming rate. Jeff had given most of his few belonging back to his Momma. Now, he was doing better again and was beginning to accumulate the knick knacks of life again, but not many had been secured so far. ―I keep telling you to take that TV in my bedroom,‖ I told Jeff as I opened the door for me. ―I know you only get broadcast, but you need something to watch.‖ ―We‘ll talk,‖ Jeff said. ―I was told I wasn‘t welcome to that anymore. That and I had a week to return all of your clothing. I was told you were mad at me and had had enough of my mooching,‖ Jeff‘s eyes All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 242

misted up for a minute. He stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk in a darker corner of the commons. I could see in the low light enough to make out the tears forming again in his eyes. ―I was told I was a piranha.‖ Jeff said, ―I don‘t even know what he meant by that.‖ I felt anger stir again. Chris was going too far, again. ―Babe, I guess he said pariah, but you aren‘t one of those either. It‘s about time to take him down a peg or two, I think. But, we‘ll plot over cocktails!‖ My phone rang. It was the house number again. I showed Jeff the incoming call and then clicked hang up. ―Mary, you didn‘t just?‖ ―Yep, I just hung up on him again,‖ I said, ―Nothing he has waiting could be as good as hanging out with you tonight, Jeffrey.‖ Jeff had almost composed himself when something in the words made Jeff breakdown. I received a slobbering, heaving hug right in the middle of Campus Hill apartments. ―Reece, you won‘t believe some of the things he says, he said you hated me and I was a leach on you. He said you just felt sorry for me, and you‘d be glad when I was dead,‖ Jeff rushed the words out quickly as if they‘d been a pocket of poison suddenly lanced to relieve the internal pressure. He buried his head in my shoulder, ―Jeff, you know better than that. Now c‘mon. We‘re in the middle of the hood. Let‘s make it to the car. C‘mon.‖ Jeff left his face half buried in my shoulder, which made the short walk to the car kind of a shuffle, lurch, shuffle. I stopped at the passenger side. ―Okay, now sit.‖ Jeff plunked down in the passenger seat. I walked around the car and thought about the anger I was feeling. I knew it was fueled by the cocaine and the talk from Captain. It was fueled though by an honest violation on the part of Chris. I had known Jeff a great deal longer than Chris and Jeff had certain connections as a friend that Chris had never made with me. I opened the door and slid down into the seat. Jeff had pulled himself together enough to be primping in the vanity mirror on the passenger visor. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 243

―You look incredible, dear. Now shut off the light so I can get us going on our three minute drive. If you don‘t mind, that is.‖ ―Oops, sorry,‖ Jeff said, folding the vanity mirror back, ―You know the challenge of being beautiful. One has to keep up the look for adoring fans.‖ I shook my head slightly grinning. Only Jeff could go from deep drama to vain humor in two seconds flat and still manage to be completely sincere in both statements. We took the car out of the parking lot, past the speed bumps. And out onto 4th Street. The city traffic was beginning to quiet and the time on the clock on the Eclipse read 11:10. I was going to be having a late evening, after all. I reached an arm over and patted Jeff‘s knee. ―You know I love ya, Jeffrey. Why would you buy anything Chris said without checking it out with me.‖ ―He has a way of making you believe what he wants you to believe,‖ Jeff said, unable to resist the vanity mirror he flapped it down, ―Things that you believe yourself that you don‘t have any business believing!‖ Jeff flapped up the mirror for emphasis. I let the immediately ―fuck you‖ go without being voiced. Jeff called it like he saw it, and when he saw it correctly, he hit the nail. When he missed it, he missed it by a mile, but still stuck with his statements. We pulled into the bar‘s parking lot and there were a several familiar cars in the parking lot. I had gotten familiar with most of Lubbock‘s gay community either through the bar, the University, or the Metropolitan Community Church. Each group of people had great qualities, but it was rare to find much overlap between the groups. The friendly sign at the door had been updated to read, ―Gays welcome. Others, welcome to leave now.‖ Of course, there was a mix of folks inside the bar that represented the counterculture of Lubbock, the troop of ―fag hags‖ the city had and of course, the gay boyz of Texas Tech. It was Wednesday, and it was show night at Hunk‘s. As we entered the bar, the last of the melancholy shook from Jeff as he bounded toward Brian at the bar. I followed behind him in the little wake of jilted

shoulders scooted over by the approaching Jeff, not to be kept from his cocktail! I caught up to Jeff at the bar as he was midway through his flirt barrage of the evening. ―....and such a handsome bartender,‖ Jeff was saying, ―surely could see his way to buying such a handsome patron a cocktail.‖ Brian looked up at Jeff, ―Handsome does not for credit make, Jeffrey. Your tab is closed for additional charges.‖ Jeff‘s lip pouted. I ordered a rum and coke. Brian placed it in front of me and twisted the lime in to the drink. Jeff looked at me with his lip still stuck out in a pout. ―Oh, I think it will take more than that.‖ Jeff grinned at me and reached for the zipper on my jeans. ―Hey, stop that. Bad, dog, bad! Brian give this boy a cocktail and distract him.‖ Brian made some off colored remark about cocktail weenies as he grabbed Jeff a bottle of Bud Light. Jeff and I headed for a corner booth close to the show platform. There were two big rounds one of which we almost always managed to capture. Tonight we had our choice of either one and we took the one closest to the stage where entertainment would rise at midnight. It would have been easy to mistake Jeff and I for a couple. To just look at us one would assume it. My arm was around him, and he was leaning in close. He and I had a private language, often times simply able to finish each other sentences. We were fiercely protective of the other. We often whispered little private asides and laughed frequently. Tonight was no different and we were in close enough proximity to each other that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other one began. If either one of us had been asked, we would have made an excuse about the music was too loud and we had to talk or ―It‘s so cold in here, having to keep warm‖. The truth was we were often that close despite the surroundings. He was an adopted sibling. A confidant and a companion. He was something much more precious than a lover, he was a friend.

As we settled into the booth, Jeff began to say, ―Where is Chris?‖ when the phone rang. ―I really wish you wouldn‘t do that,‖ I said to Jeff. ―You know by speaking the name of the devil you can make him appear.‖ ―Oh he‘s the devil again, is he, what made that change?‖ Jeff asked. ―Maslow,‖ I replied picking the phone up and preparing to answer it. ―Maslow?‖ Jeff asked, ―Is that some new foreign exchange student you met? Details now, please.‖ ―He‘s an old man that showed up at class tonight.‖ The phone insisted another ring. ―You are so weird,‖ Jeff said. ―Such a weird, weird geek.‖ Now answer the phone or shut off the ringer, I‘ve got plenty to say either way. The understatement of the century. Jeff had plenty to say about everyone and everything. The phone again. ―Hi, this is Reece,‖ silence on the line for a moment as music continued to fill the bar. ―Oh, you went out,‖ came Chris‘ voice. It was flat and angry. Ready for passive-aggressive onslaughts to come. ―Yes, I came out for a bit. I‘m sorry I didn‘t call. Things were really stressful, and I couldn‘t get my feet‘s pain down without a little cheating via foreign substance.‖ ―Oh,‖ then silence again for a stretch. Finally, ―Well I don‘t feel like coming out tonight. I‘ll be in bed when you get home. Don‘t bother waking me up.‖ ―You don‘t have to stay if you don‘t want to, Chris. We didn‘t have anything planned,‖ I shouted back to Chris over the sound of the bar. ―Come on out, Jeff‘s here and your favorite bartender.‖

―Jeff is always out,‖ Chris said. ―Why don‘t you come home? I really need to talk for a little bit.‖ My alarms went off in my head. Anytime one had a talk with Chris, it seemed to come around to money eventually. I was running out of money for the semester and a good deal of it had been because of Chris. ―I‘ll be home soon, but I‘m going to stay out for a bit. Come up to the bar if you want to, Chris, and I‘ll be happy to see you. Or, if you...‖ the line cut off at Chris‘ request I assumed. There‘d be a hell of a lot to talk about when I got home. ―He‘s been getting stranger than usual,‖ Jeff remarked as I ―helloed‖ to the phone a few times to be sure the call had in fact ended. ―Yeah, he‘s been getting stranger and I‘ve been getting easier to piss off,‖ I admitted to Jeff. ―I know I need to end it, Jeff,‖ I confessed. ―Ever since Southern Decadence I knew it wasn‘t going to work out. I was just talking to Captain about it earlier tonight.‖ ―You told your professor about Southern Decadence? Oh my God!‖ Jeff exclaimed. ―Relax, Jeff, I just told her about the trip Chris and I made, not the first trip to Decadence that we made back in 2000,‖ I cleared up the confusion a bit for Jeffrey. ―Well, thank God. I mean I can just see you explaining how you got the nickname ‗Boom Boom DaRoom on Bourbon Street.‘‖ I laughed. I hadn‘t thought about the Southern Decadence Jeff and I had went to several years earlier, before the surgery, when life was flush with new money and fleshed with an extra 200 pounds. ―You do remember Boom Boom, don‘t you ?‖ Jeff teased. ―Yes, God yes, I‘m sorry to say I can‘t claim blackout stupidity for Boom Boom,‖ I laughed harder as Jeff and I shared the memory of the mandatory drag even we had attended at Southern Decadence six years before. ―Boom Boom was quite the hit, wasn‘t she?‖

It was Jeff‘s turn to laugh, and he almost fell out of the booth. ―Yes until one of her Boom‘s went ‗pop!‘ then she was just Boom DaRoom. With a very wet T-shirt!‖ We were in fully giggle mode as we recalled my one and only time to try cross dressing. It was not a whole hearted attempt but rather a playful demand from a party Jeff and I had attended while in New Orleans for the event. Boom Boom DaRoom had been born when Jeff and I managed to scrounge two water balloons, a 5XL t-shirts and a bra that would fit a 400 pound man and accommodate two cantaloupe size balloons. The choices had been pink or black. Boom Boom was born with a twenty minute make up session and a drunken shave of a goatee. Boom Boom had been well cocktailed and made it about a block before an admiring fan from New York that was absolutely sure Boom Boom was somebody famous, had hugged hard enough to burst the left Boom of Boom Boom DaRoom. The water soaked revealing the other balloon and most flat bra. The embarrassed New Yorker yelped in surprise and retreated back to the crowd. ―I‘d never seen anyone run that fast!‖ I managed to gasp out between laughs. Jeff was red with the memory pouring through his head. ―Make it stop!‖ Jeff managed between breaths. ―Oh, that felt good,‖ I said as the laughing came under control. ―That felt wet!‖ Jeff said pushing both fists under his shirt then removing one making a thpppppt noise to represent the shrinking impromptu breast. Another round of laughter caught us and we lost a few more minutes to unspoken memories and laughter. ―Oh how I love ya, sistah,‖ Jeff said. Tears from the laughter rolling down his face. ―You too, Jeffrey,‖ I said and gave him a hug. Jeff and I had survived Southern Decadence friendship intact but very little else. I had had to take off several days of work for my body to recover from the event. Brian the bartender had been throwing us curious glances. I happened to catch his eye as he had been trying to catch mine. His eyebrow went up and he pointed to the door. I turned to look to see the turn of a leather jacket and a very angry Chris Norton leaving the bar. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 248

Chris must have arrived during Jeff and I‘s revelry of Boom Boom and, seeing us locked in each other‘s arms laughing until we were in tears, had become jealous again. Chris was continuously brooding about Jeff and my friendship. For me, it was a fact of life. It was like I accepted the fact that Chris had to still check in with his parents daily even though he was 27. There were a number of little things we had had to accept. ―Oh, shit,‖ I said. ―I‘ll be right back,‖ as I pushed myself around the rounded booth and found my footing. I hurried to the door of the bar and flung it open and caught the cold air of the night. ―Chris,‖ I cried to the Chevrolet pulling out of the bar‘s parking lot. Damn, this wasn‘t going to be fun. But, maybe with a little luck, I thought, it would be a good thing and provide a pushing off from Chris point. I watched as Chris pulled out of the lot and headed not toward the road that would take him home. Instead he pulled onto the street taking him toward Park Tower and my home. I watched as he pulled away. Jeff joined me outside. ―Was that him?‖ Jeff asked, his breath making little clouds of steam as the exited and formed in the cold air. ―Oh, yeah, that was Chris. Shit, Jeffrey, I think I may come over to your place tonight. Jeff shook his head no. ―You have better TV, do you want me to come along and stay at your house? James can pick me up when he gets off of work,‖ Jeff suggested. ―Nah, buddy, I better face this shit alone. But, I‘m not ready to face it. Shall we go back in and catch round one of the show?‖ Jeff studied for a minute as if he was about to give some deep advice. Then, suddenly, he shifted back to the happy look he almost always had. ―Well, then, cocktails!‖ Jeff opened the door, ―After Madame DaRoom,‖ Jeff bowed deeply. ―Damn, Skippy,‖ I said as I returned to the warmth of the bar. Brian motioned to us as we entered and we headed over to the bar, having to duck and dive as the body count of the place was getting thicker. It was getting close to show time. ―Hey, B,‖ I said ―What‘s up?‖ Brian looked at Jeff for a moment, ―You know why you were out, someone got your table. I think you better go get fussy.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 249

―Oh miss things did not!‖ Jeff said. He went into fussy queen mode and sat out to set things straight at the little group of people who trespassed on our corner turf. The cocktails were still there, so Jeff might win it easily. If it got ugly, Jeff would escalate to bitchy queen then God help them. I caught the fact that Jeff had been sent on a mission so Brian could have a word with me. ―Reece, I know this is none of my business. But, you‘re a good guy and I consider us friends, right?‖ Brian said. ―Sure, Bri. What‘s up?‖ I had no idea where the conversation would go but I was intrigued. What could make a bartender worried? ―I wanted to let you know you‘ve got a couple of things going on with Chris. First, he was in here the other day and ran up a $315 tab ordering shots for he and a couple of other guys. They were making lots of trips to the bathroom, if you know what I mean. Anyway, he presented this for payment.‖ Brian handed over a Mastercard I rarely used and didn‘t know was missing from my wallet. ―The day shift guy took it, but I stopped the charges on it. You may want to report it stolen, though because I‘ll have to let charges go through sometime in the next week or I‘ll lose my job.‖ I felt violated. Chris had only to ask me for something if he wanted it. But, I would have said no to him entertaining a few fraternity boys here at Hunk‘s with the sole intention of getting them drunk enough for bathroom visits. ―Damn right I‘ll report it stolen. Keep it and cut it in half after tomorrow. I‘ll do it first thing in the morning. Thanks for letting me know,‖ I said. I started to leave to see how Jeff was doing. Escalation to bitchy queen had apparently been necessary and it sounded like Bitchy Queen was not far away. ―Wait, there‘s one more thing. Umm, let‘s see. How to say this. Reece, Chris is definitely, definitely sleeping around on you. Last week, before you closed out his tab, he was up here with a kid called Hollis. They were all over each other. And, they were laughing about being able to charge away on your account.‖ Anger joined violation. Fine, Chris and

I were done. We both apparently knew that. I‘d have another round and then get out of here. ―Just thought you should know.‖ ―I appreciate, Brian.‖ I slid him a twenty dollar bill. ―I appreciate it very much, buddy.‖ Brian smiled and slid the twenty back. ―No charge for friends.‖ ―Nope, that‘s to baby sit Jeffrey while I go get some things straightened out. Remind him he‘s got a twenty dollar limit so to stick with the $2 menu. I‘ll be back in after a bit.‖ Brian reached over and gave me a hug. I made my way over to were Jeff was proudly reclining on the booth. He had chased off the little group and was reveling in the satisfaction of having made the win. ―Did it get ugly?‖ I asked as I walked up. ―Of course, not. Me? Ugly? Never. It was just a matter of explaining how I was divine and they were, well, not. I deserved the booth while they deserved to be somewhere else. These mortals are so easily trained,‖ Jeff said. ―I almost feel sorry for them.‖ ―Listen, I‘ve got to go de-roach my apartment, but I‘ll be back. I sat you up with a tab at the bar.‖ Jeff straightened with glee. ―Ah-ah, for you only. And, stick to the well menu.‖ Jeff saluted me with his middle finger. ―My such gestures from such a pristine young lady,‖ I said. ―I‘ll be right back. Don‘t worry. Have a drink, you‘ve earned it with the Boom Boom giggle!‖ I made my way through the crowd as it was beginning to form up toward the stage for the upcoming appearance. I glanced back and noticed Jeff had allowed a couple of handsome guys to already join him at the table. The boy could work a new friendship in nothing flat. Especially a cute new friendship in nothing flat. The air was colder even though it has only been a few moments since I chased Chris out into the cold. I started the Eclipse and pointed it All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 251

toward the Park Tower. I seemed to be hitting every traffic light along the way and it suited me fine. On the radio, Kidd Rock was promising to give up a life of cocaine and whiskey, while Sheryl Crow confessed to church and cheap wine. Picture, the name of the song, had been a favorite of mine for some time. We all wanted to star in rock songs.

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Chapter Twenty Eight – It Comes to Blows The normal five minute driven had taken ten with the lights and, the slow speed I had assumed in reaching the place. This wasn‘t going to be fun and I was braced to be as cool and calculated as I could be. As a pulled down into the garage, I saw Chris‘ car parked at a lurching angle next to my spot. There wasn‘t much left to do as far as avoiding was going. I killed the engine, stepped out and made it inside to the elevators. The quick trip announced my arrival with a ping on the 11th floor. I slipped the key into the lock, and began, ―Chris, I‘m sorry about the scene at the bar. Come on, we need to talk. There was the smell of Jim Beam from the kitchen but I assumed Chris was on the couch as I took off my coat and layed it on the table. I saw movement behind me in the reflection of the big glass windows just as the first blow found its target. Chris had hit me with something heavy and I sprawled out on the floor in a face down fall. I breathed in from the pain and was quickly rewarded by two hard kicks to the ribs. ―Chris, stop!‖ I shouted. I made contact with his eyes for a second before the next crack took me. They were cold and simply grey eyes. No charming green. No joy. Simple hatred. He raised up the golf club again and came down on my head, just partially covered by my raised hand. The fingers registered pain and a second before the club found its mark. The room swam and darkness came in from every direction. Not the comforting darkness of sleep but the overwhelming darkness of conscious lost under extreme circumstances. Before I totally lost the slip on reality I heard the words, ―Now, for Jeff...‖ And, with that darkness took me for a few minutes. I didn‘t stay down long. I‘d had too much pain in my life to succumb to it totally. And, when I did, it was almost a short period as my brain hit its reset button and demanded I come back to reality. I tried to set up and winced from the protest at my sides. That little fucker had just beaten the shit out of me. The thought came as if I‘d made an observation of a belch in polite company. Not an end of the world statement but a ―how dare he‖ statement. I could see the front door had been left open. I All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 253

needed a phone. I pushed my body with my feet until I reached a dining chair and hoisted myself up. The room swam again but did go black. ―That little fucker,‖ I said to the now quiet apartment. I reached for my jacket on the chair adjacent to the one I had pulled myself up from. I dialed 911. The 911 operator, a male, with a twang in his speech that spelled out native Lubbock. ―911 What‘s your emergency.‖ ―My ex-boyfriend just attacked me and then left to head toward another bar to beat someone....‖ ―Wait, slow done. You said your boyfriend beat you?‖ doubt filled his voice as if it might be on a queer candid camera joke. ―Yes my ex-boyfriend. Okay, just wanted to make sure I got it right. You are calling from 1617 24th Street, is this correct?‖ ―Yes.‖ ―I‘m dispatching a unit. Is the guy still in the house with you?‖ ―No, he‘s headed toward the club called Hunk‘s in a 4 door dark blue Chevrolet. I‘ve been out but I don‘t know how long.‖ ―Can you be sure he‘s out of the apartment,‖ the operator asked. ―Yes, he walked out. Headed toward....‖ I was cutoff by the 911 operator‘s next question. I‘ve got an ambulance coming and a couple of black and whites. Are you bleeding heavily from anywhere?‖ I took an inventory of my body. The ribs were hurting like hell, but they weren‘t bleeding. I slicked off sweat coming from my brow and instead pulled back free blood. ―Yes, I‘m bleeding.‖ ―Ok, I want you to stay right where you are. The crews are coming. Can you repeat the destination you believe your boyfriend was going and can I ask you first name and a phone number one more time.‖ The operator was trying to assess my orientation and I understood the necessity of it but I was getting a bit annoyed. ―Wouldn‘t you like his name?‖ I asked the operator. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 254

―Affirmative.‖ ―It‘s Chris Norton. He is heading toward the bar called Hunk‘s at 15 Street and Avenue X. My name is Reece. My phone number you have on Caller ID. Now when is someone coming?‖ th

There came a knock on the apartment at the moment the word was out of my mouth. ―Sir, sir, are you okay.‖ The officers advanced slowly into the apartment and verified it was just me in the unit. ―I‘ve been better.‖ ―Sir, I‘m sorry, but we don‘t believe the suspect has left,‖ the officer was making no sense. Chris was long gone. He could have been halfway to Shallowater by now. What the heck did they mean. Then I noticed what was missing from the table top. My keys. ―Shit!‖ The cops jumped a bit as EMS came into the apartment. ―Um, sorry guys, my keys are missing. He may be in a red Eclipse Spider GT Convertible. If there‘s not an Eclipse in the garage and there is a blue Chevy near space 21, then he‘s taken my car.‖ ―Okay, got it,‖ the lead officer nodded his head to his under ranking office who descended in the elevator to the basement. Meanwhile, the EMS guys were pushing and poking. The scrape on my head was superficial but was bleeding as if it were going to repaint the room in a matter of minutes. ―Skin is very thin on the skull. It bleeds a lot,‖ the EMS agent named ―J. Bradley‖ explained. ―Hey, my skin will grow back. Let‘s see if we can‘t find out where the car is? Plus, he left making a threat against someone who is much more likely to have problems defending themselves. If he gets there first, there is going to be problems.‖ The officer having smelled the same strong alcohol content I had detected earlier turned to me and asked, ―Have you been drinking a lot tonight, sir?‖ ―No, when I got home the place smelled like this. He hit me from behind. It must have been waiting behind the door.‖ The wet smell of All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 255

blood was coming down over the crown of my head. ―Guys, you‘ve got to roll to see if my car is at Hunk‘s or he‘s totaled it.‖ ―Sir, we handle these things all the time. Number one thing is to get you checked out. Then we can worry about the car. Do you want to go to a hospital.‖ I stretched out and took a few steps. I tried not to let it let it look like it hurt like hell. But, between the adrenaline and Rudolf‘s Little Helper from earlier in the evening, I was going to be okay. ―I‘m going to be okay.‖ ―Sir, I really think you should let us take you to be checked out. At the very least, you‘ve had your ass kicked tonight. Worst case could be a concussion.‖ The EMT guys were looking at me for direction. ―Guys, what say we give me a little break. I mean, showing up at the ER here in Lubbock because my boyfriend kicked my ass would be a bit embarrassing, you guys gotta give that to me.‖ The EMT crew smiled. ―Man, you‘d be surprised, but it does happen.‖ ―Well, I kind of need that little bit more dignity. Plus, I‘d really, really like to get my car back.‖ The police continued with their questions. Had I ever given Chris permission to use the car before? (Yes.) Had Chris ever shown signs of the violence in the past? (Yes.) Had he ever threatened you before with bodily harm? (No.) Had he made terroristic threats against others. (Yes.) The inquisition continued, however, the EMR guys had decided to pack it in. They‘d had another call come in and were needed on the scene. The lead police officer gave them the okay and I signed a piece of paper saying I had declined to be transported for treatment. During this exchange, an officer‘s radio warbled on and he went to the bedroom to take the message. I kept noticing he was keeping himself away from the walls and furnishings. I didn‘t know whether this was because he was trained to keep a crime scene pristine or if he just didn‘t want to catch gay. Judging by is sloping brow and red head features, he wasn‘t the crunchiest pickle in the barrel. But, this was Lubbock and he was among Lubbock‘s finest. ―Good news, buddy,‖ said the second cop returning from bedroom. We have identified your car at Hunk‘s Place‖. He held his hand for a high All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 256

five. I went ahead and allowed myself a little smile. I didn‘t want to totally fuck up Chris‘ life, but I did want him to understand it was really, really over. It took the police and I a few moments to get down to their squad car, parked out front. I‘d be explaining the recorded lobby video the next day, but I could see where it had indeed looked like I was being shuffled out against my will. And, a part of me was very much in love with him still. Or, at least the idea of being in love. Damn, Maslow was right. There is a need for love. A need so basic that anything remotely imitating it will be received with open arms in the absence of anything else. Love, actually, had to be fed as often as the food needs of our body. And, I‘d been on the Taco Bell junk food of love. Chris Norton. I arrived at the bar in the back of a squad car. People who exited picked their paces considerably in the presence of the police cars. One of the female impersonators had been standing outside smoking a cigarette and getting a breath of air before her number. On the site of police, she flailed her arms and hopped about in panic before finally deciding on running into the bar. ―Raid! Raid! ― she screeched as she ran in, tripping over her right high heel and leaving it in the parking lot. The cop looked at me as if to say, ―You hang out here?‖ ―All part of the rainbow, officer, all part of the rainbow.‖ ―Okay,‖ the officer said, coming around the car to meet up with cop number two and me. ―Here‘s the plan. John, you take Mr. Manley into the establishment and see if he can locate Mr. Norton.‖ The younger cop stammered. ―Me? In there? Why don‘t you go in there with Mr. Manley and I‘ll get the paperwork for the whole night.‖ I studied cop number two for a moment before finally placing his face. He was not new to the bar. Finally, the lead cop, ―Sure, suit yourself but have an eye on the door for Mr. Norton trying to leave. Did you bring the picture?‖ At the apartment we had gathered up a few pictures of Chris and I and the second copy handed them over. ―Here, study the face and it if walks out without Mr. Manley and me, then cuff him.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 257

We entered the bar, looking like two of the members of The Village People. The drag queen who had ran into the bar was just taking the stage, ―ooo, my goodness you lucky people! We‘ve got some of Lubbock‘s finest with us tonight. Shall we do a little dedication?‖ She cued up the tune YMCA and soon the crown was happily making the dance. I spied Chris. Chris had a young Latino kid stretched out in his arms. However, he scooted as soon as he saw the police officer and I. I saw him mouth the words, ―Oh, fuck‖ and he got up and stood for a moment trying to decide his next move. From my left came Jeff flying like a bolt and embracing me, almost knocking me off my feet. The cop jumped so high and missed a disco ball by about an inch. Instinct took over for the cop and Jeff found himself at the pointed end of a gun. ―Whoa, whoa, whoa,‖ commanded the cop, ―Back off of Mr. Manley! Are you trying to get yourself killed?‖ Jeff scrambled not away from me but more as if he were trying to escape to the safe perch of my head. ―Help!‖ ―Jeff, get off,‖ I said and for the sake of the cop I was glad Jeff did not come back with an off collar remark. ―This is Jeff Guinn, Mr. Number One Cop,‖ I said. ―He‘s a good friend and will be good to ask about Mr. Norton‘s threats.‖ I pointed to Chris for the cop. ―That‘s Mr. Norton, officer. The man in the red shirt.‖ The cop approached the bartender quickly and apprised him of the situation. A call from Brian to the D. J. brought the club to an immediate stop. The music stopped mid-YMCA leaving the drag queen chortling the tune for another few seconds before realizing she was suddenly accapella. ―Ladies and Gentlemen, Please stay where you are. Exactly where you are for just a few moments. Mr. Chris Norton, the officer at the bar would like to see you. Chris approached slowly, his eyes over spilling tears. He mouthed ―I‘m so sorry.‖ And then ―please don‘t‖. It seemed as if time slowed. My mind raced with memories of the good times. Our first kiss. Our first All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 258

time together. Waking up with him in my arms. The wonderful smell of his skin. The playful moments where he‘d made me laugh so hard I couldn‘t breathe. But as he to approached closer, my mind shifted to the bad times and anger filled my heart. Chris‘ torment of Jeff. His lies. His sleeping around. The times I‘d caught him in our bed with other people. By the time he‘d arrived, I was seething. ―Mr. Norton, you are under arrest for battery, unauthorized use of motor vehicle, fleeing the scene and failing to report a major crime.‖ Mr. Cop Number One continued the Miranda and turned Chris around at the bar and slapped the cuffs on Chris. ―Mr. Manley,‖ the cop now turned to me, ―Please identify the individual in custody.‖ ―His name is Chris Norton,‖ I said. The officer nodded. Chris‘ face was blank as the cop patted him down, finding the keys. ―Mr. Manley, are these your car keys?‖ ―Yes they are, thank you.‖ I followed the cop and Chris out of the bar with Jeff traipsing closely behind. ―Mr. Manley, please inspect your vehicle for damage,‖ said the cop as he pushed Chris into the back of the squad car. I followed the directions and the closely looked over the Eclipse. It was undamaged. Cop Number Two approached me. Now, Mr. Manley, I just need to get your signatures on these three complaints. Fleeing the scene we‘ll take care of but the crimes against you and your property you‘ll have to sign. I looked at Chris whose face was still blank and he would not meet my eyes. Three signatures later, Christopher James Norton was officially out of my life. I would never see him or hear from him again. The Cop Number Two who had handed me my keys hovered around for a minute. ―I appreciate you guys very much, officer,‖ I said. ―Just doing our job, sir.‖ The cop remained standing close. I went around to the driver‘s side of the car. I was just about to get in when Jeff stopped me.

―Um, Reece, I‘ve got a tab inside you‘ve got to close out. Besides, I think we had better take a taxi,‖ Jeff said loud enough for the cop to here. ―Jeff, I‘m fine. I haven‘t had anything to drink in an hour. I just had the shit beat out of me and I‘m not leaving my car here in the ghetto.‖ Jeff leaned in and whispered, ―You start that car, you‘re going to jail. I heard the cop say ‗we‘ll see if we can get the other faggot on drunk driving‘ so you are coming inside and you are coming inside with me now!‖ Jeff grabbed my hand. ―Thanks again, officers!‖ Jeff called as we disappeared inside of the club. I looked like hell. The bruise which had been a little blue on my face was now a lot black as I studied it in the bathroom inside Hunk‘s. Jeff reclined on the couch. ―Good fairy Wanda, here. We‘ve got to use and get rid of this little bit of powder. Cops make me nervous.‖ Jeff locked the door to the bathroom. ―Jeff, I don‘t feel like partying,‖ I protested. Halfway protested. The powder hit and instantly quelled the pain in the feet and in the head. My energy surged under the brain chemistry‘s shift. The clouded feeling disappeared and clarity returned. I studied myself in the mirror as Jeff flushed the baggie. At least we were out of felony territory now. ―Do you think our friends have left yet?‖ I asked Jeff. ―By the way, thank you, I owe you big for that one Jeffrey.‖ Jeff smiled and did a happy little dance. He loved it when I said I owed him. ―What I can‘t figure out is what made Chris snap. He knew you and I are best friends, not lovers. He‘s been the one that wanted it off and then back on.‖ I looked down at the ring on my left finger. It had been placed there to let the world know I was off the market. I took it off and slipped it in my pocket. I looked at the bruises one more time. ―Son of a bitch. Well, I‘d say it‘s pretty much over now.‖ ―You think!?‖ Jeff said. ―Reece, Chris has been no good for you in so many ways. I can‘t believe you were so, well, forgive me, but stupid.‖ I joined Jeff on the couch.

―Not stupid, Jeffrey. Just desparate. Just desperate.‖ The knock on the door was insistent and Jeff and I had taken five minutes in the little sanctuary. ―Let‘s get out of here.‖ We threw the bathroom lock to a line of people very, very interested in the facilities for the purpose for which they had been designed. ―Can a girl not pee in this town!‖ burst in an angry patron and Jeff and I slipped back into the crowd which was working the tunes of retro George Michael. Faith. You gotta have faith. At least that was George Michael‘s point he was making at the moment in the tune. ―Stick your head out and see if there are still police looming about, won‘t you Jeff?,‖ I pushed him toward the door lightly. ―I‘ll close out my damage with Brian.‖ I walked over to Brian who had been busy with the growing crowd. He missed the bruise at first in the low light and then he noticed. ―Oh, shit, babe.‖ Brian said. ―Chris finally flipped out, huh?‖ ―You knew it was coming, too?‖ I asked Brian. ―Why did everyone see it coming but me. Am I the only romantic in the world?‖ ―Honey,‖ Brian said, ―You weren‘t being romantic. You were being stupid.‖ Such sugar coating I was receiving from everyone tonight. ―Never mind, I know, I know. Chris is an asshole. I just thought I saw something in his eyes. Some little light in his soul that wanted to be wanted and loved. I thought he was like me in some important ways. I thought he was...‖ Brian was faking falling asleep. ―Okay, wise ass. What‘s the damage tonight.‖ Brian smiled at me and slid over the tab. It was low just $12.93. ―I‘ll get your change,‖ he said. ―Keep it, Brian. And, thanks for everything. Hey, I may need a cab in a second.‖ Brian replied, ―Not a problem.‖ Jeff came back inside and waived me outside. ―Later, Brian,‖ I said. And stepped out of the bar into the clear, cold air. I scanned the area and didn‘t see any police cars anywhere. ―Shall we risk it?‖ I asked Jeff. ―What‘s this we, shit,‖ Jeff asked. ―You don‘t expect me to stay by myself tonight, do you?‖ I looked at Jeff with false desperation. ―I mean I‘ve been so traumatized. How All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 261

could I be expected to make it all night alone.‖ I was piling on guilt. I really didn‘t want to face the apartment or the clean-up. ―You big baby. I‘ll come if we go by What-a-burger drive through,‖ Jeff offered. ―Deal,‖ I agreed. ―But drive through only. I don‘t need anymore questions about the black eye.‖ Jeff and I piled into the Eclipse and headed toward Park Tower with a pit stop at the pick orange ―W‖ a block from home. The drive home was blessedly uneventful. We saw two police cruisers, but neither seemed very interested. By the time I was on the road, I was focused and obeying all of the street commands. Radio off. Focus on the street. The only distraction was Jeff tearing into the bag to find French fries. We parked at Park Tower and made it up to the apartment. As I opened the door, it suddenly hit me. I had been attacked in this place. This place. My home. My safe place. I felt dizzy. ―I‘ve got to sit down, Jeff.‖ I said as I took a familiar spot on my couch and reclined. I stared out at the lights of Lubbock and tried to stop my head from swimming. Jeff jumped over the couch balancing the burgers, fries, two drinks and simultaneously turning on the TV. ―Tah-dah!‖ he announced. ―The crowd goes wild for the jumping queen!‖ Maybe I did want a quiet night. Jeff looked over at me sitting there doe eyed at the window. ―C‘mon, Reece,‖ he tugged me up and snatched the food, ―you need some fresh air.‖ We went out on the generous sized balcony and had the cool of the night surround us. I could pick out the general patch of lights where Hunk‘s was located. By looking just a few degrees to the west, I could see the lights of Texas Tech University. And, the bell tower of the Human Sciences College. ―What will Captain say?‖ I asked the air. Jeff looked up. ―Your old Captain probably would say you did the right thing,‖ he said chomping into his Whataburger with extra mustard and emerging with a ring of yellow around his mouth. ―Gross, Jeff,‖ I tossed him a napkin. ―And, what would you say about tonight, Jeff.‖ Jeff chewed and thought for a moment. Finally, ―I think you did the right thing,‖ putting down his burger and grabbing the soda to slurp, ―But,‖ he swallowed down the huge bite, ―It‘s a shame you All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 262

had to involve the police. They hate us here in Lubbock. And you, my friend, almost got a DWI. If you‘d taken those keys and put that car in drive you would be in the lockup with Chris.‖ ―Well, Jeff, I didn‘t know there was a Pink Police I could call,‖ I responded defensively. ―I didn‘t know what else to do. I‘d been hit in the head and had lost time and you call 911 for that. Then everything just happened. They asked the questions and I let the answers fly.‖ Jeff leaned in to study my bruising and I was beginning to hurt all over. The cold air had cleared my head. ―Stop staring and let‘s go back inside. I‘m all fresh aired out.‖ Jeff again gathered up the dwindling mobile feast and we returned to the coffee table. The room still felt unsettled and unsafe. It was if spirits had been summoned. Something dark and unspeakable had born out of the hate filled exchange. The place would not ever really feel like home again. But, I was so exhausted I fell asleep quickly that night leaving Jeff to the couch, TV and internet.

Chapter Twenty Nine – The Aftermath of Hate My dreams were fertile with seeds of nightmares beginning and ending in cycles. The first meeting of Chris and the scenes of a beating as if viewing it outside of my body. The face of the second cop who had badly wanted to get one more ―fag‖ before going off duty. The blank look on Chris‘ face. In the dream it was at first emotionless. Than it went completely blank. His lips disappeared off, his ears and chin, everything save those grey-green eyes. Eyes which used to greet me with love. Eyes which lied to me often. Eyes which were those of my lover and I thought my great friend. In the dreams, more eyes came. Those of the Captain, first proud, then shocked, then disappointed. Then the eyes of Brian at the Bar, Jeff‘s eyes. A swirl of faces with no particular meeting except to leave me feeling unsettled and exposed. Those eyes. ―Those eyes, are cryin,‖ came Jeff singing to himself in the kitchen. The sunlight was pouring in through the bedroom‘s sliding glass door to the balcony. My tongue tasted of cheeseburgers and bad sleep. I tried to sit up in bed but my ribs protested mightily. The pain acted as to a catharsis to memory which came back swiftly laying out the events of the evening past. I released a low moan. Jeff popped his head around the corner wearing my Kiss the Chef apron. ―Good Morning, sunshine. Drugs for one? Orange juice? Coffee? What can Mel get ya from the breakfast menu, hon?‖ Jeff was doing his best Flo from Alice impersonation and it was pretty bad. Especially, this early in the morning. ―Drugs. Coffee. Orange juice, in that order, please,‖ my feet were on fire accentuated from their normal fiery state by last night‘s happenings. Last night. It had all happened so fast. I wondered over the fact that someone could exit from your life so violently and completely. I tried to sit up, this time more slowly. The ribs throbbed but I made it to the sitting position. It all seemed like a horrible dream. I tried to stand and was corrected by my feet. Often when I first wake, they cannot bear weight. Today, was no different. ―Jeff! Hurry up!,‖ I hollered to the Kitchen. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 264

―Just a sec, damn, give a maid a break. Us working girls take lots of abuse,‖ Jeff answered back. He appeared in the doorway again carrying a tray from God knows where. It had a glass of OJ, a bottle of water, cinnamon rolls and milk. ―Thought you might wake up needing a little TLC so I dashed over to the 7-Eleven. He sat the tray down at the foot of the bed and bowed deeply. ―May I be of further service, m‘lord,‖ switching from Flo to English scullery maid. ―Yeah,‖ I said, ―have a seat buddy.‖ Jeff plopped onto the bed juggling the milk and orange juice. He had brought the pain medicine that marked the beginning of the medication regiment. First pain medication. Than neurological medications. Then the extra vitamins required to carry on the daily functions of my body since the surgery had robbed me of the ability to absorb enough vitamins from my food intake. Every day, nine little pills called my mouth home every day. I grabbed the orange juice before it could topple and took the meds. Being a bit distrustful of everyone, I asked, ―You know I count those, Jeffrey.. If there are any missing, you‘ll be the first to know.‖ Another change of character voice and Jeff said, ―Lord don‘t beat me, mastah, I don‘t know nothin‘ bout no birthing pills!‖ ―How can you be in such a good mood,‖ I asked Jeff? ―I mean we didn‘t have an exactly stellar night.‖ ―Nope, we didn‘t. But, it could have been so much worse. You‘re not waking up in a jail cell. You‘ve got what you need to make yourself comfortable. You didn‘t wake up next to a 300 lb drag queen. See, lots of things to be happy about,‖ Jeff summed up. After a pause while I was saying a little prayer for the medication to work quickly, Jeff finally asked, ―Do you want to talk about last night?‖ ―God, Jeff, where do we begin? What did I do last night? Why did Chris freak out? Why the hell did he beat the hell out of me...then take my car.‖ I asked in no particular order. ―Maybe you did exactly what you needed to do to take care of yourself and you‘re not used to taking care of Reece,‖ Jeff provided some All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 265

deep insights every once in a while. This was the mother lode and considered the concept as I chewed on a cinnamon roll. Jeff‘s words had been so true that it made the air thick with regret. Hoping to clear the air back to levity, Jeff added, ―Course I could be wrong. You may really need to have your ass kicked at least once per week.‖ I gave a little laugh and my sides winced while my feet continued to complain. The medication had not had time to work. ―I think I‘ll go with your first option,‖ I answered. ―I think that is probably something Captain would have said Jeff. You impress me sometimes.‖ ―Well when one has the dress, one can impress,‖ he said flipping his apron. He was back in play mode and the depth was gone again. ―Don‘t you think this would pull off a black heel?‖ Jeff rose and walked an imaginary catwalk, pivoting at both ends of the bedroom. ―Fabulous. You should be in Milan by spring.‖ I gave him a little fake applause and then returned to the business at hand of getting up and started in what was going to be a strange one. I managed my way to the restroom, half walking, half limping. ―Just a warning,‖ Jeff called out, ―you‘re not going to like what you see?‖ Oh great, he‘d done something to my bathroom. If there was a pink flamingo in the shower, he was a dead man. My eyes caught the mirror and I suddenly understood what he meant. The bruise on my right eye was vivid and the lump on my head pulsed. I was almost afraid to look at the ribs of my chest. I went ahead and eased the shirt up. The marks were dark and angry. There were three clear separate bruises. I recalled the landing of Chris‘ boot in the three spots marked on my body. The memory sent a shiver down my spine. I had to hold myself up against the sink as my head swim. The question, why? Why me? I don‘t know how many other relationships Chris had ended with violence. Then another emotion struck me – shame. Chris only outweighed me by a few pounds and I could easily out bench press him by 40 pounds. I had gotten my butt kicked. How had this had happened? It was, of All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 266

course, the viciousness and surprise of the attack that had given Chris complete advantage. I had had no time to prepare or defend. I had gone from assuming a challenging talk based on the conversation I had had with the Captain. Yes, I was ready for a talk but not for an attack. But would I have fought back in the first place? Could I have struck someone who I had loved? Could I look into the ocean, the brown-green ocean of his eyes and punched his lights out? No, I couldn‘t. I didn‘t know if that made me more or less of a man. I showered and took care to avoid hitting my seriously sore side with anything stronger than the water from the shower. The bruises were ugly and spreading, with a yellow patch in the middle. I felt along the rib carefully and there was no one area of pain. It all hurt, but nothing to indicate a fracture. That was a small miracle. I was almost scared to close my eyes in the shower. I begin to think of Chris having snuck into the apartment and done something to Jeff. He could be at the door any minute and here I would be with soap in my eyes. Paranoia is a boy‘s best friend. Stepping out and drying off brought another wave of pain from my sides. I dried off and dressed before exiting the bathroom. I felt as if I needed to lay back down and sleep for hours. As I left the bathroom and walked the short hallway to my bedroom, Jeff intercepted me. ―Reece, you have company,‖ Jeff said. And said it in such a way that I knew there was something wrong. ―If it‘s God tell him I gave at the office,‖ I said. ―Nope, just your apartment‘s manager, Miss Stacie. And, the security guard.‖ The inquisition had begun. ―Miss‖ (Jeff gave any straight female the referred title) Stacie and I knew each other from high school. I had been three grades ahead of her so our social circles didn‘t cross often, but I knew who she was and had been thankful she was my landlord. Anytime something went wrong in the forty year old building, Miss Stacie was on the scene. She had confessed to having had a crush on me on high school and we had a good laugh when I first moved in. I told her I was gay or I certainly would have seen her attempts.

As I entered the living room, Miss Stacie and the security guard rose to meet me. ―Oh, Jesus,‖ Stacie said, looking over the bruise on my head. ―That must have hurt.‖ I thought about telling her the whole truth, which would have been a good instinct to follow. But instead, I said, ―Yep, I slipped yesterday.‖ Staci didn‘t comment on it and instead introduced the security guard. I took his hand and mouthed the requisite pleased to meet you. Jeff had followed me into the living room where Staci and guard stood and took a position on the couch. ―Jeff, sweetie,‖ Staci began, ―Would you be dear and run up to the clubhouse level and get me a Pepsi?‖ She was getting Jeff out of our hair for a moment while she could get to whatever point it was she was going to make. I glanced around and noticed Jeff had cleaned up every little bit of evidence from last night. In fact, it looked like he had vacuumed. Jeff cleaned when he was worried or high. Last night he had apparently been both. Jeff looked at me to get an okay to leave nod and I gave it. Staci wasn‘t going to do anything bad to me. Besides, if anything, she was working with the victim of the whole loud racket last night, not the cause of it. And, in fact, this was the angle she was taking. ―Reece, I know you didn‘t fall. I don‘t know for sure what happened but I‘ve got a good idea from the video tapes.‖ She waited for a moment and the uncomfortable silence swelled as I lay my head in my hands. Not getting any feedback yet, she pulled out a notepad she continued, ―It looks like at about 11:15, on the tape, Chris left your apartment. Then he came back. Then you came back. Then Chris left again. He took your car. Then the police came. Then you left your apartment with them. You finally came back with Jeff.‖ She read her check list and at each point she glanced up to see if I wanted to give any further insight. She read faster as I didn‘t offer any explanation. When she had finished she folded her hands and leaned forward. ―Reece, do you want to talk about what happened to you last night?‖ I couldn‘t control it. I guess it was going to be laugh or cry. But, this time the ridiculousness of the situation hit me. Miss Stacie was doing what I had told a hundred students to do. ―When speaking with a person. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 268

Mind you, this is mostly for Caucasian culture, make warm eye contact and lean forward,‖ I had delivered the line in many a lecture. However, this time I was on the other end of the reality stick. Miss Stacie frowned at my laugh. And, I laughed hard, it hurt my ribs, Miss Stacie the Ubertherapist, I thought. Perfect lean in. Give me the control, ask me if I want to do x or y? Oh, she had acted out the role perfectly. ―I‘m not laughing at you, Stacie,‖ I said, ―I‘m laughing at how horribly stupid I‘ve been. How ridiculous I‘ve been. I‘ve been an idiot, I mean Neanderthal, drag the nails, stupid! Shit!‖ Anger had certainly arrived and the security guard heard the emotion come to voice. He stood up reflexively. ―Easy, their chief,‖ I said to the guard, ―Stacie, would you like some coffee?‖ ―No, thanks. I‘ll wait for the Pepsi,‖ Stacie said. ―You gave Jeff money and you expect him to come back?‖ I responded. Stacie thought about it for a minute and decided the 50 cents wasn‘t going to swerve her from her mission. ―Reece, we‘ve got to talk about this. Anytime a crime is committed on the property, our insurance requires us to conduct an investigation. The police have filed their preliminary reports. However, I want to hear your side of it. Because, the police recommended the apartment evict you based on likelihood of it happening again. That falls under resident safety, and we‘ve got to be concerned with it.‖ There was the sting of shame again. I‘d been stupid. There were consequences to be faced. I sat down with the cup of coffee I‘d been mixing up in the kitchen. ―Stacie, the residents are not in any danger. Not anymore. I‘m sorry the noise alarmed people, or I assume it alarmed people.‖ ―You assume correctly. Both your neighbors and the person across the hall called in 911 calls. My pager went off at 1 AM and I had to come see what was going on. That‘s when I ran into the police. We looked at the security tapes together. When the officer called it in, he said you had already filed aggravated assault charges and you were assisting them with identification.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 269

I tried to remember last night and the arrest. The cops radio had squelched a couple of times but I did not guess at the time they were talking about me. I guess not many aggravated assaults happened on Wednesday nights in Lubbock, Texas. ―I‘m sorry the neighbors were disturbed, Staci. You know that‘s not ever my intention.‖ ―That‘s what I‘m saying,‖ Stacie replied. ―I need you to tell me what all happened so I can explain it to the owner in such a way they will understand it won‘t be a big deal. ―Short version. Boy meets boy. Boys fall in love. One boy is crazy as a shit house rat. Boy beats boy. Boy steals boy‘s car. Boy confused.‖ I said. ―Long version, please,‖ Miss Stacie said as Jeff re-entered the apartment with two Pepsi‘s. ―Refreshments! Now what did I miss? Did he tell you the part about getting kicked in the ribs? And, Chris wears boots. It was awful,‖ Jeff came in his mouth running faster than his brain. He presented a Pepsi to both Miss Stacie and to the security guard. ―I didn‘t get your name, Mr. Guard, but I thought you might like a cola.‖ Unsure, the guard stood up, looked at the can as if it might contain a good dose of Queer. ―It‘s okay, hon, I didn‘t open it yet,‖ Jeff handed the Cola over to the security guard. The man finally took the cola from Jeff. ―Much obliged,‖ said the guard, showing his age and local roots. ―You are welcome, I‘m sure,‖ Jeff said and gave the guard a little pat before crossing the room and sitting by Miss Stacie. He crossed his legs exactly like Miss Stacie and leaned forward. ―So, where were we?‖ I began, ―I was just telling Miss Stacie and her friends here I‘d been stupid and it won‘t happen again. But, apparently they need the longer version.‖ I settled into the couch deeper. I retold the whole thing beginning with the dinner with Captain, coming home, the beating. The pain, the calling 911. I wrapped up the details with ―and then you came in this morning and asked me to relive such a highlighted evening‖. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 270

Stacie leaned back to take it all in, as did Jeff. The security guard had been making notes and shook his head. ―Sir, that was just wrong of that ol‘ boy to act that way. I‘m sure sorry.‖ You could have knocked me over with feather from a pink boa. Sympathy? From a old white man who had picked up a security job when he‘d lost the job he‘d held on a ranch outside of Seminole for over 20 years due to the rancher selling out. ―Mr. Manley, I‘ve got a friend in the Lubbock County Sheriff‘s office that will be happy to drop by and talk with Mr. Norton. Mr. Norton would not be bothering you again.‖ ―No need to worry, sir, but thank you for your kindness,‖ I said with genuine appreciation. ―But he‘s locked up already. I don‘t think we will hear from Mr. Norton anymore.‖ ―That‘s the thing,‖ Stacie leaned back in and Jeff parroted the movement. ―Chris is already out of jail. His family came and got him out last night. They only charged him so far with public intoxication.‖ I heard the words but couldn‘t believe it. They hadn‘t filed the aggravated assault charge I‘d pressed for. ―Where did you hear, that?‖ I asked Stacie. ―Got the report right here. The police dropped it off an hour ago.‖ Stacie handed over the manila folder to me. Sure enough there was Chris photo. Arrest charge: PUBLIC INTOXICATION. So much for equal justice. ―So, you see why I needed to hear your side of the story.‖ I stood up and walked back to the hallway where it had happened. Twelve hours ago. No less than that. I looked down at the carpet. There was a little spot of blood I guess had come from my forehead and there was a smear on the paint of the kitchen door. ―Sir, would you come here for a minute.‖ ―Yes, Mr. Manley?‖ the guard made his way over to where I was. ―That spot there is blood,‖ I pointed out. ―And, here is some more. I don‘t know if it proves anything to you. But, that‘s all I‘ve got to show. Why didn‘t they write him up for taking my car, I wonder?‖ Stacie joined us over at the spot we‘d gathered. ―Well, they said he was on the vehicle‘s insurance so they had to assume you had given All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 271

him permission.‖ I had indeed had Chris added to my insurance. From time to time, he had driven my car. He‘d dropped me off at the school and come back from a trip to whatever or whoever he had been doing. ―I see,‖ I said. ―I get your rock and hard place, Stacie. The owner probably thinks I‘m a loon. But, it did go down exactly like I‘d told you.‖ Stacie frowned for a minute and thought things through. ―Okay, Reece.‖ She straightened up and gae me a quick hug. ―I‘m so sorry this happened. We will file a restraining order against Chris and keep him off of the property. You‘ve got to realize, though, that if he steps foot back on the property, we will file charges and, well, you‘ll have to leave. I‘m sorry, but that‘s the best we can do.‖ My cheeks flushed with shame momentarily as I adjusted to the fact that I did, indeed, share some of the responsibility of what went down last night. I had fanned the fire. I‘d not made a phone call to let Chris know I was going to dinner with Captain. I had not let him know I was going to the bar. I‘d lit the fuse and there was no way around that fact. No matter how big the bomb is, the fuse still bears some of the duties. ―Thanks, Stacie. I appreciate you very much. I know how bad it looks. But, don‘t worry, it‘s not something you‘re going to have to deal with again,‖ I offered. ―Well, we won‘t be worried. If you see hide or hair of Chris, though you contact the office immediately.‖ Stacie and the guard prepared to leave and the appropriate handshakes and goodbyes were given. ―...Miss Stacie! You are always the pretty one!‖ Jeff had followed them out in the hall for a minute and had just come back in the apartment, still ending the conversation with Stacie. I slid into the couch and plopped out the recliner and stared out at Lubbock. The city was in full midmorning light and it was crystal clear. ―What‘s crystal clear,‖ Jeff asked as he came around the corner of the couch. I didn‘t realize I‘d given word to my thoughts or, rather the lack of them for the moment. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 272

―Nothing, Jeff,‖ I looked at him, ―just commenting on how clear the sky is today and how the view is from here.‖ ―I know, right? I just love your view up here. I mean, girl, for Lubbock it‘s penthouse living at its finest, dontcha know? I have to have a cigarette, excuse me while I step out on the verandha and recover from my brush with the security department!‖ Jeff slid open the door to the balcony and stepped through. He leaned out over the rail with his face turned toward the sunshine. I watched as he thumbed the cigarette out of his pocket, along with the lighter. He lit up, took a drag and then sat down on the patio. ―Come on out, the weather is nice. Don‘t be a frump! Don‘t you think that security guard would have been hot back in his day?‖ Only Jeff could have walked away with that image from the whole exchange. But, that was Jeff. The one and only. ―My feet hurt and I‘m fine right here. And, if I‘m in a frump I deserve the frump for a few minutes. Thank you very much,‖ I said. Then, ―You think he would have been hot?‖ I decided it was an easy change of conversation. ‗‖Oh, honey. You know it. That big ole boy frame, that voice, and he still didn‘t have a droopy seat in his work jeans.‖ ―You checked out the security guard‘s butt, Jeff?‖ ―Guilty!‖ Jeff laughed. ―You never know where your next exboyfriend might be coming from. A girl has got to keep her options open.‖ ―I think he probably checked the other option box a long time ago, Jeffrey.‖ ―Sure, he thinks he has but he hasn‘t met the likes of me! He might be getting bored with the old lady. You never know.‖ ―Sick, Jeff, just sick.‖ I laughed and it felt good to lighten the mood a bit. I realized how oppressive the air had become. How serious the situation had been. How terribly wrong it could have gone. What if Chris had had a knife? Or, a gun? Yeah, it could have been a lot worse.

―Don‘t go there, Reece,‖ Jeff said walking in from the balcony. ―I see that look and it‘s not your best. And, besides, you play the ‗what if?‘ game way too much as it is. It gets old and it gets hard.‖ ―And you don‘t play it all, Jeff. You simply check out every option!‖ I snapped back. Jeff had struck a nerve and it wasn‘t going to vanish in just a few seconds. He was right with the ‗what ifs‘. ―You‘ve got to track down those options and see if they are right for you,‖ Jeff defended. ―It‘s better to act than not to act. Besides, I‘m talking about what ifs from the past. Not, what ifs coming up in our lives. The past is the past and you‘ve got to let it go. Do you think you‘ll do yourself any good if you spend all that time dwelling on what could have happened? ―No,‖ Jeff answered himself, ―spending time on the past would get you very bored or very depressed.‖ ―Yeah, well, I‘ve kind of got to spend time in the past. You know these feet have a history,‖ I responded. ―And, I don‘t? I just have those three little letters that follow me around every where – HIV – it‘s awfully damn inconvenient.‖ Jeff moved from the patio to the couch. He continued, ―And, you don‘t need to play the if game with Chris anymore, for sure, he was definitely not worth it?‖ ―And, why do you say, that, Jeff,‖ I asked. ―Well, for one thing, he slept around on you. I mean he really slept around on you.‖ ―Really? Did he? He said he had only done it once. Man, I‘ve been so stupid. Are you sure, Jeff. I mean, like he wasn‘t just bedding everybody was he?‖ Jeff grew quiet and serious for a moment. ―Oh, hell. If you‘re going to hate me you‘re going to hate me. Chris and I had sex. There I admit it. And, I tell you I can name five other people who did, too.‖ Bam. Another ACME anchor dropped on my head compliments of Warner Brothers Cartoons. My thoughts gathered up through the anger All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 274

the depression and the betrayal to find a voice. ―How could you do that! God damn, it! Jeff, what the hell?‖ I stood up and paced for a minute. Anger fanned up a little rage and I let him have it, ―You little slut! How could you fuck my boyfriend, Jeff? What the hell does that say about our friendship? Are you just using me for a cash machine and now a fuck supply? What the hell I‘m a supposed to do with this information, Jeff? Why the hell did you tell me...‖ I was yelling by now and looming over Jeff menacingly.‖ ―Slow down,‖ Jeff said, ―You two were on a break up bender. Chris came on to me. He was the instigator. I was drunk and he was high. And, he kind of made it like it wasn‘t an option.‖ ―Are you saying he raped you?‖ I asked. ―No. That‘s be going too far. Reece, the point is I wanted to be the one to tell you. It was a stupid, mean mistake. But, you are going to hear a lot of people wanting to tell you stuff about Chris that before you wouldn‘t listen to, I mean Jesus Christ, you acted like he was a god. Think about it, Reece. How was I supposed to tell you? It would have ended our friendship!‖ ―Yeah, Jeff, some friendship. Thanks so much. No wonder you‘ve been sucking up. And, I just thought you were getting ready to hit me up for another loan.‖ ―Hey, I‘m nice to you because I love you more than cocktails at ten in the morning. Why I slept with him? I was stupid. And, he tricked me into it, and yes, it was stupid. He threatened to tell you something, and I don‘t even remember what it was, but it was something I knew would piss you off. So, I let him.‖ Jeff finally took a breath and exhaled through big sincere tears. I let him cry. And, then the anger was replaced with profound sadness. I joined him in the tears. ―Oh, hell, Jeff. You should know by now that nothing is going to break our friendship. We‘ve known each other too long and too deeply. But, man, this sucks,‖ I said, continuing the tears. I cried but they were not the tears of a sense of a betrayal but a tears of accepting a loss. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 275

Jeff continued to blubber, ―I‘m sorry, I‘m sorry,‖ and I could tell the sincerity was there. He may have not have put up much resistance against Chris, but he was truly sorry about it for today. Somehow that touched me in the middle of the anger and sadness. Okay, so Chris Norton may not think I was worth shedding a tear over. I recalled his blank face in the squad car. But, at least Jeff was trying to own up to behavior. Trying to do the things friends do. I recalled the kindnesses of Jeff over the years. They numbered in the hundreds. And, so did the favors I‘d done for him. We were friends first and it had stuck. We‘d never explored a sexual relationship even though we‘d woken up in the same bed quite a few times. Jeff had known me before the surgery. He‘d known me during the times when money was flowing freely and he‘d been only too happy to spend it with me. After the surgery, he had witnessed me going from being big but able to do anything to being much smaller and having to use a cane. He‘d gone from being a money pit of a person to a loyal friend who tried to make life as easy as possible. As this morning when he‘d gone across the street to the 7-Eleven to gather up a few things, Jeff had his shining moments. And, lately, he had tried to be a friend by telling me about Chris. It‘s just that I had placed that topic off the shelf. In my rush to love, I‘d forgotten to use caution, understanding and friendship. In my drive for acceptance, I‘d become blinded by purpose. Save Captain and my duties to her, Chris had first claim to my time and money within two weeks of our first dating. Jeff had been jealous, his friend suddenly had come with a wart of a boyfriend. And, a very badly behaving wart. His friend had also suddenly come with an unquestionable Captain. Jeff had lost ranking to two people. One he respected out of my sense of respect and the other he had been jealous of. But either way, going from number one in someone‘s life to number three or four was a hard blow. I got up and went over and slipped my arm around Jeff who was shuddering in his crying now. ―Hush, it‘s okay,‖ I said. ―You‘ve slept All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 276

with everyone in Lubbock but me so I guess his number had to come up.‖ I gave him a little squeeze at the joke. He looked over at me, eyes red now, and gave a little laugh. A bubble of snot come out of his nose, which I deftly collected with a Klee-nex. ―Now, how‘s that for friendship? Huh?‖ I assured him. ―Oh hell, Jeff, I don‘t know why I‘m surprised. Chris is an asshole.‖ Jeff nodded in agreement. ―Major asshole,‖ Jeff said, launching a little game he and I often played out. ―General Fuck Up,‖ I replied. ―Captain of Nastineness,‖ Jeff said. ―Worthy of Corporal Punishment. That‘s a Colonel of truth.‖ The game played out as we used the ranks of the military and the negative descriptors. We sat on the couch for a few more minutes, letting the silence heal the wounds of the short fight. And, I hoped, heal the deeper ones which had been created by both of us over Chris. After about five minutes of quiet reflection, I happened to glance up at the clock. It insisted in was 11:15. I had to get busy with my day. Crisis or not, papers were not going to grade themselves and I was behind in my reading for the courses I was taking. ―Jeff, I‘ve got to get my day going. Do you want to get a lift home or are you going to stick around here? You know you‘re welcome to hang out.‖ ―I better go see if I still have a boyfriend,‖ Jeff said. ―James begins to wonder if I don‘t show up every couple of days or so. I tell him it‘s hard to be in demand. A girl‘s got a calendar to keep!‖ Jeff stood up and walked toward the kitchen. ―Mind if I use the phone, hon?‖ ―Go ahead, Jeffrey,‖ I said, ―mi telefono is su telefono.‖ Jeff called James and I could tell he was in a bit of trouble for not reporting to James his position and place over the last 24 hours. Jeff explained the whole Chris incident in summary version for the sake of time. ―Reece, James wants to know if you‘re okay?‖ ―Tell him I‘m getting there,‖ I said, finding my shoes for the upcoming outing. It was cool outside and the feet were already beginning to shoot the rays of the pain of the neurological injury up to my brain. It was going to be a hard day. ―Tell him thanks for asking.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 277

―Reece says you‘re a total whore and to mind your own business,‖ Jeff said. I pricked up my eyebrow. ―Just kidding, girl, Reece says thank you for asking but he‘ll be okay. Yes, I told him we both thought Chris was nuts. Yeah, right, like a box of Blue Diamond almonds. I want to come home, if you‘re going to be there for a while. Okay, see you in a few,‖ Jeff concluded his phone call as I was gathering up my stuff in my messenger back. Students in one side, my work in the other. A knock came at the door and Jeff and I both jumped. I went over and opened the door to find the security guard back with a maintenance worker. ―Sorry, to bother you, Mr. Manley. Stacie wants this door‘s lock changed. And, she said to remind you keys should never be given to nonresidents of the apartment.‖ The guard handed over a set of two keys. ―If you are about to go somewhere, that‘s fine, but you‘ll need these to get back in.‖ In other words, please do not distribute keys to the building to insane, antisocial assholes. Check, Got it. ―Thank you sir,‖ I said. ―I was just about to head to campus. But, I‘ll assume these keys work.‖ I pocked the keys into the front of my jeans. As I did so, I bumped across the promise ring I had exchanged with Chris. The ring was a beautiful gold design with a blue sapphire in it. Chris had picked it out and I had had to ―loan‖ him the money to get it. But, I‘d been wearing it on my left ring finger. Essentially to let my students know not to fall in a student/teacher crush which was common for the age I was, just about 5 to 10 years older than most of my students. The ring had also stopped countless other questions and started lots of conversations. It‘s funny how a little piece of metal with a cultural significance can cause a group of people to act and react in certain ways. Captain had simply raised an eyebrow and not missed a beat in her lecture at the time. But I noticed from time to time she took inventory of the finger and saved some quote or insight. I decided to leave it off today. It was just a ring now. And, I‘d wear it again, or so I thought.

Chapter Thirty – Life After Chris and Onto Tech I dropped Jeff off at his and James‘ home and steered the Eclipse to its familiar parking spot at the University. The College welcomed me into it and I began to feel more adjusted. I had neglected its duties bestowed to me both as a student and an instructor and I owed the edifice my presence. I took the elevator up to the catacombs of graduate student offices and made it through to my desk between a couple of cubicle dividers. This little desk had not seen me much, but it offered the official station where Manley, R., received mail and notices. There was a pile of notification of first one thing and another and I gathered them up and placed them in my bag. I nodded hello to a few of the other students as I made my way out of the assigned offices. I took the elevator down to fourth floor, the professor‘s offices. I had made friends with several of the younger professors. The College of Human Sciences was attracting young talent to go with the new money. My friend Charlie which lectured on Family Studies was in the hall outside of Gwen‘s abandoned office. He was coming from the official office of the Department of Human Development and Family Studies, which was two doors down from the office I had claimed at Captain‘s permission. ―Hey, Reecer,‖ Charlie greeted me with the familiar nickname which had followed me to the campus from childhood. ―Hey, Chuck! What‘s up?‖ I asked. He and I gave a quick embrace and the hug felt good. Professional and friendly, free of agendas or demands. Just simple kind human interaction. Something I was craving at the moment . ―Same ole, same ole,‖ Charlie said. ―Beginning to regroup for the next month‘s stretch into the semester change. What‘s going on with you.‖ ―The same,‖ I said. ―I haven‘t put in enough face time for the students or for Captain recently. I thought I‘d hold office hours for the next two days and see if there was anything critical going on.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 279

―Saturday office hours? Yuck,‖ Charlie said and I had forgotten it was Friday. ―I‘d rather have my toenails removed!‖ ―You‘re such a people person,‖ I said. Then, ―What did you pick up at the big office,‖ I asked referring to the box he was carrying. Charlie smiled proudly and opened up the box and dug out a business card. The title ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR was listed under his name on the official Texas Tech business card layout. ―Wow! Associate this year! Charlie, that‘s fantastic!‖ The reaching of the different titles moving toward the coveted TENURED PROFESSOR and beginning at ASSISTANT ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR meant upgraded responsibility and, I suspected the reason for the excitement on Charlie‘s face was the raise in pay grade. ―Yeah! I was excited. The word just came down from committee last week. I put the rush on for the cards. Heck, I even got a coffee mug to send my mom.‖ Charlie gushed. Charlie was one month younger than I and had been in school since he was five. He held two different Ph.D.‘s. He wasn‘t particularly brilliant but he preferred school to the work world with a passion. His family had a great deal of money and they were proud of their son the professor. Even though it was a far cry from the home of his applicable Yale doctorate, Texas Tech offered enough of a reputation in the Family Studies field to earn their pride. ―That‘s great, Charlie. Are you going to be supervising clinic next semester,‖ I asked referring to the Family Studies Counseling Clinic. It offered open services to the student population and those in the community who needed its services. It was especially important to the Battered Women‘s Network, which Captain directed. ―I hope so. It takes up a lot of time. If you‘re interested in picking up an 8401 let me know. Hey, why no ring?‖ I was stunned for a minute. Had he just asked what I thought he said. ―Say, what?‖ ―You could pick up an 8401, just elect the post-doctorate selfguided study course section 9 and you‘d have me. I could really use you at the clinic. What did you bring?‖ Charlie said motioning this time to

my bag which had the white tip of my laptop sticking out. I had misheard him! Thank you, God. ―My new toy,‖ I pulled out the MacBook and showed it with pride to Charlie. ―Sweet,‖ Charlie said, ―Come by my office before you leave the building. Are you going to be in Gwen‘s, I mean, Captain‘s old office?‖ ―Yeah, the payoff for her having to sit in the cushy new women‘s studies pavilion. I get her old office. I swear it looks like 1960 visited and stayed in there.‖ ―They haven‘t redone these offices since the tower opened,‖ Charlie said. ―I had to buy an area rug because of the baby blue and white tile pattern on the floor.‖ ―Right? It almost feels like a hospital building doesn‘t it. Very institution.‖ ―Well, look at it this way. It‘ll be back in vogue In 30 years and then we‘ll have to double our admission committee for the drive just to be in the architecturally interesting offices. Hey, speaking of the admission committee. I noticed your name is on the third round battle if it gets though that far.‖ I hadn‘t gotten the news but I assumed it was in the pile of notices I‘d gotten from the department I had found on my little desk. ―It sounds like I better get back to work, Charlie. Congrats again, Charlie,‖ I wished him well as I fished out my keys for Gwen‘s office. The old offices on this floor did not have the electronic locks. Nor did they have a push pad. It was good old fashioned lock and key. The office smelled musty, apparently Captain hadn‘t been in here since I‘d been in last week. It was set up, though, to be my little Fortress of Solitude. Captain had a very comfortable old style executive chair. She‘d found an ottoman for propping up her feet which worked excellently for my same purposes. When Captain had offered me the use of the office, and I had accepted, she had requisitioned a new computer, All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 281

screen and router for the office. Because it was in her hand it was approved without a second look and the 24 inch LCD monitor was practically unheard of in 2004. The computer itself was a nice machine with plenty of USB ports. The system remained connected to the Texas Tech main interface with Captains permanent password etched into the browsers cache. If I needed to pull up any records on any student, it was a few keystrokes away. If I‘d relied on my access as a graduate instructor, I would have had to request the access, in triplicate, had it signed by Captain, gone over the hill and through the woods to find an Administrator, persuade them to add their signature and bring the whole thing back to the Human Development and Family Studies office where it would languish like a writer‘s first novel on an agent‘s desk. Eventually, someone would pick it up, check approved, denied or the ever present, please be more specific. The note would then be delivered to the desk of the student back in the catacombs of the student instructors desks. Total time, at least three weeks. On the Captain‘s system total time, three seconds. God, membership had its privileges. I booted the system and grabbed the student‘s folder I had. I needed to enter grades for the last two Wednesdays homework and needed to indicate my papers had been turned into my professors. I propped my feet up on the ottoman as my keys typed in Captain‘s password. The system jumped to immediate attention displaying the menu meant for Professors Only. A few keystrokes later and I was at Captain‘s class she had entrusted me with for the semester. The fact that the grades were three weeks behind was not a good thing. I hoped Captain had not viewed the file, but I knew that was just wishful thinking. Captain knew everything she could about events happening in her name. She trusted everyone in her circle completely, but she would think it remiss of her not to keep on top of everything. I pulled the students grades from the folder and began to enter the grades into the system. The names would pop up, the system would request the grade, the value of the grade versus the other grades entered into the system and then save the record. The file would then reflect the students current grade for the course and then ask for a confirmation. It was simple routine but by the thirtieth student it did become monotonous. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 282

I knew now why Captain had instructed me to keep up with this weekly whenever possible. Whenever possible was the only loophole Captain ever left for work. And, it was one I had taken for granted several times. There were just four weeks left in the semester before finals. The fall had flown by with the going ons of Chris, the Texas Tech International Pain Center, Captain, Jeff.....I became lost in a little revelry as my mind presented fall memories. Somewhere lost in the review of my life, I managed to skip one student row in the system. It would seem a small mistake. The missed grade caused the system to advance the grading to a student unmatched with the grade code from the worksheets I had placed the grades upon. One missed row and now students 11 through 30 would be a grade off. For the next 54 entries I made, the error went unnoticed as I continued to think about everything which had happened. I came upon Mary‘s name. As I entered in the grade of 58, it struck me there had been an error in something. Mary‘s score was 100, not 58. The 58 belonged to the student before Mary. The system happily accepted the 58 as intentional entry. Mary‘s profile came up. Straight A‘s across the board with an F for the last two homework assignments. The system did not ask me to confirm the entry. Nor was there a method for entry. ―Shit,‖ I said to no one in particular. Making an erroneous entry wasn‘t something I had ever done before, but I assumed others had made the mistake before. I searched the Help section. Edit grades entered into the system brought up the correct file. To edit grades have your supervisor enter their pass code into the system and edit grades to the correct entry. Save and repeat. There was just one problem. I was not logged in as Manley, Reece W. Student Instructor. I was logged in as Sorell, Gwen. Professor. ―Hell,‖ I said again to no known audience. What the hell was I going to do? Maybe Charlie would know, I picked up the phone and dialed Charlie‘s extension, ―This is Dr. Johnson,‖ said Charlie on answering, proud of the double Ph.D.‘s he‘d earned, ―How may I help you?‖

―Hi, Charlie. It‘s Reece. Could you come to Gwen‘s office, I‘ve screwed the pooch and need to know what to do about it,‖ I said. ―Well, try to keep the pooch calm and I‘ll be right there,‖ Charlie said and hung up. I looked through the system. Yep, I‘d made not one, not two, but fifty-four incorrect entries. I‘d listed the grades to enter on a list on graph paper from the notes and I only had to enter the list line by line. Missing that one line, had caused everything to shift by one. Two sets of grades. Two sets of thirty entries. Sixty total. And, I‘d missed the number 6 and gone to number 7. The entries were then off for that one all the way to the end. Thank God for Mary. I‘d caught the error. I hadn‘t turned the grades in as of yet. The final submit button glared at me on the screen. I clicked edit and it prompted me for the override code. I had no idea what an override code was. Charlie came into the Captain‘s office and rolled up a chair over to me. ―Okay, Reece, where‘s the pooch?‖ ―The pooch is on the screen Charlie. I got a line off on grade entry and made a few mistakes I need to edit. I have no idea what an override code is. Shit, this is going to be bad,‖ I said to Charlie. Charlie studied the screen, he hit the edit button, entered in his instructor code and hit return. ―That should do it,‖ Charlie said looking away from the screen. ―How‘d the heck did you make 54 errors?‖ I showed Charlie the sheet of graph paper with the grades line by line. ―I thought this would make an easier way to handle the entry. Going line by line to enter a grade. The problem, I missed line six and ...‖ ―It resulted in 54 errors. Oh, Reece, you‘ve got to pay attention when you are messing with grades. It‘s a big thing, you know,‖ Charlie chastised me. ―But, my code should let us edit them down. Let me,‖ Charlie turned to the screen and the system glared back Unrecognized Override, See HDFS Office. ―What the heck,‖ Charlie said to the system and re-entered his code. The system did not budge. ―Um, Reece, who are you logged in as?‖ Charlie asked. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 284

―It‘s Captain‘s system so it logged her in automatically,‖ I said. ―It assumes this computer is Captain at the helm.‖ ―You‘re in here with Gwen‘s codes?‖ Charlie asked incredulously. ―What are you thinking? You might as well be carving things in stone. No wonder my override code didn‘t work. I can only override Student Instructor‘s. Which is what you should be on the system as, not as Gwen Sorrell,‖ Charlie continued. Charlie tried another code and backed out of the system. He logged on with his account. He pulled up the grade roles for the class I was teaching, the two weeks grades were still missing. ―Okay, it didn‘t save the information yet. But, you‘re going to have to get a Dean‘s override code. It‘s the only one that will outrank Captain‘s code. Charlie picked up the phone and dialed the HDFS office‘s main number. He spoke, I assume, as soon as the secretary for the Department answered the phone, ―Yes, this is Dr. Johnson. Is Dean Hailey in today? Does she have anyone in with her at the moment? Okay, may I speak with her,‖ Charlie cupped his hand to the phone‘s microphone, ―If Dean Hailey is in, we‘ll go see her. She‘s a nice lady and likes to help. But, bad, Reece, bad. He rolled up an imaginary newspaper and popped my snout with it. ―Bad, Reece. Bad, Reece. No biscuit.‖ Back to the phone call, ―Yes, Dean Hailey? Doing great. Listen Elizabeth, I need to come see you for a minute to get a favor, I‘ll have Gwen‘s protégé with me. Yes, Reece Manley. I‘m sure he looks forward to meeting you as well. Be there in five minutes.‖ I did not want to meet Dean Hailey under these circumstances. I knew I needed to call Captain and let her know what was going on, but Charlie gathered us up and herded me toward the Dean‘s Offices. It was a short walk to the School of Human Sciences Department of Human Development and Family Studies main offices. Just right down the hall. The main office entry looked surreal. The hallway leading up to the doors was the same institutional light blue and white tiles on the floor and on the walls. But, the hall way of institution ended in a façade of great wooden doors with glass on either side viewing into the official offices of the Department of Human Development and Family Studies clearly lettered All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 285

out in golden letters above the doors. The transition from 1950‘s hallway to 2000‘s finest building details was incongruent and made one look behind them to see if the building had changed. In fact, the buildings did technically change going from the old college to the renovation and new tower of the School of Human Sciences. But on this floor, they had made no transition. Charlie opened the doors to the offices and we walked into the large lobby of the Department‘s head offices. The warm wood paneling on the walls and the Berber carpeting, the modern, heavy wooden desks of the receptionist on either side gave one the impression of having entered into a very important office. The receptionist looked up, ―Hello, Dr. Johnson. Hello, Mr. Manley.‖ She had been at enough functions she knew who we were and she took all the calls from our students during the day. She was the one who delivered mail to the countless cubby holes and mail boxes of the department. In all, there were over fifty of us, professors, instructors and researchers she represented from her desk. And, two very important Dean‘s. Dean Hailey was a warm and powerful woman. She had been the President of the University for an Interim period. Perhaps one of the most powerful women in academia of the state. However, to her friends, colleagues and students she was simply Elizabeth. Beth if you were a close friend. However, on this particular visit she was Dean Hailey. Elizabeth appeared in the doorway of her office. ―Chris, Reece, what a nice surprise. Please come in!‖ As we walked in the door to her office she gave Charlie a hug and congratulated him on his promotion within the department. She shook my hand warmly and invited us to sit in the two chairs facing her desk. She made her way around the desk to her chair, sat down and leaned forward. ―So, what can I help you gentlemen with today?‖ ―Dean Hailey, I‘ve got a problem...‖ I started to explain when Charlie cut me off. ―Elizabeth, as you know Reece is Gwen‘s assistant instructor and handles the course HDFS 2330 for her. It‘s the Wednesday night class.‖

―Yes, a very important one for students interested in it. I‘m getting excellent reviews, too, Reece, on how you are conducting the class. Gwen could not be more pleased,‖ Elizabeth said. Charlie continued, ―Reece has had a minor mistake on the grade entry. Gwen invited him to use her office. So, the system automatically entered in Gwen‘s access code. He needs to edit some grades and so he needs....‖ ―An override code. Sure, not a problem,‖ Elizabeth said, completing Charlie‘s sentence. ―Let‘s see what we‘ve got going on in the system.‖ Elizabeth turned her attention to the computer on her desk. She brought up a few different screens until she was seeing the same screen we had up in Gwen‘s office. ―Oh, dear. Reece, I‘m putting in the override code right now, but please be careful and get the grades in quickly. It looks like Gwen has tried to logon a couple of times in the last hour and her access is in use by your system. You should only use your log in information, Reece. You can override the work station by choosing to log out and then enter your information,‖ Elizabeth continued. I knew how easy it was to log onto the system with my information, but I‘d simply liked being a bit nosey and Captain‘s entry allowed a great deal more exploration. However, I vehemently agreed with Elizabeth and offered up what I hoped sounded like sincere apologies. I had 54 boo boos to correct. And, I gathered Captain would be looking for me to see if I had her system locked up. Charlie and I exited the official offices and, as soon as the door closed completely, I scurried along to Gwen‘s office in my fastest clop, clunk, cane, foot run. I slid through her office door and into the chair. I quickly pulled up the necessary files to display the fields to be corrected. I didn‘t bother to log out and log back in. At this point, I was in trouble already. I now needed to concentrate on my original task. The fields accepted the data as quickly as I could enter it. I made certain each one matched the other. It was not a mistake I was going to make again. As I made it through the list, I wondered how the heck I could have been so distracted. The job, the ―home‖ of Texas Tech was All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 287

fantastically important to me. It even came with its own surrogate parent. The University had never been anything but incredibly generous with me and it deserved my full respect. I‘d learned that if you truly respect something you don‘t become distracted enough to miss 54 entries. Somewhere near entry number 53, I happened to look up. I‘d seen motion in the corner of my eye and thought it might be a student passing by. I‘d not looked up until I had hit ENTER on the keyboard. Captain was standing in my doorway. Correction. Captain was standing in her doorway. She had one eyebrow cocked in question and her hands were folded in front of her. It was a position I knew well. My next words would have to be careful ones. I was in the middle of committing hubris. Sanctioned hubris, but hubris none the less. ―Well, hello, Reece,‖ Captain said in a voice that was both warm and annoyed. I never knew how Captain did that. She was the only person I‘d ever known to be able to completely transmit two distinct emotions with her tone. Humor and sincerity. Frustration and apprehension. Optimism and caution. Her voice could convey the rainbow of combinations and anyone who knew her for any length of time would know what was what just from her voice. Thankfully, the warmth outweighed the annoyance I sensed. ―Reece, the most embarrassing thing has happened to me,‖ Captain said as she entered into the office, plopping down a stack of folders she had been holding. ―It was one of those things that could happen to anybody, I guess, that wasn‘t really paying attention. You know how those things go, yes?‖ Captain did not wait for the question to be answered. ―Apparently, and here is the embarrassing part, I was online and I managed to make over fifty errors on student‘s semester grade roles.‖ I started to protest, but Captain continued, barely a breath between her words. ―Those grade roles are so important because they govern over student‘s participation in everything from financial aid and extracurricular activities. Imagine my alarm to know I‘d done all of this and didn‘t even remember logging on. I wonder if you could help me clear this up, Reece. Apparently, I‘m in need of deep psychiatric services.‖

I gave her a little frown. And, entered in the last grade hit update and saved the system. ―I‘m looking at your work right here, Captain, and may I say it looks like your usual fantastic job. Each grade entered carefully, completely. You‘ve even entered in notes on students who did not do well, indicating your ideas of what you might need to focus on in future lectures. That was certainly above and beyond your duties. Oh, and did I mention, you managed to do it all using a line by line graph grade role? Why, Captain, I do believe it‘s them who are in need of deep psychiatric services, not you.‖ I waited to see how my attempt at levity would fail or succeed. Captain blessed me with a look of confusion for about a millisecond before catching onto the game. She smiled in spite of herself. ―Did I really do that about focus on topics on future topics?‖ She replied. ―Yes, you did. See, here it is, right here.‖ I said. Captain made her way behind me and placed her reading glasses on her nose and leaned back her head to get a good view of the screen. ―Well, it seems I did do that fairly well. Yes. Then what‘ was Dean Hailey doing telling me my student was using my password?‖ she said placing her hand on my shoulder. ―Oh, come on Captain, we all know Dean Hailey gets confused and carried away. At her age, almost anything can happen.‖ I said. ―Oh, yes, her advanced years. Did you know she was a year younger than me?‖ asked Captain. Ouch, I‘d blown it on that one. ―Well, perhaps you just wear it so much better than Dean Hailey.‖ I was rewarded with another smile. ―One last thing, Reece. Dean Hailey reminded me that student‘s should only use their own accounts to update the information. Now, why would she say that?‖ captain asked. I immediately wanted to slink under the desk and hide. ―Ummm, well, umm...‖ ―Oh, brilliantly articulated, Reece. I do so love a good um-ohum,‖ said Captain. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 289

―Well, hell, Gwen we all have those um-oh-hum answers occasionally!‖ I said and then with more sincerity. ―Captain, I‘m sorry. I promise I‘ll call you before I get onto the system again. I was just in a hurry to get these grades in. I had two weeks worth of material to enter into the system. But, that‘s no excuse for not calling. Now, if you‘ll spare me the strap I also promise it will never happen again.‖ ―Oh, Lord, Reece. Not a never. Never say never. You‘ll end up hanging yourself every time. Let‘s just say, ‗you‘ll try very, very hard‘,‖ shall we. ―Yes, Captain,‖ I replied. Her face relaxed. She made her way over to the work table that sat against the wall. A row of filing cabinets halved the office. I could hear her unfolding her bag and retrieving papers. ―Captain, do you need your desk? I‘m done here.‖ ―Oh, I don‘t remember dismissing you, Ensign. In fact, why don‘t you join me at the table.‖ I reported to the table immediately, after logging off of the Texas Tech system. The system said HAVE A NICE DAY PROFESSOR SORRELL on the screen and I thought, ―if you only knew.‖ ―Yes, ma‘am, what can I do for you?‖ I grabbed a second chair and pulled it up to the work table. I watched as Gwen pulled out the student file jackets for several students, some of which I recognized and some of which I didn‘t. ―Ensign, I‘ve got to do something the University calls an Instructor Initiated Intervention for these students. Now what does that mean? It means another load of horse poop for us, that‘s what it means. We are to review our syllabus and see if it contains exercises and learning modalities which reach more than just visual learners. In other words, the University, in all of its glorious wisdom wants us, instructors, to see if they, the failing students, are failing because we aren‘t doing our job correctly. ―I believe these are your little dear ones, aren‘t they?‖ as she flopped over five or six folders to me. ―Now here‘s where it gets fun. If the student has a number listed, we must, get this – must – call the student All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 290

and see if there is some problem going on in their life that is inhibiting them from learning. If they‘ve made good grades in other classes, we are to try to find out what differences exist between the classes and explore those with the students. Finally, we are supposed to review the options of successfully completing the class with the student. The memo,‖ she fished in her bag and found the freshly printed page which I remembered seeing in my stack of papers but had not yet given my attention, ―reads if it is not possible for the student to obtain a passing grade in the course at this point, you should encourage the student to take an Incomplete Course or IC grade so that they may retake the course next semester.‖ ―Oh, my, the poor little dears. Well, you know my opinion I hold on this particular set of directives and my students sum it up best, I can be a bitter old bitch when I want to be. But, I‘ve earned the right. You, however, Reece, are a shiny little light of hope for these poor little lambs.‖ Captain kept referring to them as little lambs and I guess she saw most undergraduate students in this light. Overall, they are fluffy and don‘t harbor any threat. Feed them, they‘ll grow and go away to market eventually. Captain had very little time for little lambs. She wanted the brightest, the best or at the very least, to upgrade to a herd of cattle. At least cattle can be taught to do things. Captain closed her eyes for a moment gathering her thoughts. ―Okay, here‘s how I want to handle this, Reece. It will count for extra credit, brownie points, a free martini at Jay‘s, whatever you want. But, I‘d like for you to follow up with each of these. Begin with yours and then work these. I‘ll be following the spirit of the law if not the letter of the law. I simply can‘t waste four or five hours of phone time working with a fraternity boy whose main complaint is that his girlfriend didn‘t put out before the test or some such nonsense. I‘ve had to do these before, and they are not something I relish. Touchy feely things. You know me better than that. I was enthusiastic for a chance to make up some ground with the Captain. I didn‘t know how quickly she wanted these done though. ―The bad news, Reece, is these are due by Monday. So, this weekend, you will probably be playing catch the freshman by the phone.‖ I thought about it All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 291

for about a half a second before responding, ―Perfect, Captain. It‘s really just what I need for weekend plans.‖ Captain was surprised. ―I do my best to ruin your weekend and you get happy on me. Oh, Reece, I‘ll never have you figured out. But, I guess that‘s what makes you such a good student. I still haven‘t completely cracked your nut.‖ ―Trust me, Captain. It‘s a weird nut to crack. You wouldn‘t want to get to it all at once. It is a little too, umm, interesting.‖ ―Oh really,‖ Captain said, ―well, Reece, I delight in trying to scrape some more of that nut. Why don‘t we plan on meeting at Jay‘s at...‖ Captain consulted her Day Planner and came back up, ―on Monday night, say 7:00 o‘clock. Dinners on me and I‘ll pick up all the little reports from you. Oh, for our convenience the University has included a Scantron layout for each students ‗3 I‘ Report.‖ It took me a minute to remember that meant Instructor Initiated Intervention. ―Monday okay for you, Reece?‖ ―Right as rain, Captain, it won‘t be a problem. If I have any questions I‘ll call you. Looks like we have ... 18? 18 of these to do? Okay, Captain. I‘ll earn the dinner won‘t I?‖ ―Well, I‘m not going to give away good food, Reece. You‘ll have to earn it. Plus, it‘s part of your grade for working with me. I‘ve got you twice pinned, my friend. But, don‘t get too worried about them. Just be sure to make contact with them and if they blow you off or don‘t want to talk, then so much the easier.‖ Captain began to gather up her things and I reflexively stood up, winced a bit at the pain now beginning to be felt in the feet as medication was wearing off. ―Still that damn neuropathy, Ensign?‖ ―Aye, Captain, it‘s a bugger. But, they‘re trying a new drug regimen on it. Maybe that will work.‖ ―Oh, I do so hope,‖ Captain gathered up her things and prepared to leave her office. ―Oh, and Reece, one more thing,‖ she turned to stick her head back in. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 292

―Yes, Captain?‖ ―On Monday you can tell me where that little ring went you‘d been wearing on your finger.‖ Son of a gun. The old lady had caught the change. God, I loved the Captain for that.

Chapter Thirty One – The Infamous Table Accident Friday night found me in quite a different mood and place than I had been a week before. Rather than being on top of the world with a great looking boyfriend and no problems with work, I was suddenly, and violently single. I was up to my ankles in work and my reputation with the Captain was on the line. I sat alone in my apartment with the student folders spread across the dining room table. The sun was going down and the city was bathed in evening light as the sun descended. Yep, Friday night party man was no more. I decided that was okay. There might be a lot of life happening outside of the apartment but it wasn‘t something I couldn‘t do without until I had my tasks completed. I looked over the 18 folders with student‘s names, grades, addresses, phone numbers, major, minor and GPA. It was like holding little slices of life in my hand. Each one held just the right amount of information to give the reader an out of context of what the person must be like. The majority of the names were male. Guys had a tendency to go for the ―easy‖ Human Science general humanities class. The College of Human Sciences had been an easy A before the changes in 2000. With the new building came a whole new set of regality. Dean Hailey had been handed the new building with carte blanche on bringing it up to a new level of respectability. However, rumors linger for years and many a frat boy ended up in what he thought was going to be an easy A and now was facing his academic future with either an F or and IC. Judging by the majority of the grades in the folders, most would be taking the incomplete. However, even if they elected that option, they had to be contacted and instructed what to do in order to receive the Incomplete grade. And, because of privacy laws, I had to be certain I was talking to the student themselves by student ID number. No answering machines. ―Well,‖ I said to the empty room, ―at least they‘ll probably be expecting the call.‖ I read the note Captain had attached to the stack of folders before she had reached me at the office. It read:

Ensign, Good luck on these. They are Instructor Initiated Interventions. Poppycock! But, official poppycock! Follow the form in each folder carefully. Enjoy the weekend! Ha! Captain The old bird knew she was keeping me out of trouble for the weekend and I was glad to have the excuse. I wouldn‘t have to deal with anything much except for certainly....the knock on the door came. Then the key in the handle and in burst Jeff in his latest Latex shirt and jeans, electric blue reflected from the light on his shirt. ―Tah – dahhhhhh, tis I, tis I, the queerest of your guys!‖ Jeff made his entry and bowed to the imaginary crowd. ―Whatcha doin, Mr. Reece?‖ ―Jeffrey, so nice of you to knock,‖ I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. ―I know, right! I knocked and still managed to make an entrance. How many girls can pull that off?‖ Jeff asked. Jeff spun into the kitchen literally, ―what‘s your pleasure, babe.‖ Apparently my private bar was open. ―Can‘t do it tonight, I have 18 people who are going to either cry, beg or say fuck off,‖ I said indicating the folders. ―Sounds like my dating life,‖ said Jeff as he mixed up a rum and coke. He made a second and sat it in front of me. ―Nobody should be told to fuck off cold stone sober. At the time, I could resist anything but temptation. ―Well, when you put it that way,‖ I took the glass and Jeff sat down at the table. ―What kind of fun are you having,‖ Jeff nonchalantly picked up a folder and began to peruse its contents.

―Hey, gimme that. You‘re not supposed to be digging around in these. They‘re private records.‖ I snatched the folder back from Jeff‘s hand and returned it to the pile. ―Hey, I was reading that!‖ Jeff picked up another from the pile and flipped it open. As I reached for it, Jeff stuck his arm out and blocked my grab. ―Okay, let‘s see, hmm...this one‘s been bad. I don‘t know what a three I is. Explain this thing to me and I‘ll help you.‖ ―Jeff I can‘t let you go willy nilly though the private grade folders of Captain‘s students. ―That damn woman overworks you, Reece,‖ Jeff said mater of factly. ―I think you should sue.‖ ―Oh, sure. That‘s a great idea, like giving you my ATM card and saying ―go have fun‖. Just not a good idea,‖ I said. ―Hey, no fair. I‘ve only done that twice and I apologized both times,‖ Jeff said with a pout. ―Besides, that was years ago.‖ Trying to change the subject, ―Really what is a three I?‖ ―It stands for Instructor Initiated Intervention,‖ I began to explain to Jeff. He squealed. ―Nobody says the ―I‖ word. No, no, no. Intervention bad thing. Make Jeff unhappy. Make Jeff go away for many moons. Jeff no liksie!‖ ―Relax, stupid, it‘s not that kind of intervention,‖ I said as Jeff playfully hid behind the couch. ―Are you sure? There aren‘t any people here to take me away? Positive?‖ Jeff asked. ―Trust me, Jeff. If they were here I would have turned you over already and let them lead you away in chains.‖ ―You can be so mean,‖ Jeff said popping up from the couch. He pounced over and was back at the table in an instant. I had a feeling Jeff had been having a bit more fun than just a rum and coke. ―You owe me one now.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 296

―I most certainly do not owe you one,‖ I replied. ―But, out of curiosity, why aren‘t you out at the bar?‖ ―Well the sun hasn‘t completely gone down yet. No selfrespecting fag is going to get into the bar while there is still light outside. We burst into flames,‖ Jeff said. ―So, I decided to come over and cheer up my best buddy in the whole world.‖ Jeff hugged my neck and I let him. He was being charming and playful. He wanted something. ―Okay, okay. I‘m not in the mood for mushy mush mush,‖ I said, ―How about you just ask me for however much you are going to ask me for?‖ ―Now that was rude, but I‘ll forgive you. Let‘s say, hmm, $50.00 will clear up the air nicely,‖ Jeff said. ―Forget it Jeffrey. I‘ve got to get busy now, so either make yourself at home and watch TV or shoo fly shoo,‖ I turned him down flatly. ―Sigh,‖ Jeff said it out loud. ―But, I‘m bored. James is at work at IHOP and I don‘t have anybody to hang out with. Maybe Chris is free?‖ I popped him on the head with a folder. ―You deserve that one.‖ ―Yeah, I deserved that one. Sorry if that wound is still a little fresh to pick at that sore. I‘m just feeling restless,‖ Jeff said. ―Maybe I could go just me. But I don‘t have any money to go play.‖ ―Well you had money for a new shirt,‖ I said giving the latex suit a little rub. ―Very smooth. Wish you had the body to go with it.‖ ―Ouch. You are being pissy tonight, aren‘t you?‖ Jeff smiled at me. ―Bad things happen to pissy boys, they get dragged off to bars and are never heard from again.‖ ―I‘ll make you a deal, Jeff. If I can get to these 18 students, all of them in the next two hours, I‘ll go out and buy you anything you like.‖ ―Yes!‖ Jeff did a little arm pump. ―How can Ihelp?‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 297

I figured there was no way anybody was going to know if Jeffrey saw a few student files. ―Here ya go, Jeff. Dial the number and ask for the person listed in the folder. If you get them, hand them over to me. I‘ll get busy grading these other papers I have to have done by next Wednesday. You think you can handle that?‖ ―Sure, why not. How do I know if they are cute or not?‖ Jeff asked. ―You don‘t know that, Jeff, and it isn‘t important. Heck, I only know a few of these.‖ ―Well, I don‘t want to talk to someone who is totally gross.‖ ―Jeff, this isn‘t dial a date. I just need you to call, ask for the person, if they are, just do your best secretary voice and hand the phone over to me. Simple enough, even for you,‖ I said. I was picking on him a little bit but the scary thing was that he was serious. Any introduction had potential to Jeff if it was a male he was meeting. I never met anyone with such a voracious libido. I‘d never been attracted to him that way, but his sweet, playful nature was a winning combination for me. For others, others he was attracted to, I just had to wish them good luck and god speed. ―Let‘s give one a try, okay. You call, and if you get them you hand them over,‖ I said to make certain it was clear, even for Jeffrey. ―Okay, pick a folder.‖ Jeff reached into the middle of the pile with his eyes closed. ―Oh, and be sure you *67 on the phone call so they can‘t call back. This is going to make some of them really pissed off. I don‘t want them calling here every twenty minutes.‖ ―Okay, let‘s see, Abrahms, Michael J.,‖ Jeff read, ―Failing HDFS 2310, Instructor Sorrell/Manley.‖ Jeff looked at me, ―This is riveting stuff. So, tell me about Mr. Abrahms, is he yummy?‖

―Jeff, I don‘t think he is available for our market so you don‘t have to worry about it. But, yes, as I recall he is a handsome young man. But, you are playing secretary not playing rapidly aging party-boy . Jeff hissed at me like a cat. ―I am not rapidly aging,‖ Jeff said, ―I‘m perfecting at a special pace. Just the right pace to obtain perfection. Like a fine wine or a fine cheese.‖ ―How very dairy of your, Jeffrey. Now dial my little dairy fairy.‖ Jeff took up the phone and the folder and dialed the number. I watched him carefully. With a raised eyebrow and leaned in toward him slightly. ―Yes, I was calling for Mr. Abrahms. He‘s not? Is there a number I may reach him at the moment. Yes, that would be fine. No, no trouble. Thank you.‖ Jeff scribbled down the cell phone number for ―Mr.‖ Abrahms and handed it over to me. ―Now what do I do? Call him on the cell phone?‖ I thought about it Captain would not like any part of this. ―I better call if you don‘t get them on the phone on first try. But you did very good. You got the right number, just write it down on the, ummm, edge of the folder and indicate if the number is a cell phone be sure to note it so I‘ll know what to say when I call them.‖ As Jeff prepared to continue playing secretary, I went to the bedroom to retrieve the rest of my folders and works for reference. A pesky paper on Late in Life Friendship Development had been tugging at me to write it even though it was not due for several weeks. The pile was almost fifty pounds and I plopped it on the edge of the dining table. The whole table shook. Jeff looked up and shushed me. He was taking the duty seriously. Go figure that, I thought. Jeff took up the next folder and dialed it. This time he caught the person and handed the phone over to me with a, ―Hold one moment for Mr. Manley.‖. Caught a bit off-guard I grabbed the folder and found the first name. It was not one of my regular students. ―Hello, Todd,‖ I began, ―This is Reece Manley and I am Dr. Sorrell‘s graduate instructor. Yea, I‘m fine. Listen though, Todd, I‘m All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 299

calling because you seem to be having a hard time in...‖ My eyes scanned until they found the course, ―HDFS 3305, that is your statistics class. Have you got a second?‖ Todd did. ―The reason I‘m calling you is to let you know it might be best to take what is called an Incomplete for the course since it looks like you are really struggling with it,‖ I set the stage. ―Shit, man, how bad is it, I just haven‘t been to class too much this semester. I pledged Phi Psi‘s and they require a lot out of you,‖ Todd explained. ―Yes we understand you might have extenuating circumstances but we don‘t want you to fail. However, it looks like you are not going to be able to pull up to a C or better in the course. The Incomplete will let you re-register for the course, without having to pay for it again the next time it‘s offered.‖ ―But, that will drop me to 9 hours and I‘ll lose my full-time status. My parents will kill me, bro. Sure you don‘t got some way, some extra credit make up,‖ Todd was slurring and I could hear music in the background. He was not having the kind of Friday night I was having. The poor baby. ―Todd, you don‘t have many options. I wouldn‘t be making the call if Dr. Sorrell that you could pull this out. However, man you don‘t have to drop it or take the Incomplete. You would need to score a, hang on and let me check,‖ I did the math, ―Unless you are able to score a 95 or above on the final, you‘ll fail the course.‖ ―Man, I‘ve got to try to ace the final. I can‘t drop down to 9 hours, I‘ll lose my loans and everything. Is there anything I can do?‖ Todd had a good question. I didn‘t guess Captain would have placed him in the pile unless it was nearly impossible. ―You‘ll need to contact Dr.Sorell and talk to her no later than Monday. Have you got her number,‖ I leaned forward on the table to retrieve the notebook with Captain‘s number. There was a groan. An unnatural little noise of the table‘s platform giving into motion. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 300

The glass top to the dining room table had had too much weight placed on one side of it and as I leaned forward adding a few pounds to the total. The total exceeded the table‘s limits and the sixty five pound glass top began its journey from its pedestal. I let out a yelp as I tried to move out of the way of the sliding glass. Jeff, on the far side of the table, made a grab for it but the thing was already picking up speed. The whole thing began to move in slow motion in my mind. Folders began to be airborne, their contents mixing and mingling in their mid-air descent. Jeff stood quickly and tried to push the upended top down but there was no way to stop it. I saw the note from Captain float briefly in the air before obediently following the directives of gravity. The table top‘s beveled edge glanced off my shins before landing squarely across the middle of both of my feet. The pain was white and pure and powerful. My head swam into the blackness of unconsciousness for a brief second while every nerve seemed to reset itself from problematic to sheer fierceness of agony. The neuropathic pathways all flooded with a burst of a shrill anguish beyond anything I‘d experienced since the days after the weight loss surgery. I felt the table‘s edge dig into my feet and the ligaments and bones of both feet protested under the sudden dumping of the weight. The inner sound of bones fracturing as the edge slid from mid-foot forward to the toes was sickening. As the table top came to rest on the edge of my toes, my bod reflexively stood up and pulled the feet free from the table top. They were not budging. Jeff was at my side in a flash and together we rolled the top left and then right, freeing my feet from the weight of the glass. I let out a howl, long low and full of misery. It sounded eerily as if it were coming from all of the walls of the apartment at once. The ability to stand was gone from me in a flash and I fell to the ground, missing the chair and landing on my butt instead. More pain came at levels impossible to process. I tried to stand but could only manage to cry out, ―Fuck! Oh, Jesus, Jeff! Fuck!‖ Panic was beginning to join pain as the adrenaline added itself to the mix. ―Come on, let‘s get you up,‖ Jeff said tugging me to my feet. I could not command my feet to stand. I could not command All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 301

them to do anything. All communications between myself and the lower legs had been replaced by white hot terror. ―Hello, hello, Mr. Manley,‖ the voice from the phone, ―What happened? Are you okay? What‘s wrong?‖ Todd had to have been screaming into the receiver. Jeff picked it up. ―Mr. Manley will be back with you in a few minutes.‖ Jeff placed the phone down on a chair. ―Come on, Reece, we‘ve got to get you up. Come on, big man.‖ Jeff was coaxing me up and pulling me to my feet. I tried again and managed to make it up to a chair. The table top between me and it‘s pedestal leaned back against the pedestal completely dumping all of the files and folders into a big mass mix of papers. Another bolt of pain, searing pain, as if my feet were being dipped in lava. I could see the pools of lava for a moment gathering around my feet. Then everything went black. Hopelessly and completely black.

Chapter Thirty Two – The Champ Cure I came back to consciousness in the hospital. Mom and Jeff were there and it was Mom who first saw me stir. She had driven in despite the hour and despite her asshole of a husband, Gene. My feet were still banging in pain, but it was much better. I noticed the IV going into my hand. ―Hey, baby,‖ Mom said. She came over and stroked my head making the calming noises only mom‘s know how to make. ―What the hell happened?‖ Jeff spoke up, ―You decided to commit tablecide. It was very ugly.‖ That‘s right the table had slipped off of its base and hit my feet. I lifted my feet to inspect them. They were black and blue, moving toward black as it reached the toes. ―It was hell getting you into the car,‖ Jeff said and came over to the other side of my head. Mom began, ―Honey, I‘m so sorry, we are in the ER. They are giving you something for the pain and getting some xrays. How are you feeling?‖ ―It hurts, Mom, but not as bad as it did before I blacked out,‖ I said. ―When can we go home?‖ ―Soon,‖ mom said. ―They just want you to have a pain consultation, baby.‖ Oh, great. A pain consultation. Signing up for more barbs in the back or the side. More blocks. More experiments. My eyes watered up as I began to think about the International Pain Clinic at Texas Tech. The place had begun with a pain consultation. I was here at St. Mary of the Plains Hospital, in the ER, and I was about to have a Pain Consultation. ―Let‘s just go home, Mom. C‘mon give me a hug and Jeff and I can handle the rest of it from here,‖ I tried to persuade her. She was not having any of it. ―Look, son, you are here now. They have somebody to consult with about pain and you‘ve got to have some help. You have to take more All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 303

and more medicine. You are prone to more accidents. We‘ve got to get something done for this and this doctor is supposed to be good.‖ I started thinking about the folders and files that were scattered back at my living room floor. All of the Captain‘s materials, entrusted to me for optimal care. I thought about Chris and the beating I‘d taken a few weeks before. It has been nothing compared to this pain. I knew I would have to work twice as hard and in twice as much pain to reach all of the demands I had on my life. Then, it began. I just started crying. I couldn‘t give voice to the reason and Jeff assumed the medicine had run out. He quickly appointed himself the nurse locator and leapt from the room with ―hang on I‘ll be back with somebody who looks like they can do things.‖ The crying didn‘t stop, I was having a hard time breathing. I tried to express to mom I was crying because I didn‘t want to fail, it wasn‘t fair. Words wouldn‘t come but mom sat down on the side of the bed and just held me as I sobbed. ―I‘m so sorry, baby, so sorry.‖ Her voice had the cooing safety I needed, but instead of having it slow down, the crying came harder and harder. The table hadn‘t been anything more than a catharsis. It had brought into the reality that the demands of my life were becoming more difficult to manage. The role of instructor, student, friend, son. All of these things were becoming secondary to the pain. The things I wanted so badly were becoming more and more out of my reach. Jeff returned to the small curtain offed examining room followed quickly by an out of breath nurse. ―What‘s wrong?‖ the nurse demanded discovering me in complete tears and my mom having to hold me like a five year old. ―Oh, darlin‘, is that pain up bad?‖ I nodded yes although speaking was still beyond my ability at the moment. The nurse pulled out a syringe and drew up Demerol. She injected a good amount of the drug into the IV. My brain went silly for a minute and then I became sleepy. I did not know at the time how very little oral medication was being absorbed because of the weight loss surgery. About a tenth of what I ingested was ever absorbed. The nurse, of course, had no way of knowing All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 304

the difference in the amount. She had simply seen my medical records and assumed I was very tolerant to opiods. So, when she hit me with 100 of Demerol, it made for a happy little visit to giggle land and then a big desire to sleep. I faded to black with my head being held by my mom. In the unconsciousness of the sleep, though, the great black bird from my nightmares returned to feed on my feed. I was just shooing the thing off of my feet when I came to. At the end of my bed was tall, handsome man in his best medical whites. He name tag ready Qutby. Dr. Qutby, I presumed. ―Hiyas, Champ,‖ Dr. Qutby said in an ever-so-happy voice. ―I hear you‘ve been having some problems with pain in those feet.‖ He turned to address Mom, ―I‘ve been getting his medical records. Did you know he had left the IPC program?‖ I felt like a ten year old who was being ousted for stealing Oreos from the cookie jar. Mom shook her heard. ―Well, how bout that? You‘ve been hurting and you‘ve been isolating. Any other major events going on?‖ asked Dr Qutby. ―He just got out of a relationship,‖ Jeff began enthusiastically. He was part of diagnoses now, which, to him, was even more fun than playing Instructor Assistant. ―And he‘s recovering from being beaten up.‖ ―A girl beat you up there, Champ?‖ he asked establishing the fact that Dr. Qutby did not deal with gay or lesbian people on a daily basis. Jeff hooted with laughter at the idea but a go to hell look from both my Mom and I shut him up. He‘d learned that Momma could take care of business when she had to. I‘d once had a house in Dallas with literally hundreds of plants poised happily around the pool. The plants took daily tending and mom was at the house about 8 o‘clock more or less every morning. She had a key and came and went as she pleased. On more than one occasion, she had to clear out a house of sleepy, hung over and high as kites partyboys and drag queens. She‘d arrive and there would be six or seven cars in the drive way. In she would walk and out would come flying all sorts of manner of folks, half dressed and most assuredly in a hurry to escape the wrath of Momma. It was never pretty, but it was a scene which was All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 305

repeated every few weekends. Jeff had been in the throw outs for the first several visits to my house, but with time had managed to become a true friend and earn the right to hide in the bedroom. I pity a fool that didn‘t move when Momma came through in a mood. She had begonias to water and no time for the bullshit of Candy Apples the drag queen. ―Well, no matter, Champ,‖ the doctor continued. ―I happen to have something that is going to help you out enormously. I mean you can kiss that pain goodbye and show it to the door. You‘re gonna love this, Champ. Let me see what else we got in. We‘ll keep you here overnight and keep you comfortable. When I get the rest of your records we‘ll discuss everything.‖ The nurse happened to amble into the room and, to her surprise, found a doctor in attendance. ―Oh, I‘m sorry, doctor. I was just bringing the dismissal order from the ER attending.‖ Dr. Qutby stood up to his full 6‘2‖ frame and a body which suggested many trips to the gym. ―I‘m taking this case for pain management. You go clear that with the ER and then you go find him a bed. I‘m admitting him. I couldn‘t be sure but I think Mom‘s eyes went moist with optimism and Jeff simply followed the good Dr. Qutby to watch him walk away. ―What a waste. He‘s a breeder for sure,‖ Jeff shook his head. ―Oh, my so few people will ever have the Jeff pleasure.‖ ―Somehow, I think he will live, Jeffrey,‖ I said and Mom added a ―Jeffrey, behave." Mom stepped outside for a minute to speak to the nurse about exactly what was going to happen and when. Jeff made himself comfortable next to me on the bed and grabbed the remote. He started flipping through channels as if he were at home on the couch. ―Hey, get off,‖ I said. ―This is a no-homo HMO apparently. When Dr. ‗Champ‘ comes back the last thing I need is him deciding to drop my case because he might catch Jeff cooties.‖

―Bitch, I‘m staying right here, and I‘m waiting until I see that they have you in a room. It‘s late and Momma‘s getting tired and cranky. She probably needs to go home and get some rest. And, besides, you might as well be watching the TV and enjoy the little high you have going.‖ ―Reece, babe, they‘re coming to transfer you to a room already. Honey, I‘ve got your things and I‘ll walk you up. Jeff, get off of there,‖ Mom commanded. She was making the arrangements she‘d made a thousand times before as a nurse and when she was in her groove, nothing slowed Mom down. She was in her compassionate-but-it‘s-late-so-nobullshit mood. ―What do you need to me bring you in the morning baby?‖ ―I‘ll get his things from the apartment, I know right where they are. Just tell me what to bring,‖ Jeff was trying to regain Mom‘s good side. Mom ran down the list of items, then decided she‘d better write them down. She had gotten the room number I would be at the next day. She bent down and delivered a hug that was both sweet and protective. ―I‘ll be there as soon as you wake up in the morning. You have Demerol ordered for tonight. They may or may not tell you that, but you ask and stay as comfortable as you can. I‘ll stop by the apartment and get your pain medication.‖ She eyeballed Jeff again as if she trusted him about as far as she could throw him. ―I‘ll bring it in with me. They won‘t ask questions of a Momma. Especially if I walk like I know what I‘m doing. No offense, Jeffrey. But with the tattoos you look like a roving dispensary.‖ ―Mom! Why I never, well, sometimes, but not recently,‖ Jeff tried to deflect the criticism. Then deciding it did indeed fit he simply said, ―yes, ma‘am.‖ ―I love you, Reece, you get to feeling better and I‘ll see you when you wake up, or as early as they‘ll let me in.‖ Mom gathered up her things, finding little things to delay her departure. Back at her home she would face a barrage of verbal abuse from her husband Gene. But, her baby had needed her tonight and he could go to hell. She said as much as she gave one last kiss and took off for the night.

In the examining room in the ER, Jeff waited with me. The nurse came in and said transport would be down shortly. The pain had begun to come back and Jeff and I had sat through two Roseann‘s, before the nurse reappeared. ―Okay, transport‘s here, do you need anything before you go‖, the nurse asked without making eye contact and unspinning the curtains. ―Yeah, I could use something for pain,‖ I said. The nurse responded with the canned response, ―Your orders have been sent up to the floor already, Mr. Manley. They‘ll take good care of you when you get there. I promise. Anything else,‖ the nurse asked, again refusing to make contact. ―I guess not, thank you for the hour wait.‖ The nurse made not notice of my sarcasm. Transport was two fairly big fellows who rolled in a patient bed. ―Okay, Mr. Manley, which would be, the guy in the gown.‖ Jeff jumped off the bed and said something to the effect he could be in a gown and pearls in just a minute. The transport guys didn‘t get it, decided not to question it, and simply said, ―Mr. Manley can you get over here by yourself or do you need a hand.‖ That was a good question. I didn‘t know if my feet were broken or not. I didn‘t know what pain was from external sources and what was from the damaged nerves just bitching. Either way, it was beginning to hurt like hell. ―I could use a hand, but you won‘t have to carry me,‖ I said making my way to a sitting position. The pain in my feet rose to the point that the pain was incredible just with repositioning. ―Okay, maybe a lot of help.‖ The guys rolled the ER bed against one wall and the regular bed parallel to it. ―Okay, Mr. Manley, on three we‘ll make the move. You just pull up with your arms and keep your feet off the ground. We‘ll make it no problem.‖ One. Two. Three. I launched myself off of the side of the bed. A toe touched the tile between the two beds and I almost lost consciousness from the wave of pain that came from the touch point. ―Easy, there, big man! We got you, come on now.‖ In a strange kind of waltz, the three of us, the two transport aids and I, polkaed to the other bed. The transport All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 308

guy closest to my feet lifted them up easily and placed them on a foam support as the other one lowered the top of my head. ―Easy as pie, Mr. Manley, easy as pie.‖ The transport guy closest to my head was an older African-American and I could tell he had done this thousands of times. ―Now let‘s get you up to that room and get you some of those drugs they got waiting for you, what say?‖ ―Yes, drugs, good,‖ I managed and off the three of us went with Jeff following a few steps behind now handling a ménage of clothing, shoes, and a bag of ―Patient‘s Belongings‖. We went onto the elevator with no problem. The younger transport guy, younger than I and a ruggedly handsome sort was making small talk with Jeff. Jeff had dialed down the gay-o-meter quite a bit since both Dr. ‗Champ‘ and mom had both been on him a bit. The door opened and I saw tiles go by one, two, three, four and then a turn into a room. The room was cold and I was near tears. A nurse followed us in and sized Jeff up. ―Visiting hours are over except for family,‖ she began laying out the rules of her space, her unit, to which I was just a visitor. ―I believe,‖ I said, ―you will have some orders for Demerol. I would like that pain medication now. The time is 11:30. Jeff, write that down.‖ I said. The nurse went red with anger. I was going to be one of ―those‖ patients. I didn‘t give a fuck. Mom had always told me to ask for what I wanted and to announce a time. Essentially, it would make the nurse deliver the medication if due. The nurse however, wanted to get my vitals and get back to the gossip she had had to leave at the front station. ―Okay, Mr. Manley, may I get your vitals first.‖ ―No, you may not. You may get the medication.‖ ―Mr. Manley, I cannot admit you to the floor without the vitals in your record. I can‘t follow the floor orders until I have you admitted. So, let‘s try this again, May I get your vitals?‖ Nurse Ratchet had won the battle. ―Of course, I‘m sorry, I‘m hurting. I didn‘t mean to be pushy.‖ I decided to try to be nice. The nurse took my blood pressure, temperature and got some readings off of the bed. ―I‘ll need to start an IV.‖

―Let me guess. You can‘t admit me until you have the I.V.‘s in, right?‖ ―Now you‘re catching on, Mr. Manley. My job is to get you on the unit and as comfortable as possible. The rules say I have to do part A before part B.‖ The nurse picked out a large vein on my left hand. I started to protest and ask for an arm in an IV, but the needle pierced my left hand and burned like hell.‖ ―Ooops. Let‘s try that one more time,‖ she said changing out sterile needles. Nurse paybacks are hell. But, she struck gold and blood rushed into the needle. Another tug and the IV was in place. ―Okay, now, I‘ve got you admitted. Let‘s see about pain medication, if the Doctor has ordered it, I‘ll be right back. You two wrap it up because visiting hours were a long time ago.‖ The nurse had the personality of a dead carp, giving Jeff absolutely nothing to work with so he simply said, ―yes, ma‘am.‖ ―Jeff, you know I need your help with some things,‖ I had a list for Jeff I‘d been forming in my mind. ―Girl, what was all that about, can‘t give you pain medication, I‘ll show you what she can‘t give you!‖ ―Oh, Jeff, no. You didn‘t. Not in front of cops and firemen and doctors,‖ I said trying to quash the coming fairy dust. ―Don‘t worry, they weren‘t going to find it!‖ Images of where Jeff might have hidden a baggie of cocaine danced through my head, none of them appealing and all involving body cavities. ―No way, Jeff, I don‘t know where it‘s at or where it‘s been.‖ ―You only do that if you are going to jail,‖ Jeff said. ―Well not the only time you do it...‖ I cut him off with a gagging noise. ―Okay, okay, TMI.‖ Jeff was now hopping around the room like a Hopi Indian trying to summon the Rain Gods. ―Jeff, I appreciate the entertainment, but like I was saying I need you to....‖ Jeff‘s right shoe finally came off. Then one of the two socks he had on his right foot. As it pulled it off two little blue baggies went tumbling to the floor. It was the same exact moment as nurse ratchet All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 310

returned and Jeff literally plopped down on the floor covering the two baggies with his butt. The nurse raised her eyebrows. ―Really, you‘re still here? You‘ve got to go. So, say your goodbyes.‖ Jeff was in swift brain mode, ―Yes, ma‘am. I was just going to stay and pray with him for a moment.‖ I waited for the lightning to strike us dead. However, the nurse shrugged. ―Mr. Manley won‘t be awake long after this little cocktail. No, sir, Mr. Manley, you are about to feel a whole lot better.‖ I noticed she wasn‘t playing the little round the rosie to get the pain meds game. I‘ve found that nurses love to give you half of the pain medicine ordered. Then if you need the other half, they will come back and give it to you in an hour. I had always secretly thought if you happened to fall asleep, they went into the bathroom and enjoyed the second half of the injection. Not that I distrusted nurses. But, I‘ve had a lot of life between now and then. But Nurse Ratchet decided to push the whole 100 Demerol and push it she did. She barely paused as she plunged the needle in and my head went straight up and out of the ceiling. Or so was the sensation. ―Okay, Mr. Manley, I suspect we‘ll see you tomorrow night. But, if you do need me, just push the button.‖ And, to Jeff, ―You have got to go in five minutes. So, finishing up your praying or whatever you‘re doing and get out of here so Mr. Manley can get his rest.‖ She moved to exit the door and stopped. She looked back in the room, ―Now, Mr. Manley, that was 100 of Demerol. I wouldn‘t be mixing anything....and I do mean anything with it. Goodnight.‖ It was not Nurse Ratchet‘s first trip to the rodeo. ―Well, damn,‖ I said to Jeff. ―Count me out.‖ Jeff started to protest, then, realizing more of the little party could serve Jeffrey, said ―I guess she knows what she‘s talking about. We better not mix and drip. I‘ll see you in the morning,‖ Jeff began to get on his coat and leave. ―Hey, wait. I do have something I need you to do before you take flight, my little happy fairy.‖

―Your bidding,‖ Jeff bowed deeply, ―is my only command, my master.‖ I was flying around the room on the Demerol and the bow took me as funny. The pain had been almost instantly abated and my world was full of fluffy pink cotton candy kind of emotions. Happy, effusive clouds. ―Now, look,‖ I said, giggling for no reason, ―I need you to go by the house tonight. I need you to straighten up. It‘ll worry Mom like hell to see everything like we left it in the apartment. If you can get the top back up, fine. Main thing I need you to do is call Captain and let her know what is going on.‖ Jeff was staring out of the door trying to get a glimpse of some orderly or other personnel. ―Hey, Jeff.‖ I snapped trying to get his attention. ―I know there are hotties in the hallway, but I need your help.‖ ―Damn right there are some hotties in the hallway, but, yes, yes, I got it, call Captain, tell her where you are,‖ Jeff was still distracted. However, the pink cloud of nappy time was beginning to envelope me. ―And, be sure you get the folders up here tomorrow morning. Jeff. Jeff!‖ Jeff pulled himself back in the room, ―You know maybe I better stay with you tonight. I just made some really great eye contact with an orderly and I hate to let that go to waste. You know, never deny anyone the pleasure of my company,‖ Jeff was effusive and I noticed there was only one baggie left on the floor where two had been. When in the hell had he had time to? With Jeff it never paid to ask. Cocaine could be within a mile and Jeff‘s radar would go off. Cute boys and fairy powder both launched powerful pings on his built in guidance system. ―Pick up the other goodie bag, Jeff. Now, when you get home it will be too late to call her, but try to get her about 8 in the morning.‖ That snapped Jeff to reality. ―There‘s an 8 A.M.??‖ Jeff asked. ―Yes, and you will be up and going by then. I need you to bring me all the folders, I‘ve got to finish what we started earlier this evening. ―You mean the calling the stupid students?‖ Jeff asked. ―Jeff, I never said anyone was stupid. And, DO NOT tell Captain that you‘ve All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 312

even seen the files. Just tell her that, you got them....for.....me,‖ Jeff murmured something, but I didn‘t care. I was about to go into a deep sleep. I heart Jeff say something about it all being fine. Just being fine.

Chapter Thirty Three – The Lubbock Solution ―Good morning, baby? How‘s my baby doing,‖ it was 6:00 AM and Mom had arrived on the unit the second the doors had been opened. I came to a waking state slowly. My feet were back on fire and the bruises were dark. ―Ouch, mom, why does it hurt so bad?‖ ―We can take care of that, let‘s ring that nurse,‖ Mom hit the button and a tinny voice responded ―Nursing‖. ―Yes, Reece Manley is awake and in pain. He really needs to have some more pain medication. I believe there are doctor‘s orders for Demerol.‖ ―This doesn‘t sound like Mr. Manley,‖ said the tinny voice. ―No, it his mother. He is hurting too bad to talk. Could we get something done now, please.‖ The tinny voice remained quiet. ―Maybe that will work,‖ Mom said, ―but if not I went by and got your pain med. Jeff was asleep on your couch but he‘d straightened things up. Oh, I almost forgot. I brought these papers and folders in. I figured you might want something to do.‖ I groaned, ―thanks, mom. I appreciate you.‖ Mom leaned in and gave me a long hug. The kind of hugs you can only get from a mother and I lingered in it. ―Well, there we are! Good morning, Mr. Manley, I‘m Nurse Two and I‘ll be your nurse today. Okay, let‘s get some of that pain out of the way, shall we.‖ ―That sounds like a good idea,‖ I said, ―Nurse Two, this is my mom Treva. She‘s an RN as well.‖ Nurse Two was duly impressed. She seemed to pay careful attention to everything she was doing and with good reason. Mom was watching her like a hawk. ―You know, Reece,‖ Mom said loudly enough to be overheard, ―I still know some of the Sister‘s here. I‘ll be sure to tell them how much help Nurse Two was.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 314

―Oh, thank you,‖ Nurse Two said. Nurse Two then produced a survey card from her pocket. We call them High Five‘s so if you want to fill it out and put it in the box, I‘d appreciate it. Mom had had the right instincts. Flattery was working. The nurse pushed the Demerol slowly this time. It helped tremendously with the pain but I did not float around the room on little Pink Clouds. We were going to try 50 and then add 50 more in case he needed it. But, with you here to watch him, we‘ll go ahead and give the whole dose.‖ Nurse Two busied herself with checking the IV‘s and charts. ―Oh, he‘s on NPO,‖ Nurse Two said. ―Good thing I caught that before nutrition.‖ ―What do you mean he‘s on NPO,‖ mom asked? ―We didn‘t know anything about that.‖ Nurse Two flipped through the files. ―Looks like Dr. Qutby will be in shortly to explain the surgery Reece is scheduled for. He‘s receiving a trial Spinal Cord Stimulator today.‖ ―What is a Spinal Cord Stimulator,‖ I asked. At that moment, Dr. Qutby came into the room. ―Hey, there is my Champ of the day!‖ Johnny Qutby took the room like a snake oil salesman took center stage. ―Yeah, my Champ of the day, Mr. Maaaaanley!‖ I thought, it‘s Dr. Qutby and he‘s hiiiiiigh. ―Do you know what brought you here,‖ Dr. Qutby asked. And, without waiting for an answer, ―God is what brought you here today. And, I‘m so glad He did because He is about to do something very powerful and I get to be a part of it. Dr. Qubty didn‘t miss a beat as he took my blood pressure and reported the numbers proudly. ―Hi again, Mom,‖ said Dr. Qutby. ―Now, mom I have to ask you to do me a big favor and help me keep this guy NPO. I‘ve got one surgery to do before I come for him. It‘s not a very big procedure but he‘ll be out for part of it, so that‘s why he‘s NPO.‖ ―Now let me explain what we are going to do. This is going to be great. Reece,‖ Dr. Qutby scribbled on the board, ―we are going to head the pain off at the path.‖

Qutby drew a crude picture of a nerve cell. ―Now I‘ll tell you something most people don‘t know. Nerves, millions of them, are all long, long single cells going from the tips on your toes into your spine. Now in your condition, somewhere along this long line of nerve, we‘ve got some dead myelin sheath. Now thast the little airbag that covers the nerves. It‘s kind of like insulation on the pipes in your house. It keeps good stuff in and bad stuff out. Now, your nerve demylienated at some point between the tip of your toes and your spine. Now, this results in it hurting like hell because it lets in false signals. It lets in lots of crap, lots of bad signals. ―Still with me?‖ This was not new to mom and I. We‘d heard the spiel before. ―Okay, the damage is somewhere we can‘t find, yet. We just don‘t have the technology. But we can work on how it reports it to your brain.‖ Dr. Qutby produced a small box with two long strips of wire dangling from it. It also had a cord with what looked like a volume knob. ―This, Champ, is your new best friend," "It looks like a metal squid,‖ I said doubtfully. The device, dangling in front of us did not inspire a great deal of confidence. ―Yeah, Champ, I guess it does. But, here‘s how it works. Let me know if I get too doctorspeaky on you, okay? This is a Spinal Cord Stimulator.‖ Dr. Qutby held up the metal box, half the size of a deck of playing cards. ―These wires are leads and they are going to go in and rest alongside the nerves you have which are damaged. Now, again let me know if you have questions, this works by spurting out a very, very tiny electrical charge. When it does deliver the charge, your brain interprets the charge as a nerve signal. It deciphers this into a sensation kind of like a light tapping on your toes or vibration.‖ He paused for questions, but we didn‘t have any yet so he continued, ―The SCS‘s transmissions are closer to the nerve root bundle so it has more influence than the nerve transmissions are in place. Instead of this awful pain, you are going to feel a tappa tappa tappa.‖ Great, Shirley Temple is going to be stuck in my feet, I thought.

―That‘s it in a nutshell, Champ. It‘s a two-step process, though. First, we implant a test box which you use for a week. If it does work, then we implant the real device and you‘ll have this cool remote control. If you push it up, the impulses will get stronger, if you dial it down, they‘ll become weaker. During the test week, this thing will be connected to a wired remote which you‘ll have to wear on your belt. Once inside, Champ,‖ he threw me a blue and grey plastic device that looked like a Star Trek prop. ―You‘ll be able to control it with this. Pretty cool, huh? Now you‘ll get a full briefing on how to use it after we know the test one works.‖ ―What‘s the difference between the test box and the real SMS,‖ Mom asked. ―Not a thing in the box. It‘s just one is placed on the outside and the real one will be planted on the inside of his body. Probably, let‘s see,‖ Qutby mashed on me like he intended to push his hand through the operating table. ―Probably just there on the right flank. But, again, the test unit will be on the outside so we can make certain it works right for you.‖ ―So, what are you planning to do today?‖ Mom asked. She was ahead of me by about a half a second. ―What‘s going to happen today is we are going to implant the leads that carry the impulse into the back. We‘ll get them in the right place with Reece‘s help. Then we switch it on and see how great it feels. So, he‘ll be walking out of here today with a test unit and be feeling a lot better. Sound like a plan, Champ?‖ Dr. Qutby‘s enthusiasm was enough to give me a little hope. I‘d been through the ringer and the drugs were becoming less and less effective. There was little else to do if I didn‘t want to end up a narco zombie. ―Sounds okay to me. How about you Mom?‖ I asked. Mom was thinking. And, I could tell she has some reservations. ―What all is going to be involved today, surgery wise, Dr. Qutby?‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 317

―Very little, Mom,‖ Dr. Qutby addressed Mom and did not make any points with her. She could smell snake oil salesmen. She knew she had one on her hands. However, the snake oil might accidentally be what worked. ―Essentially, we are going to place the leads laproscopically. We‘ll get them close while Reece is under anesthetic. The hard part will be we will have to have Reece wake up and tell us when he feels the tingle in his feet. We‘ll numb the area.‖ Dr. Qutby paused for a moment, ―Champ, I won‘t lie to you. This is going to hurt for the few minutes we have you awake getting the leads in. But, most people don‘t ever remember it, but we‘ll have to get your feedback to get the placement right. After all, we don‘t want to tappa tappa your fingers or elbows. We want you to get the relief from the device right where it‘s supposed to go. ―You‘re going to wake me up in the middle of the surgery? Jesus, that sounds fun,‖ I said. ―Well, Champ, Jesus will be right there with us, whether you believe it or not.‖ Oh great, an evangelical pain surgeon. God knows what was going to happen when he woke me up in the surgery. Probably have to stone a liberal before he‘d continue. The image came a little to real and I grinned. ―Got you smiling thinking about being out of the pain, huh? Of course, you‘ll have to get used to walking. You‘ll need a cane while you are getting used to it. Your feet may not feel like they‘re under you control. You may want one to go left and it‘ll go right. But, you‘ll get it down. We‘ll be sure you‘re going right and left before you leave. Plus, you can turn it up and or off anytime you want to. Just give it a fair chance.‖ ―What happens if it doesn‘t work?‖ I asked. ―Champ, I‘ve never seen it not work, but if not, I‘ll take care of you in some way, buddy. This pain is costing you too much life. A lot people that are in the kind of pain you are in end up looking for solutions All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 318

in some bad places. So, let‘s concentrate on how great it‘s going to work, okay? Now, anymore questions?‖ Mom and I both sat silently considering the procedure. What a horrible word. It had been a procedure which had led to the feet hurting so bad in the first place. Dr. Qutby gathered up his electric squid, said he‘d see me in pre-op in about an hour. As he left, the nurse came in. He said something and she made a quick scribble and followed him back into the hall like a puppy. ―Great,‖ I said to mom, ―I‘m ‗Champ‘ and I‘m about to be bionic.‖ ―Honey, you don‘t have to do this. If you don‘t want to do it we won‘t do it. You are making it without it and I‘d like to see somebody in Dallas for this. Your Daddy may have something to say about all of this. Dad wasn‘t somebody I talked to enough while I was in Lubbock. We talked once or twice a week by phone but the semester had been intense and I‘d all but ignored my family in Dallas. I agreed with Mom and thought I‘d better get Dad‘s opinion or at least let him know what was happening. I used my cell phone to dial the main office of AdTel. ―AdTel International, how may I direct your call?‖ asked Robin the receptionist at AdTel. ―Hey girl, I need my dad.‖ A few seconds later and my dad‘s voice came back strong and assuring, ―Hi son, what are you doing today?‖ It‘s not very often that you answer that question with ‗I‘m having a surgery done‘ but I answered Daddy and let him know all about the procedure. Dad voted yes as well. That made it officially endorsed. The surgery was a go. The nurse came back into the room, smiling. I wondered if her and Qutby had taken a few moments to play doctor. She had a little shine about her. She‘d either found Jesus or been felt up in a closet. I‘d learn later Qutby did a lot of both of these things. ―Hello, Mr. Manley. They are going to be here in about an hour to take you to surgery. I have a few forms I need you to sign and I am going to give you a little something to relax you before you go into surgery.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 319

Jeff arrived at the moment the words were spoken, ―Girl, you up in here getting drugs and somebody done stole all your papers from your house. If any one needs relaxation juice, I need it.‖ Jeff approached the bed and watched the nurse finish administering the medication. ―Next?‖ Jeff said holding out his arm. ―Nope, limit one per order,‖ the nurse said with no sense of humor. Jeff‘s sarcasm had been lost on her. ―Okay, Mr. Manley, I just gave you Demerol and Ativan. You should be feeling comfortable and relaxed her in just a few minutes. I‘ll let you know when the surgery transport gets here. You‘ll be just fine.‖ I signed the stack of papers the nurse had in her hand and duly authorized the hospital to do its thing and, yes, to hold it blameless should anything go wrong. The nurse turned and exited the room, giving Jeff wide birth as she exited. ―Rude!‖ Jeff said. ―She was pretty but she was a bitch. Come to think of it, I think I want that on my headstone.‖ Mom and I welcomed the levity of Jeffrey ‗s arrival. ―But, wait, the problem! Reece, the papers are missing. I had them all gathered up and straightened up, ready to bring. But when I went by this morning, you‘d been robbed.‖ ―Jeffrey, who would want to steal student folders?‖ I asked him. ―I don‘t know but they ain‘t there and they were last night. I swear, I looked everywhere. They are just gone.‖ ―They‘re not gone, Jeffrey,‖ Mom piped in, ―I got them this morning.‖ ―Oh, mom, thank goodness. Oh, you are my favorite! Hugs!‖ Jeff said to mom and delivered them personally. ―And shame on you for giving me a heart attack. I was looking in the damn shower for the papers. I thought they had grown legs and decided they were bored and headed up to the pool.‖ ―Sorry, Jeffrey, I didn‘t mean to make you think you‘d gone crazy,‖ Mom hugged him back. ―Jeff you won‘t believe what they want to do to our Reecer.‖ Mom recapped the procedure and the recovery process and the test week. ―Now I will be available some but he‘s going to need All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 320

somebody to help him, too. So, Jeff, I really want you try to be available.‖ Mom was winding up her discussion and directives to Jeffrey when the nurse returned with a wheelchair and a Transportation Tech. ―Okay, Mr. Manley, it‘s time to take you down to pre-op. I thought you might be more comfortable in a wheelchair than in one of those beds banging around.‖ In nurse speak that meant the wheelchair was a much more convenient option for them because something had delayed the scheduled bed. In nurse speak it also meant the operation room was waiting and I needed to get ready to get myself down there. ―Well, Mom, wish me luck,‖ I said as she helped get me settled in the chair. ―Honey, I wish you all the luck in the world. You are going to be just fine. I‘ll be right here when you get out.‖ ―I‘ll keep Mom company, Reecer. You don‘t worry about a thing. Just tell them when it‘s working and be sure they get it right, girl, you don‘t want them hooking that thing up to the wrong part of your body. Can you imagine? I‘d have that knob turned on high all the time!‖ ―Jeff, it‘s my Mom. Tune it down,‖ I told him. ―Okay, away we go. I‘ll see you in a few Mom.‖ The wheelchair ride took down the hall past the institutional doors and into the elevator. We arrived on the surgical floor. The doors to the elevator opened on the other side and the transport aide wheeled me forward to the pre-op holding area. A little nurse in scrubs with booties and a puffy surgical hat came over to greet us. She was in perky mode. ―Well, there is the famous Mr. Manley!‖ she shuffled over to us here booties making a little swoosh sound. ―We‘ve been waiting on you! Okay, up outta the wheelchair and over to the bed. Let me help. Lou,‖ apparently the transport tech‘s name, ―give Mr. Manley your help and let‘s get him up on the bed.‖ I slid out the chair and into Lou‘s arms who lifted me up onto the bed like I was a bag of dog chow. A big bag of dog chow. ―There ya go, brother. Easy as that.‖

I was wincing my feet had touched the floor and set off the pain. The xrays had not shown anything broken, but they were almost black from the bruises from the table top. ―My name is Karen,‖ said the Perky little O.R. nurse, still shuffling about the room in booties. There was one other patient in the holding area and we were separated by curtains. ―Okay, let‘s get some good things going in that IV. First, let‘s mellow you out a little bit. I‘m assuming your anxious,‖ said Karen making the under assumption of the year. I scooched on the narrow bed and managed to get in position while Karen doubled check the doctor‘s orders. ―Alrighty, here ya go. One relaxation coming up.‖ Karen added something to the IV and I felt the anxiety battling against the drug until it finally lost. A little wave of calm went through my body. ―That‘ll be better in just a minute. Okay, I need a couple of more signatures. Dr.Wills wil be the person responsible for your anesthesia during the procedure. Ah, here he comes,‖ the perky little Karen got out of the way as a large African-American came into the little curtained holding bin. ―Mr. Manley, I‘m Dr. Wills and I will be responsible for you being out of it,‖ the good doctor said sitting down in the chair with me and with a flipchart. ―Okay, this is going to be a little different than most procedures, Mr. Manley. I‘ve got good news and bad news.‖ The anxiety reasserted itself and easily won out over nurse Karen‘s little helper. ―Now, now don‘t look so scared. I‘ve done several of these with Dr. Qutby. The good news is you aren‘t going to remember any of this procedure. You will come to in the recovery room and you may not even remember this conversation. But, if I‘ve done my job right, you won‘t have any memory of this, okay? Now the bad news is,‖ he paused checked the chart to confirm, ―I will have to bring you to consciousness during the procedure for just a moment. Dr. Qutby has to know when you feel the vibration from the SCS in the right area. He knows about where to place the leads but he‘ll have to have you report when the vibrations are right. In order to report, you‘ve got to be awake very briefly. Then I‘ll put you right back under and you‘ll come to in the recovery room.‖ Dr. Wills

picked up the folder and flipped back and forth, examining every detail. ―Okay, Mr. Manley,‖ what else. ―Will it hurt when he‘s placing the leads and you have to wake me up?‖ I asked the obvious. ―It‘ll be a little uncomfortable,‖ said the doctor. Uncomfortable. That means hurt like hell in doctors speak. ―How long will I be awake?‖ ―You‘ll be conscious for about one minute, thirty seconds for each lead. But, again don‘t worry, you won‘t remember it. And, we‘ll start out just like a normal surgery. We‘ll get you in and you‘ll be out like a light. We‘re ready to start, right away, Dr. Qutby will be out here shortly. Just to check on you. Then Karen will wheel ya in. We‘ll get it all set up and then nighty night time.‖ ―Champ!‖ came the call from the surgically masked and gloved Dr. Qutby as he rounded the corner. ―There he is! Are you ready to be done with all that pain and all that drug crap? This is it! We‘ve got you all covered. Now, halfway through the procedure, Champ, I‘m going to wake you up and ask you when you feel vibration in your feet. It‘s very important you stay with me until you feel the tappa tappa in your lower feet and toes. It‘s totally up to you to tell me because I don‘t have any way of knowing exactly, within that half inch, where I need to place the leads. So, you‘ll wake up and I‘ll have had the area deadened. But it‘ll hurt like hell. I want you to brace yourself. You probably won‘t even remember it. Okay, any questions?‖ I didn‘t have any. This was going to be rough but the payoff would be well worth it, if it worked. ―Nope, let‘s get it done.‖ I said. ―That‘s my Champ! I‘m going to go pray with the OR gang and then we‘ll be out to get you. Man, this is going to be great!‖ Qutby left and went through the door marked surgical area. About five minutes later, Karen came swooshing back out and smiled at me. ―Okay time to get on your booties and your hat. I‘ll take your glasses and they‘ll be on you when you recover. Which to your will seem like a second. Promise. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 323

Okay,‖ she opened the brakes on the bed. ―Here we go,‖ Karen steered the bed through a double door reading Surgical Area One – No Unauthorized Admittance. I heard Karen hit a knob and the doors swung open. Being almost blind now, I was seeing blurs of shapes of people and lights. As I was swung into position, I could see the fuzzy outline of human forms leaning over me. Attaching me to the bed, getting my feet secured in a blanket. Karen‘s voice came, calm and warm, ―Okay, Mr. Manley, it‘s time for us to get started. I want you to get ready to count from 100 backwards to zero, for me.‖ I saw the outline of her face, she was wearing here mask. The machines were close and I could hear the monitors. I closed my eyes. 100. 99. 98. 97....black.

Chapter Thirty Four – The Spinal Cord Stimulator – v 1.0 Fight. Flight. Terror. My eyes flung open to find myself on my stomach. I felt a rip of pain in the middle of my back that felt as if a strap of fire had attached itself to me. I instinctively tried to roll and met immediate resistance. ―Reece, stay very still, Reece, REECE,‖ the voice sounded familiar but in the panic I didn‘t care who or what a voice said. ―REECE, STAY STILL‖ the voice said as the fire burned deeper into my back. I jerked again. Coming into consciousness a bit more I listened. ―REECE, calm down, CALM DOWN,‖ I willed myself to focus and overcome the confusion of the moment. I was in surgery. I was supposed to be doing something. What was it? I couldn‘t remember. Who was that voice? ―Reece, there ya go, Champ, calm down, you‘ve got it Champ. Okay.‖ Champ? Champ. That made sense somehow. ―Champ, tell me when you feel a buzz in your feet, okay? OKAY?‖ I found my voice, ―Help!‖ I said. I was surprised to find out I could speak. I added an emphasis, ―HELP!‖ ―Reece, it‘s Dr. Qutby. Concentrate on your feet, Champ. Let me know when you feel a buzz. I‘m going to try it now. Reece, where do you feel a buzz.‖ A strange tingling sensation, like a thousand little BB‘s bouncing off of me. The sensation on my thighs. The sensation tripled in intensity. It wasn‘t pain but a tappa tappa tappa sensation. ―Thighs,‖ I rasped. ―My thighs.‖ ―Okay, Champ, we‘re going to try again,‖ the voice said as the fire continued burning through my back. The sensation came again, slow buzzing at first. Then up to the full sensation again. ―Feet,‖ I said. ―Feet!‖ The pain in my feet had been up to a high level but the pain was being intermingled with the tappa tappa tappa. ―Okay, Champ, do you feel it in your toes?‖ I concentrated. The All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 325

sensation was not in the toes. The burning in my back was making me more and more panicked and I couldn‘t move. ―No toes,‖ I managed through the pain. ―Okay, Champ, once more.‖ The sensation stopped for a second then began again in my feet and toes. The strange tingling, tapping sensation was in the toes now.‖ ―Yes, toes. TOES.‖ I screamed once more, ―TOES!‖. ―Good job, Champ.‖ The blackness came and rescued me right before I lost all reason. The black calm of sleep. ―Reece‖. A voice came to me. ―Mr. Manley, wake up for me. Wake up for me.‖ The voice was soft but authoritative at the same time. I opened my eyes and found my glasses had been replaced. ―I was lying on my back, propped up to an incline. The face came into my vision was a nurse dressed in white. She was smiling. ―There you are, Mr. Manley. You did so good. You did very good, Mr. Manley.‖ I wiggled my toes as they were experiencing a strange tapping sensation. ―Toes,‖ I rasped out. My throat felt funny and I coughed. ―Good job, good cough." The nurse was busy wiping my face off and cleaning off some of the surgical monitors. The strange sensation was in my toes. I felt panic rise as I recalled the flashes of surgery. My jerk made the nurse back up instinctively. ―Whoa, whoa. You are okay, Mr. Manley. You are in recovery. It‘s okay, you‘re going to be okay. It went really well. I‘m about to let your family in, okay?‖ It seemed like hours before, finally, the smile of my mom. That wonderful smile. Mom hugged me gently and I could see the tears in her eyes. I started crying to for no reason save it had been the first surgery since the one which had rendered me disabled. I tried to speak, missed the first time. I tried again and managed to rasp out ―toes‖. ―That‘s right, baby, they tried to fix the pain in your toes. How are you feeling? Are you okay?‖ Mom asked a little barrage of questions. I had to think on things for a moment as the fuzz of anesthesia left my mind slowly. The burn in my back had calmed down but was still All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 326

stung. Then I focused my attention on the strange buzzing and tapping coming from my toes. There was pain coming from them as well. The neuropathic pain was coming through but it was intermixed with a tappa tappa tappa kind of sensation. Then the terrible flashes of the memory from the surgery. I cried hard into my mom‘s shoulder and held her tight. The flashes stopped after making the cycle three or four times in my mind. I buried them deeply and never shared the horror with anyone before. Some things are best left unsaid, unremembered. It was one of such things. ―I‘m okay, Mom,‖ I said through the blubbering. I pulled myself together as best I could. ―I‘m okay.‖ The nurse returned and did a check of all my vitals. ―Okay, you‘re doing fine, Mr. Manley. Let‘s get you back to your room, okay?‖ I slipped back into sleep with my mom holding my hand. I just remember holding onto my Mom‘s hand...

I opened eyes to find myself in the room which had begun the little journey. Mom and Jeff were talking in hushed tones waiting for me to wake up. ―Hey guys,‖ I said, my voice still a bit weak. Mom jumped up and came to the bed. ―Hey, baby! Doing better?‖ I had to think for a second to remember where I was and what had happened. I still felt the burn in my back, kind of like a wasp buried under the skin. My feet were hurting badly from the neuropathy. I could not tell I was in any better shape than when the journey began. Where was the tapping sensation, where did it go.... ―Champ!‖ came the booming, now familiar voice of Dr. Qutby. ―You did great! Champ.‖ I began to think all of his male patients must be ―Champ‖. I‘d hate to know what he called the ladies.

―Okay, Champ. Let‘s get some pain relief for those feet,‖ Dr. Qutby said and I sat up. I was ready for a shot in the IV. Almost as if expecting a cocktail. Demerol, shaken, not stirred, two olives, please. Instead Dr. Qutby come up to my side and lifted up a device which I recognized as the electronic squid from our earlier encounters. ―Okay, let‘s give this thing a little juice and see what happens. It should stop the pain in the feet a bit, then I promise we‘ll get you comfortable the old fashioned way for the incision, okay? Can you try?‖ I started to tell Dr. Qutby exactly what I thought of the whole process but bit my tongue. ―Yes, I can try.‖ Dr. Qutby showed the device to me. ―You see, you‘re all hooked up. These little wires, they are called leads and they go into your spinal area. Now this is the test unit, remember, so it works like and old radio. You click to turn on and go from minimal to very strong at the other end. Mom looked skeptical as she walked around the bed to get a better view. Jeff, looking at his nails, seemed either bored or pre-occupied by the hospital attendee he had fallen in lust with. He wasn‘t particularly interested in the fact that his best friend now had an ―on‖ switch much less a volume. Mom and I however were carefully paying attention. ―Okay, now, Champ, if this goes right, you‘ll feel the same tapping from surgery. But, you don‘t remember that do you? I told you you wouldn‘t.‖ Mom sliced into the doctor with ice cold words, ―You said he wouldn‘t but he described it perfectly, Dr. Qutby. Every second he remembers so this had better be something that works.‖ The cold coming from mom matched my own and the Qutby ego seemed to cool off for a minute. ―Really, I‘m sorry about that, Champ. But, you got through it, let‘s see what it‘s going to do for you. I know you‘re hurting. I just needed to get a check with this before I got you comfortable to go home.‖ Dr. Qutby took the device and showed me the dial knob on the unit. ―Okay, Champ, when I click it on you should feel a small tingling in your toes to begin with. Ready, Champ?‖ I was ready. The toes were certainly ready for some relief. I closed my eyes, focused and nodded. I All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 328

heard the click from the turn on the knob and, instantly, a thousand little bee bees were bouncing off the tips of my toes. It wasn‘t painful. It interrupted the pain and made a strange mix. ―I feel it,‖ I reported not knowing for sure how to describe the sensation. ―Okay, Champ.‖ My teeth begin to grit after every, ―Champ‖. But, there was no denying something wonderful was happening with my toes. ―Okay, let‘s give it a little more juice.‖ The little bouncing balls on my toes began to gently tap. Tappa tappa tappa. The pain seemed to be confused. It was intermittent. Then, after a brief struggle, the tappa tappa became the main sensation. ―And, a little more.‖ Whoa, the tappa tappa tappa took on a capital Tappa Tappa Tappa. ―How‘s that, Champ?‖ I smiled in spite of myself. The pain was being masked. ―That‘s incredible. Mom, it‘s incredible!‖ I was smiling ear to ear. It wasn‘t total relief but it was – TAPPA TAPPATAPPA – much better than the pain which had been there an instant before. ―Let‘s dial it back just a bit, doc.‖ ―Anything you say, Champ,‖ Qutby was smiling ear to ear. And, suddenly, the loathed idiot who called me Champ became a hero. I loved this guy! The pain was being pushed aside in an incredible fashion. I laughed out loud. ―Mom! It‘s covering it up!‖ My excitement was so evident even Jeffrey decided to come over to see what the big deal was. Rousing him up out of his revelry of whatever goes on in Jeff‘s mind when Jeff has time to think. Or, at least mentally exist. Jeff and thinking didn‘t go together very well. Neither one liked the other. But, Mom had got the enthusiasm. The enthusiasm of hope that was spreading across my face like sunlight spreads out over the earth. Instead of a screaming pain my toes were confused...happily confused. Quite suddenly, my favorite thing in the world was tappa tappa tappa. And, the big looming, smiling Dr. Qutby could call me Champ all day long, every day, for the rest of my life. ―Mom, this is incredible! It‘s working. It‘s working!‖ I broke down. Crying out the fear of never being able to live a day without pain again. The fear of the last four years. The pain which had become the focus of my life. The pain which had been about to cost me all of the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 329

objectives I had found to be worthy of time. The pain which had haunted me every day and every night. The pain. The great blackbird which had spread its wings at my feet and had bloody feast in my nightmares upon my feet. The demon. All calmed by a tappa Tappa TAPPA. This was it! Who knew that of all the possibilities a glass table would end up being the portal to relief from the pain I had been battling with...no, no battle. It was a war. And, it looked like the enemy was having to raise the white flag. Tappa tappa tappa. Like a water gun on the fire of the pain. The wall of fire that had been my toes. ―Mom, it is working. It really is!‖ Mom embraced me and cried happy tears. I asked for my cellphone and called my dad. ―Hey, son. How did surgery go?‖ At first I couldn‘t manage to do anything but cry and try to breathe out the joy I was feeling. The hope. Dad mistook the crying as being a negative thing. ―Son, are you okay? I‘ll be on the next flight. Do you need me? Son?‖ ―Dad! It‘s working! The SCS is working it‘s tapping out the pain! It is incredible, Daddy, just wonderful.‖ My father was ecstatic. He had been hoping for some solution, some resolution. He had harbored the feeling of guilt of the surgery. The responsibility for the pain had been on his shoulder‘s even without reason. After all, he was my father and I was his son. His eldest son. He worried about me more than he ever told me and more than I ever bothered to credit him for. But, today, he was present for victory even if he was absent from the room.

Chapter Thirty Five – The Good Life Four hours later found me home. Between the two of them, Mom and Jeff had cleaned up and propped up everything they could. Mom had hung on and wanted to spend the night, but, again, the man she was married to wouldn‘t have it. She had stayed as long as she could without facing the emotional beating that awaited her at her home. Jeff had been left with the Reece sitting duties. Jeff never really minded staying with me. A little bit of money that I had brought comforts impossible to his life. Cable with all of the movie channels. Flat screen television. Furniture, even. And, of course, a stocked bar, which required frequent restocking with the sort of crowd I had been entertaining lately. Chris‘ friends used to drink me out of years‘ worth of liquor in an afternoon. Now the bar was just satiating Jeff and me, occasionally James and any little bit of thing Jeff decided to bring over and entertain for an evening. Without Chris in my life, I had had more time to get priorities in order, but they still suffered from the lack of attention. I had come dangerously close to losing all I had going at Texas Tech to the relationship with Chris. Had Chris not displayed his hand, had he been able to keep me going for another few days even, I would have failed at everything I had wanted to accomplish with my life at Texas Tech. It had been work to catch up with each student, each paper, each assignment. Sometimes I was student, sometimes instructor. Sometimes I was mentor and sometimes I was the one learning. Simply the roles of life we all live. But they had all been endangered by Chris. And they had all been overshadowed by pain. And, now the pain was going to be masked with the tapping of a couple of centimeters of exposed wiring hooked up to the infinitesimal signal of electricity given off by the stimulator. Almost as small as the damaged cells which had been at the core of all of this. Jeff and I were stretched out on the couch. I was propped up on one side to move the weight from being on the middle of my back. The incision still hurt but it was a pain I didn‘t mind. It was a small price to pay for the incredible effect it had had. I was looking through the student folders I had and trying to decide what to do with all of it. The task, of All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 331

course, was impossible. There was no way the task I was to do was going to be completed on time. The Instructor Initiated Intervention was going to be delayed. This, of course, did not jive with the department of Human Development and Family Studies plan for their part time employee. More importantly to me, Captain had to offer the absolution for the task. Fresh out of surgery and with nothing but a Sunday between me and a deadline. There was no way that was going to happen. Not that I could see. ―Jeff, what did Dr. Sorrell say when you called her,‖ I asked as Jeff settled into the corner of the sofa with a fresh cocktail and propped feet upon the coffee table. Jeff thought about it for a moment. ―Well, I don‘t remember everything she said. She started out really, really mean because she thought I was Chris. Man, she must hate him. When I finally convinced her I was me and not him, she wanted to know what was going on, of course,‖ Jeff said and stopped returning his attention to the television coming back to the series from commercial break. I grabbed the remote and clicked off the TV. ―Hey!‖ Jeff cried out as if I had slapped him. ―I was watching that! Rude!‖ ―Back to Dr. Sorrell,‖ I said. ―Oh, well she said she‘d call you and make sure you were okay. She asked what hospital you were in and I told her I thought you were the one with the nursing school in it. I don‘t know what the hospital‘s name is, I just know it‘s a hospital. She said she‘d check on you. Now, will you please return me to my regularly scheduled programming,‖ Jeff gestured for the remote. It never ceased to amaze me how incredibly dense Jeff could be when he wanted to be. The hospital with the nursing school? There were three nursing schools in Lubbock. One associated with the University. Another with the great, hulking St. Mary of the Plains Hospital System and the third, a junior college occupying a part of the county hospital, overshadowed by their stronger counterpoints at Texas Tech. If Captain had had to begin with just random dialing in a search for me, she would have gone a bit out of her head. It would frustrate her deeply.

Captain would be the last one to admit it, but she had carved out a very well-functioning world where Captain was Captain. The University and its hierarchy worshipped her for her mind, her ability to engage and obtain grants and endowments and her studies. Her students either loved her or were afraid of her. Either way, the title Captain worked. She lived alone pronouncing herself above any need for sex and in its stead had two common mutt dogs which were devoted to her. House, car and future all paid for and well within her control. Captain had little to do but sit back and head her life of intellectual curiosity and occasional adventure with a new initiate. Neither of us knew I would be the last such initiate she would undertake with such passion and conviction of possibility. I picked up the cordless handset for the phone which had been laying on the coffee table. As I leaned forward, the wasp in my back gave a little sting and, oddly, the tappa tappa tappa increased. I jumped at both sensations. Jeff jerked. I jerked. The little SCS did not jerk but instead delivered its little hum of electricity. ―What the hell?‖ Jeff asked. ―You‘ve become possessed!‖ ―No, dumbass. Dr. Qutby said it would take a while to get used to the two wire leads floating a little bit. Just because they are anchored down doesn‘t mean they might not cause a little slippage during the first few days,‖ I explained. ―So, you‘re going to jerk into Michael Jackson‘s Thriller Random Zombie pose from time to time and this is supposed to be normal?‖ Jeff asked. ―As close to normal as I get to get, dearie,‖ I smooched at Jeff. ―I think part of that lead is bouncing in your brain. Don‘t make me go get that cross off that wall to hold you at bay,‖ Jeff chattered back. I didn‘t realize the motion had been so large but as I looked down at the now spinning phone headset, my body must have moved a pretty good jerk. I focused and reached for the phone again. The wasp again and then the beginning of the tappa TAPPA... I sat back. Jeff was still transfixed on me. ―Jeffrey, hand me the damn phone instead of watching me break into

Mr. Robioto.‖ Jeff handed me the remote. ―Domo arogato,‖ I said finishing the song going through my head. I turned the phone over and punched in the digits to summon Captain to the line. On the receiving end of line came the always reassuring voice, ―Well, Hello, Reece. How are you holding up after your adventures?‖ ―Captain! Oh, Captain it‘s good to hear your voice! You won‘t believe what I‘ve been through the last 24 hours!‖ I gushed at her. ―Well, breathe, let me get me a cup of tea and sit down. Now, you are breathing I take it,‖ came Captain‘s base line check of being okay. ―Yes, Captain, breathing is a go. But, I‘m afraid I‘ve been made into a Borg, Captain. I was assimilated. Resistance was futile,‖ I said making a reference to the Star Trek universe Captain and I both enjoyed. ―Well, I‘ve been accused of being a Borg all along, Reece, it doesn‘t surprise me it should befall you as well! Now, tell me, what exactly, is going on with you. Your home from a surgery or are you planning to go into surgery. I have to tell you dear, you have some awfully dense friends,‖ Captain said. ―Yes, dense but loyal. Like a two legged dog,‖ I said which elicited the middle finger from Jeff never taking his eyes off of the television. ―Oh, Captain. They found something that may be a solution to the pain and it‘s been implanted, rather, a test version of it has been implanted. And, it‘s working so far. I mean there have been a few weird jolts like reaching for the remote just now but I don‘t...‖ ―Reece, you are not breathing!‖ Captain‘s voice was warm and calm. ―Now, dear, slowly enough and old woman can follow. What has been implanted?‖ I retold the encapsulated version of Dr. Champ‘s Magic Machine to the Captain, pausing to answer her questions (Anything broken? No. Could I walk? Yes. Kind of.) and retelling parts she needed me to recover.

At the end of the conversation, Captain let out a long, relieved and satisfied sigh. ―Oh, Reece. This is wonderful, just wonderful for you. I could not be more happy. Oh, how wonderful. And, this permanent unit is to be in place by next week sometime, correct?‖ Captain summed up. ―Yeah, Captain. The real box goes in under the skin as soon as Wednesday. I report on Tuesday at 10 A.M. to his offices. He said if everything was fine the implant would happen on Wednesday or Thursday.‖ I paused. Thursday would be best because of my class on Wednesday. ―So, obviously Thursday is my preference.‖ Again, as much as I loved Captain, I knew she preferred to be Captain and not overridden on any command. ―Well, Reece, I‘ve only got one very selfish questions left. You‘ve got 21 of my students to contact and recommend the Three I program. Instructor Initiative Interventions have to be entered by Tuesday morning and you‘ve got my only copies,‖ Captain said. ―I need to drop by and pick those up or, perhaps, have Jeffrey bring then to me.‖ It then struck me, I still had a job to do and a job which would be easier to do than ever before. ―And, why Captain, would you need to do that? I‘m not dead. I‘ve simply had a little surgery. I can handle 21 little phone conversations. Besides, I‘ve got your passcodes with me which I was going to give myself a raise with before I returned then.‖ I said playfully. ―Oh, my, then I‘ll need the codes to resign! Seriously, Reece, allow me to come get the stack. Or, send Jeff. But don‘t put me in the position to feel guilty about have you working for me when you should be at home resting.‖ ―Captain, I‘m comfortable. I‘ve got happily tapping toes. I‘ll do a few tonight, do the rest tomorrow. Log on Tuesday from your office and enter the drops and the proceeds, if there are any. I think this is pretty straight forward, right? I just must get a verbal okay from the student they wish to take an Incomplete in the course, right?‖

Captain paused. I didn‘t know if she was weighing the idea of guilt or having here student records in Jeff‘s sole custody for a few minutes. ―Besides, Captain, you‘d be doing me a favor. If I have Jeff bring them over to you, I‘ll have to let Jeff use my car and that makes me very nervous,‖ I said incurring the middle finger yet again from Jeffrey. ―I assure you it‘s the best option.‖ ―Oh, go ahead and knock yourself out, Reece. If, however, for even one second you don‘t feel like doing it, then you call me and I‘ll come get them,‖ Captain said. I couldn‘t tell if I‘d been tricked into it or had genuinely volunteered, but my 21 remaining charges waited. I checked the time and it was still only 4:30. I had plenty of time to get the job done between this evening and tomorrow. But, I would need a little help. A reached out and grabbed the remote, the reflexive move made the little wasp sting again and caused the tappa tappa to fly through my body. My fingers flew open tossing the remote loudly back to the table. ―Ah, demon! Demon! Boy‘s got the devil in him!‖ Jeff went from TV zombie to evangelical affright in .2 seconds. ―Jeffrey, stop that! It‘s just weird getting used to the sensation.‖ I focused and picked the TV remote with a little more direct effort. The tappa came stronger but I was able to handle the remote, click off the set and receive a go to hell look from Jeff in one smooth movement. ―Well, Jeffrey, we‘ve come full circle. Back to the table with you and fetch me the folders. Quickly now, time is wasting. Snap. Snap,‖ the go to hell look continued as Jeff lifted himself up off the couch and brought over the folders. ―Hmm, didn‘t something like this happen last time,‖ Jeff said as he dropped the full weight of the folders on my lap. ―You‘ve already been overwhelmed by these once and you want to try again. You are a glutton for punishment. ― ―You know the drill, don‘t you? You call and get them, I‘ll do paperwork on all of them and talk to them as you get them.‖ For every report, there was a required form that must be signed by the Instructor and

entered into the files at the HDFS head office. The deadline was Monday at 4. Jeff began to call as I went through the folders. We spent the rest of the night making calls to students and explaining the situation. I heard every excuse from the ridiculous (Oh, I thought attendance was optional) to the sufferable (I‘m going through a divorce.) The main thing was to make certain the students agreed and wanted to take the Incomplete for the course grade. When I had verified them, I scrawled Captain‘s signature on the form and prepared it to be turned in. We finished the entire group that night and I was exhausted. I tried to stand up and was given a corrective jolt. I reached down and switched the stimulator off. I tried standing again and was able to do so easily. The back wasp had settled down in the face of the pain medication Dr. Champ had sent me home from the hospital with. As I passed the dining table, I gave it a little ―thank you‖ in my mind. I was also suddenly flooded with all of the events of the last 24 hours. I had gone from hopeless to hopeful. I had even refused to do the cocaine Jeff was always ready with. Two things I could count on was the sunrise and for Jeff to have cocaine. Where it came from or how he afforded it were mysteries for the ages. Or, at least for me. ―Thanks, but no thanks, Jeffrey,‖ I want to be sure the pain relief is coming from the SCS and not the drugs. And, that was the truth. Even with unit switched off I still felt some relief from the magic little box. ―Good night, Jeffrey. You know where the pillows are and try to keep the noise down.‖ Jeff delightedly made himself at home on the couch with a blanket from the hall closet. He had cable and cocktails. A simple combination but one that worked well for Jeffrey‘s happiness. I made it to the bedroom after washing my face and brushing my teeth. Climbing into bed it was clear the vibrations were going to get some getting used to, but, instead of dreaming of the great black bird I simply dreamed of the sounds of tappa tappa tappa. The pain was still present, but it was such a weak part of what it had once had been. The hold it had had over my life. I was feeling very free when I feel asleep that night.

The next days proved the SCS was indeed a miracle. When the pain came up, I could turn the knob and to increase the vibrations to the lead wires. When I had to walk or do other complicated maneuvers, I had to turn it down. Both Jeff and Captain enjoyed walking up to me and dialing my knob up to high. At its highest setting I felt as if I was in an earthquake. The room would lurch then, coming back to perspective, it was I who was lurching. My students had a million questions about the device and I was delighted to take each one. I even showed them the entry point of the wires going into my side. For those who were truly interested I covered the procedure that was to happen the next day. In order to go from the test unit to full implant, there was no need to awaken me during surgery, it simply required that I go under anesthesia long enough to have the implant done. It was a day procedure and I would be able to use the device as soon as I came to consciousness. In Dr. Qutby‘s words, ―Champ, this second time is much easier. No waking you up, nothing until you wake up in the recovery room. The surgery went quickly according to Mom who had again gathered at the hospital to oversee my admittance and wait patiently while the implant was completed. She waited alone this time as Jeff was out, well, doing whatever it was that Jeff did when he wasn‘t at my house. ―Mr. Manley, Reece, open your eyes for me,‖ said the voice in the recovery room. This time I did not panic. I was ready for the strange sensation to come into consciousness. I waited for the tappa tappa tappa to come, but it didn‘t. I felt down at my side and where the test unit should have been coming out there was a bulge under some very sore skin. ―Ouch.Ouch!OUCH!‘ I said to the nurse who was prepping me to get back to my room. ―Easy now, Mr. Manley. Dr. Qutby himself will be out directly to speak with you in just a few minutes. Do you want to wait here or in your room?‖ ―Take me where my mom is, please,‖ I managed. The pain in my side was significant and I wondered what was going on with my feet. They were tingling but pain was beginning to come through. The transport tech got me back to my waiting mother. She was overjoyed to see her

baby back safely back from surgery again. We hugged and begin the checklist of how I was doing. ―Hey, Champ! We got that sucker in no problem and I had it running full blast during surgery. I clicked you off for the OR but I bet you are ready to click this thing back up and running aren‘t you?‖ I nodded. Damn skippy. I wanted the tappa tappa tappa back indeed. Dr. Qutby held up a grey and blue box with up and down arrows along with a dial and an on/off button. It looked quite a lot like a Star Trek phaser. Oh, Captain would be pleased. ―Okay, Champ, this is how this works. Here‘s the power button. Okay, take it.‖ I looked at the device skeptically. I‘d seen the brochure and the mock up of the remote device. It was lighter than I had expected to be. It was about the size of a deck of cards. The device was rounded on one side, flat on the other end. The two blue arrow buttons were on the rounded end and the power button was on the either. I hit the power button. Nothing happened. Shit, I‘d broken it! ―Okay, Champ, now just hit the up button slowly until you feel it. Go slow. And wait a second between clicks.‖ The sensation started slowly tappa tappa tappa. Right at the tips of toes the sensation began. Pain slowly turned over to rhythm. Tappa ouch tappa oucha. Tappa was winning over and I pushed the up arrow one more time. A smile had covered my face. ―Champs got it!‖ said Dr. Qutby. The smile was unstoppable. The tappa increased stronger and stronger. It was unmistakable. My mom looked as if she were going to cry. Dr. Qutby goaded a bit. ―They should have done this the first time you visited the IPC, but they are a learning center. There job is to make you go through every step and block. I‘d never seen anyone with a ECT test like yours respond to anything but an SCS. Go ahead and dial it up. It won‘t bite you.― The little remote triggered the device inside to a more intensive vibration. The stronger vibration delivered a bigger break in the pain level. It was an amazing sensation. I dialed up until the vibration was overpowering and I could feel the tappa like knocking upon my feet. At this high level, there was no pain although the sensation wasn‘t really pleasant. The best combination came at about mid-level strength. It

worked to drive out the teeth of the pain leaving it an irritant but nothing more. It was going to be okay. Champ, it was.

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Chapter Thirty Six – Spinal Cord Stimulator – v 2.0 About two weeks after getting my new friend and becoming part man, part machine, I was pulling into the Texas Tech parking area when I happened to arrive at Captain‘s place the same time she did. She honked at me playfully, revving her Datsun to within an inch of my Eclipse. I placed my car in reverse, hit the accelerator and peppered her with gravel from the front wheel drive rotating backwards quickly. ―No fair,‖ Captain shouted, ―I have no weapons!‖ ―You have your rank to fall back on, Captain!‖ I hollered back and backed further away taking one of the disabled places a couple of slots down from her reserved spot. It was Wednesday afternoon and Captain was rarely here on Wednesday afternoons, preferring to use the Administrator‘s Parking Area for her Women‘s Studies post. I hung the little blue disabled placard which I had begun to use less and less frequency. Although I still used a cane, it was for the balance more than anything. ―Well, hello, Reece,‖ came the Captain‘s greeting and quick, familiar hug. She groaned out of her tiny Datsun and I offered my right hand. ―I guess I‘m getting to the age I will need a pick up so I don‘t have to grunt my way up and out of the car.‖ ―It was a very respectable effort, Captain. Let me take that satchel for you.‖ Captain relinquished her messenger bag to me and stood up right. It was always funny to be up against the Captain, height to height, I was 6‘ and she was 5‘2‖. But what power lay in those 62 inches! ―Okay, we are away to the Human Development and Family Studies main office,‖ Captain said. ―Lovely, and what shall we be doing there?‖ I asked. ―We‘ll be filing the hard copies of our three I‘s and then I‘m walking over to women‘s studies.,‖ reported Captain. ―If you should like to accompany me I have a class on women‘s history I think you‘d enjoy. Lots of lesbians and gay men. Most closeted, which is so sad. To think of not living a genuine life. I‘m so glad you got through that part of it, All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 341

Reece. Genuine and integrity are two things you must, absolutely, must have,‖ Captain continued giving her advice in little bits. Like Yoda more than Buddha, but worthy of noting regardless. ―You know that‘s something I should mention because it‘s so true in women‘s lives. They must maintain a level of genuine living to be counted as worthy as me. Actually, they must do it...‖ The fire shot down my left leg and my left foot bounced up reflexively. ―..in order to be counted as equal to men, It‘s amazing that the average young lady has never heard of the EPA..., Reece, Good Lord!‖ The loose fire in my body and hit my crotch and knocked me to my side. Another shot and I fell to the ground. I had random electricity striking me from within. It hurt like hell and muscles contracted and uncontracted according to the strange impulses coming from within me. For a moment, I remembered Jeff playfully screaming that I was possessed. ―Has demons running all through him!‖ Finally, my confused mind put two and two together and headed straight for the remote to the SCS in my right jacket pocket. My legs jerked again to the side and it was all I could do to stay on target of the reach. Finally, with another punch hitting me in the crotch (great balls of fire!) I found the power switch and hit the off button on the unit. The sensations stopped immediately. I found myself transfixed in a strange position. On my back with my legs crossed as the muscles relaxed and recovered from the strange instructions they had received only seconds before. ―Reece, Reece, oh my,‖ Captain was standing over me and trying to reach out to me and dodge my feet at the same time. ―What the hell happened, Reece. Are you okay?‖ I willed myself to be stone still for a moment and I finally stopped the jerking completely. I took the Captain‘s hand and stood up between her help and pushing off of the ground with my cane. Once I was upright, I dusted myself off. ―What the hell?‖ the Captain and I demanded at the same time. I had managed to scatter all of Captain‘s briefcase contents left and right to the winds of whipping through the Lubbock campus. Students All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 342

walking by assisted in rounding up the papers as if they were chasing dollar bills. Captain had completely forgotten the work I had been carrying for her and focused all of her attention on me. ―Can we get you to a place to sit?‖ Captain asked. ―Come on,‖ Captain led me to the benches outside of the College of Human Sciences. Walking was again painful and I expected the internal fire to shoot any minute. One of the students from my Wednesday night class spotted Captain and I as she came out of the College and quickly came over to help coordinate the gathering of the papers. ―Yes, Carolyn, get all of those and put them in here, don‘t worry about the order, we‘ll sort it out later,‖ Captain directed as she got me to the bench and sat me down. ―Okay, terra firma,‖ said Captain. ―I hate to repeat myself but what the hell just happened?‖ My mind was working quickly among the options and, or course, the solution was obvious. But, I didn‘t want the SCS to be the problem. It had almost delivered me from the condemnation of the pain. It had calmed the demon and I did not want it to be fouled. ―Let‘s see what happens, Captain. Maybe it was just a momentary problem.‖ I switched the SCS remote on at the lowest setting. It seemed the left foot was experiencing the familiar tappa tappa tappa. But, not the right. I gave the unit a bit more power. Again, on the left foot, just tappa tappa tappa but with a bit more strength. ―Okay so far.‖ A group of students had gathered around me and the situation had been updated for those who were just curious. ―Don‘t you people have something else to do?‖ snapped Captain to the group. I went ahead and gave the unit a bit more The left foot was receiving the correct tappa tappa TAPPA as I urged the unit up a bit more in power. Then, suddenly, an internal pop occurred and my right leg jerked out straight in front of myself as the lighting stuck within. It was like a bolt, hammered straight through my belly button. It was painful and I couldn‘t tolerate it. I began to edge the unit back down until it was off. I stood with the help of my cane and I was able to walk, or hobble, into the Captain‘s office. As we arrived, Captain cleared off an office chair for myself and had me take the better chair behind the desk.

I went through the cycle of turning the unit on and inching up the power again. This time another pop to my groin brought and immediate shut off. ―Something is fucked up,‖ I said without regards to present company. ―Yes,‖ Captain agreed, ―something is fucked up. This just isn‘t acceptable behavior from a implanted device. It‘s not supposed to take over your body without a moment‘s notice! Half of those students thought you were having a seizure and the other half are sure you were possessed. They all thing I‘m a crazy devil woman!‖ ―I‘ve got to call Qutby‘s office, Captain, if you don‘t mind me using the phone.‖ ―Reece, of course not,‖ Captain said then looked at the clock, ―I‘ve got to go over and cancel my class so I don‘t have a torrent of angry students. Will you be okay here for 15 minutes?‖ ―Of course, go, Captain,‖ I said dismissing her from her own office. The irony was amusing but the situation was serious. I called Dr. Qubty and was immediately put through to his nurse. The caller ID would have shown up as Dr. Gwen Sorrell and I guessed that must have been why Qutby answered, ―Yes, Doctor? This is Doctor Qutby.‖ ―Uh, doc, this isn‘t who you think it is. This Reece Manley and you just did a SCS on me and....‖ ―Champ!‖ he cut me off, ―How are you loving that thing? Isn‘t it amazing!‖ ―Yes, sir. It is, or it was. Let me explain.‖ I recounted the last few minutes to Dr. Qutby. ―I see, Champ,‖ said Dr. Qutby after a moment of silence, ―well, buddy, we‘ve got to fix that. What has happened is one of the leads has come loose. Can you get a ride over to St. Mary‘s or take a cab? If not, I can have an ambulance there to get you.‖

―Well, I can drive still, I‘ll just leave it off. It hurts but I‘m used to the pain,‖ I reminded him. ―Sorry, Champ, no driving for you. You‘ve got to come on in so give a call if you don‘t find a way in ten minutes. Hang in there,‖ came the voice of Qutby. ―I know the power is off, but you‘ve got a lose lead somehow. We‘ve got to get it out before it gets entangled. It‘s pretty much an emergency.‖ I thought of Captain, and she would do it, but it would sacrifice all of her day to tend to me. I thought about Mom but there would be hell to pay from her husband. I flipped open my phone and dialed Jeffreyl ―Hello, Jeff the fag. If you‘re not one, you‘re a drag,‖ came Jeff‘s voice. ―Jeffrey stop with the weird rhymes. I need you to run to the campus, or get James to the campus. I‘ve got kind of an emergency.‖ Jeff and Captain arrived at the office at the same time. They had met briefly before but I reintroduced them. Captain, ―I don‘t care if he‘s Captain Kangaroo, tell me what the doctor said.‖ Jeff, ―I don‘t care if she‘s Yoda, what do you need?" The two spoke in unison. ―Captain,‖ I addressed my mentor first, which made Jeff pout, ―Dr. Qutby wants me to come in but I can‘t drive. Jeff‘s here to take me in.‖ ―I am? I mean I am,‖ Jeff said taking the spotlight. ―My best friend needs me and I come running!‖ At least it wasn‘t the pissing match Chris and the Captain had had in the past. She recognized Jeff for what he was, harmless, fluffy and simply a little queer. Odd, that is. ―Yes, Jeff, you are. We‘ll take my car and, don‘t worry Captain, I‘ll be careful. I will call you as soon as we know something.‖ Jeff made record time and I felt the buzzing a few more times but didn‘t see how that was possible because the unit was turned off. As we arrived, I opened my door and, using my cane, pushed into the standing position. About half way through the standing process, I felt the vibration hit me on the right side of my body. ―What the hell was that?‖ Jeff asked. Before he could go into the demon from the other world routine, I headed All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 345

toward the medical office door. I hobbled on the cane being very deliberate with my walk. Jeff and I walked into Qutby‘s office which was full of Christian paraphenellia. Everything from the giant cross over his door as if you were entering a chapel, not a medical office to lots of newsletter clippings showing him doing many charitable works. All in all it was a shrine to Johnny Qutby. ―Uh, oh,‖ I thought, ―If Jeff speaks we are dead.‖ ―This place does not look fag friendly,‖ Jeff whispered loud enough to be heard by the receptionist who looked up with a little startled look. ―Um, I‘m Reece Manley. Dr. Qutby told me to come in.‖ ―Oh, yes, Mr. Manley. You‘re expected. Please follow the nurse to the room. A nurse appeared in the doorway and I left Jeff in the waiting room despite his pleading, ―Don‘t leave me here with the Jesus pictures. I‘ll be struck by lightning!‖ Jeff begged. ―Don‘t worry Jeff, just sit still and I‘ll be right back.‖ I followed the nurse down the hall to the examination room. ―Dr. Qutby will be right here. Do you have the remote?‖ ―Yes, I do.‖ ―Very good, may I take it, please.‖ I thought that one over. ―No, I‘d rather hang on to it.‖ The nurse shrugged and said, ―Well the doctor will want to see it.‖ ―I‘ll be happy to show it to him when he gets here.‖ I saw the nurse make a face like she had been personally insulted. It wasn‘t personal, I just wasn‘t going to turn the remote over at the moment. If the damn thing went on inside me I wanted to have control over it. ―Champ!‖ came the annoying voice of Qutby. ―What the heck is going on? Why are you givin‘ my nurses a hard time?‖ ―I don‘t know, could it be because the remote can turn this busted thing on and off?‖ I said defensively. ―I know you‘re scared, Champ. But, we are all here to help and I promise you it‘s going to be okay,‖ Qutby said as he walked up to me and held his hand out for the remote. ―Let me see that and I promise I won‘t All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 346

turn it on. I just want to check its functioning and I‘ve got to do that on the scanner over here,‖ he motioned to a flat panel on the wall of the room. I relinquished the device, unwillingly, to Qutby so he could test it. I winced in preparation when I saw that he hit the on button. Logically I knew the damn thing couldn‘t travel that far. Qutby frowned and hit the other buttons and read the panel. With each thing he did, his browed furrowed more deeply. ―Champ, the remote isn‘t the problem. We‘ve got so see what is going on with the main unit. I need you to lie down on your stomach for me.‖ I hesitated, ―Is this going to hurt?‖ I had to ask the question which had been forming in my mind as his brow furrowed. ―Well, Champ, it may hurt for a second, but it‘s the only way to get the device checked out. Trust me, okay?‖ He smiled optimistically. I‘d trusted him before and it had let me down. But, there weren‘t any other logical options open. I complied with the request and got down on my stomach on the examination table. ―Okay, get ready because I‘m about to turn the device on but on really low power. So it shouldn‘t hurt, it just may throw a jolt. Here we go on one, two, three.‖ I heard the button click a split second before I began to feel the tappa tappa tappa in my left leg. ―Everything, okay, Champ?‖ ―So far, so good. No sensation on the right but the left foot feels the tapping,‖ I reported. ―Okay, let‘s take it up one notch, okay?‖ I heard the click and again the sensation on the left, nothing on the right. ―One more,‖ Qutby said. The jolt was instant and made my knees gather underneath my stomach as the device seemed to be goading every muscle in my body to bend. ―Fuck doc,‖ I cried out, ―Turn the damn thing off.‖ Qutby had already started to hit the power button and the sensation released itself as quickly as it had come.

―Okay, Champ...‖ I stopped him. ―It‘s Reece. REECE.‖ I was seething with anger at this grinning idiot who had done whatever the hell he‘d done wrong to turn me into a remote controlled break dancer. Qutby recoiled for a half second as if no one had ever questioned the ―Champ‖ moniker before. ―Yeah, okay, Reece. Well, Reece, we‘ve got to get some x-rays and see if we can tell what‘s going on.‖ ―What do you think is going on?‖ I asked with an apologetic tone. I was angry as hell but Qutby hadn‘t done it on purpose and the misplaced rage toward him lessened. ―I think one of the leads has come loose,‖ Qutby said. ―But I won‘t know until we do an x-ray. But, before we do that,‖ Qutby picked up a larger unit that looked a lot like my remote. ―Let‘s shut off the battery in there so you don‘t have any more shocks. Have you got someone to drive you home, if so I can get you comfortable before the xray.‖ ―Yeah, I‘ve got a ride. Do you mind if he comes back‖ I asked. Qutby nodded the affirmative and called to the nurse, ―hey, darling, ask Reece‘s friend to join him. His friend‘s name is...‖ ―Jeff,‖ I said. Qutby gave the nurse instructions to fetch Jeff and find me 100 of Demerol before the x-ray. Qutby then held the big remote up to the device inside of my flank. He punched in a code and sighed. ―Well, it‘s shut down. It can‘t come back on. In effect, I told it to selfdestruct, so you won‘t have to go through that again. We‘ll take a look at the x-ray and go from there. Hang in here, Ch.. Reece.‖ Qutby walked into Jeff as he left and Jeff entered, much to Jeff‘s delight. ―Oh, a doctor to dance with! What fun!‖ ―I‘m not the dancing type,‖ Qutby said extracting himself from the accidental body contact. ―I‘ll be back with you Reece as soon as I look at the x-rays.‖ ―Well, did we get the demons cast out? Are you free to come home and not levitate off the couch?‖ Jeff asked. ―Because I simply can‘t All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 348

have you flying around the room. It just won‘t do, honey.‖ Jeff was playing and I guess I looked sad enough to wanna be cheered up. ―Did he give you any thing taste-tee?‖ Jeff said as the nurse walked in with the medication. ―Reece W. Manley,‖ she said. ―Present,‖ I said. ―Date of birth.‖ ―January 14, 1969‖ ―You have a ride home?‖ ―Yes‖ The little barrage of questions and answers seemed to prove to the nurse I was the same person she had seen in the room just a moment before. She walked over, found a nice spot on my arm and plunged in the juice. Again, she pushed the whole medication in an instant. Suddenly realizing she‘d made a mistake about the delivery method. ―You may feel a little high for a second but then you should be comfortable. It‘ll be better in a few minutes. Do not drive for six hours or do anything which requires your absolute attention. She hurried out of the room as she left me on the ceiling amongst bluebonnets and butterflies. ―Come down from there immediately, young man,‖ Jeff said reading the spacey look on my face perfectly. ―Or share, one of the other.‖ ―You know I‘d share if I could, Jeff but I‘ll be back with you in a moment.‖ It struck me as funny in the little Demerol cloud. Jeff said, ―Oh, hell, Miss Thang is high as I kite and I‘m surrounded by Baptists without a cocktail. This must be hell," Jeff said. The xray guy showed up and wanted to know if I wanted a wheel chair or if I could walk. ―I think I better opt for the chai, bro,‖ I said to the assistant. He seemed indignant that he was going to be pushing around someone who obviously could walk it, but he loaded me up anyway. ―He‘ll be right back,‖ the assistant said to Jeff. ―That‘s what I‘m afraid of,‖ Jeff said. ―Xray his brain and see if you can find out where the queer gene lives!‖ ―Hey, don‘t bother my high. I earned it,‖ I said. The Demerol was beginning to fade as I was driven off to xray. ―The trip took under a minute and I understood why the assistant had thought needing a wheel chair was a bit overkill. After all it was just three doors down. I stood up and let the technician do his thing while I balanced up against the wall. The Demerol cloud had dispersed and All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 349

balancing was easier. I also could feel the neuropathy biting at my toes with dull teeth. It was being held at bay right now but would soon want to be a part of my life. After the xrays were finished I told the guy I could handle the walk without the wheelchair. He shrugged. ―You know the way back to the room?‖ I nodded. He went off down the hall toward his next duty. I took the short walk back to the room to find Jeff flipping through the anatomy chart on the wall. ―You know, a penis is a pretty ugly thing on the inside. Have you seen this?‖ Jeff asked. ―I mean can you imagine, it looks like a cow‘s tongue on here. How do you get excited about that?‖ ―Jeffrey, you are the only person I know who could use the words cow tongue and penis in the same sentence,‖ I said I sat back down on the examination table. Jeff plopped down next to me and crossed his legs. ―So, now what do we do for fun,‖ Jeff asked. ―I don‘t know, Jeffrey. I don‘t think it‘s going to be much fun. I‘d better call Captain and let her know what‘s going on, though.‖ I took out my cell phone and started to dial the number to bring up the Captain. Before I could complete dialing the number, Dr. Qutby reentered the room. He had been waiting for the Xrays and came in with them immediately. ―Hey, Reece, let‘s see what we see.‖ Dr. Qutby placed the xray against the light panel. The film was a close up of the area in my back where the implant resided and it‘s little wire leads. ―Well, I‘ll be darned. Reece, you see this straight line, right here next to your spine. That‘s a good thing. Now you see this one that‘s running a little S shape around and by that straight one. That‘s the culprit. It broke off from the SCS and has been making contact with the other wire which is still anchored and was still receiving electricity.‖ Qutby stood and studied the picture for a short while. Finally, beneath his breath, he uttererd, ―Damn, it.‖ ―Okay Reece, these are our choices for dealing with this problem. We can go in and remove absolutely everything, let your body heal and then get another unit in there. That‘d probably be about three weeks. Our second choice is to go in and replace the lead and the unit. We can leave All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 350

the battery in because it‘s still good. But a while ago when I shut down that other SCS, it‘s dead and it‘ll have to come out. However, one lead is still good and the battery is still good. So, I‘d only have to open you up a half of a second to run another lead and get a new computer in. We can do that on, let‘s see,‖ her cried down, ―Jamie, come here for minute‖ ―Would you please see when the next surgery date is for me. Something next Tuesday would be ideal.‖ Jamie left to go get the scheduling book. ―Reece what I want to do is this, leave the battery in, the lead that‘s attached alone and replace the SCS and the other lead. This will get you back to getting relief as quick as you can,‖ Qutby explained. I suddenly wanted my mom and dad very badly. I tried mom‘s number first and didn‘t get an answer. I called Dad. ―Hey, Daddy,‖ I tried to sound brave but my voice broke. A sob started and it came from deep within me. The fix had failed. The hope had been put on hold. I tried to sum everything up. Dad‘s anger at Qutby when he replied, ―Son, do you think the quack can get it right this time or do you want to come here to Dallas?‖ I wanted the quickest path back to having the pain kept at pain with tappa tappa tappa. ―Dad, I want to give him one more chance. I don‘t think it was his fault I think the damn thing just happened to have come loose. Yes, I know Dad. Yes, only one more chance. Yes, let‘s get it on the road to it. Yeah, I agree Dad. Okay.‖ The one sided conversation with Dad laid out the road again and I felt a little less crushed. There is something about having your father‘s okay on something, even when you are 35, that makes it a better choice than you could have ever made on your own. Qutby had been listening to the conversation. He had heard Dad‘s statement of belief that it had all been the surgeons fault, and that had put Qutby on the defensive. ―Listen, Reece. This does happen but it‘s darn rare. Let‘s get you scheduled just as soon as we can. If I can do it tomorrow, I‘ll be there and we‘ll do it. I know this is hard. Don‘t worry about the SCS coming back on,‖ Qutby was speaking fast trying to get out the room where he was suddenly quite a bit less popular than he was used All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 351

to being. ―I‘ll have the front desk tell you where to come. It‘s the same place. But, what time is what I meant. Reece,‖ he paused, ―I‘m really sorry this happened, but we‘ll fix it, Champ. I promise.‖ Somehow the promise didn‘t deliver the same hope it had held in the past. But, I was glad he could, at least in his own mind, fix it. Jeff and I made our way down to scheduling. When the lady made the mistake of asking Jeff which procedure he was scheduling, he responded he was torn between a penis enlargement or breast enhancement. The poor receptionist went white. ―I‘m Reece Manley and I‘m the patient,‖ I rescued the poor lady. ―I‘m needing Dr. Qutby‘s first opening. He should have mentioned something to you?‖ ―Ah, yes, Mr. Manley, you‘re so young to be having this done, I‘m sorry, I didn‘t mean. Um, 10:00 tomorrow, so nothing to eat or drink after midnight and you‘ll need somebody to drive you home.‖ She asked if I had any further questions and I shook my head no. I badly wanted to get out of that place. ―Well, how about me?‖ Jeff demanded of the receptionist. ―Sir, I don‘t think Dr. Qutby performs those procedures.‖ ―Jeffrey,‖ I called, ―leave the nice lady alone. Come on now, let‘s get home before this Demerol wears off.‖ Jeff drove the Eclipse home from the hospital to my house in under five teeth clenching moments. ―Jeff, don‘t you dare drive like that again!‖ ―Hell, you‘re the one who said you wanted to get home. We‘ll you‘re home now aren‘t you?‖ I unclenched parts of me I had forgotten that could clench. The feet were beginning to shoot fire from behind the Demerol and as I unclenched toes I realized it was going to be a rough night. ―Fuck,‖ I said as I stepped from the vehicle from the pain. Jeff‘s head popped up. ―You‘re not doing the demon hokey pokey again are you?‖ I assured him it was just the regular old pain. I hadn‘t felt it in a few weeks and I had forgotten how bad it could get so quickly. Arriving into the apartment I headed for the couch to get my feet up. Jeff, of course, headed for the kitchen to make a cocktail. ―Rum and All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 352

coke for two?‖ Jeff called. ―Yeah,‖ I said, ―And, Jeff bring me a dose of the dialuadid pain medication. I thought. There should be 18 in there and I need two.‖ It wasn‘t that I didn‘t trust Jeff. Far from it. The boy just couldn‘t resist temptation and, as such, didn‘t even bother to try. ―Still don‘t trust me after all these years?‖ Jeff appeared with a rum and coke and a dose of the medication. ―Don‘t be silly, Jeffrey. I trust you completely. It‘s just that I know you, too. But I do appreciate it, big man. You‘re the best.‖ Jeff snapped. ―I certainly am the best girlfriend a boy could have. And, don‘t you forget it.‖ I promised Jeff I would always remember him in my will and it made it him a happy camper for a few moments. ―I need to call Captain,‖ I said reaching for the phone. ―And, your mom,‖ Jeff reminded. Since mom was unaware of what had transpired, I went with the Captain first. I explained what had happened and I swear I could almost hear her tears in her voice when I spoke of the hope vanishing. ―Reece, you‘ve got to hold out hope. It was a horrible accident, but the relief you were getting from it was incredible.‖ ―Yes, Captain. I have decided to remain a borg! I‘ll be reimplanted in the morning. At 10. No there‘s no need for you to be there. Just remember I‘ll be off campus and you‘ll need to go to Crewman Gary. Crewman Gary was a senior who worshipped Gwen and had his presence known more frequently. ― Are you going to need anything?‖ Gwen asked. ―No, Captain everything I need is right here. It will be a short stay. I may have mom come up on it. Jeff will be with me. Assuming he can fit it in in his busy schedule, I said sarcastically. Jeff would be able to fit it into his schedule. I broke out the sleep medications I had been given by a doctor in Dallas. I set the alarm for 8:15 AM. And, I downed the medication. Sleep found me in a few moments and I almost immediately feel into the dream of the great black bird. Its black eyes focused on me. Its beak at first trying a small sample of the flesh on my feet. Then, its appetite growing more voracious, it began to eat in earnest. I was helpless in my All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 353

unconsciousness. The alarm clock went off and it seemed it had been an entire night of the bird feeding. The pain was overwhelming and I immediately made way for the pain medication. I took three and lay back down and thought about what awaited me in the day. With a little luck, the tappa tappa tappa would be back and would be filling my life with relieve again. Qutby has seemed to be sure as he spoke of how heâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;d been able to fix this problem I the past. All of his staff certainly seemed to believe he could do it. And, I needed to believe he could do it. The fact that something could be done was enough to find hope, and I was needing hope in the worst way.

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Chapter Thirty Seven – Spinal Cord Stimulator v 3.0 I came to with my Mom‘s face glowing over me. ―Baby by, wake up, Reece, there you are,‖ mom cooed at me as I was coming back into consciousness. ―It went perfect, Reece. They had no problem replacing the unit. Isn‘t that great baby?‖ I managed to catch the phrase ―it went perfect‖ from her cooing. ―Are they sure?" I rasped out, coughing from the intubation of surgery. ―Are they sure?‖ A moment of panic. I felt the pain and no tappa tappa tapppa, something was wrong! ―Whoa, baby,‖ Mom said, catching my thoughts as only she can do, ―you don‘t feel it because they aren‘t going to turn it on until we are in the room, remember, just like last time‖. I understood and felt the fresh wasp burn from having had my back unzipped again. My feet were on the all too familiar fire of the neuropathy. The ceiling began to change as the transport orderly took me from recovery to the room we had been in a couple of hours ago. ―Hi, drama queen,‖ Jeff‘s voice came. ―You‘ll do anything to get felt up by a doctor, won‘t you? Well, next time, I want to be wheeled in and get naked! It sounds delightful to me!‖ Mom shot Jeff a look between confusion and go to hell. Jeff seemed to get a lot of those looks and it didn‘t even bother to note it. ―The doctor will be back in here in just a minute. He went to get the remote control. I was supposed to tell you so I did. Where‘s my $5.00? What, no tip? Jeff do good, give Jeff something!‖ Jeff held his hand out to everyone including the transport assistant who was apparently rusty on his English, because he shook Jeff‘s hand as he scurried out of the room. ―Shut up, Jeffrey,‖ I said as I turned off my back a little bit. You don‘t get money for playing answering machine.‖ ―Okay, fine, I‘ll put it on your tab, Mr. Man,‖ Jeff said. ―Do you want me to go look for Dr. Qutby, Reece,‖ Mom asked. I started to nod my head when Dr. Qutby came in. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 355

―Can I call you, Champ again, cause you did perfect!‖ came the enthusiastic Dr. Qutby. ―I won‘t waste any time, buddy, cause I know you‘re hurting. I just didn‘t give you much medicine so we could be sure you were going to get the relief from the SCS. So, here‘s your remote. You know what to do.‖ I took the remote from him and my hands knew exactly the buttons they wanted to find. I held the remote up to the implanted receiver in my flank and turned the unit on. I took a couple of breathes. ―Well?‖ Mom asked. ―I‘m just about to find out.‖ I pushed the ―Increase‖ button twice. It came very faint at first, tappa. A few more pushes of the button and a warm, wonderful tappa tappa tappa spread out over my feet and toes. The pain was still there between the tappas but it was losing the battle. ―Yeah,‖ I grinned, ―it‘s back and it‘s working!‖ Mom broke out crying and I joined her soon. Even Jeff shed a tear. Then Qutby joined in. ―I‘m sorry you had to go through that twice, Champ, I‘m so sorry, but you‘ve got it back and going and you‘re going to be good. Promise, Champ.‖ I was struck by the heartfelt emotion coming from Qutby. He was a physician and he did this all of the time. I wondered how he could possibly have connected with me, but I suddenly felt very trusting of him and felt a fondness (crush?) for the doctor I had never known before. It would be a few weeks before I realized he must have been crying because it was the first time he had ever redo that particular procedure. It was an ego thing. Qutby was crying because his perfect record had been broken. But, I thought he was crying because I was going to be out of pain. I‘d never trust a physician like again.

Chapter Thirty Eight – The Last Party The crush of reality of life that had been going on while I had been messing about with trying to control my feet found me almost impossibly behind in my classes. I had managed to make every Wednesday night for Captain. And, I‘d earned straight A‘s from the Captain‘s coursework. She played so many roles. She went from friend to mentor to teacher to colleague so easily. And, with the proper boundaries for each role. Captain was an amazing woman and I had tried to pick up some of her personality and add it to my own. The one thing she had managed to pass on to me was a passion for professionalism. I had drug myself to that Wednesday night course in every kind of state emotionally. But, I was always the sober, confident professional when I was on the clock for Captain. The cool wind of Wednesday, November 30, 2005 blew against me as I walked into the edifice of the College of Human Sciences. The hallways felt as much home to me as did the apartment in Park Tower. It was a busy, busy life but it was one in which I was in love. I felt the sense of pride of someone who has earned their keep as I headed to the class. Tonight, the students would receive their final exam papers. They were to write 16 pages or more on the topic of their choice in what had been covered in course 3301 under my representation of Captain‘s teachings. Captain had given them the final a full two weeks before classes ended. I had wrapped up the lecture of the course last Wednesday. Tonight, they would be receiving the exam and they would have one week to complete what, for them, would be a lengthy paper of 16 pages. This would give me two weeks to grade said papers. Captain suggested this would be needed. I hoped I could finish it in one week so I could return them to the students the last session of class. But, it would be up to the students. Either way, tonight was going to be special for them. If they didn‘t have any questions, they could leave class early to begin work on their papers. They simply had to hand in a topic to me before they left.

The room greeted me as it had always done when I punched in my code to the door plate. The lights came up and the locks disengaged on the doors to the room. The electricity to the audio visual equipment hummed up and the speakers popped in expectation of the class. Students started drifting in about 15 minutes before class and I enjoyed chatting with them as they arrived. A few were curious because on the syllabus given at the first of the year November 30 had been marked as ―????‖ as was December 6th which was the last day before University Finals began and the University wide ―dead‖ day where no classes or events were held. Instructors had to keep full office hours and the business end of Texas Tech was at full attention while the students were free to study, begin papers, or, more likely, enjoy an early day at the bar or movies with friends. Students began to trickle in with questions about this and that. I had written the four big question marks on the blackboard that reflected what was in the syllabus. I deflected the questions of the students about what was happening that night until the class was almost full and the bell rang announcing six o‘clock had begun. The ―bell‖ was actually an electronic two-tone chime. It sounded much more like a doorbell. At the bell, I asked a student to please close the back door and I closed the front door of the classroom. This was a rule of Captains. If someone was late, they needed to give a written reason to be admitted. If the reason made sense to the Captain, she‘d write it off. If the reason included something like, I was at dinner and forgot the time, Captain‘s answer would be ―go back and enjoy the rest of your dinner, by all means, because you won‘t be counted as being here.‖ I was not quite as strict as my mentor, but, having been caught with open doors by the Captain early in the semester I learned to close them should she happen to come by the room. ―Okay, guys, let‘s get started. I know we‘ve got four big questions for tonight! And, here they are. Yes, come in Mike. You‘re late. The student started to protest and I simply said ―Write it down. Okay, now back to the big four questions. Question number one. Everybody got something to write with. Okay, Did you know there was a final exam for this class? Write down yes. Were All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 358

you aware it was a written paper rather than a scantron multiple choice? Write down yes. What is the final? Write down, I will write a paper of no fewer than 16 double spaced pages using a 14pt font. Yes, 14. Not 10 or 12. I don‘t want to go blind. If you don‘t know how to find the font size come up after class. Final question, What topic will you be covering. You may choose any theme, person or concept. You may support it or debate it. You may write about it‘s history and application. So long as it has to do with part of what we covered this year, you are in great shape. ―Now, as soon as you can turn in the four questions into me on your paper, with your name on it and the last five digits of your social security number, you can leave! LEAVE! Run amok! Amok, amok, amok!‖ I did a little hop, hop, hop and the amok scene from a Bette Midler movie. The students pens flew rapidly. They began to approach, and as I looked at the first paper turned in it read: 1) Yes 2)Yes 3)Paper – 16 pages – 14 points?? 4) What is human development? ―Okay, wait. Wait. Guys. I‘m going to have to add one step before you leave. I need to approve the topic. ―What is human development?‖ is not going to cut it. So, one more step. Get the topic okay and then run amok! The student, one of the frat boys with the white ball caps, took his paper back and went and sat back down.‖ About five minutes passed and then the students began to approach in earnest. Topics included ―Defense of Maslow‘s Theory of Hierarchy of Needs‖ to ―Theories That Show My Family is Insane‖. They were all good one this time around and by 6:30 there were only two students left. They were still trying to think of the title. I noticed neither one of them had a copy of the textbook with them. I went and got the teacher‘s edition and walked up to them. ―This might help you guys. This will allow you to pick a topic pretty easy, I bet.‖ One of the students piped up. ―Are you going to be the only one reading this paper?‖ ―Yes, most likely I will be the only one reading the paper, however, Dr. Sorrell reserves the right to read anything generated in this classroom.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 359

―There goes that idea,‖ the student said crumpling up the paper. ―What would you write about?‖ I gave the matter a moment of thought. ―I‘d probably write something about gay and lesbian identity development. Or, I‘d write on comparing two different theorists and compare and contrasts them.‖ I gave the students a few more minutes and the papers came in. ―Gay: Nature vs. Nurture‖ and ―Erikson and Maslow Similarities.‖ Amazing, I thought. Such originality, but I took the papers and sent them on their way. I‘d had two people absent that night which I would have to contact. I could hear Captain, ―Why bother, they don‘t come to class, why bother earning their A for them?‖ As soon as it was clear that the students were done, gone and not going to pop back in for some reason, I closed the class down with a few punches on the panel. I left a note on the door ―HDFS 3310 Students: See Mr. Manley for Tonight‘s Assignment During Office Hours Friday 1 – 4. You were late.‖ I‘d been looking forward to tonight. I hadn‘t had a big time, tear down party night in several weeks and Jeff, James and I were planning on being as loud, silly and chemically altered at Hunk‘s tonight. There was an out of town drag queen coming to perform and the club had been promoting the event for months. Jeff had, of course, been the one to suggest the event. I figured I was due a good time after living through all of the trials with Qutby, Captain and the demands of Texas Tech University. As I walked out of the College‘s doors toward my waiting Eclipse I dialed up Jeff‘s cell phone, ―Jeff the Queer, I be here!,‖ he answered. ―Hey, Jeffrey, I‘m heading out of class right now, where y‘at?‖ I asked. ―Girl, me and James are over at your place having cocktails. I knew you wouldn‘t mind. Come on home and let‘s get you dressed!‖ Normally I‘d be annoyed at the thought of Jeff and James making themselves at home in my apartment and drinking on my dime, but tonight wasn‘t for complaining. It was for partying. I had to be able to speak English again by tomorrow at 2:00 PM for a class. I‘d finished everything for that class All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 360

the weekend before. I didn‘t want any worries hanging over my head right now. I thought on the worry part as I was driving off the University‘s grounds and was waved through by the guard. I punched the number to ring up Captain at the next red light. ―Dr. Gwen Sorrell,‖ Captain answered. ―Captain! Hi there,‖ I greeted my mentor. ―Well, Hello, Reece, out so soon?‖ Captain asked knowing I had short teaching duties for the night. ―Yes, Captain. I only had two ‗no shows‘ and I left a note they could pick up the assignment during my Friday office hours.‖ ―Reece, I raised you better than that! You‘re getting soft in your old age,‖ Captain complained. ―You might as well write the papers for them!‖ ―Oh, Captain, it‘s not that bad. I just happened to know the two who didn‘t show up are cruising for barely passing any way. I figured they needed the break.‖ ―Well, it‘s your class. Remember though when you commit to be someplace you have to be there, so I better catch you Friday at your office! ― Captain said. ―Yes, Captain, I‘ll be recovered by then!‖ I said. ―Oh, my, that‘s right. You are going out tonight to see that drag queen thing. Well be very careful. Remember to use your stimulator remote,‖ Captain instructed. ―Oh, and Reece?‖ ―Yes, Captain?‖ ―Just in case, have a few condoms ready!‖ I felt the heat on my cheeks as I blushed,. ―But have a good time. If something doesn‘t work out and you want to drop by and see an old woman, I‘ll be at home tonight. You know you can call 24/7 and I‘ll be there. I may be grumpy, but I‘ll be there.‖ Captain meant every world of it, including the 24/7.

The Eclipse happily entered the parking garage as it had done so many times before. The little gate went up on Reece Manley, Instructor, Texas Tech University and came down on Reece Manley, gay man ready to be wild as one can be in Lubbock, Texas. I arrived at the apartment door and found it locked. I knocked and Jeffrey swiftly opened the door bowing deeply. ―Most honorable host, welcome to your home. So glad, you could make it. So glad you soon be most happy.‖ Jeff was doing a combination of Indian and Japanese that made no sense and sounded even worse. However, it was in the fun of the evening. ―Hey, Reece, thank you for the cocktails,‖ James stuck his head out of the kitchen. ―You are the best.‖ James was strikingly handsome tonight. He had a white linen shirt with a pair of painted on jeans. ―Wow, James. Will you marry me?‖ I jokingly offered. Jeff fake slapped me and said, ―Bad Reece. Not hit on boyfriend of best friend. Very bad joo joo. You see, many curses!‖ ―Okay, Jeffrey you know I was kidding. You look fabulous, too, by the way.‖ I recognized the Polo from my closet Jeff was wearing. ―I forgive most venerable Reece,‖ Jeff said, maintaining the odd voice. ―Stop with the weird voice! It‘s like Gandhi met a geisha girl!‖ Jeff frowned. ―I thought I was doing Australian. Oh, well, come this way,‖ Jeff grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. A shirt and jeans were laid out on the bed along with a pair of socks and shoes. ―Okay, get dressed. James and I went through your dismal wardrobe and found your 100% best chance at getting laid clothing.‖ Jeff reported. ―That is the last thing on my mind Jeffrey. I am simply going out to have a good time. And, as far as my dismal collection, I notice you are wearing my shirt,‖ I said. ―Yes, indeed, on you it‘s just a shirt, but on me it‘s yummy!‖ James laughed from the kitchen. ―On you it‘s just showing how cheap you are, Jeff!‖

―Shut up, boyfriend. I remind you I‘m in high demand in this little burg. Some of the reasons are even good. You are just jealous of the Jefabulousness which is me.‖ ―Oh, god. What a load of shit we are going to be putting up with,‖ James called again. I sent Jeff to the kitchen to mix a rum and coke while I got dressed. The jeans were a bit tight because of the trips to Riversmith‘s with Captain. Bariatric surgery can only do so much. I noticed the tappa tappa tappa was in perfect form. The pain was at bay and the little implant was happily working as it had been since the reimplantation. All systems were go. I walked into the living room where I was greeted with applause from Jeff and James joined in. ―You‘d never know you were such a stuffy, brainiac! I‘m so proud!‖ Jeff gushed. ―Rum and cock, I mean, rum and coke, sir,‖ James presented me with a cocktail. We stood looking out at the lights of Lubbock, Texas twinkling around us. ―Oh, guys, I‘ve got a surprise! Follow me. Bring your cocktails.‖ The view from my balcony was wonderful, if it‘d been any city in the world other than Lubbock it would have commanded much more money. But, Staci had left the word for me that the East Penthouse up on 17 was empty in passing last week. I told her I‘d like to take another look at it and she had lent me the key. I‘d forgotten to return it yesterday and hadn‘t yet gotten the message to return it. I dug in my pocket. First, I felt the remote. Secondly, I hit the ring I used to wear when Chris and I were together. The ring was a reminder never to do anything that stupid again. And, it was a pretty ring. I slipped it on my right hand. Then, in my other pocket I found the key. ―Okay, come this way!‖ We got in the elevator and hit the PH button and inserted the little key to reach that level. The elevator opened into the east Penthouse and I flipped the lights on. ―Well come on, girls, you‘ve got to see this view.‖ The cold air nipped at us as we stepped out onto the huge, rooftop balcony, a full top half of the building. ―Now is this cool or what?‖ I said. We walked around the balcony taking in the familiar sites of the city. When we‘d seen all of Lubbock there was to see, Jeff decided to propose a All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 363

toast. ―To good friends, good times, and Lord find me a Hunk and make him mine!‖ James rolled his eyes. ―Yeah, anything would beat having you as a boyfriend.‖ We clicked glasses and my mind made a little photograph. Friends up on the roof of Park Tower of Lubbock, Texas. I‘d revisit it in a couple of years, but not in a manner I would ever understand. At, least not completely. We finished the toasts made our way back to the apartment. We called a cab to take us there despite the protests of Jeff saying he could definitely drive the Eclipse and we could arrive with the roof down. Jeff lost the battle quickly, too cold and definitely not designated to drive. Ten buck‘s was a good investment to avoid any chance of a DWI. Hunk‘s was especially crowded, for a Wednesday night and so our usual booth was taken next to the stage, but its mirror spot was available. Jeffrey moved quickly to establish our reservation, throwing his cheap jacket onto the table and scribbling ―RESERVD‖ on a card he placed on it. James and I took in the scene and heard Brian‘s familiar call. ―Here comes trouble! Hi James, hey Doc!‖ We went toward the bar, Jeff joining us after having safely claimed a spot. After all, he wanted to be front row for the stage. Lady Lovestax didn‘t come to Lubbock often and Jeffrey wanted to have the front row view of the famous little Diva from Des Moines. If Jeff could have re-launched his gay career he would either be a bartender or a drag queen. One for being able to throw parties and get paid for it, or the other, for the silly, drunk fans who fixate on his shows and might follow him from place to place. After the bar, we visited the booth and then the bathroom and then the booth and then the bar. 10 became midnight-midnight became two. Became three. There were flashes of great fun! Jeff on stage with Lady Lovestax. Lady Lovestax on our table. The cute farmboy out for the first time in the ―big‖ city. Jeff hiding under the table when the police came through the bar. Laughter. Carefree. Low pain. A full out good time.

Chapter Thirty Nine – The Last Push Coming to the next morning was not a good time. My mouth tasted like Rum and was as dry as the dessert. I could hear the TV and low voices in the house. Pure, unadulterated sunshine of December 1 was rolling in from the balcony. I had my pajamas on but they were backwards. No mind, the urgency of the bladder made the spring to the rest room a necessity. Moving quickly with a hangover and an implant is not recommended. The feet tried hard to move quickly while reporting tappa tappa tappa and I stumbled left and right as if the room was moving (maybe it was moving!) before finding the bathroom. Relieved beyond belief I tried to summon more memory from the night before but it had been reduced in tiny flashes. But, nothing negative. Thank god. I turned to leave the bathroom and slip on my robe. My robe was not on the hook and I guessed Jeffrey had made use of it before I could get to it. I needed a bottle of water badly and stumbled toward the kitchen. Much to my surprise, I was met by someone wearing my bathrobe. Her hair was a mess, her make up was messed up and the she spoke in a baritone belying what really was under my robe. ―Hello, Mr. Manley,‖ said the Lady Lovestax, ―Thank you for such a lovely evening.‖ I glanced into the living room. One, two, four. Four bodies in various states of undress and one wide awake Drag Queen. I was going back to bed. The party had gotten to the wild side out for a while and I found the next few days to be easy to focus on again with few distractions, aside from calls to Jeff, Mom and the biding of the Captain on almost any topic. I wrote the papers I owed to the classes I was taking. I read and graded the papers turned in to me on Wednesday the 6th of December. Nearly seventy-five percent of my students had completed the papers and I promised them grades by next Tuesday. It never failed me how very different people can describe the same phenomenon. Not surprisingly, many of the students had done something about the Hierarchy of Needs which I had lectured on several weeks ago. But, the information in each one was diverse enough in style and that there wasn‘t any cheating going on. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 365

Texas Tech University is resplendent at Christmas season with red and white lights. The Carol of Lights, which officially signals the holiday season for hundreds of thousands of people on the South Plains. Students taking night courses had to dodge cars overpacked with Christmas revelers or a small child from Spade, Texas, brought to the ―big city‖ for the first time. The buildings were trimmed in holly and red ribbons. Looking down at it from balcony made the whole city seem a Christmas card‘. I had decided to throw a Christmas party for work colleagues, families and friends. Jeff had immediately decided to promote himself to co-host. I rented out the large club room on th 13th floor. We had gone whole hog, making certain the best liquors, cordials and wine were available with catered goodies. I had shifted over the last five months from Reece Manley, executive, to Reece Manley, doctoral candidate. I loved the life of academia. I loved teaching, imparting knowledge. It had become a passion as it had moved from a job, to something to be relished, something to be professional with. It brought with it new friends and new attitudes. My life had changed from fringe friendships to deep ties to colleagues with much in common. I had a new life and I liked it.‘ Jeff would always be a part of my life, though. He had simply been through too much with me for me to ever dismiss him. And, he could actually be helpful from time to time. I was driving home from being on campus for my last set of office hours. The next week would be finals so I planned on the evening to be a tame one. After I had made Jeff promise to be good, he had settled in for the role of hostess and did a great job. He did try to start a cash bar which I had to explain to him was not what I had planned for my gathering. As I explained the concept to Jeff of delivery of cocktails and canapés, he agreed to the gig. When I arrived hone, Jeff met me at the door. ―Come see! Come see!‖ Jeff was excited and fluttering about like a chicken sans its head. I followed him up to the clubroom. He had done a fabulous job. A Christmas tree had come somewhere in storage and little ornaments hung from lamp boxes to faux holly all-round the room. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 366

―Jeffrey, you‘ve outdone yourself! I surveyed the lights of Lubbock below. The city spread out twinkling through the floor to ceiling windows of the clubhouse. It was party ready. I reviewed the ground rules with Jeff. No, no cash bar. He should introduce everyone as they came in. Yes, he could take tips and soon he was flitting from group to group, taking orders and delivering them, making small talk and working the crowd. I found myself in a circle with my mom, my Uncle Marvin and his Harrison Ford rugged good looks and Captain, dressed out in purple, looking every bit the professor and beautiful lady she still was. I had bought new clothes for the event, too. We were definitely decked out. Captain was busy bragging on me to my Uncle Marvin and my Mom. She was making me blush a bit but it was a good kind of blush! As the praise continued a very strange thing happened. The tappa tappa tappa from the controller skipped a tappa. The pain shot through the missing tappa and I winced at it in surprise. ―Oh, Reece, you look tired. Want to sit. Are you okay,‖ Captain had noticed the look and was grabbing a chair for me. Then the device missed two tappas. The pain doubled and I started to move toward the chair. My mind beginning to form a dreaded fear. Finally, the tappas ceased and were replaced by just pain. And, then, a jolt. A jolt of white hot pain fired through my lower legs. It literally knocked me off of my feet. I missed the chair and instead went all the way to the ground, landing hard on my butt. A few people laughed thinking I had had one too many. But, Captain and Mom both saw the look of terror in my face as I fell downward. There was nothing to grab fast enough to decrease my descent. As I struck the ground, vibrations flew up my spine in tsunamis of pain. ―Pain meds, mom,‖ I managed to get out. Mom grabbed her key to the apartment and headed the short ride down. I would have to have the damn narcotics, and they didn‘t work nearly as well or as quickly as tappa tappa tappa. I carefully reached for the remote control to the SBCS. Again, a bolt through me knocked the breath from me. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 367

―Come on, Reece,‖ said my Uncle Marvin, ―let‘s get your on a chair.‖ My Uncle Marvin, one of my heroes since childhood, stood 6‘5‖ and weighed 220. His body was massively strong from the years of farming he‘d done to become one of the wealthier land owner and operators on the South Plains. He lifted me easily, gently up off the floor and into a chair. Applause came from a few people, including Jeffrey who added, ―Queen has one martini and can‘t find her chair!‖ As the pain grew and my face showed the fear, more people clued in something was wrong. I finally got the remote out of my pocked just as a shot a fire through my hand. The remote skidded down the table. One of the professors invited to the party instinctively grabbed it and slid it back down the table to me. I focused my hand to catch the damn thing and caught the tail end of it as it was going by. I rolled it over in my hand, I put it against the computer interface underneath my skin and pushed the button to turn off the unit. The sensations stopped immediately. I released a sigh of relief and then, I sobbed. Again? How could this be happening, again!? Fuck ! I motioned to Jeff as mom arrived back up from the apartment. The pain was intense enough I thought it would make me pass out. The dilaudid was not going to do it. I pulled myself together as well as I could. I told mom to keep the party going and I‘d be right back up. I gave Captain the same instructions and she nodded with a raised eyebrow. ―Remember, sometimes natural isn‘t really the best way, Reece.‖ I didn‘t have time to analyze the Captain‘s statement but I knew she was reading my mind. Holding on to Jeff and half limping to the elevator, we boarded for the short ride down to 11th. ―Jeffrey, I know you‘re holding. I need a couple of lines so I can go finish up this event.‖ Jeff started to protest, saw it was useless. ―Sure, you bet. You ‗ve got it,‖ Jeff said as we walked in. He went to the black lacquer dresser used for the white powder. I took the hit and half the pain banished, another and the rest disappeared to go on about a 30 minute journey before returning. That would be enough time to thank everybody at the party and let them know I appreciated them coming. As All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 368

I straightened my waistband I noticed a swelling at the top left hip where the implant computer was. It was tender but I couldn‘t tell how bad. ―Hey, Jeffrey, come here and look at this,‖ I said as I tried to get a look at my backside in the mirror. Jeffrey came in and turned his face to the wall. ―Reece, there are so many things that are so wrong about this. Never stare at your best friend‘s rear end. ― ―I‘m not asking you to look at my butt, Jeffrey. Look at this lump thing, is it swollen.‖ ―I swear to God, Reece, if I turn around and you are talking about certain anatomy being swollen I will scream date rape!‖ ―Shut up, Queen and look.‖ Jeff dramatically spun around and peeked through his hand. ―Well?‖ ―Reece, I don‘t know how to tell you this, but you‘re growing a third butt cheek. And, it‘s not an attractive thing at all.‖ ―Okay, great. Let‘s get back up there. Hand me my cane which is what we came down here to get okay. Now remember you are sparkling like a new Christmas bunny, so tone it down a notch.‖ We arrived back to the party to find Captain gathering her things and Mom getting ready to leave to come get me. Captain had been there for a couple of hours and that was about her speed. ―Well, Hello, Reece. I trust the pain is better?‖ ―I wish you were more correct. Let‘s say it‘s masked for just long enough to tell everyone I appreciate them for coming. Especially, you Captain. Do you need a cab, can someone give you a ride home.‖ ―Don‘t be silly. I had two martini‘s and that was an hour ago. Walk me down, if you can, Reece.‖ I told Mom and Marvin I would be back up, I did quick scan of the room and saw Jeff was chatting happily with a young man. ―Mom, tell Jeff I walked Captain down. Then, Mom, I need to see you in my apartment. Can you go down there and meet me for a minute.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 369

My mentor took my arm and I guided her through a hails and so good to see yous from every direction. As Captain and I boarded the elevator, ―Reece, what the hell is going on?‖ ―Jesus, Captain, I don‘t know.‖ I weighed the offense of showing the Captain my swelling versus having her believe I just was a cokehead. I opted for showing off my hiney. ―Captain, there is a swelling over the SCS and it isn‘t operating.‖ ―Fine, if you don‘t want to tell me, Reece...‖ Captain said in disbelief. ―No, really,‖ I said and pulled down my waistband. ―Reece, that‘s infected. I‘m almost sure of it. Do you want me to take you to the ER?‖ ―No thank you, Captain. I‘m about to show my mom and see if she thinks we should go or what.‖ ―You probably should go, Reece. The other cost of staying out of pain doesn‘t last for long. At least it never did for me. Shut your mouth, you‘ll catch flies. We all have pasts Reece. Here I am in the Datsun,‖ Captain said as we arrived at her tiny car. ―Reece, I want to tell you how proud I am for you and know how very afraid I am for you about this swelling. You will let me know, regardless of the hour, about what is happening, won‘t you? ―Captain, you‘ll be the first person I call.‖ As I turned to return to the elevator, I felt a horrible isolated feeling. It was if it were the last time I was going to see her. I watched the Datsun circle the garage and go up the ramp. I remember Captain‘s face. It seemed there was a tear running down one cheek. I couldn‘t be sure. It might have been the light. The elevator took me up to the party. The pain was still held at bay but I had cut off the stimulator and was leaning heavy on my cane. I arrived back to find the party beginning to disperse. People tried to avoid meeting my eyes, and when they did, they were only making excuses for having to leave. Jeff was back on duty trying to keep the motion going. People going through the motions of being at a festive Christmas party. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 370

I took Mom by the hand and said, ―You‘ve got to see something, Mom. Come with me to the apartment and take a look.‖ Mom popped from concerned to frightened in her face. At first she hesitated, I tugged at her hand and she finally came loose from her spot and followed me on the elevator. ―My god, you‘ve got to be kidding, you‘ve got to be kidding.‖ It was almost as if mom was experiencing the shock I should have been feeling but my unnatural high was overcoming my fear for the moment. The apartment was locked, which Jeff had been thoughtful enough to lock up. I opened the door and lead mom to the bathroom. If she saw the little white lines lined up on the dresser, she ignored them and followed me to the good lighting of the bathroom. ―Okay, Mom,‖ I said as I lowered my jeans enough for her to see the lump., ―what do you think.‖ ―Reece, I think it is, my god, baby, it‘s infected. Somewhere inside the implant,‖ mom said touching the growth. Her hands felt ice cold. ―Oh, Reece, baby this is bad.‖ Somewhere, sometime, during the second implant procedure, a very small problem had occurred. Dr. Qutby had decided to leave the original battery in and the right lead. It had seemed a better option than having to start from scratch. He didn‘t really think about the elements, they were no longer sterile. He had implanted the new lead and secured it with titanium. He had reinforced the remaining leads. I was open and exposed for less than an hour. However, that was enough time and space for an errant, floating virus called staph. Staph would be a part of my life for many years to come.

Chapter Forty – The ER Again The next morning, the pain was incredible as I took to my stomach on the examining table. The swelling was now the size of an orange. It hurt like hell, even in the face of double the pain medication. The table seemed oddly like my connection to reality as I clung to the edge of it, butt up, naked as a the day I was born under a blanket. As the prep nurse left, she said, ―Dr. Qutby is on his way, please stay in that position.‖ The position was where the swelling had been swiped down with butadiene and alcohol. A sterile field sheet had been applied to it with a circle in the middle for the target. I felt like one of the carnival pop a dart win a balloon prize. Step right up, bust the orange, win a huggie bear. ―Okay, Champ, ready to feel a lot better?‖ came the voice of Dr. Qutby. He was not loud and optimistic. He was rather sedate, for Qutby, and even a bit of, my god, what was that? Humility? ―Yeah, Doc. Whatever you‘re going to do, let‘s do it,‖ I said and Mom turned her attention to my face and away from what Qutby was doing. I could tell in her eyes it was going to be bad, so I braced a bit. ―Okay, Reece,‖ Dr. Qutby said, switching out of Champ mode, ―this is going to sting for a second and then it‘s going to feel much better. Ready, one, two, three...‖ The room moved in my field of vision and my brain took a little swim with reality from the penetrating, searing flashpoint of the needle. It pierced the swelling and immediately I could feel the substance rush from under my skin out through the needle. ―Jesus,‖ Qutby said under his breathe. Mom kept her eyes on my eyes not daring to look at what was happening. Another second and I was experiencing the sweetest relief I had ever had. The pain from the swelling released as muscles and skin were free to return to their normal positions as the fluid ran out of the little puncture. I felt Dr. Qutby remove the needle and soon felt the drain of the fluid down my right butt cheek. The sensation was heavenly. It was if the world‘s largest volcano had given birth right upon my body releasing pressure and pain, moving to evacuate everything possible from the little hole by the needle. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 372

―Okay, Reece, you‘re doing fine. I‘m just going to let this drain a little faster now that I have a sample. The nurse returned to the room. Qutby said to her ―Allow it to drain down to flat with the rest of the skin. I‘ll be over at the lab and right back.‖ Before leaving the room Qutby took a scalpel and allowed the wound a better channel for draining. My body shook in relief from the pain. It was an amazing sensation, freeing and relieving of all of the pain almost instantly. And, now with the incision, the flow doubled as did the relief. I moaned with pleasure bu mom‘s eyes still never left mine. That made me nervous. If mom couldn‘t look at what was happening then I certainly had no business knowing what was going on. All I knew was the pain was disappearing and that was all that mattered. It seemed to last for hours but according to the clock it had only been twenty minutes. There was such incredible, blessed relief I almost feel asleep. But just as soon as the relief from the ―hump‖ came the feet reminded me I was still a slave to pain. But, at least it was a pain I was used to. ―Honey,‖ said the nurse, ―We‘ve got it all out, I‘m going to put a dressing on it and bandage real quick then you can get dressed okay.‖ As the nurse sat about her duties, Mom scooted up to me. ―Are you better, baby?‖ Mom asked as she rubbed my head. There was a fear in her voice which I didn‘t quite understand. ―Yeah, Mom, it feels so much better. It‘s just amazing.,‖ I answered, ―Don‘t worry, it‘s going to be okay.‖ ―Yes, honey, one day it will be all okay, let‘s see what the doctor has to say,‖ she answered. ―Plus, I‘ve got finals and I‘ve got to wrap up my class. It‘s going to be a busy two weeks!‖ Mom nodded, again fearful, but not voicing the fear. We made small talk for the next 30 minutes. Classes, Jeff, her marriage, the mistake of Chris and the joy of Captain all were chatted about. Mom and I had had precious little time to visit and now was a chance to get caught up, even under these circumstances. We were sharing a laugh as Dr. Qutby came in, almost somber.

―Reece,‖ Dr. Qutby began, ―We‘ve got a problem. The fluid I drained showed staph.‖ ―You showed what to your staff?‖ I asked not getting it. ―No, staph, as in staphylococcus. It is a very bad, very mean little virus, buddy. And, somehow, it got in and it‘s very dangerous, buddy. We‘ve got to get all of the SCS out of you completely.‖ Dr. Qutby sat down and sighed next to me on the table. He hung his arm around me in consolation. It didn‘t strike me what he was saying. I couldn‘t comprehend the concept for a minute. I‘d been freed from pain but now I was going to be exiled to it again? ―Oh, god, no,‖ Mom said. ―Has it spread throughout his body? How high are the levels?‖ Her voice went from the friendly, gentle person that was my Mother to the inquisitive, angry nurse. I picked up on her danger tone much as any animal picks up signals from its mother. Nature provided us with a warning system somewhere in our deepest recesses. Her tone said danger and I froze. Frightened. ―I won‘t know until I get in what all has happened. We‘ll admit him now and get the IV‘s going,‖ Qutby said. ―We‘ll hit it hard and plan on everything being okay.‖ Mom looked angry, deeply angry. ―How did this happen, Dr. Qutby? How?‖ Parts of my mind were getting the idea. It was over. The trip to relief was over. Had God done this? Why? Why me? I was lost in the confusion. I was being dressed back into the gown. Transported to a hospital room. The IV‘s went in. Monitors strapped to me. Nurses flowing in and out wearing masks and disposable gowns. The ISOLATION flap on the door was turned on. Mom didn‘t care what protocols were she was going right ahead and staying by my side. More nurses. More medications. Demerol. Cloudy thoughts. Mom in tears. In tears by my bed, in tears on the phone to Ross. To my Dad. Somewhere in all of it, Jeff came in bickering with a nurse about protocol and he couldn‘t be there right now. ―You better step off, bitch,‖

came Jeff‘s voice. ―Sir, I will call security.‖ ―Make the call, I‘ll be in here.‖ Jeff had brought the most pathetic little set of flowers I‘d ever seen. They must have been the United Florist‘s Sale Items. But, he‘d brought them. ―Posey‘s for a princess,‖ he said regaining his composure to the happy, little gay boy versus the quarrelsome queen. ―What in THE hell is going on with you, girl?‖ Mom spoke gently, ―Easy Jeffrey, don‘t get too close. Your immune system wouldn‘t like what Reece has got going on right now.‖ Again, the subtle tone of danger. Animalistic in its form and spreading much better than the spoken word. ―Why, what‘s he got? You better not be dying on me, bitch, that‘s this queen‘s excuse!‖ Jeff often joked about his HIV status, although they always made me more sad than amused. ―Well, I don‘t think I‘m going to die, they‘ve got enough antibiotics to kill a horse. Speaking of which,‖ I sniffed, ―What the hell is the smell?‖ Jeff laughed. ―The lunch lady is coming through, or dinner lady .... whatever that cart is...‖ A person wearing a mask and a cap shuffled in and announced I would not be fed because they had scheduled me for surgery. ―Damn, that was fast,‖ I said. Mom looked relieved. ―It‘s good they are going to get on top of this thing, Reece. This staph stuff is bad business.‖ The word made Jeff hop up off of the bed he‘d just sat on and land in a chair. ―That‘s a bad word,‖ Jeff said. ―At least they say it‘s a bad word at the Aids Resource Center. Mom, what is it?‖ Jeff called Mom ‗mom‘ and she didn‘t miss a beat. ―Honey,‖ she said, ―It‘s a little infection that can be really resistant to treatment. You don‘t know what the heck it‘s going to do. So, you don‘t get real close to Reece, okay?‖ Jeff nodded. ―I‘ll admire from afar, I believes then Miss Reece, if yous don‘t mind.‖

―As long as you are admiring me,‖ I said. ―Thanks for coming Jeffrey, I appreciate you breaking this up a little bit. Mom, are you going to stay. Please can you stay.‖ ―Yes, honey, of course. I‘ll be here,‖ Mom said. ―Me, too,‖ Jeff said, ―It‘s a hard gig to get, a best friend, but it‘s one I can live with.‖ The nurse entered again and took my vital signs again. The second time in 30 minutes. ―They are serious about this surgery happening quickly,‖ Mom said, ―or she would be in here so fast for another reading. You need to get ready baby.‖ How do you get ready for surgery. This would be the third time under the gas in two months. I felt like it was getting to be a routine I knew fairly well. And, soon, it was repeated. There was the ride to the pre-operation area. The blue and white tiles on the ceilings. The little shot of relaxation as the nurse got me ready for the anesthesia. The physician came in that would be giving me the gas and the magic juice. I dutifully signed his sheet. The familiar cold, sterile smell of the room. A few jokes between me and the guy a curtain over. The relaxation did come with the shot but it wasn‘t enough to put me out. ―What are you in for?‖ asked the man behind the curtain. ―Getting something pulled outta my back,‖ I answered. ―How about you?‖ ―Damned if I know. Something with my heart. I was just sitting at home a few hours ago and then to the ER and here I am. I sure hope they got the right guy!‖ ―Well if I wake up with a scar on my chest I‘m gonna be mad.‖ ―And, if I wake up with a cut on my ass I‘ll know who to come for.‖ We had bonded through the curtain in a collection of anxiety. The operating rooms waited for us, buzzing with activity getting sterile after the previous butchery. Clean, shiny, cold, sterile. All of the necessary check marks were indeed in place. ―Hey, Champ...err, Reece, you ready for a quick snag?‖ asked Dr. Qutby as he approached from the surgical room. ―Again, buddy, I‘m so All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 376

sorry this happened. I‘m so sorry.‖ His eyes misted. I misted right back. ―I‘ll take good care of you, promise.‖ One of the very few times I ever saw it in my life, a physician was in humility. He hadn‘t delivered. He had failed. Failed. ―Failed,‖ I said. ―Mr. Manley, wake up for me, Mr. Manley. Come on. There you are.‖ I was so confused by the voice. Where was I? Why was I in so much pain. ―Come on and wake up for me Mr. Manley.‖ ―I‘m awake, damn it,‖ came the words from my mouth. ―I‘m awake. And, this hurts!‖ I found my strength in my voice and suddenly I didn‘t care. ―Ahhhhhhrrrgh!‖ I screamed. The nurse jumped. I inhaled and I screamed again. It was a cross between pain and the unjustice of it all. And, the taste of hate. I remembered as I was going under the gas, Qutby had made a comment, a joke, about ‗faggot‘ position to the nurse. I‘d gone under the gas with the words ―fail‖ and ―faggot‖. The pain fed the anger. ―Get me something for the pain, now!‖ I demanded. The nurse didn‘t know which way to turn. This seemed to make me more angry. ―Now!‖ I said. ―Let me go get it, Mr. Manley, now calm down.‖ ―I won‘t calm down until you get my mom. I want my Mom.‖ I shouted at her. It hurt so bad and it fed the anger to rage. The nurse was preparing the pain medicine ordered for when I was awake. She injected it quickly. ―Okay, now I‘ll go get your, mom. Breathe, Mr. Manley. Stay calm.‖ ―Now!‖ I demanded. The nurse was baffled by my anger, as she should have been. Faggot position. I promise I‘ll take care of you. Faggot position. Promise. The thoughts ran through my head as fast as they could come. Mom was ushered in quickly. ―Hey baby,‖ mom said. ―That was quick, you were just in there for a little over an hour. How are..., baby, what‘s wrong,‖ I was trying to talk and cry in the same moment and the blathering came out as ―promised...he...called...faggot‖ . All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 377

―Calm down, baby, calm down,‖ I was shaking from the pain and the anger. I cried hard and when mom leaned close I grabbed her and held my head to her chest like the child I was. And cried. Cried. ―Reece, what‘s going on now? The surgery went fine.‖ Mom said. ―I know, momma, it‘s not that. It hurts so bad. And, then when I was going under the gas Qutby said they‘d put me in faggot position.‖ Mom heard me through the crying, half-English language I was spewing. ―I‘m sorry sweetheart, let‘s see if we can‘t get you back to the room.‖ Mom asked the nurse and came right back. Within two or three minutes I was being wheeled back to the room. Mom was beginning to seethe about the ―faggot‖ comment, too. The more I calmed down, the more Mom became angry. She knew some powerful people here at St. Mary of the Plains Hospital. She‘d worked on their floors before. She‘d been a top nurse before she‘d left to join the state system. I‘ll still never know exactly who she talked to. She still gets angry over it today. But, she said words to the right ears and the fire was touched off. A fire that would culminate with Dr. Qutby bringing me flowers the next morning. ―We got it all out, Reece. I‘ll be turning your case over, now, for the wound care. The wound will have to be seen to because of the staph in the tissues. I‘m not for sure what they‘ll want to do. But, I want you to know I‘ve left orders that will keep you very comfortable for the next couple of days while you decide what you want to do.‖ Qutby turned to leave that morning, the last thing he‘d ever say to me, ―Hey sport, call off your mom if you can, I‘m sorry about the faggot thing. It‘s not something I‘d ever say if I thought you were still conscious...so I‘m sorry. But, man, really please. She‘s making a stink. Okay, good luck.‖ It amazed me how easily a doctor could be done with you. He had been a savior but now he was just a used car salesman. And, a bad one at that. I felt he was due no more respect than that. Probably due less than that anyway.

The next Sunday, I happened to notice he had a full page ad in the paper advising the public he was a strong Christian who was performing miracles of pain management every day. Liar. Hypocrite. I had one visitor that was unusual during my time between the release by Qutby and the assumption of Dr. Wolcott. She was a small, old nun. Her English was bad. But she walked with an air of authority and power. After all, this hospital was owned by the Sisters of Orange County and this was one such Sister. I awoke to her praying quietly over me. It was very late at night, or very early in the morning. ―Hello, Sister?‖ I said as I came to. She smiled at me. She took my hand in her hand, small, wrinkled and aged. They looked like Captain‘s hands. I wondered for a second if the two might be friends. Such different spectrums but both living with great compassion. ―You get better, now,‖ she smiled as she spoke. ―You get better. I‘m glad you are okay. We will take good care of you now.‖ She left and I felt better. A word of kindness is a powerful word. Especially in the middle of the darkness.

Chapter Forty One – The Hopeless Case of Wounds It was over the next two days the entire damage of the experience was to be revealed. The third morning after the surgery to remove the staph infected device it was noted the wound was not healing. As cold as flatly as if delivering a tax bill report, my new guardian, Dr. Wolcott, said, ―It‘s not going to close without help. Reece, this is going to be a daily process for the next 60 days or so. It won‘t be a lot of fun. But, it is necessary.‖ He had me roll over on my back so he could look at the wound left by the removal of the device. I felt fluid spill forth from the wound as he removed the gauze bandage and looked at it. With a low whistle, he said, ―Man, that was close.‖ ―Close to what?‖ I asked, trying to be still as a thousand ants crawled over my skin from the bottom of my spine and over the right butt cheek. He pressed lightly and the ants all stung at once, I winced up. ―Yeah, that‘s going to be the one that is going to be the challenge.‖ ―Doc,‖ I said, ―I still don‘t see where you are going with all of this. Close to what?‖ ―Close to getting into your full bloodstream. You probably don‘t feel like it, but you really dodged what could have been a fatal infection. A few more days and there would have been little we could have done given the strain of staph and it virulence,‖ Dr. Wolcott continued in his matter-of-fact tone. ―I‘ll be placing you on some very strong antibiotics the next 48 hours and we‘ll see how you do. But, this on your back, it, well, it‘s a patch of dead skin trying to hold in place.‖ ―How big of a patch?‖ it seemed a logical question to ask. ―Hmm, oh,‖ Dr. Wolcott pulled out a measuring prong. It is 4 inches long, 2 inches wide and, hmm, about one-half inch deep. About the same as your index finger.‖ ―Okay, so how do we do this?‖ I asked trying to roll over and face him. ―Stop, easy now, I‘ve got you wide open. I can see all the way down to your spinal column. Please be still. How we are going to do this is to All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 380

clean the wound, try to grow skin cells and transplant them into the wound.‖ I couldn‘t afford to be here for this long. Not money afford but afford in delay of my duties, classes, papers, grading. This was crunch time and I was about to be impossibly behind. ―Let‘s get this first treatment over with, shall we?‖ ―Yeah doc, let‘s do it.‖ A nurse came in shuffling in booties and in a mask. She brought with her a tray of instruments for the good Dr. Wolcott.‖ ―Okay, Reece, let‘s prepare for a local. You‘ll feel a sting and then it will go numb. When it goes numb, I‘m going to scrape all of this dead stuff out the way, pack it and then tape you up good. It‘s going to go from the ‗very annoying‘ to ‗very uncomfortable‘ to ‗very much relieved‖. Okay, here comes the local,‖ He poked the necrotic tissue area with lydocaine , a local anesthetic. The burn was immediate and serious. Burrowing itself deep inside my back and into the tissues surrounding the opening. A brand new torture experience began. The scalpel Dr. Wolcott held went about removing dead skin to all that remained was pink and bloody. I saw puss, grey flesh and other mysterious material placed in the collection dish that was supposed to be placed just outside of my vision. The nurse, however, had set it a bit too close. Chunks, then strips came out of the wound. I couldn‘t handle anymore and tried to look away but instead my stomach twisted and released its meager contents onto the floor of the room. ―I guess that means you‘ve had about all you can stand for today, okay. We‘ll pack it,‖ came the robotic advice. Mom came in toward the end of the procedure. Her eyes were tired, worried eyes. As she came in she knew the scene. Again, as a nurse, she had been the top of her field and nothing happening in a hospital was an unknown procedure to her. ―We‘re just not going to catch a break, are we, Reece?‖ She hugged me and waited for the nurse to finish packing the wound and got me upright, a little on my left side to avoid any pressure. I still had tons of IV‘s emptying every antibiotic known to man. She had a few words with the doctor. ―Yes, it was going All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 381

to require debridement in order to heal. Sixty days or so. Bloodwork was showing the infection was gone. Yes, we‘d be out of the hospital soon.‖ The conversation went quickly. ―Mom, what exactly is going on?‖ I asked knowing it was a place I could get some straight answers. All of the hospital staff seemed to cast their eyes down as if somehow ashamed of me or of what had happened. ―Honey, you‘re safe from dying is the good news. Qutby was generous with his pain medication so you should be fairly comfortable, but, baby boy, you‘re not going to get your Texas Tech stuff done. There just isn‘t any way.‖ Mom had stated the obvious. It was time to talk to Captain. It was the next morning, grey, cold and raining off and on. There was a hard bite in winter against the window of the hospital. I was going home that afternoon. Actually, I was going home to Dallas. It had been decided by Mom, Dad and I that the health risks were too great not to have the best of the best. Money was new and flush in the family. Dad had reached multi-millionaire status and his son was going to have the best care money could buy. Mom was free, having extracted herself from an abusive marriage, her last, over her husband‘s hatred for her children and his emotional abuse of her. And, I, well, I simply was nothing anymore. Nothing but Reece Manley, disabled, sick, in pain and unable to perform at a ―level of ability or competency to meet the ongoing post-Doctoral specialization in Human Development and Family Studies.‖ The official ticked reason on the form letter from Texas Tech was ―Severe, permanent physical disability‖. And a little later on the form, another check on the box reading, ―Making Excellent Academic Progress, Return Available No Conditions. May re-enter with physician release.‖ I read it over and over. And, cried. Not just cried but mourned. I walked through the College in my mind. Everything was automated, and I wondered if my passcode would still bring things to life. If locks would obey me, of if they would simply blink red twice, signifying an ineligible access. I stood in Captain‘s office. Not the office All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 382

of Gwen Sorrell, PhD, Head of Women‘s Studies, with its mahogany walls and rich fabrics. But, the little old office I used to make myself at home in. Office 406. Blue and white tiles indicating an old institution. Peering from that office out on the students coming up to the College of Human Sciences. Catching the face of one of my students. Looking up, recognizing me and waving. Or, better yet, breaking eye contact and trying to be terribly busy. In my mind I wondered through the ―catacombs‖ of graduate student desks. Our cubicles, the mailroom. The mailroom where I would find a little check made out to me for my due efforts. I thought about the presentations I had made. The students. The special ones who had cried and laughed throughout the semester. The students who shared the simple joy of the experience of acquiring insight into how the human development theories came together. I was lost in this revelry when I head the familiar, ―Well, Hello, Reece,‖ of my Mentor. ―Captain!‖ Feet be damned this woman was getting a hug and I hugged her tightly as she wiggled a bit trying to at least make a shoulder only embrace. Her boundaries were perfectly intact and mine were perfectly forgotten. ―There, there, now, Ensign. You‘ll break something in one of us and then my guilt will be complete.‖ We collected ourselves and sat on the side of the bed next to each other, facing each other with a feeling of complete warmth. ―What the hell did they do to you, Ensign.‖ ―Apparently, resistance is not futile. My body did not take kindly to implants,‖ I said making a Star Trek reference to the Borg. ―I should say not. What did they do, spit on them before placing them in? That‘s the problem with hospitals, they are full of sick people and little nasty bugs.‖ ―You should probably mask up according to protocol,‖ I said pointing to the SECLUSION bar on my door. ―I be full of bugs.‖

―Poppycock. You are no more contagious through the air than any other poor soul in this place. I‘ve been in the hospital admin business, briefly, and it‘s just a scam to sell paper masks!‖ ―Well, the nurses have bought into it. ― ―Other than your mom, I haven‘t seen many attractive nurses. I think perhaps it‘s down for the purpose,‖ Captain joked trying to bring some smile to my space. Melancholy came over me. ―I‘m sorry to have failed, Captain, on my first mission.‖ Captain‘s face lit up as she reached into her flapper bag and pulled out a stack of papers. They were exit interviews from my students for the class I‘d done save the last session. I did my best Sally Fields, ―They like me, they really like me.‖ ―Yes, almost everyone was perfect. I haven‘t seen one that complimentary since classes began.‖ She handed over the piece of paper that had the hallmark curved letters of one of the female students in my class. ―I not only learned, but I changed my life. Next time you teach a class, be certain you let me know. Even if I don‘t need it, I‘ll be there!‖ I smiled. ―Oh and this one,‖ Captain said slipping another one out. ―You should be the lead professor for this program, you understand much more than Dr. Sorrell!‖ ―A very confused young mind,‖ Captain said. ―How did you warp them so? Even the one who were failing said nice things about you, Ensign. Didn‘t you get the memo to make them miserable whenever possible? I mean, we can‘t have happy, satisfied students. That makes Engineering so jealous they won‘t string lights next year.‖ Captain and I sat and talked for a long time. We covered our first meeting. The first class I had taken. What had made me special to her? We talked about our lunches and dinners at Catfish Station. We talked about cocktials at Jay‘s. We laughed about the time I‘d been caught using her password. Levity was the word of the day and we were two friends celebrating the wonderful friendship we had had.

―Captain.... Gwen,‖ I said, ―Thank you for being so kind and so wonderful to me. I don‘t know why you and I clicked so well, but I couldn‘t ask for a better mentor or advising professor.‖ ―Well, Reece, you are welcome,‖ she said giving me an arm around my shoulder. ―You are a part of my life from here on out and it is a wonderful part of what I will accomplish in my life. You are one of the ones which did become special.‖ I couldn‘t believe it, but Captain did something I had never seen her do, she got misty eyed. Then tears, then my arm behind hers. ―It‘s okay Captain. It‘s okay.‖ ―No it won‘t be. Who‘ll grade my papers for me that really gets how this place works and how the school is supposed to operate? Do you know how hard it is to shape a bridge officer?‖ Captain pulled herself together. A smile spread out over her face. ―Reece, you‘re going to be here anyway, just lying around. Would you like some papers to grade?‖ I had to shake my head now. ―It‘d be unethical, Captain.‖ ―Damn,‖ Captain said, ―I‘ve trained you too well, Ensign. You are just about the perfect assistant! But this autonomical thinking had got to go.‖ ―Maybe your next one will be better behaved?‖ I offered. ―Next one, hah, I‘m getting to old to invest in another one so emotionally and completely. After all I can‘t have everyone knowing my secret about Catfish Station. That‘s classified by the way.‖ ―I know, Captain. There are many, many things classified on both ends.‖ ―Reece, I‘ve got to ask, Chris is completely out of your life, isn‘t he?‖ Captain said it in a tone and with a look that commanded total honesty. ―Yes, ma‘am. He is. Chris was...was desperation,‖ I started, ―Desperation to have acceptance, to have the boyfriend. He was the acknowledgement to myself and to the world that I was indeed gay.‖

―That‘s crushing to hear, Reece. Chris was the completion of nothing. He was a huckster. He was the evil that comes around and breaks down our community. He is everything that is wrong with the gay male culture. Selfish, arrogant, angry and entitled. I see it everyday, Reece. Of course, we women have our own flippants. You know what they call two lesbians with a U-haul? A second date.‖ Captain repeated the old joke. ―Reece you are worthy of so much more. I know you‘re friend Jeff is something you indulge. But, there is some joy there and some fun. And, he‘s likable and for the most part harmless. But, Chris, oh, Reece. How could you?‖ ―I‘ll never before have done anything that stupid, Captain, and I shall never do anything that stupid again.‖ ―Good because I almost pulled that ring right off of your finger. I knew you were making a mistake and I could see you going right down that bunny trail. The world is full of mad rabbits, Reece. Don‘t go following any more of them. They all bite and you are too good to have those experiences. You‘re just too good for it. Period. Keep up with the ring, Reece. One day you‘ll find somebody that‘s worth it. Somebody that makes you feel proud of yourself and what you stand for. Save that ring for them, Reece. Save that ring for them, Reece.‖ ―I promise, Captain. I won‘t be putting rings on for a long while.‖ ―Well, Reece, I‘ve got to get back, and you need your rest,‖ Captain began her goodbyes. We hugged, made one more checklist of the strange and wonderful friendship she and I had shared. As she turned to go, ―One more thing, Reece‖ ―Yes, Captain?‖ ―Just so you know, all hailing frequencies will remain open,‖ Captain said. ―I know that, Captain. You, too.‖ The hailing frequencies between Captain and I closed as she walked out of the room though neither of us knew we‘d never see each other again. I would go down a terrible, perilous path and think of her often. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 386

She would develop pancreatic cancer in three years and be gone in a few months after the diagnosis. She would come to my mind with her ideas and words many, many times. But as clearly as I can hear her voice, it would never come from her physical body again. Captain disappeared down the hallway. And, with a few footsteps, out of my life.

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Part Three Chapter Forty Two – Christmas 2005 The wound made it clear that life in Lubbock was coming to an end. The challenges had been too great for my body. The pain had been horrible. It was time to move to Dallas for better treatment and better pain management. My Mom came dutifully every day to take me into Dr. Wolcott‘s office. The two times she was unavailable, Jeff was more than happy to drive. The wound was simply not closing. Wolcott tried skin grafts. They did not take. I went on all sorts of supplements. Vitamin A, D, K. I took supplements. Each day, at first, and then every other day I would report to Lubbock Wound Care. I would face the burn of the deadening agent. The scraping, cutting and clipping of dead flesh. The suctioning out of pulp that was left over. And, then it would be stuffed with an ointment and bandages. The cycle would repeat itself two days later. Still I fought against the reality of being finished in Lubbock and desperately held on to the idea. I wanted the miracle that would deliver me back to Captain‘s care and the hallowed halls of Texas Tech.

Christmas of 2005 found me waking up alone in Lubbock. The family had gathered in Dallas but I was still under the care of Wolcott. A home health worker came out and sat with me. Cards had been sent. Even, Jeffrey had gone home for the holidays. It was to hardest holiday I had ever endured. And in the loneliness, a thought began to form that would haunt me for years. I wanted to be dead, I wanted to be done. I wanted to give up. And, give up, more or less, I did. The letters from Texas Tech the next few days did not make me feel any better. They were the cold, official documents of dismissal from the program. Dismissal from the ability to register for spring classes. The dismissal of my stipend for working with Captain. Then, the bill I owed them for all of the missed time due to medical appointments. It had been quite a mess on paper. Even worse to live through. I keep looking for a All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 388

note or a card from Captain in the middle of all of the junk mail. But none came. Jeff was becoming less and less reliable. The demon of crack cocaine had found him and he had embraced it whole heartedly. People who don‘t think drugs are available in small west Texas towns are wrong. Drugs, the scene, the ―life‖ can be found everywhere. For me, since Jeff was not available on that day, Christmas 2005, I had a paid sitter. The home health aide for Christmas day was a large African-American lady who was scheduled to be with me until 4 that afternoon and had arrived at 8. Her name was Aleka. Or Aleeka. I never did figure that out. The poor dear arrived at my doorstep and was delighted to find me on my feet and mobile. ―Oh, praise Jesus, I was afraid I was gonna spend the day giving sponge baths and changin‘ diapers. Not that there is anything wrong with that, you know, it‘s just not something you look forward to. Good Morning and Merry Christmas, you must be Mr. Manley.‖ She had managed to get the entire barrage out from the front door to the end of my short hallway. ―Hi Aleeka, Merry Christmas to ya,‖ I said less than halfheartedly. ―How are you doing today?‖ ―Why, me, Mr. Manley, I am blessed. I am blessed, Mr. Manley. Yes, sir. Blessed. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Manley. Hmm. It just said wound change on your orders. You wanna get that out of the way? I mean if we do the work, we can both relax can‘t we.‖ She reached down in her kit which was a good trick given her size. She came back up with scissors and tape. ―Whoops, I gotta duck in there one more time. Jesus, give me strength. Come on, Aleeka.‖ She again dived down to her back and came up with gauze.‖ She was out of breath. I somehow thought she might pass out over the overture to the bending, but she stayed smiling as a used car salesman. ―Alright, Mr. Manley. This wound is on your back side. Well no wonder you still in your PJ‘s. If I had a wound on my butt, I would be wearing nothing but some loose ole panties.‖ The thought struck her as funny and she laughed a roll of joy. Despite myself I allowed the image All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 389

and it did make me giggle. ―Oh, praise Jesus, Mr. Manley. He made us each a different size! Praise Him for variety.‖ ―Okay, now, Mr. Manley, where you wanna do this little bit of dressing change?‖ I got up and led her to the bedroom. I lay down so she could get to the top of the right half of my upper hind end.‖ ―Why say, you can see all of Lubbock from up here, can‘t you?‖ she commented as she looked out the window. ―Oh, and it‘s got a balcony. Oh, I just gots to see, Mr. Manley, do you mind.‖ I was laying on my belly with my PJ‘s down and she wanted to take a self-guided tour. Sure what the hell. ―Yeah, just slide that and walk out, but be careful. It can make you dizzy if you look down.‖ ―Oh, don‘ you fear, Mr. Manley. I‘m not going to be looking down. It crazy of fools to look down from a high place. I mean why you want to look down there? You already been down there. It‘s up here you ain‘t been. Take in the view from here.‖ With a couple of swishes and shifts, Aleeka managed to get out on the balcony. ―Wooo-heeee Mr. Manley you can see everything all the way to the other side of Tech campus. You ever hear of Texas Tech, Mr. Manley? Oh, lookin‘ me asking. Everyone heard of Texas Tech. Sure nuff a pretty view though, ain‘t it.‖ She stayed on the balcony for a few moments taking it all in. ―Oh, look at me leaving you half in a lurch. I‘m sorry Mr. Manley,‖ she squeezed back in the sliding glass door, ―Alright, Mr. Manley, let‘s do this little bit of a thing. I got‘s to get my gloves. I forgot my gloves. You stay just like this. Lord Jesus, get those gloves,‖ she said to herself. I heard Aleeka moving around in the other room. It was the shuffle of the morbidly obese. I used to make the noises so I could identify them. There was the shuff-shuff, shuff-shuff (walking noise of the inner thighs rubbing up against eachother) the puff-puff (breathing hard to take a couple of steps), the deep inhale (about to do some activity), and then the ―Oh, Jesus, have mercy! Lord Jesus have mercy! (unidentified action). A moment of silence then the shuff-shuff as she returned back to the bedroom. ―Now, I wouldn‘t know what to do if I didn‘t have a nice man All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 390

like you to work with today. No sah, I was afraid you was gonna be some old mean man and here you are just as nice as a little angel, praise Jesus, I‘m blessed,‖ Aleeka continued as she got to the wound dressing. ―Now, Mr. Manley, you know and I know this is gonna hurt like hell. It ain‘t gonna be a little uncomfortable, it ain‘t gonna sting a bit, you and me both know it gonna hurt like hell so let‘s just be honest about it. If you needs to screams, screams. I just wanted you to know. Okay, here I go,‖ Aleeka said pulling the dressing free of the wound. She was right, it hurt like hell, but I just bit my lip. ―Lord, Jesus, Mr. Manley, you gots a hole in your back. What the heavens they do to you?‖ I told Aleeka my life story, the abridged version anyway. ―I‘s such a fool, Mr. Manley,‖ Aleeka was crying big wet tears rolling down her cheek. ―Those things I say about Texas Tech. I had no idea, Mr. Manley, I had no idea,‖ Aleeka placed the clean dressing over the wound as she sobbed. ―It‘s okay, Aleeka, it‘s okay. These things happen,‖ I tried to reassure her. ―Now why don‘t you let me pull up from here.‖ I‘d learned that it hurt a lot less if I were able to grab somebody‘s extended arm or shoulder so I could use my upper body to move myself rather than relying on the legs just to do the work. ―Let me have your left arm and you just stay still,‖ I told her. Aleeka braced for my pull. I hefted up and she didn‘t move an inch. It was something akin to climbing up a little hill until my feet found the floor underneath them. Aleeka‘s eyes were still full of tears. ―I‘m so sorry, Mr. Manley.‖ ―Aleeka,‖ I soothed, ―You didn‘t do any of these things. All you‘ve done is help me. You did a wonderful job!‖ Aleeka still sobbed. ―Let‘s go have a seat. Do you need a coke?‖ Aleeka nodded. So, in true fashion, I began to take care of the Home Health Care agent. I got her sat down, got her tissues and got her a coke. ―There now,‖ I said, ―isn‘t that better?‖ Aleeka nodded and finally seemed to realize where she was and what she was supposed to be doing.

―Mr. Manley, you ain‘t supposed to be waiting on me, I‘m supposed to be waitin on you!‖ ―You just needed a minute. It‘s a hard story to take in. I know,‖ I told Aleka. Aleeka simply replied, ―Don‘t it beat all just when you need some kindness, some come from somewhere.‖ ―So tell me, Aleeka, why are you workin on Christmas,‖ I asked? ―Mr. Manley, I‘m blessed to have a job, I know. And, have a job that pays a little extra on holidays. I‘ve got two at home I ‗ve got to get through high school. One wants to go to college and one wants to go to the army.‖ ―Oh, really, boy and a girl or two boys or two girls?‖ ―Both, boys. They both boys.‖ ―How about their father?‖ She wasn‘t wearing a wedding ring. ―He‘s locked up and that‘s where he belongs. He got off into that drug stuff and running with that crowd. He‘s acting a fool, like he‘s 15 and not 35. But, I got my two boys from him, so I just thank Jesus for that.‖ ―Where are they today?‖ I asked. ―They‘s over at my momma‘s house. I‘m supposed to go over there after I get done here. I miss being with them on holidays but the pay is so much better.‖ ―What do they pay you to baby sit me, anyway? ―Mr. Manley, you know I can‘t tell you that. They‘d fire me in a half second. They don‘t even play around with that rule. They teach you that before they even teach you medical stuff. ― ―Well, Aleeka, whatever it is, it isn‘t enough. Now I want you to go home. Give me your little number and I‘ll call the system and punch it in.‖ I‘d learned that home health care agencies used call in systems to keep track of time cards. The aide would call in as they were leaving and enter their code. The computer would mark them as off the clock. But, if All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 392

it were too early, they‘d be in trouble. Too late, and they would be in trouble about overtime. ―Mr. Manley, I can‘t go off and leave you all alone. Not after all you been through. It‘s not good for you to be alone.‖ Aleeka protested. ―Trust me Aleka, if I can handle having Chris arrested, I can handle punching in your code.‖ Aleeka‘s eyes started to be hopeful. ―You really mean, Mr. Manley? Are you sure? I hate to ask you fib for me.‖ ―Yeah, it‘s fine. And, I dug deep into my pocket and found a couple of twenty dollar bills. Now you go home to your kids. You have a Christmas with your family. I promise I clock you out at 8.‖ I sent her home by ten with an extra $40.00. You would have thought she‘d won the lottery the way she carried on. I accepted her hugs and found they reminded me of my Granny V. That made me even more sad. Outside of my window it was simply grey. Lubbock rarely had a white Christmas, but this year it was a muddy Christmas. Even the evergreens looked brown and dull. After I had dismissed the home health care nurse, I made a very strong rum and coke. I was feeling defeated. Depressed. Hopeless. And, rolling in self-pity. That last thought seemed to make me angry. ―He‘s just feeling sorry for himself.‖ I‘d heard that line a thousand times over my life. But how did one change feeling sorry? How did one stop self-pity? I could understand if it were where I could simply click the pain off. I‘d been there just recently. To go from a roaring fire to tappa tappa tappa was magical. I‘d walked all the way across campus (tappa tappa tappa) without a cane and with very little difficulty. Today, however, I was walking on the feet afire. The pain medication worked...but only for about 30 minutes. ―So this is Christmas,‖ I said to the empty air. I slumped down in the reclining couch and propped up my feet. There was very little I could do save flip through the channels.

Somewhere during the day, my whole family would call me and wish me well. I would try to act like it was no big deal. Just one day out of the year. I will never understand why I‘d made the choice to isolate on the one day when everyone could be of good cheer. The week between Christmas and New Year‘s was a blur of pain and self-medication of the whisky type. Jeff returned to town and drove me several times to Dr. Wolcott‘s office. He‘ stayed and talked about his love for James. It was a big deal for Jeff. He‘d never been together with a guy for more than two weeks. And, here it was going on three months for them. James was wonderful this and James was wonderful that. I wondered if I‘d ever talked about Chris like that. If I had, I wish someone had slapped me.

Chapter Forty Three – Back to Dallas and Depression ―I‘m sorry, Reece, there is simply nothing more we can do,‖ said the man behind the wide framed eyeglasses. A simply poof of white hair sat upon his head and it bobbled as he moved. Somewhat like a feather on a peacock. But, today he was crest fallen. ―The wound is just not healing with our methods, you are going to have see a specialists.‖ ―What do you mean the wounds not healing?‖ I asked incredulously. After all, I‘d been there for countless scrapings, each one a minor surgery. They had transplanted skin cells, grown from my own tissue and harvested to be placed in the wound. There had been countless dressing changes. More antibiotic than I cared to count. Dr Wolcott placed his hand on my knee in a comforting gesture. ―I don‘t know why, but I do know someone who does. Dr. Sloan in Dallas should have some ideas. I‘ve got you an appointment next week. Until then, just keep changing the dressing.‖ And, with those words, my life changed from being a Lubbockite to becoming a Dallasite in a few seconds. I don‘t remember much about the transition from living in Lubbock to living in Dallas. I found a safe, warm bottle of rum and crawled up inside of it. Occasionally taking a look at the world, but not finding any satisfaction in it, retreating again to the Cuba Libre that rendered temporary relief. I heard from Jeff less and less frequently. His journey into the crack cocaine was fast and dark. He dragged James along with him and about the time I was moving back to Dallas, he was preparing to head to Denver. James had received a promotion to a manager slot at an IHOP. Jeff stopped by to see me one last time and he looked like hell warmed over. Gone was the chipper and flamboyant friend I had come to know and love. His mind always on crack. I caught him trying to steal my ATM card from my wallet and playfully confronted him. He said I All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 395

owed him that much and I disagreed. He didn‘t make sense and I didn‘t know how to break through to him. I was so weak in my mind and heart that I couldn‘t muster the strength to reach him. I‘m so sorry Jeff I didn‘t try harder. Mom had decided to end her marriage. She‘d taken as much as she could from the horrid man and had taken up the yoke of caring for me on the day to day necessities. I slipped into a deep depression as I filled out change of address cards, scheduled movers, charged off my remaining lease. The sad little motions one has to go through when one‘s life changes so dramatically. As I was making one of the last trips down to the Eclipse to carry a few personal things, I met a young couple coming up from the Lobby of Park Tower. They were 21 or 22 at best, and they had with them a 6 month old baby girl. Parents like to be proud parents and these two were very proud indeed. The little angel with them was perfect. Here little feet were in booties and her onesie was a bright yellow. As they ascended to an apartment full of hopes and dreams, I was descending to a future of pain and frustration. Mom and I found an apartment in Dallas, near Dad and Ross‘ offices at AdTel International. Things were familiar in the city. I knew the old haunts. The places where the parties had happened and still did. I dropped by locations that once held fun and fascination and found only smokey ghosts of drunken memories. The depression deepened. Dr. Sloan did indeed find the problem to the healing injury. It was another piece of the implant that had hidden behind the spine in previous xrays. It was staph ridden and infected in killing new cells as soon as they were applied. This resulted in a serious wound that required the full time care of an RN. Mom to the rescue. I don‘t know how she did it, but she did the instructions of the physicians. The little ritual would begin by me taking to my bed face down. Mom would then inject 100 of Demerol to kill the pain as she had to change the wound. And, the wound, at first,

resisted the healing process. However, it finally found its footing and after six months, the wound finally closed. Accepting the disability fully meant receiving SSD benefits. I‘d paid heavily into the social security system and my disbursement was a friendly $1898.00. Not much to live on, granted, but my father had agreed to paying for my rent, no matter where I wanted to live in Dallas, so long as I was available to AdTel for part of my working time. When the disability benefits went through, a large chunk of changed found its way to my bank account. My life was routine back in Dallas. A horrible stretch of time for me. As I continued to have the wounds heal, or fail to heal, lost in pain and depression. Coming up for air on little vacations to sunny shores. In between, I faced four more surgeries for pain device implants, failures and finally settling on an intrathecal pain medicine. Because there was so much scar tissue on my back, it came to be the only solution was to add the pain pump which dumped out a constant flow of dilaudid into my spine. Depression lapsed into hopelessness. Hopelessness combined with anger to make suicide. I only made one true try at suicide that I had planned carefully and knew would take care of the job. A plan formed in my mind and it became a simple truth in my inner world. I was going to go out by my own hand. In Spring of 2007, I decided to put the plan into action. Austin is about four hours south of Dallas. Other than the happy time I‘d spent with Gwen and Lubbock, Austin represented the complete freedom I had enjoyed while I was earning my Master‘s in Counseling. It was a wonderful time. I was voted top potential counselor of the program in 1996. I had graduated the challenging program with all A‘s. I had had the respect of everyone on campus for my abilities and my dedication. At the time, I was large. Walking up the hill to class everyday was a battle in sweat and blubber. Getting into the desks was a challenge at 375 pounds. After all, the desks never expected anything larger than say 250, tops. But even from the awkwardness of being so heavy, I was immensely popular. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 397

The time in my life had been carefree. Mom essentially put me through my Master‘s program. I worked shifts for the Texas Youth Commission as a Intern Therapist. I made a happy little life in the beautiful hill county just south of Austin. It had been a happy place in life. It would be a happy place to die. I don‘t remember the days leading up to the attempt. They were of blur of drinking, hurting and wondering why I hadn‘t thought of suicide before. After all, it made perfect sense. The only way the pain would end would be the simply act of driving off an embankment. And, that is just what I did. The attempt was simple. I had to get good and drunk to be willing to follow through. I passed by the curve in the road twice before returning and aiming the Eclipse off the embankment. I closed my eyes, hit the accelerator and waited for lift off. I had my top down. The car sped up 80 mph, then 90 mph. The DPS trooper investigator said I was going about 95 when I hit the embankment. The Eclipse went airborne and I could feel the floating sensation. A few seconds of bliss and then the car found its landing place. The windshield shattered as the frame of the Eclipse twisted first left then right as the sheer force hit the vehicle from its landing on the ground. I remember I bit my tongue. I went into blackness with the taste of blood on my tongue. ―Mr. Manley, sir, can you breathe for me,‖ I thought ―Why is God asking me to breathe?‖ But, it was not God but an ER Nurse at Breckenridge Hospital. I was not dead. I started to cry. I had longed for death so badly and I couldn‘t even get that part right. Everything hurt, but they essentially left me to dry up in ER. To sweat out the alcohol which had probably saved my life by being a relaxant. The Eclipse did not survive. ―Mr. Manley, who should we call for you?‖ ―Call?‖ I didn‘t want anyone called. I wanted to die. I tried to explain this to the ER Nurse but he did not want to have anything to do with the incident. He left me alone there. Nothing was even broken on my body. Save my spirit. And, my resolve. There is a terrible, terrible place where one does not want to live, die or even exist. Someplace beyond depression. I was there and I did not care who knew it. The DPS Trooper came to the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 398

hospital with instructions to arrest me, but seeing the psychiatric shape I was in simply took my license. Hours later my father would arrive and take me back to Dallas. We said very few words. I had failed at the attempt and I would be watched carefully now. I had failed, failed. 2007 did not improve. I continued to medicate with alcohol and pain medication. My feet sometimes hurting so badly that I choose to urinate myself rather than face the pain of walking to the toilet. As defeated as my soul had become so did my body follow. And, my mind. I had three hospital admissions. I contracted first one staph infection than another. It happened so quickly, how sick I became. There were months of missing time for me. Even time I had not been drunk, I was missing time. I would come to in the pain and not remember the three or four days before it, even though I had functioned throughout the time. I would sometimes forget my name and even forget the people closest to me. I lived very much on the line of sanity and insanity. Obtaining a Realtorâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s license. Then not being able to show a house. Trying to open a counseling practice and not being able to keep appointments because of the pain. Crossing the line with greater frequency that I could ever have imagined. I lost it.

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Chapter Forty Four – Death Becomes Me In November 2007, my skin turned yellow from head to toe. I looked as if I had yellow highlighter drawn over me. An ambulance came for me and I arrived at the hospital. Blood work was taken, doctors grimly read results. Multiple organs were shutting down. My family gathered. I was in intensive care by December 2007 and then, soon, on the ventilator. My body and mind followed my spirit. I did not wish to live. I did not wish it at all. Laying there with the machines making their rhythmic sounds, my family‘s voices seemed strange to me. The whispers of doctors and nurses became gibberish. The woosh of the ventilator even seemed to be happening some place far, far away. I had no idea that I was dying. There was a grey mist. The moisture of it burst over my skin causing little goose bumps. The mist became thicker and the sounds of the hospital room became far off noises. The mist increased spreading a wonderful, expanding sensation of peace. At first, I was confused but not frightened as the mist asserted its serene presence. I felt as if I were lifted up slightly, the sensation of pain stopped. It stopped so suddenly and completely that I cried out. But no voice came, instead the grey mist filled my lungs and breathe. The pain was gone! The mist increased until it was almost a rain. I was almost as if I were being bathed. The calm, the peace extended over everything and everyone and everywhere. Then came a scent, a smell of leather and sweat. I felt weight on my palms and a pop came as if I had tuned in a far off station on a stereo speaker. Pop. Pop. The weight grew heavier and then I heard Ross‘ voice. ―Come on bro, you can do it! Get it up, get it up!‖ Vision came to me and the mist disappeared instantly and was replaced with a vision of looking up at the ceiling of a fitness gym. A weight bar was precariously stationed above me. What the hell? ―Come on, bro! Push!‖ I pushed and pushed with all of my might. I looked up beyond the bar and saw my brother‘s face. He was twenty years younger than he should have been. Beyond him, through the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 400

periphery of my vision I saw other weight benches, sun was coming through the gyms windows. Ross repeated, ―Push bro.‖ Suddenly, pushing seemed a very good idea indeed as the weight was about to come down upon my body. I pushed. Pushed! Slowly, the weight bar moved up as my chest muscles formed back to the incredible strength I had achieved in the summer of 1998. Push! ―Good job, bro, good job,‖ Ross said as the bar landed in its resting place. I stood up. I felt the floor underneath me. My mind reeled as it tried to get a grip on where I was and what I was doing. I clapped Ross on his shoulder and breathed out an exhausted breathe, ―Thanks for the spot little brother,‖ the sentence came from my mouth. It was my voice, my hand that clapped his shoulder. It was chest that was feeling the muscle burn of lifting the 300 pounds up and off of me. Strength seared through my body as I felt the shape of my chest and legs, my shoulders, my hands, my back. It was the summer of 1989 and I was standing in the sunny window of a complex. The fitness gym, called simply ―The Gym‖ had been a workout spot of Ross and I which we had attended religiously in 1989. Ross had just graduated high school and I had been in Dallas between being in and out of college. It was a wonderful time in my life! I had no worries and nothing but time. Ross and I were best friends that summer (as we have always been) and rarely out of each other‘s sight. We happily shared a room in my Dad‘s house in Dallas. We had made The Gym our focus of the summer. Building our muscles to the strengths that only the young can achieve. It was an incredible moment of my life and one I had enjoyed so much. I started to speak when. Pop. Pop! Much louder static and the mist rushed back in sweeping me up in its calm and peace. It was if I were riding a wave made up of tangible peace and joy. Pop. As the grey mist raced over my body and took the vision of my brother‘s smile of joy, pride and accomplishment away. But, not away, simply behind now. Again there was no smell, no taste, no noise, no touch, and a serenity I can‘t describe. I was once again surrounded by the gray mist. I still felt energized, and I was feeling more so by the moment. I was feeling completely well, young, and strong. Yet, I was in the hospital—a thirty-nine-year-old body ravaged by MRSA Pneumonia, and the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 401

cumulative years of neuropathic pain, sometimes so severe that walking was impossible! How could this be? How could I be this sickened body in the hospital bed, and at the same time, by all appearances, this virile young man lifting weights with my brother? Ross remained in my thoughts deep in that gray mist, but no longer did I experience him as I had moments before. Then—pop! I felt the warmth of sunlight on my skin. It was one of those ethereal moments when you really feel something as though for the first time. Then, my eyes saw the sunlight. The gray had faded away, and I was in these glorious beams of the sun! Next, in the back of my mouth a taste presented itself—a fruit, something ambrosial—not a fruit I had everyday. Tropical! Yet another, pop, and a spark, and my mouth was flooded with the taste of pineapple. And not just pineapple, but a mixture containing coconut and the smooth burn of rum. I was in the sunlight, and drinking a pina colada! Now this was getting a bit closer to heaven! I was still very energized. I felt so incredibly good, so incredibly strong. My thoughts began, ―Rian that looks great! Now try some blue.‖ My eyes were suddenly reporting right along with my thoughts, and I was sitting outside by a pool at a Mexican resort. Somewhere in either Cancun or Playa del Carmen. Rian is my now 12 year old nephew. That day, I had the honor of being the center of his attention for a few moments. He was dutifully painting in the activities area outside by the pool. I looked over at him, and he grinned and nodded as he admired his work as he reached for the blue. The shade of blue was that beautiful hue of cerulean that can only be found in the Caribbean Sea, and it existed as only a small thin line of the brilliant hues going from the white sand to the deep navy of the open sea. How did the staff manage to find that blue, and place it in a bottle to paint one of their souvenirs? Rian grabbed the brush and dabbed the ceramic plate with the color. The next smell came to me on the fresh breezes whipping around us. It was paint. I have never experienced the smell of paint so completely! Oh, I am quite familiar with paint, but not All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 402

this intensity—this brightness of smell. Forgive my Martha Stewart explanation, but it smelled fresh, clean, with a hint of earthiness. Pop. Crackle. Zmmm. Pop! A flash of grey mist and then I was picking up a strange sensation and taste. It was champagne and I was apparently a bit drunk. This strange sensation took over my mind and the warmth of a happy tipsy self came to be. The sun was gone replaced by a billion stars and a soft wind. The scent of the sea and cigar flooded my nose. It was New Year‘s Eve and my family was on a cruise aboard the Norwegian Star celebrating the year my father had become a multimillionaire. My sister-in-law swam into my vision, the wind blowing itself on her formal dress tight around her body. My brother, Ross, there and glowing with his own buzz embraced her. I stood, pain free, with my dear friend Kristi who had become a fill in as partner for family events. The laughter of the moment came freely and easily. Pop. Grey, pop. The door responded to my entering the code with a click and hum. The classroom lit up before me. I was back at Texas Tech and I was about to teach my first class. The details were astonishing, everything was just as it was. But, it was not a memory, it was an experience. A reexperiencing of my life in perfect, perfect context. Every emotion and sensation just as it should be without a bit of difference, save the pain in times of my life I saw after the weight loss surgery. Pop. Buzzzz. Pop. ―Ducks!,‖ I saw through the little boy eyes of a happy child. The sun was warm and the grass was high. I was waiting for Ross to catch up. ―Reeth, wait, Reeeth,‖ came my brother‘s plea. Ross trailed behind me. I felt the great excitement. We were going to see ducks! Oh, how important ducks became to me. So very, very important. There was a beautiful young woman ahead of me. It was my mother holding bread to feed the ducks. She was happy and smiling. Sunshine was coming down on us. My mind knew I was in the hospital but also in my mind were the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 403

elements of a little boy. And, there was the thrill of ducks to come upon. ―Reeth, thwt duck?‖ Ross had had a little speech impediment when he was very young and I was often the only one who could understand him. ―Come on, Ross, ducks are great, follow mommy. Mommy!‖ I called out in an impossibly young voice. The lady, my Mommy, turned to embrace her two little boys as we ran up to her. She gave us a hug and lifted us both up into the brilliant sunny day. Such love was in her embrace as the warm sun. The water behind her was beautiful. Pop. Zap. Pop. I was running at high speed toward a body of water. But instead of ducks, I was sneaking up on an old girlfriend with every intention of knocking her into the pool before she noticed me. My friend, Richard, was there and wearing his impish, sly smile he reserved for occasions such as this. My very good friend, Rchard, was indeed right there! He was wearing red swim trunks, and pulling-off the kind of ―cool‖ teen guys can pull off! Then, my hands made contact with the softest thing I had ever, ever felt: the skin of my high school girlfriend. She screamed wildly as I held her, and carried us both into the water. The waves were cold, and she was hanging on to me for dear life. Then, again, pop! The warm embrace found me in adult form. I was standing with Captain and had just been granted the TA position with Dr. Sorrell. It was one of the few times Captain would embrace me so warmly. We were in her office in the beautiful new building where I had first decided to study the post-Doctoral work program at Texas Tech. The smell of new paint, new wood, her great wooden desk. My feelings of absolute pride in having been chosen by the great Dr. Sorrell. Of the hundred or so students who wanted to work with her, she had chosen me. There was a bit of a flush on her cheeks. She had been embarrassed to give me the hug, it wasn‘t something she‘d do again for a long time. ―Welcome aboard, Reece. Or should I call you, Ensign?‖ asked Captain. ―Call me anything you like, but I will tell you those who know and like me call me Captain. Those who know me and don‘t particularly

call me Dr. Sorell. And, many of my students refer to me as ‗that old bitch‘,‖ Captain said with a laugh. Pop. There were many precious little journeys. It was not my life flashing before my eyes, rather it was me flashing through my life. Each moment perfect, out of context, and thoroughly enjoyable. I began to understand I could control which lifepoints to visit. I never visited a negative point in my life, and I don‘t know if I would have been allowed to do so. There came a time where – pop – and I was back in the gray mist. It was time to move forward. Again the mist enveloped me and spread cool calm over me and drew me forward. I went forward, pain free, complaint free and concern free. There was a giant flash of maroon. The deepest color of blood. Fresh blood from a wound. Many wounds. And, after the flash and scent, I found myself upon a precipice. The mist began to pull away and leaving me there on the edge filled with awe. The scene on the last ―pop‖ stayed gray rather than fading into another sensation of sight. If taste could be gray, it would have been just the same—a nothingness—a veil thrown over a scene. The silence was stifling. No longer was there a scent in my nostrils, and I‘d lost the sense of touch. I suddenly found myself without any feedback at all from my body. Even my mind was empty. Empty, gray, and extending in every direction! Or was it extending at all? I‘ll never be sure what to call that state of being. I went from being corporeal to being ethereal. I seemed a whisper in the great cause of things. And then came the Light! Blinding! The Light was overwhelmingly beautiful! It did not fade in, it burst in! It was a symphony of light, as if dapples of sunlight on a pond‘s surface, transforming into the full brilliance of the sun. It wasn‘t just white and continuous; it streamed around me, through me, above me, and below me. My mind came back into being. I finally could begin to gather words to describe what was happening. For a few moments, I had All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 405

been without any form or any senses of any kind in the presence of the great Light. Now that I was beginning to gather what was happening around me, I was even more overwhelmed. Overwhelmed! The word is not sufficient to describe the emotions running through me as I began to finally see, and not just sense the scene. As the Light filled my eyes with a thousand degrees of bright, the first heavenly emotions began to warm my heart. The emotions came slowly at first. Love. Incredible love, the depth of which I could only begin to fathom, surrounded me. It was as if it were both emotion and motion, coming from the inside, and swimming around the outside of me. It pulsed in my mind, and my soul seemed to sing. The Love was so large, so great, and so infinite that to stand in it was like standing as a child on the edge of the ocean. Love was a part of the great Light, and as I tried to reconcile these two great concepts of Love and Light in my limiting mind, I began to do the things we humans do in the face of love. I laughed so loud, I thought the very heavens were resounding with the sound of my happiness. Then, tears fell in deep appreciation of the depth of this Love. How great was this Love, and it was directed at me! This unquestionably infinite Love was directed at me! Me! I drew in a breath. I was aware I was breathing in the Light and the Love, and exhaling it as well! Unaffected by physical rules, I felt myself being lifted-up—weightless in the presence of the Love and the Light. I have heard stories of deaf people who under-went surgery, and were able to recover their hearing. One of the challenges the recovery presents is the ―noise‖ of hearing. It can be so unusual to hear, that the brain can‘t comprehend anything other than a big blast of gibberish. The patients have to pace how they introduce sound to their brains, so they can adjust the sound level to comprehendible segments of communication. It takes quite a bit of work to go from deafness to hearing, beyond just the flip of a switch. So it was with this Love and this Light. I had been as a deaf man suddenly listening to Beethoven blasting at 300 decibels! But as I All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 406

adjusted to the Light and the Love, I became steadily more aware of my surroundings. Instead of just one loud note of Love, it was a symphony or choir tuned and practiced to perfection. In it, I began to see and feel different notes. It was still as powerful and just as bright, but I was applying some under-standing about what was happening. I was beginning to form a shape, and my mind worked to comprehend what I was, where, and what was going on around me! I was standing on the edge of a cliff, the bottom of which could not be seen. It was incredibly deep. Above me, the heavens stretched out beyond infinity. In front of me, taking up almost all of my field of vision, but still what seemed thousands of miles away, the great Light shimmered. The Light shining from it, I knew to be the infinite Love of God. It was warm, soft, and glowing around me. I started to notice the edges of the Light, and how they were continually shifting, expanding and contracting ever so slightly. The Light was streaming out in wide channels, and beginning to coalesce into rays coming from the main Light. It was still blinding, but was taking shape as a sphere—a brilliant sun. The surface of the Light rippled and danced with small ridges rising-up and down like waves on the face of a lake. The rays coming out of the Light were emanating into other spheres of Light. As my eyes adjusted to the scene, I could see thousands and thousands, perhaps millions of these smaller spheres connected by a channel of Light to the great Light. As the great Light pulsed, the smaller spheres would pulse in joyous response. It had ceased to be quiet in my experience of this great Light. In fact, the air was alive with praises and happiness. The sound was sweeter, more powerful, than any hymn I had ever heard, and as the smaller spheres pulsed along with the great Light, the sound became sweeter still. The love was palpable. Along with the love, was a sense of acceptance and belonging which I had never felt. One word began to form in my mind, and that word was ―home.‖ I was home! The definitions of home change from culture to culture, from place-to-place, and over time. It has been my All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 407

experience in life that very few people describe home as being simply a physical space. I do know of a few very lonely, lost people who have worked hard to earn enough money to buy a home—a home made of walls, brick, and mortar. They have laid the best marble, and the finest granite to make the home aesthetically- pleasing. They have installed thousands of dollars of security devices. Their friends were invited to see their accomplishments, and lavish parties were thrown. But in truth, these homes are just houses. Some of my favorite earthly homes have been very simple. My early childhood in Texas was spent in a very humble dwelling which I considered a ―mansion.‖ One of the best homes I ever had was a small wood frame farmhouse which was always dusty from the cotton fields. It was in desperate need of painting, and the kitchen had a slope in the floor big enough to cause the refrigerator door to swing open at a wide-angle when the handle was released. But again, this was just a ―house.‖ What made them home was the love, care, and acceptance found within those walls. Safety came in hugs, laughter, and sharing was evident at meals. Yes, I feel very sorry for those who don‘t know the difference between going to a house and going ―home.‖ Visiting there in our heavenly home, I was very aware there were no golden streets, or great mansions. But it was the most incredible home I had ever visited! The Creator was there in the great Light. Siblings were among the thousands of smaller spheres, and there was room enough for all. Some, who read Christ‘s words or Islam‘s words, may take them to mean there are literal walls, houses, and mansions in His Father‘s realm. In my own experience, there was no proof of dwellings. I saw no houses, or mansions, or walls. There were many other smaller spheres linked to the great Light of the Creator. I became aware that even though I was thinking like a human being, I was no longer anything resembling a human. I had joined the others, and had become a sphere of light. It is hard to explain exactly

―what‖ I was, or how much space I possessed. But like so many things during the time of the crossing, I just knew. Coming to know that I was a little dazzlingly bright sphere, reflecting the Light of the Creator, took some time to sink-in. I just remained still, and enjoyed the sights and sounds, and the wonderful love and acceptance. That alone would have satisfied me for an eternity. But heaven didn‘t stop there for me. In fact, it was only the beginning! The light burst in so powerfully I felt myself fall to my knees. I looked up and was rewarded with an emotional bolt riding the light. Love so intense, so complete. Such incredible compassion and love. The words ran through my mind, each failing to describe what I was feeling. Boundless love, perfect acceptance, greatest joy, ululation, celebration. The great light pulsed in size and filled my field of vision although it was impossibly far away it was impossibly large. In the love, swimming in the love and peace, I felt my physical body fall away from me. Old human sensory tools, eyes, nose and ears, could not qualify what was happening to me. They were impossibly inept to carry the experience. As each fell away, I became aware of things with new ―eyes‖ and ―ears‖. I listened to the choir of voices on the edge of my awareness. Each signing in perfect harmony songs to the great Source and to those gathered around the great Host. The languages, thousands of them, were each babbling together in a joyous cacophony. It was then that the first little thread of light reached out to me from the Source of theLlight. At first a small thread. Within that small link were a lifetime of emotions of love, perfect acceptance and joy. Flawless acceptance and undisturbed sense of peace. A peace that surpassed understanding. The second the connection was formed between the Light and myself the voices ceased being foreign to me but continued in their incredible joy. It was that I simply now understood each language. Another bolt of perfect love. I became aware of more and more I knew. A beloved friend who had died with AIDS joyfully came around me and pulsed. Professors I All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 409

had had, old family members. The tempo of knowing each increased as the connection between myself and the Creator became more complete. There came a time when I asked the Creator questions, both scientific and philosophic which returned with perfect knowledge. The connecting ribbon did not only lead to the source but to each of the other millions – now billions – of souls out there. A high school teacher. A friend who had committed suicide. The strangest perhaps that I recall was a wife. I have never been married. But I knew her intimately and instantly. I knew the child we had had. I have never had a child. Not in this most recent life anyway. At the edges of the great heaven, I could see the grey mist. Lights darted in and out of it. Leaving as bodies of pure light and taking the form of winged angels shortly after entering the Veil. Coming back in they simply disappeared into the surface of the Creator. Their light becoming indistinguishable as they reached the Creator. It is impossible not to draw the analogy of a solar system. With the Creator as the center and each of us drawn to it like a billion celestial bodies, yet each existing individually. Knowing each other at will. Loving each other as if we had been known to each other. Yet as we were all circling the Creator we also all circled each other. It was a beautiful dance. At once a waltz of elegant beauty to a polka of sheer joy. Each light, each soul, leapt with joy. Occasionally, there would be a sphere which was dull and grey, giving off no glow. They resisted the ribbon of the Creator. They refused the link to the rest of us. They dimly wondered through us like little grey pebbles in the giant stream of love, joy and acceptance. But there were so many, many spheres of brilliant, fulfilled light. Not being able to contain the compassion, adoration and passion they were receiving from the Creator it spilled out from them to each of the rest of us. Ours in turn pouring out and back to the Creator. Perfect peace. Perfect love. Perfect joy. And, a perfect sense of home. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 410

I was meeting and embracing those I knew and those I did not know when I came upon a beloved family member, my Grannie V. Grannie V who had raised my brother and I when my parents were unable to. Grannie V who had raised four children of her own, losing two to disease. One evil and one kind. She came to me and my first knowing of her was her scent. The scent I most knew her for when I was alive. The scent was a combination of body powder and aqua net. The memories of the Sunday mornings we spent getting ready for church, her heart was tremendous and so was her light. She had been perfected in heaven‘s love. She had found peace with the Creator and now shone in radiant joy. Her fears were gone and so were her woes. Her pain had been set free and she was joyously embracing me. Then it came. A pulse. ―Not yet‖. ―Not yet your time.‖ For the first time I began the crossing process I felt panic grip me. Another pulse, love, such powerful love. But a resolution. Not yet. Not yet. One day, yes? In a matter a few seconds in the considerations of eternity, but not yet. ―No,‖ I said, and the ribbon twisted with my thoughts, ―I am home. I am ready to be home. Oh, Creator, have mercy. Let me come home.‖ Not yet. Not. Yet. Pop. Bzzk. Pop. I was going back. I began the fall back to the life we hold on earth so preciously. I fell far, far away. Knowledge and insight being lost at an unknowable rate. As I fell, answers disappeared. The united choir of voices again became a cacophony of foreign tongues. The love, the perfect peace fell away. I picked up speed. I was plummeting. Ribbons snapping away from me. People sending love and knowledge I would return. I grabbed to hold onto the cure for my feet. It had been so simple. So, easy, anyone could do it. But where did it begin. How was it done

again? It fell from my mind. The myelin sheath needs the chemical reagents..... Gone. The love, too, fell away. The perfect acceptance and peace began to be replaced by doubts and fears. The pain. Pain came again as I thudded into what I thought was another life point. ―We‘ve got you back now, Reece,‖ said the nurse, ―yes, buddy, we got you back, come on now and wake up. Cough. Cough!‖ I coughed hard in confusion as to what was happening. My eyes finally formed a vision. I was in a hospital room and a device was being pulled up out of my lungs. I coughed again. ―No, no,‖ I moaned in a human voice, ―No.‖ ―Yes, baby, we got you. Come on now, breathe deep. Breathe deep.‖ My mouth would only form guttural sounds. Tears fell freely. One of the nurses stopped long enough to squeeze my hand. ―Getting that tube out is never fun, Baby, but you are back with us, so it‘s got to come out!‖ I shut my eyes tightly, trying to remember everything. I could recall sketches of the experiences which I have recorded here. I was back. The team was gone, and I was alone in the ICU room. It seems as though I cried for hours.

Chapter Forty Five – Back to Life, Back to Reality The entire hospital stay lasted for months. I had been admitted because I had basically given-up on life Chronic pain isn‘t easily understood by those who have never experienced it. Everyone understands what happens when you break an arm, or scrape a knee. That is a brief physiological sensation that lasts a few hours. Most people are able to diminish it with a Tylenol or an aspirin. Sometimes it may take a few days of narcotics. But it is a temporary pain that can be managed. Chronic pain is with you every day of your life. Every minute. Every second. Year after year. If you are someone who has experienced chronic pain, then you may begin to understand the choices I made which landed me in that hospital that December day. I had been medicating with alcohol. Medicating liberally and with great abandon. No doctor would prescribe a month of intoxication as a course of treatment, but that was the cure I tried. My body disagreed with me. More specifically, my liver had disagreed. That was the tenuous situation I was in when I arrived at the hospital, and I quickly went downhill from there. I learned much later, that I had become seriously ill. I had longed for death, and suddenly I was that close, not intentionally opening the door, but the door was opened. Family members were around all of the time. They loved me and I loved them. But the love wasn‘t enough to keep me from being depressed. Or, distressed. The pain in my feet was overpowering. There was no way to medicate me properly for the meds slowed down my breathing. That wouldn‘t do with my lungs full of pneumonia. I had been ―back‖ for a few days when I found out the battle was going to get worse before it got better. Mom, my constant companion from 6:00 AM to after lunch, every day, was there when the news came.

―Mr. Manley, you‘ve developed Ci-Dif.‖ He might as well have come in and said ―Mr. Manley, you‘ve developed a second nose,‖ for all I knew. However, the word brought mom up to her feet. ―How are we going to treat it,‖ Mom asked. The doctor did what all of the doctors did, the patient check shuffle. Receive question. One, two. Look at chart, three, four. Furrow brow, five, six. Look resolved, seven, eight. It was a dance as predictable as some of the waltzes or some of the peacock pride display. Whatever you wanted to call it, that was what it was. Some kind of routine they must teach at medical school during the first few years. ―We‘ll be using Vancomyicin. We‘ll let it drip through the IV at a fast rate and try to tackle it quickly. We‘ll check again in a few days.‖ The doctor gave me a little pat on the back. There, there, you‘ll be okay. ―Okay, Mom, spill it. What‘s Ci-Dif?‖, I asked. Mom started to reply. Then stopped. Started again. Well, basically baby, it‘s an infection of your intestinal tract that will be hard to get rid off. However, you won‘t absorb anything from your food if you don‘t get rid of it. Everything that goes in, will come out.‖ Oh, great. I had a disease which you got to shit yourself to death. Now, that sounded like fun! And, indeed I almost did. The round of the ci-dif left my body even weaker. It also introduced me to the two most feared words in the English language I would ever hear ―anal catheter‖. Yes, things were moving out so quickly, bedpans were not an option. That afternoon, after the damned thing went in, Dad showed up for his 1:00 PM – 3:00 PM watch. Just to see the reaction on his face, I related what had happened to me that morning. I was rewarded with the most somber look on his face. ―Good lord, son, I‘m so sorry. But, I‘ve said you were full of shit before.‖ He joked. ―Not anymore,‖ I replied. It was just a flicker of a scene but he and I both laughed so hard that my body racked in pain, especially around the cold plastic device lodged in me. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 414

I survived the Ci-Dif battle but the hospital stay continued as I would win one battle and begin another. My family came and went on their scheduled watches. Dad hired me a ―sitter‖ at night named Christina. She was a nice gal who was amazed she was getting paid $200 per night to stay with me. I was glad for the company. A hospital stay is a time of loneliness and a time of feeling like you are in prison. There is no way to simply get up and walk out. And, no matter how hard your loved ones try to be available to you, you find yourself doing hours of time by yourself. By the time I had been in the hospital for four months, I had become so dependent upon them I might as well have been a small child again. I was off and on of the ventilator, on life support, a total of five times. I laid in a bed without getting up for four months. But, at the end of it all, I was going to be okay. I was going to live. And, I moved from the hospital to a residential recovery center. ―Welcome to Integra Health,‖ said the cheery little receiving nurse. I had arrived by ambulance and was still ―strapped‖ on the transport table. ―I just need a few signatures and we are ready to go.‖ I signed and was wheeled into a private room where my brother, Ross and my Dad waited. The room was made for two but I was still on the ―Isolation‖ protocols lest anyone catch the particular bug which had hold on me. As we rolled into the room, I was asked to scooch from transport bed to regular bed, and I discovered what would be the problem to work on the next month. I was too weak to scooch. I scooched with all of my might and I still did not get anywhere. It was the first time I clearly recognized my muscles had atrophied so badly that even a scooch was above my abilities.

Chapter Forty Six – Learning to Walk Again Integra had 30 days to get me from unable to scooch to walking again. The journey was arduous, but it had two benefits emerge from it. First off, it allowed my parents to ―re-parent‖. Secondly, one can accomplish anything if one focuses. My scheduled stayed pretty much the same. Mom would come in the morning hours, she never missed a day. And, Dad never missed an afternoon. Integra certainly never missed a day. Starting with day one to day 30, my recovery was going to shape up to be a path of trying, really trying, to accomplish walking. The nice lady in charge of my rising up from my bed and eventually strolling down the hall was named Trish. Trish was a sturdy gal. About 5‘7‖ and weighing in a bit under 200, her short haircut and strong manner made her a natural drill sergeant to my ―cadet‖ position. ―Gooooood Morning, Mr. Manley,‖ announced Trish‘s arrival on the day we met. I was in a particularly bad mood. I had become well enough to know I was going to live and I was ticked off about that. In addition, my pain was pronounced. The physicians had not yet restored the normal level of pain control medication as my lungs were still healing from the infection and the risk of pain medication might slow my breathing recovery. After the voice announcing her arrival, in Trish came, dressed in the required garb of gown and mask for working with us patients in isolation. She approached and looked a bit like a blue panzer tank. She had a glint in her eye that I couldn‘t tell if it was compassion or if she simply was looking forward to rolling over me. If I could have leapt out of the way I would have! ―Mr. Manley, my name is Trish,‖ she took my hand and shook it. ―Nice to meet you, Trish‖ I lied. ―Please call me Reece.‖

―Okay pleasantries are over and it‘s time for work! Yay!‖ Trish proclaimed as soon as our hands unlocked. ―Reece, before we begin to work, I gotta know where you are so I can get you where you need to be. Have you tried to set up?‖ I had to think if I‘d even tried that much. ―No, they pretty much lower me and lift me to suit their purpose,‖ I replied. ―Well that will never do, Reece, we gotta start by getting you up on the side of the bed so you can sit up and enjoy the fine cuisine we offer here! You have no idea what delights await you!‖ Trish said with such enthusiasm after each sentence it was hard not to like her. But, I was going to try to avoid it. ―Okay, Reece,‖ Trish said leaning in on my hospital bed, ―Here‘s the truth they won‘t tell you around here. As soon as you can walk, you can leave. You can kiss this place goodbye. I bet you‘re kinda sorta wanting to be someplace other than here?‖ she asked. ―Yep, save a Baptist convention, this is about the last place I want to be,‖ I said. ―What do we do to get me walking,‖ I asked? ―Walking is a very tricky thing, if you think about it now, Reece. You‘ve to get to edge of the bed and sit up. Then you have to bear weight on your feet. Then you have to help your feet remember to go left, right, left, right because they are not going to remember that and it‘s going to feel weird. Now in between sitting on the edge of the bed, which we are going to day, we have 30 days to get you either walking or resigned to wheelchair. The insurance doesn‘t‘ care, but I do. We‘ll see plenty of that wheelchair. But, I don‘t want you to leave in it.‖ ―It isn‘t exactly the fashion accessory of the century, is it?‖ I asked. Trish laughed and nodded. ―Clashes with everything you are wearing.‖

―I‘m hurt. How can anything clash with my Spiderman P.J.‘s,‖ I said so glad to have found someone who would laugh at my jokes. And laugh she did. ―Okay, Reece, those are some great P.J.‘s but the Butt Buick (the endearing term she had for a wheelchair) just clashes with everything.‖ I had to laugh at the Butt Buick. It felt good to laugh for just a minute. I liked her despite myself and Trish and I would become fast friends over our 30 day effort. ―Okay, Reece, challenge number one,‖ she read for the doctor‘s notes, ―The patient will dangle his feet off of the edge of the bed. Patient will hold position for one minute.‖ She laid her clipboard to the side. ―Sounds easy enough to me how about you?‖ ―I‘m game,‖ I said. ―How do I do that?‖ ―You had to go and ask me a question. I‘m not trained for that!‖ Trish kidded with me. ―Let‘s see what happens with you just trying.‖ I don‘t guess I had intentionally moved my body in weeks because as I commanded my body to roll over, it flatly refused. I extended my arm and pulled with all of my might. Under protest my body came to turn on my left side. I was breathless. ―Well, now,‖ Trish said, ―That was a very nice trick indeed. Why don‘t I give you a hand with the rest of it. Now whatever you do, don‘t scooch your butt forward. Because I can stop a lot of things but a butt intent on scooching is not a trick we are intimately acquainted enough for me to pull off.‖ I smiled and tried to push up. Nothing happened. ―Okay, I‘m going to grab your feet and swing them out. Not your feet, but your ankles. Your chart says your feet are ‗intermittently uncomfortable‘ which must mean they are on holy fire!‖

―You‘ve got that right, Trish.‖ Trish indeed grabbed my ankles and placed them off the bed. After that, she let them go. I felt a little pendulum effect. But, my upper body stayed resolutely on the bed. ―Fine,‖ Trish said,‖ We‘ll cheat. She approached the bed controls and told me to hang on. The bed begin to fold up as if it were making a large Reece pannini. As it moved me up toward the vertical position, I did indeed feel my butt begin to scooch. Scooch bad. I looked alarmed and Trish read the look. ―Uh – uh, Mr. Reece, no butt scooching!‖ She stopped the lift of the bed and pushed my lower half back up onto the bed from the precarious balance. ―Okay,‖ Trish said, her knees locked with my hip to prevent the dreaded scooch. The bed continued its rise until it deposited me upright on my butt. I was dizzy. I had not sat upright in a long time. The room did a little spin and Trish steadied me with her body and her arms. It was a ridiculously intimate physical position. ―So, Trish, girl, come here often?‖ I said to break the embarrassment. ―Only if you promise to have beer next time,‖ she quipped. As the room stopped its spinning and my mind did the same, Trish said, ―Okay, now I‘m backing off a bit. But I‘ve got you. You just try to balance.‖ As soon as Trish let go my body suddenly felt like a large, overcooked egg noodle. I was fighting with all my might to stay upright and focused. My body was doing its best to get back to the lying down position. Somewhere in the middle was Trish pulling here, grabbing there, hoisting there. From a distance it probably looked like people who go deep sea fishing getting an unruly big fish on board the boat after the fish as decided it much rather stay in the ocean. Then the magic moment happened. Somehow, somewhere, the balance of my body found the right position to sit up, toes dangling and it stayed there. Trish‘s hands would flash out every moment or so to balance or push. But, I did it. After lying in the bed for over four months, I was sitting up on the side of it.

―Good job, Mr. Reece!‖ said Trish. ―Now, let‘s get you back down and in the bed. Remember, no butt scooch!‖ The bed lowered me back down and Trish rolled me over like a log until she had me more or less in the same position we had begun. I was exhausted, Trish looked exhausted. ―Oh, Reece, the places you‘ll go in the next 29 lessons!,‖ she said. And, more lessons did come and the small improvements physically began to show up. A slow road, but Trish was faithful. Almost like a surrogate family member getting me through this process. One day at a time. Two weeks later the hospital staff knew me by name and I knew them. I and the Butt Buick had gotten to be very good friends. When you are in a rehab hospital there is very little to do save the hour of ―official physical therapy‖ you go through. My mornings from early to lunch still had Mom, faithfully, covering the time. Sometime she‘d bring things to read, but mostly we visited. We were scootering down the halls building up my arm strength and then relaxing as she took over the pushing. Oh, the joy we had! We could go down to the dining room. Back to the room. Around the nurses station. Back to the room. Around the room. My sarcasm was coming back and that was a good thing. But today was a special day. Trish and I had practiced the maneuver twice yesterday. I was a big boy today and it was time to use the potty chair. The potty chair, basically a tall plastic chair with a toilet seat affixed to the top. It looked innocent enough, but, Trish and I found out its true nature. The method to reach the potty chair was to go from Butt Buick to standing to managing to get the pants down and then a simple three point landing. The first dry run ended up with both Trish and the Potty Chair flipped over on their sides. My balancing beam gone, I kerplunked , luckily, in the Butt Buick. ―Well, shit,‖ Trish said rising. ―Fortunately, not,‖ I quipped. ―It could have been much worse.‖ Trish gave a little laugh as she hefted herself back to her feet. ―Shall we try again?‖ Trish asked. ―Yes, just let me get my breath for a minute,‖ I replied, my body was so weak that the effort just to stand All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 420

and shuffle had left me tired out. Trish gathered up the parts of the potty chair. She took a seat and shook back and forth. ―Do you need some privacy, dear?‖ I asked. ―I‘m testing it for sturdiness, smartass!‖ That gave us both a good laugh. ―Okay, let‘s try it. Reece takes a dump, version 2.0,‖ said Trish. Again, Trish bent down so I could grab her shoulder in a position she had taught me earlier. It was a cross between a hug and a chokehold. As she bent down, her hair fluffed over and managed to get lodged in the vice grip of the maneuver. As she hoisted, I pushed up on my wobbly legs. The hair, caught in the middle tugged hard and Trish let out a yelp. The cry surprised me and I dropped off of her support and – plunk – on top of the body chair. ―That‘s great,‖ Trish said. ―I may be bald, but today‘s potty chair lesson in now ended.‖ Another successful day in the hospital.

Chapter Forty Seven – Mom and Dad Do Good One Day One of the most magical things to happen to me during my entire illness was the chance the Creator dealt Mom and I to go through a ―reparenting‖. For example, bedpans. Few people realize you loose all dignity in a hospital sitting. You don‘t have to worry about going number one, because they put in this horrible thing called a Foley catheter. As I told mom one morning, ―I‘m sure glad nobody in our family invented the Foley catheter. I‘d had to have the Manley name invoked every time a bladder had to be accessed.‖ Mom and I had made the 36th or so trip to the dining hall when we had to return to the room to use the potty chair. Yes, the Potty Chair. My new nemesis which stood vigilant and defiant as we prepared. ―Okay, mom, you ready to pull up and swing over,‖ I asked as Mom prepared to do the heave, pause, heave required to get me to the potty chair. ―Anytime, son, anytime.‖ In order to use the potty chair an intricate number of motions had to take place at the right time. One was to stand up. Two was to disrobe. Three was to land squarely on the lid. Not to the left. Not to the right. But smack in the middle. ―Ready to lift,‖ I asked? Mom nodded her head and up we went. I clung to her for dear life feeling my legs go weak while she had to give a quick jerk down on my PJ‘s. At this point, the entire left wing of the hospital received a moon. We‘d forgotten to shut the door and the catcalls from the nurses were payback for all the hell I‘d been giving them, I suppose. Whatever the reason, Mom found herself torn between the desire to give me privacy versus getting me a three point landing. ―Don‘t worry about it, Mom, head for the chair, head for the chair.‖ My body had decided the number two process might as well have started. Mom heaved and then kerplopped me perfectly on the potty chair. Cheers came from the nursing station. ―Thank you folks, next show is after dinner,‖ I jeered back at them. Mom threw the curtain to give me a bit of privacy. ―Do you think we‘ll get five stars for the performance? ― I asked Mom. ―Don‘t bother with worrying them just go doo-doo,‖ mom responded. I couldn‘t help but laugh at the irony that at the age 38, my All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 422

mom was still coaxing me with words like doo-doo. ―Okay, mommy, I be good boy,‖ I teased her with the words. Mom went melancholy on me. ―You know, you used to love your potty chair as toddler. You took it with you everywhere.‖ I laughed at that and it felt good to share a little childhood memory with her. Even under the circumstances ―Um, mom? How do I, uh, I mean is there some toilet tissue. Mom‘s hand appeared behind the curtain producing a roll of the hospital‘s finest. I gave it my best shot. There was a terrible flaw in the potty chair‘s design. The potty chair had no access when occupied. I flushed red. My mom was gonna have to wipey wipe. ―Mom, looks like your job isn‘t done.‖ ―What do you need, honey‖ she asked? ―I guess, um, well...‖ There was no eloquent way to put it. ―I‘ve got to get cleaned.‖ ―Not a problem honey, let me grab your nurse. Do you want me to lift or wipe because it will take two of us working with you. Which end do you want me on,‖ she asked? Oh, now that was a choice. Some stranger or my mom. ―I think I better let the nurse handle the heavy lifting mom. Go find a sturdy one.‖ Mom left the room and reappeared with Nurse Greg, a big strong guy that was about as gay as they came. ―Well, alright, we made it to potty chair status! Way to go, sugah!‖ Mom directed Greg to do the lifting while she did the rest of the business. Ten minutes later I was thankfully, clothed, back in my bed and sparkly clean. Mom returned after scrubbing up. ―Mom, I can‘t believe I just put you through that. I wouldn‘t have done it to be mean,‖ I was feeling a cross between embarrassed and foolish. ―Son,‖ Mom replied, ―I‘ve done far worse things than that. Don‘t worry about that.‖ The emotion caught me off guard. It was a simple sensation of trust. ―I love and appreciate you, Mom.‖ Mom decided to join me in a good cry and we sat and hugged on the bed until lunch arrived. It was another ritual she and I shared almost every day I was at the hospital. She was an integral part of my day and my desire to make

her proud of me, her and Dad, both proud with me Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;d been as compliant as I could be with rules and regs. As I was being wheel-chaired down the hall by nurse Greg for the last time, my family was waiting to pick me up and take me home. I had been in the hospitals for a total of five months and four days. My body had dropped to literally as wezk as a kitten. But over the last month, I had worked out daily and it was decided that as long as home health care came, I could be released to go home. Some of the nurses cracked a joke as I went by and others were simply too busy with demands from a new patients to notice me. They had all had a hand in my recovery and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;d send them some thank you flowers in a few days.

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Chapter Forty Seven – Roxie Loves Reece Nurse Greg rounded the corner to the exit doors and there was mom, dad and a very excited Roxie. Roxie is a fifty pound English bulldog who is a wonderful companion. She had not been allowed to visit me in the hospitals of course. Roxie was ecstatic to see her alpha ready to give big kisses with her overlong tongue and slobbering mug. She launched her full weight into my lap knocking both me and Nurse Greg by a few inches. She immediately set about sniffing and licking each and every inch of exposed skin. When we arrived at the car she simply refused to get off my lap. Finally through Mom‘s cajoling her with a doggie snack, she relented briefly enough to allow me into the car seat. ―Goodbye Integra,‖ I whispered to the hospital. ―At least that part‘s done.‖ Arriving home Roxie hopped down and did her business. I was glad she had made it to the house! The power of the moment of being home was little bit too much to handle. I broke. Mom broke. Dad broke. We had been through every test and every lecture and every antibiotic ever made. In the end, we had ―won‖. I was coming home. I didn‘t feel much like a winner. I dreamed of that celestial place where the pain was gone and the peace was everywhere. I would occasional catch a moment in dreams of the perfect place just beyond the veil. Reality had marched on while I was in the hospital. There were several unpleasant discoveries in the first few days at home. But, there were good times as well. Mom came home with me and shared the one bedroom apartment with me. They had brought a hospital bed for my comfort and ease and it waited in my apartment. Mom took the bedroom for the first nights then, being the sacrificing woman she was, she insisted I get back into my bed. One morning, while having coffee and watching the 5 AM news, a routine which I had begun in the hospital and carried over to the house, I was going through the mail which had piled up for me. For some reason, in the hospital, I had never thought to ask about mail. And, my family had All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 425

made the decision that isolation from the stresses of the world would be best for me. Any piece of mail which was obviously a bill or a check, Dad took care of. Junk mail went to file 13 and personal correspondence was brought up to me at the hospital. I opened the envelope from the Realtors Association and my heart sank. ―Mom, when did this get here?‖ I asked. ―Honey there have been several of them. Your dad said they were just junk, but I happened to keep them. Why?‖ ―I owe the Realtor‘s Association almost $9,000.00 according to this,‖ I said testily. ―As I read the statement more carefully, I in fact did not owe the Realtors. It had been charged to a Visa account. ―Jeez, what a way to start your morning, huh, mom?‖ ―I‘m sorry, I didn‘t mean to leave it out of your mail that came up to the hospital.‖ ―Not your fault, Mom.‖ I continued to dig through the mail. Then I saw the mail that truly sank my heart. It was from the District Attorney, Hays County. I flipped through the rest of the mail and found Jana Garcia, Attorney at Law. I laid the two letters to the side. ―Oh, Jesus, mom, I can‘t open them. I just can‘t.‖ ―Well, they‘ll be there tomorrow,‖ Mom said picking the two envelopes up and laying them on the ‗Later‘ pile. ―Wait Mom, you‘ve got to let me see them. I‘ve got to be a big boy about this.‖ The letters represented what had come to be called in the family ―the incident in Austin‖. They were the letters tied to the suicide attempt and the destruction of my Eclipse. The incident where I had come close to going home and ending the pain. I opened the letter from Jana first. She was the best defense lawyer Dad‘s money could buy. The letter informed me to call her immediately.

It was early but I dialed the digits and happened to catch Jana on her cell phone. ―Hi counselor, long time, no talk. This is Reece,‖ I greeted her. It took Jana a second to place me and my case in her mind. ―Oh, Reece, well thank goodness you called. I gather you‘ve been in the hospital?‖ ―Yeah, Jana, it was a hell of an experience. However, I was calling to see what was going on with the case.‖ I could hear Jana looking through a file or folder. ―Shit, Reece. I thought I remembered this. We‘ve got to the end of the month to show up at Hays County or they will issue a warrant for your arrest. Once that‘s in play, there is going to be a lot more money involved. Is there anyway you can travel, just for one day?‖ It was May 22nd and I had a week to get to feeling well enough to face the judge. ―Yeah, Jana, if it means no jail time, I can certainly be there.‖ ―We‘re not worried about jail time for the reckless driving or the DUI, but if they go to warrant, I don‘t think I can keep you from having to go through the booking process,‖ Jana said. ―And, the D.A. in Hays is a real son of a bitch. He‘ll do it regardless of your health.‖ ―Okay, what date can you give me. The last day of the month is a Monday and it would be nice to have at least that much time,‖ I said dreading the event. ―Monday, okay, I‘ll get down there. I‘m sure my dad will give me a lift.‖ ―Reece, I‘m sorry to do this to you. I know how hard it will be. The judge is really a sweet lady and I think she‘ll have a lot of mercy given your occasion.‖ ―Hey,‖ I said, ―I‘ll just show up at the right time and trust you to do the rest.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 427

―That‘s exactly what to do. I‘ve got you covered.‖

Chapter Forty Eight – The Long Arm of the Law Dad indeed was available to take me down the four hour drive to San Marcos, Texas. The home to my alma mater, Texas State. I had had such wonderful moments here during the time I was experiencing getting my Masters in Professional Counseling. I had last been here as an Honored Graduate, respected by every professor in the department. Oh, if they could see me now, I thought. Dad and I arrived the night before the appearance before the judge. There would be no jury, no grand ceremony. I was pleading guilty to reckless driving and driving under the influence of a prescribed medication. How Jana had reduced the charges to those two things, I had no idea. But she was good. ―Alright, Son, you want to grab a bite to eat or just get to the room,‖ Dad said as we arrived in San Marcos. I had slept most of the way down on the drive and still felt exhausted. But, hungry. ―Let‘s grab a bite, I don‘t think they‘re going to exactly give up the room, after all they‘re family,‖ I said. We were staying with my aunt Nina, my father‘s sister and uncle Loyd, a professor at Texas State. Dad dialed up Nina and Loyd and had them join us at a local eatery. I was still getting used to the concept of food as something to be enjoyed. But, even with some of the world‘s greatest fajitas, the experience was painfully long. The uncomfortable silence forced conversation. ―So, Reece,‖ my Uncle Loyd spoke up, ―Tell me more about your visit to the other side.‖ I felt like I‘d been slapped. The topic was not one ever brought up by anyone. And, I didn‘t remember telling my Uncle Loyd about it at all. ―What are you taking about, Uncle Loyd?‖ I asked. Loyd looked confused, as if he were aware of the social misstep but not sure how to correct it.

―Well, um, when we last visited the hospital, you were talking about having seen lights and having known a lot of languages...‖ Dad cut him off. ―Reece was on a lot of Ativan while you and Nina were there. He was talking but not making any sense. We were just so glad to get him back,‖ Dad said. Loyd looked curious, but the tone in my Dad‘s voice said that topic was off limits and not to be given any attention. Aunt Nina spoke up, switching the conversation, ―You look great for having just been out a week. How is the physical therapy going at home?‖ Dad again decided to answer for me. ―He is way ahead of what they projected. He‘ll be in the gym soon, right son.‖ I simply nodded and stared down at the table While they were talking I slipped into a silent revelry where I could see the lights, the orbs. I could remember the love and peace. Home. We finished the meal and followed them to their house in San Marcos. Loyd and Nina had done very well for themselves over the years. My Aunt Nina is one of the state‘s leading grant writers. Uncle Loyd, a professor in psychology, had earned tenure long ago before Southwest Texas State University had converted its image and its focus to Texas State University. The once easy going party school south of Austin had become one of the most respected public universities in the state. The house was made of white stone and had a beautiful back yard that opened up onto the hill country without fence. I excused myself when we arrived at the house and went out to the back deck to collect my thoughts in the cool spring evening. A couple of deer were happily grazing at the end of yard and I watched them for a few minutes. Uncle Loyd joined me and we both sat looking at the deer and the stars. It was a beautiful evening. ―Reece, I‘m sorry if I intruded at Chili‘s,‖ Uncle Loyd began. ―But, I‘m very curious by nature, you know that. And, you spoke with such conviction for a few days. I just wanted to know what you experienced. It will become a big deal for your mind, I would think, to reconcile being back to life after having left life.‖ All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 430

I didn‘t add anything to the conversation, rather I looked at the stars and remembered the celestial scene from the crossing. After a few moments, Uncle Loyd clapped me on the shoulder, ―Well, if you ever want to talk or correspond about it, I‘d love to know more.‖ ―Thanks, Uncle Loyd, but it‘s hard to talk about right now. I‘m focused on trying to learn to walk again,‖ I said gesturing to the walker I had with me.‖ ―Yes, yes, of course, do you need anything? A blanket,‖ he asked? I assured him I was fine and I took in the evening for a few more minutes than arose with the help of my walker. It was still difficult to get up and move. But, after a couple of tries, I got it pointed the correct direction. I was treated to a shooting star for my efforts as I left the quietness and returned inside. ―I think I‘ll be going to bed now if that‘s okay,‖ I said. Dad, Nina and Loyd all said goodnight at once in a little chorus. Dad rose to come help me get to the room. I let him get the door and made it to the bedroom. I was exhausted and asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Chapter Forty Nine – S*it Out of Luck The next day, I woke up in plenty of time to get ready for the court appearance. I cachunged my walker into the kitchen. The ca-chung the walker made was pronounced and it easily woke the entire house. Dad appeared, disheveled and looking much older in his bathrobe and hair akin to Albert Einstein and Papa Hemingway. Style it was not. But, he came up to me and gently kissed me on the top of the head and gave me a hug. ―It‘s going to be okay, son. I‘ll be there.‖ Another case of a parent being able to tell when his child is bearing a heavy load. The little boy inside of me had been brought to the surface and he was very glad to hear those words from Daddy. I hugged Dad back as tightly as I could. ―I don‘t wanna go, Daddy, I‘m scared. I‘m so scared.‖ ―Hush, now. Jana said it would be nothing. Just a signature and you are done. You go shower and we‘ll grab some breakfast when you‘re ready.‖ I finished the cup of coffee and headed into the bathroom. I managed to do the one thing that came very natural to anyone going in to take a shower in a strange place. I locked the little privacy lock on the bathroom. The shower was not a problem, I was able to get in and out using the walker. However, the toilet was a different matter. I was finished with my business and I was trying to get back to my feet. However, the toilet was a custom job. It was made for a shorter person with lower seat than normal. I tried every trick in the book with the walker to get up and none of them worked. ―Oh, great, I‘m going to go to jail because I missed a hearing stuck on the toilet,‖ I thought. That wouldn‘t do. There was no choice. ―Daaaaad,‖ I called. ―Daddy!‖ I said much louder. In a flash at the door was Dad‘s voice. ―What is it son?‖ ―Dad, I‘m stuck on the toilet and I need help up!‖ I said loudly enough to be heard three houses down. Dad called, ―Of course, son, are you ready?‖ I snagged a towel and covered myself the best I could. ―Yeah, come in,‖ I called. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 432

The doorknob started to turn then hit the privacy lock. Shit. I had locked the door. ―Son, the doors locked,‖ Dad called. I wanted to say no shit, Dad. Instead I called, ―You think? I didn‘t mean to, just force of habit.‖ I could imagine the face of Dad on the other side. He always took in a deep breath and rubbed his face when a challenge presented itself. ―I‘ll see if Loyd has the key, hang on.‖ It seemed like twenty minutes went by while I sat. I occasionally tried another attempt with the walker in a different position. Each attempt left me weaker. ―There is no key, Reece,‖ Loyd called from the other side. My Aunt Nina joined in, ―We are going to try a little screwdriver.‖ Great. Here I was, naked, on the toilet with an audience of three. I hope they didn‘t expect a musical to play out. The little lock was resistant but after several attempts with the small Phillips screwdriver was about to win. Instead of simply popping open, the door swung open unexpectedly as Dad, Loyd and Nina burst into the bathroom. The momentum they had built up didn‘t stop until they were midway to the tub from the door and I sat naked at their feet. ―Good morning everyone,‖ I said. Silence, then my Aunt Nina giggled, then Loyd and my Dad and I. Here I was naked. Towel covering very little as it was a simple hand towel I could reach. Modesty was out the window. ―Do you think we could get back to the idea of getting me up off the toilet?‖ Dad and Loyd both extended hands and I locked my arms and with a heave and an audible pop, my hiney came lose from the toilet and my body came up to the standing position. The towel dropped lose and I was suddenly posing in the nude. I grabbed for my walker while the crowd of three retreated from the bathroom. ―You got it son?‖ Dad asked as he balanced the walker and flushed the toilet. ―Yeah, I‘ve got it from here,‖ I said still laughing over the silliness of the situation. Another step on the road to recovery. After the comedy of the morning, I was in a relatively good mood as we pulled up to the Municipal Court of Hays County. But, when I crossed under the sign that said Criminal Justice, my heart sank. I paused All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 433

as Dad confidently stepped ahead. He looked back. ―Come on, Son. Let‘s get this over. I‘m not going to let anything bad happen to you.‖ I cachunged ahead slowly but Dad‘s head remained held high and confident. He‘d forgiven me for the incident. I hadn‘t forgiven myself and I didn‘t see how the judge was going to defend me. As I had a seat on the hard wood bench outside of the Judge‘s Chambers, my attorney Jana rounded the corner. ―Okay, Reece, here‘s the deal. We are just going to appear in front of the judge and plead guilty. Now, she should simply issue a fine and a one year probation. It is a Class B Mideameanor so we may want to have the record expunged but with the one year probation, you‘ll be on some paper. You‘ll have to transfer to Dallas and you‘ll have to meet a probation officer. The fine will probably be $1,000.00.‖ Dad nodded and said, ―No problem.‖ I looked down at the floor unable to meet anyone‘s eyes. ―The court calls State of Texas v. Reece Manley,‖ called the clerk. Dad lifted me up to the walker and we approached the judge, a friendly looking Hispanic lady. She and Jana exchanged a few words in Spanish. The judge then looked at me and said, ―Mr. Manley, I understand you plead guilty?‖ ―Yes, Your Honor. I‘m so sorry for all of this. And, yes, I‘m guilty.‖ The judge looked at the pre-filled paperwork the District Attorney had submitted to her. ―Mr. Manley, I find you guilty of wreckless driving and dismiss the charges of DUI. I fine you $500.00 and sentence you to six months‘ probation. Probation to be by mail with Hays County Department of Probation and Parole.‖ She gaveled and then said, ―Mr. Manley, take good care of yourself. People love you and I know you are in pain all of the time. But, you‘ve got to focus on good things, okay?‖ ―Yes, Your Honor.‖ A quick signature and I was forgiven the majority of my legal sins. And, with that I went from citizen to misdemeanant for the next six months. I would suffer no consequence except for a freeze on travel for six months.

Chapter Fifty – Goodbye Grandmother That would cost me a trip to see my Grandmother, my Father‘s mother, whom I‘d loved and adored. Her mind, however, had been lost to Alzheimers. The decision meant I would never see her again when she would know who I was. The ironic sadness to the situation was I had intended the last time I saw her to be the day before I made the suicide attempt. She had hugged me closely and with great affection as I left her home the day I made the attempt. ―Reece, stay a while and eat breakfast with me,‖ my Grandmother asked me. ―We used to have such wonderful times at breakfast.‖ Grandmother was referring to the days in Lubbock when she happened to be living in a retirement ―lifestyle‖ complex. Even with all of the craziness of Jeff and Captain, cocaine and cocktails, I had made time to go to my Grandmother once per week, at least. She would always protest with a great fuss when I would arrive with flowers for her and her best friend, Esther. White roses for Grandmother, the Bargain Boquet for Esther. She would give me every opportunity to show my manners. Grandmother did not believe chivalry was dead and indeed encouraged its practice when she could. I would arrive and take her down to breakfast, her on my arm. She smiled broadly and proudly when we arrived at the breakfast table. She would allow me to get her chair for her. Even when I was using my cane, I was able to offer a little push of the chair at the right moment to capture her short, busty figure as it slid into place at the breakfast table. With most people, we flop down. Or, scooch. My Grandmother sat. It‘s an easy thing to overlook. That little movement that conveys grace and demands dignity from other guests. If one of the old ―roosters‖ as Grandmother referred to the elderly males tried to join us table side she would dismiss them quickly without ever saying a word. I assume it was a look she gave them. And, it must have been a look when she and the old cock would lock eyes. They often All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 435

scurried to other tables quite quickly. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;m glad I had never been on the receiving end of that look. In Lubbock, her condition has been diagnosed and she had been relocated to an Austin sister-complex where she could maintain space and independence but still be closer to my aunt Nina and uncle Loyd. I only visited her once in Austin, the day I would try to take my life. In putting things together, I was looking for the last place that could say or do something to soothe my torment of pain and depression. She had been there when I was born, right there in the room standing next to my mother as my Granny V had broken a bone and was unable to attend to the duties a new born child demands. My father was on assignment and mom was, well, busy delivering. Grandmother had been there to assist with me, hold me to her ample, warm form and offer me unlimited love. That had been thirty five years before my visit to her in Austin. When we are hurting, we look deep, deep inside for healing rather than reaching to the Creator, we look for those things known to us. I was looking for unlimited love and acceptance. She was however beyond offering it. She simply repeated the noises of her cockatoo randomly as a symptom of the illness. But, I noticed the light was gone from her eyes that used to shine to me. I hugged her on the day I tried to leave this earth and saw a bit, perhaps, a bit of who she used to be. When she still grew worse, she was transferred to a private care facility in Tennessee to be close to a second daughter, my Aunt Pam. From there, she entered the void of dementia. Insane but still joyful. And, as I understood it, she still sat. She never plopped or scooched. Grandmother sat. We had said a heartfelt goodbye, me with intentions of taking my own life, her on the verge of forgetting who I was; the hug was the last meaningful one we would have for the rest of her days.

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Chapter Fifty One – Nuthouse. Room for one. There are still the terrible memories of the dreams that haunted me in that time between the hospital stay and my time in the mental health center. The great black bird that pecked my feet during sleep seemed to come nightly. As my wounds and sores healed, the old, chronic pain made itself ever more known to me. In my dreams, the bird would tear at my toes, and in my waking, slowed by the medication; I would find it sitting on the end of my bed as I came to consciousness. Dreams of the Crossing gave me temporary respite. That place of such pure, perfect happiness would come to my sleeping visions with the promises of its existence. For a split second, I would remember the painless freedom as if it were going to be there when I awoke. Instead I would feel myself fall, all knowledge passing out of my mind as I came close to waking. And in waking, I would experience the feet pulsing in pain—my brain void of the things it once treated as child‘s play, and my spirit-self all but lost to me. The dreams bothered me, so I began sleeping less and less. My body was weak. It had been through so much in the hospital. I dangled between life and death for many, many days during my stay. The five times I was placed on the ventilator, seemed to drag out my body‘s energy as if I had gone five rounds with Mike Tyson. The cumulative effect had also dropped my weight to where I was skin and bones. I remember looking at myself in the mirror, and thinking how ironic it was that my reflection had once filled the mirror from end to end, and now I looked like a badly pitched, flapping tent. I had shrunk while I was in the hospital. The doctors still hadn‘t been able to figure out exactly what happened but osteoporosis had developed and robbed bones of calcium and strength to hold my frame. My stature had gone from 5‘11‖ to 5‘9‖. I had been a bit taller than my mother, but now she was taller than me. It was just two inches, but it seemed to make a world of difference to the part of my mind-self that had equated height with greatness. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 437

Finally, at some point in this insanity, I was led to the breaking point where my behavior so disturbed my mother, that she turned to an outside source to find help for me. I had become moody, angry, and inconsolable in my pain. I had begun to break from reality, and lapse into a madness that was ugly and raving. In this wasteland, blowing wild and seething with hate for life, the Creator reached out His hand and shaped my mother‘s thoughts to find help for me. Mom packed my bags, drove me up to the Timberlawn entrance, and left me as I madly shouted out how I wanted white roses on my coffin. No good bye, no I love you, just desperation on her part to help. There was also desperation within my spirit-self for recognition from my mindself. It was so blinded by pain, confusion, and loss that it had all but given up, though my spirit-self kept tugging just the same. I was evaluated by the intake team, and in their wisdom and kindness, I landed in the Trauma Unit based on the work of Dr. Colin Ross. Here, the healing would begin. There is really no easy way to come to grips with the fact one is in an inpatient mental health- facility. There is the fact that you are in a place where you cannot leave at will, you cannot eat in the middle of the night, you cannot go outside to have a walk at will. On the long list of ―may I‘s‖, most of my questions were answered with a simple, ―No.‖ I was in the land of No. There were twenty of us in this land. This land of locks and bars and no‘s. It wasn‘t jail, but it wasn‘t freedom and the strange thing is that I just didn‘t really give a fuck. I was here and I would be for the next three weeks. Timberlawn was a beautiful mental health care facility. It had sprawling grounds that offered restful lawns. When they weren‘t saying, ―No,‖ I could walk the short paths between the buildings. I knew that others had been there and found peace too. I could trace the outlines of where the old swimming pool had been, and sense the laughter of earlier residents. I could walk through the old white house where the first residents and their physicians lived fulltime, and know that healing of some sort or another had taken place. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 438

Then there is the other side of things. ―Patient evaluation and intake,‖ sounds like a fairly straightforward process. For the patient, it is more akin to a police booking. This was after all, a hospital, and I knew the drill for the hospital. ―Thou Shalt Have No Power‖ is the mantra no matter how much you dress it up in bad faux pearls and cubic zirconium such as those being worn by one Ms. Katel. Intake Coordinator. Her badge proclaimed her sane and gave the needed information. Ms. Katel sat watchful over me as I waited to see the admitting physician. One eye on me, one on her duties. My attempt to make small talk was not well received. ―I guess you see us nutballs, all the time, huh?‖ I asked. She frowned and handed me a pad. ―Can you read and write, okay,‖ she asked like an army officer. ―Ma‘am, yes, ma‘am,‖ I said. ―Good, then start on this paperwork. Dr. Shamamama will see you soon. ―Reece,‖ began Dr. Shamamama., ―How can we help you today?‖ I don‘t remember the exact conversation that followed. I do remember that good doctor had strategically positioned himself between me and the door, either to prevent my escape or facilitate his own exit should I become ―difficult‖ or ―uncommunicative.‖ The room was pleasant, but devoid of any decorative ―heavy‖ objects. The Dr. was not a fool. No heavy decorative vase for dramatic breaking. ―What brings me here?‖ I repeated and thought. I answered the question, ―Doctor, I died and went to heaven and it was perfect. I want to go back. I don‘t like this life and I want to go home. That is what brings me here today. I‘m a nutball. The answer came and it was sufficient for the Doc to sit down and bend forward, dutifully interested in my words. I remember it because it was a genuinely kind gesture. In such institutions, duty was the order of the day, and genuine kindness was something rather rare. His voice had been calm and soothing as I tried to convince him mightily that I was not crazy but I didn‘t have an idea how to live a life full of pain, confusion, and need when there was a perfect paradise just a ―death‖ away. Apparently, telling a psychiatrist that you have been to the ―other side,‖ and have returned with wisdom and kindness to share with the world, does not get you a sane certificate! Instead, you are ―processed‖ to an Intake Coordinator. So there I sat with Miss Katel trying to focus my sight through the tears that came and went for no reason. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 439

―Mr. Manley, you have been admitted to the Trauma Unit here at Timberlawn,‖ she said in an ominous tone. ―We will have to get the paperwork together. You will sit here, and I will be back. Please do not leave the room. Please give me your wallet. Please give me the contents of your pockets. Please give me your shoelaces.‖ (Please stand on your head and babble happily until I return!) Those could have been her last words as she gathered up everything, and continued to command the essentials of the process. I was collapsing inside, and the best they could do was to take my shoelaces? Miss Katel struck me as funny as she gathered up all of my identification, insurance cards, and wallet contents. Her eyes lit-up when she saw I had supplemental insurance, and then down just as quickly when she saw the Medicare card. I had evidently caused another ream of paperwork by carrying the little red, white, and blue card. I had observed the same look on the face of my bulldog when I had accidentally mentioned her favorite treat out loud, and then failed to deliver. Miss Katel left me to muddle-over life for a few moments while she began the shuffle of documentation that would relinquish my will to the powers-thatbe of the hospital. When she returned, she had a thick packet and a camera. The smell of the cigarette she had grabbed, while she had been waiting on administrative staff to spit out paperwork on patient number 808172, lingered on her clothing with the smell of menthol. Yet, there was something reassuring about the fact that she had taken the time to return to her routine life while I felt mine was falling apart. She apparently thought life was going to go right on, regardless of what happened to 808172. Perhaps I could think she was right long enough to get through the process. The process took me right along indeed. The tour to the unit began. Ticket number 808172. Now serving 808172.

Chapter Fifty Two – The Nuthouse Rocks As we left the white house, we walked the short sidewalk between the older structure and the new campus where the Lewis Unit was located. The Lewis Unit would be my home for three weeks. The building opened into two long halls beyond the front doors. We stepped onto the elevator and arrived at the second floor. A welcoming sign reading ―Warning: This is a locked unit!‖ greeted me as we walked from the elevator . Now arriving: Mr. 808172. Room for one. There was a big living room area, called the common room, group room, or meeting room depending on who was directing said meeting. Patients were two to a room with one private bathroom inside the room. There were twenty of us: two males and eighteen females. I would soon learn this was not an accurate count though, after you included the (Dissociative Identity Disorder) DID-diagnosed patients. Bringing in the alter personalities to the headcount, we were about forty total. I guess the ratio isn‘t to exceed two to a body on the unit at any given time. Good thing, too, since naming the alter identity was a game much enjoyed on the unit! The common room opened-up into a dining area at the far end; this was also locked. The only other room was the ―Sanctuary,‖ the patient‘s name for the smoking room. The door would make a great whooshing sound, as if you were visiting the Mighty Oz ! The room was a ten-by- ten square, nicotine-stained cubicle. The whooshing sound came from the air scrubbers installed to contain the nicotine and noxious fumes from others on the unit who didn‘t smoke. Six people were non-smokers, if you remember to count the alter personalities in the equation! ―Hello, my name is Tammy said a happy, short, heavy set patient. Welcome. Can I give you a quick tour. It might help you feel better. What is your name? You‘re going to like it here, really. Okay, now this is the main room,‖ Tammy was going at a fast clip and I guessed her to be in a manic mode. ―We have meetings here in the main room, plus we can watch TV at night and in the early morning. But we mostly have group? All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 441

Have you been to group? I love group. It‘s just so freeing.‖ We passed by a tall disheveled woman who looked to be very tired. ―Hi Janice, Tammy said! This is Reece.‖ Janice looked up, ―Great, another fucking guy on the unit. Just what we need.‖ My welcome from Janice was not as warm as I‘d hoped for. Tammy decided it made no difference and continued with the tour, ―Now the rooms are down the different halls here. Do you know what room you are supposed to be in not to be nosey just to be helpful, I hope it‘s okay I asked. If it wasn‘t I‘m sorry.‖ I plunged to get a word in, ―Room 221A?‖ I said. ―Oh, fab, you are right next to me. Well, two doors down. Let me show you real quick.‖ I followed Tammy down the hall as we ran into other interesting personalities. The vivacious blonde, the angry thin, woman wearing a T-shirt that simply said ―Top‖, and another lady name Lydia who welcomed me. ―Okay, I‘m going to show Reece where his room is.‖ We continued down the short hallway to the last door on the right. It said 221A and 221B. ―You said you were A, well you are on that side. I can‘t go in, but you can if you need to.‖ ―Thanks, Tammy. Will you wait a minute for me? I need to visit my restroom,‖ I managed. Tammy nodded enthusiastically. I found the restroom to be very clean, tidy and fastidiously kept. Bed ―B‖ was made to perfection and shirts and shoes of the napping guy named Anthony were very well kept. He didn‘t stir and I didn‘t want to bother anyone so I slipped out back to my waiting tour guide. ―Reece!‖ Tammy said as I stepped out. ―Come on this way and I‘ll show you the kitchen area. Well, it‘s not just kitchen, sometimes we do art. Do you like to draw? I love to draw. Not professionally or anything, it‘s just fun.‖ Tammy managed her hummingbird voice and speed of speech that I certainly hoped I got some of the meds she was on. At the end of the Hallway, there was a nurse‘s desk/staff station where the workers were separated from us behind locked door and glass. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 442

Tammy didn‘t stop there but I gathered it‘s where I‘d be asking some questions. We reached the end of short hall with two large wooden doors closed. Tammy looked at me as if she were a five year old child, ―the kitchen is beyond these doors. We‘re not supposed to go in but this is a very easy trick.‖ Tammy fiddled with the locked door for a minute with her fingernail and it opened. ―Don‘t tell anyone we know how to get in there, we‘d be in a lot of trouble.‖ It sounded ominous but to tell the truth, I wasn‘t for sure what these guys could do to make me feel any worse. ―Now take a little peak.‖ Tammy held the door opened a bit and I noticed ten or 12 tables set up in groups of four, a serving line and another door on the far side. ―Where does that go,‖ I asked Tammy. ―Oh, you don‘t want to go over there,‖ Tammy said with a scared tone in her voice, again, much like a child, ―That‘s the druggies and drunks unit. They aren‘t here for long and they can be mean people. Okay, one more stop. I can‘t go in it but you should go meet the rest of the group.‖ Tammy led me to what was called the Sanctuary by the other patients. The smoking room. There were indeed 10 people in the 12 x 12 room. Tammy knocked on the door and got the attention of a cropped hair young lady in army fatigues, and motioned her to us. The girl hopped up, propped her cigarette in her hand and leaned out of the door way. As she opened the door I was surprised by a great whoosh noise as automatic air scrubbers came on trying to stop the concentrated smoke from escaping into the main room. ―I‘m Kim,‖ she said, ―Come on in. You doing okay there, Tambo?‖ she asked Tammy. Tammy nodded. ―Let me see,‖ Kim said to Tammy and Tammy lifted her sleeve to reveal a nicotine patch. ―Good girl.‖ Then to me, ―Come on in, Reece, let‘s get you introduced.‖ I stepped into the room and choked at first on the smoke. ―Thick, huh?‖ Kim said. ―Yeah, I don‘t smoke,‖ I replied. Kim laughed. ―That‘s what they all say.‖ Kim said loudly enough for the entire hospital to hear her, ―This is Reece.‖ ―Hello, Reece,‖ said the group. Some were friendly, some were indifferent and a couple sounded angry. Among the angry was a large, African-American woman named ―Crown‖. ―I ain‘t talking in front of no staff,‖ said Crown. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 443

―He‘s a patient, Crown, not a staff member,‖ said Kim. Crown got up and approached me coming across the chairs of the room which resembled old airport waiting chairs. ―Well, if he ain‘t staff, then he‘d be smoking not going along la-dee-fuckin-day ‗I don‘t smoke‘ shit.‖ I was suddenly scared shitless for absolutely no reason except for a large tattooed woman bearing down on me with a lit cigarette and a look on her face with the fierceness of a lion about to meet a gazelle. Okay, a small reason to be scared. ―Well then why don‘t he smoke?‖ asked Crown. I needed a line to save myself from this situation. ―I meant to say I don‘t have any smokes,‖ I said hoping to avoid the conflict. Crown said, ―you said you don‘t smoke. Don‘t go lying to Crown. But, if you want to try a smoke, I can help you out.‖ Every conversation in the room had stopped to see how Crown and the newbie were going to get along. ―I‘ve never smoked before,‖ I said and it was the truth. Of all my vices, I‘d somehow missed the smoking angle. It just never had appealed to me. I figured if it were legal, how high of a high could it be? Crown cocked her head to the side and said, ―You ain‘t never smoked a single cigarette? Well, how do you know if you don‘t smoke or not? Charlene, yo girl, hook Mr. Reece here up with a smoke.‖ Charlene passed over one cigarette. A Marlboro Smooth 100. ―Light up and find out,‖ Crown suggested. Strongly suggested. I figured it couldn‘t be too big of a deal. ―When I hold up this cigarette, you light off of it.‖ She extended her cigarette and I popped the cigarette in my mouth. I held it up to the tip of Crown‘s cigarette. Nothing happened. ―Damn, boy,‖ said Crown, ―You got to suck in on it.‖ I sucked in and the tip of the cigarette grew bright red as it caught fire. I coughed. ―No now, suck it down into those lungs, like your breathing your last breathe.‖ Crown commanded. I sucked the acrid smoke into my lungs which filled and tickled with the smoky fingers. For a few seconds, I didn‘t feel anything. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 444

Smoking? So, what? Nothing happens. I was about to say it didn‘t do anything when the short nicotine euphoria hit me so hard I had to grab a seat to keep from falling down off of my walker! Needless to say, I became a smoker. And, in doing so, began my journey to bond with the group of patients in Timberlawn‘s Psychiatric Center‘s Trauma Treatment Center, Lewis Building. Unit 2. ―So, Reece, what brings a nice guy like you to a place like this,‖ Kim asked, cocking her flattop to one side and looking amazingly like James Dean. ―I‘m not for sure, um...I need some help with some stuff I‘ve gone through,‖ I managed to say. This amused Crown to know end who‘s toothless grin erupted into full laughter. ―Shit, the boy don‘t even know where he is right now much less what‘s wrong with him,‖ she giggled. ―Damn you white people don‘t know how to answer questions the right way.‖ It was Kim‘s turn to dig in again. ―So, we don‘t have many men on this unit. Not very often. Are you at least gay?‖ What the question had to do with anything seemed irrelevant to me. I certainly wasn‘t about to ask Ms. Crown to the Junior Ball. But, then I saw the tattoo of the pride flag on Kim‘s wrist. ―Yeah, I‘m gay. But that‘s not what I‘m in here for.‖ Kim patted me on the shoulder, ―Welcome brother. I‘ll have my eye on you. We lesbians have been guarding you gay men since early on. I‘ll carry on the tradition.‖ Crown spoke up, ―Won‘t little Tammy be disappointed. She was on you like flies on sugar when you came in.‖ Kim spoke again, ―The real test will be when you meet Sharon. She has a little habit of showing off her breasts to every male on the unit. I‘m sure you‘ll enjoy that.‖ ―Hey, if she needs to air the darlings out, I‘ m all for it,‖ I said and got my first snicker from the group. About that time I met the person I would come to know the most entered the Sanctuary of Smoke. He was my roommate and his name was Anthony. He was 6‘3‖ tall and weighed All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 445

about 220. His strong looking, imposing even, physical structure belied the gentle nature of the man. He was 28 and had been in and out of hospitals for many years. His traumas in life began early and were tremendous. We said ―hello‖ in the smoke room as the usual questions continued. ―Where are you from?‖ ―Lubbock.‖ ―Are you a drunk or a druggie?‖ ―Both, please.‖ ―Can I have your chicken tonight?‖ ―How about half.‖ The back and forth rapid fire of questions began to make me queasy from the noise. I decided I should probably have another cigarette just to stay balanced. ―Say, could you set me up with a cigarette,‖ I asked the lady who had handed one over before.‖ ―Remember we‘ve got a 3 for 2 system around here‖, spoke up a new arrival named Vicki. ―A what to what?‖ I asked. ―Cigarettes, money, anything you borrow. You get two you give three back the next day.‖ I knew if Mom still would claim me, I‘d have plenty of what I needed. Mom had never failed to deliver me a box of supplies of any requested assortment. I had arrived on the Unit with 20 dollars. One $5. And, 15 $1‘s. I‘d be good for a couple of days. I was half way through the second cigarette, relishing the new high and getting to know my fellow ―clients‖ when a short lady named Phyllis, according to her name tag and pass she wore around her neck invaded the Sanctuary with authority. ―Mr. Manley, I need you for a moment. Finish your cigarette and come on this way.‖ I sucked the cigarette down and got dizzy again. However, I was able to aim the walker enough to get out of the door. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 446

―Right this way, Mr. Manley. I‘m Phyllis and I‘m here to orientate you to the unit, go through your inventory and get your vitals. Technically, you are under the care of Dr. Roskos, who you‘ll see twice a week. However, you will have a therapist. And, anytime you need one of us, we are the staff in the purple uniforms, just come and get one of us.,‖ Phyllis had the speech well-rehearsed and she delivered the information as if she were miles away from the real moment. ―Have a seat and let‘s start with vitals.‖ The vital signs showed I was alive and doing well physically. ―What are you in here for, baby,‖ Phyllis seemed to focus in on me and with genuine concern. ―What‘s going on in that big old bad world to drive you in here, hum?‖ ―It‘s pretty personal,‖ I said. ―I don‘t want to freak you out.‖ ―That‘s okay, we don‘t have to talk about it, but if you ever need me, just come find me. Wait right here.‖ She went up to the nurse‘s desk window and knocked on the glass. ―Manley, intake, she said loudly.‖ The person on the other side of the glass was halfway through a McDonald‘s Big Mac and was focused on his dining. He then grabbed the paper from Phyllis, put down the burger and grabbed a big plastic tub. In it were my shoelaces, wallet, keys and other belongings. The BigMac eating aide handed over the plastic tub to Phyllis. Phyllis was half way back to the table when Tammy interrupted her course. ―Phyllis, Phyyyyyyyllis. Help! They won‘t give me my hairspray! They‘re mean!‖ Tammy said pointing to the Big Mac‘er behind the glass. ―Tammy, honey, you don‘t need your hairspray right now. You look beautiful. Doesn‘t she, Reece?‖ Surprised, I nodded. Tammy clapped enthusiastically and skipped back to where she‘d come from. Phyllis shook her head as she approached me. ―Lord, I‘m getting too old for this, Reece. Now, down to business. Here is your Trauma Patient Guide packet that will cover pretty much any question you have. But, I‘ll go over the big ones, okay.‖ I nodded enthusiastically. I wanted back in the smoke room.

―We‘ve got your wallet, shoelaces, cell phone and keys. Now these will all go down to the safe. You are not supposed to have money on the unit, yet occasionally staff will take you to get a Coke. So, that makes no sense, I know. But if you happen to need to take anything from your wallet while I‘m looking over this way, that‘d be when to do it. ,‖ Phyllis said. I grabbed my money and let the rest fall back into the tub. ―Okay, next, here are your Velcro Strappies. They‘ll hold your shoes on as good as laces but without any risk of choking. See, like this,‖ Phyllis reached down and took my foot. The pain bolted through me and I jumped and yelled, surprising Phyllis who was up on two feet and a good six feet away from me within the second. Phyllis had been doing this a long time. ―Oh, baby, I‘m sorry. They said your feet were in constant pain. Why don‘t I just show you how this works? She demonstrated the many uses of Velcro – shoes, belts, shirt support. I was suddenly on the Wonderful World of Velcro. ―Okay next, your room number is 221 A and your clothing has been laid on your bed. Everything else in your bag has been locked up. Your pain medication has been sent to the pharmacy. Sign here,‖ she indicated. ―Now you may not under any circumstances enter into another patient‘s room or you will be asked to leave. That‘s for safety. Okay, meals. Breakfast is at 8, Lunch is at Noon and dinner is at 5:30.‖ ―The two pay phones, are available for your use during recreation time. You will need to limit your calls to ten minutes if you can. Okay, questions,‖ she askedd as she closed the folder with my signatures. ―Yeah, what‘s next,‖ I asked. She looked at her watch, supper at 5:30. Until then you are free to journal, smoke, write, draw, talk on the phone, whatever. Now I got one more coming in today, so I‘ve got to scoot. But, I‘ll be seeing you tomorrow.‖ I headed toward the Sanctuary but was met by Anthony coming out. ―Come on down, roomie, I‘ll show you where we are,‖ the smile giving a clue to the kind nature underneath the brute side. I followed Anthony down the hall. Indeed my clothes had been dumped in the middle of the bed. The closet was locked. ―Now let‘s get you set up,

c‘mon this way. Hey, Phyllis, open Linens,‖ Anthony called down to Phyllis, the only purple staff on the unit at the time. Indeed, Phyllis stopped what she was doing and came and unlocked the linen closet. ―It‘s not exactly 400 TC Egyptian cotton, but you‘ll be glad you take two of these,‖ Anthony said handing me two badly worn blankets. ―Oh, and one of these. His fingers stretched to the height of the closet where he batted down a foam bed topper,‖ catching it mid fall, ―okay, let‘s go get your spot a little more comfortable. ―I appreciate this, Anthony. Do you mind if I ask what you are in here working on?‖ I asked. ―I‘m not ashamed,‖ Anthony said, ―I battle DID from childhood trauma. I don‘t switch very often as high as my medications are. But it‘s a very weird existence to be in your 30‘s one second and then a five year old the next. By the way, if I switch, his name is Max.‖ I listened, fascinated. I had never met a true Dissociative Identity Disorder. ―Wow,‖ I said, ―How often does it happen? ―Around here I switch about every other day. They are trying to work with integration while I‘m in hospital so they bring up the things that make me switch,‖ he said it as if he were discussing how he got a bruise. ―It‘s no big deal. Just don‘t let it freak ya out. How about you? What are you in for?‖ I thought about how much to disclose to Anthony and I decided to err on the side of caution. ―Well, I had a near death experience and that‘s part of it. The other is the fact I‘m living with chronic pain and I don‘t know how I‘m supposed to live with hurting 24/7.‖ ―Wow,‖ Anthony said and thought things over for a moment. Then promptly, ―Okay let‘s go have a smoke. I can loan you until you get some of your own. We disappeared into the Sanctuary where I would learn the names of the rest of the unit. Which patients were okay in the opinion of the majority, which were outcasts and which were just about to leave.‖ My new little family had been formed.

Chapter Fifty Three – Waking Up Crazy The next day started early. I usually get up early anyway, but I awoke to Anthony‘s strong snoring. I put on my bathrobe and wondered out into the common room toward the kitchen. Tammy was awake and bubbly. ―Fresh coffee is out there, so is milk right now. You better grab it if you want some.‖ I glanced into the glass encased sanctuary and two women were sitting and visiting over coffee. I followed Tammy into the kitchen and noticed the ―scary‖ side was still locked down. I was on my walker, so Tammy was more than gracious to quickly fetch me a cup of coffee with milk and Splenda. ―What? No tip?‖ she said grinning. ―Just kidding. I do that a lot.‖ The next five minutes were filled with Tammy‘s babbling while I got one cup down and another. I had purchased a couple of smokes the night before from Anthony. I stopped Tammy in the middle of her barriage of useless, but happy sounding, information and announced I wanted to have a smoke and it would be great if she could carry the cup for me. ―Certainly, good sir,‖ Tammy said, not offended in the least at my change of horses in listening to her. At Timberland Mental health center, part of getting better is acting like you‘re better. If you want to function in society, you‘ve got to take some baby steps. From ―how to make my bed‖ to ―yes, I always flush the toilet,‖ I had the basics introduced. Amazingly enough, I got it down pretty much the first day. A gold sticker went up somewhere to mark my progress. I was proud of myself; I knew to place my sheets into the blue (not the white) laundry cart! I acclimated. I wrote in my journal. I attended groups. I dutifully carried on housekeeping. But mostly I gave myself permission to listen. I remember the fourth night. I was lying in bed, feet still aflame with the angry power of damaged nerves, present even in this place, hidden away from humanity‘s view. I cried and reached out with everything I had for God. And, that night, God came. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 450

The room was quiet save the snoring of the 6‘4‖, 210 pound roommate of mine who suffered from DID. This gentle giant of a person would sometimes slip into a frightened mind-self of a five-year-old child. However, on this night, he was slumbering in the loud, intentional way a twenty-six-year-old body does, having taken a large dose of Seroquel. As I cried and asked God silently, ―Why, why, why?‖ over and over again in my mind, my roommate stirred in his bed. I heard him rise to his feet and plod to the center of the shared room. I saw him stand there as if suspended between wake and sleep. I was just about to get up and help him back to bed, when he spoke. The voice was kind. He usually either sounded very much like a child, demure and slightly embarrassed, or like a big, old redneck Texan giving away his oilfield background. But tonight, he came across as simply warm as he spoke. ―Reece,‖ he began. ―You know you are loved. Now just chill-out, and quit asking why, and ask why not! Quit asking when, and ask how to spend your time. Quit asking why me, and start saying thank you for who I am. Guess that‘s about it!‖ he concluded. He turned and asked the air for permission to go back to bed. The air acquiesced. He returned to bed, and was asleep in a few moments. It was the first important part of the listening I would do. It was the beginning of listening that would allow me to see my crossing to the Lights as a miracle, not as a missed chance for heaven. And so I listened. The insanity of running thoughts, images, questions, and memories began to settle, beginning the following morning.

Chapter Fifty Four – Waking Up Sane Each day started with a community group. All members of the unit gathered in the day room (the official term for the large, open area with four rows of chairs and benches facing each other in a square formation) to report on three things. We reported our physical feelings, our emotional state, and our goal for the day. One, two, three. That was what it took, for the therapists working with us, to know how to begin their sessions with us for the day. It was also an alert for us to watch-out for other patients who were having a bad day. I am struck by the ability of the group process to bring out honesty. There is something wonderful and terrible that happens when twenty people are gathered together, knowing they‘ve been to the ends of their respective ropes. If someone says they are having a bad day, it means they are having a truly bad day. Bad days often consisted of reliving memories, and the sharing of those memories comes fast. It was hoped that by sharing, we would draw strength by spreading the horror of being isolated—held prisoner by one mind. In sharing it with the group, we could find support, strength and absolution. From the woman who readily, unemotionally recounted her father burning her with cigarettes, to the veteran recalling the disappearing of his best friend‘s head in a vapor of blood and dust, the Trauma Unit was not for the weak! It was for those of us who had had life- altering experiences that were beyond our control. But the events had happened, and someone had to own it, review it, assimilate it, and live with it. The ―it‖ being a different thing for each one of us there. Yes, there were similar themes, but each one had its own unique horror. The good thing about horror is that it ends. But while you are enduring it, it can be a savage visitor to the soul. That morning, I reported: ―Physically, I am in pain. Emotionally, I‘m,‖ Oh, heck! I had planned to say my usually reported statement ‗hopeful God will change my life‘. It would not come out, finally, after three false starts, I got it said, ―…confident that change is taking place All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 452

today.‖ The group didn‘t seem to note the change between hope and confidence, but the spark had taken place in my own thinking, and I approached the process differently. This program, this three week break from the duties of reality, was my God granted time to take what had happened to me, explore it and let it change me and my outlook. It was not to be a three week lesson in wallowing in self-pity. I am ashamed to admit that was how I had originally approached it. However, in shifting from hope to confidence, this plan was going to be transforming. I had set in motion a series of events that would take me, not only from the dark, lost place I was in to a place of leveled feelings and acceptance, but beyond the zero sum balance to discover life in the positive numbers region. One of the most powerful therapists on the Unit, powerful in effectiveness and in rank, was Dr. Colin Ross. He was the architect of the Trauma Unit, and a disciple of the cognitive theories of counseling. Cognitive theories rely on the mind to be the seat of change and, of current theories, it offers the most hope for not only feeling better, but for achieving a happier, more productive life. Dr. Ross had spent a great deal of time considering the effects of traumatic events on patients‘ ability to provide rational reactions to current stimulus. When Dr. Ross works with a patient, it is done in a group setting. Sessions with him are considered ―gold‖ by patients with intentions of getting better. There was a waiting list for appointments with Dr. Ross, and I placed my name on that list. I waited anxiously for the day when I would have the opportunity to work with him. In the meantime, there were a number of days when just the dayto-day events of the unit were God‘s teaching tools. Some of them were humorous. Some of them were terribly sad, but all were life lessons.

Chapter Fifty Five – Flame On One Sunday, Crown, Traci and I, (we‘d become great friends) were killing the time we had to kill with Sunday‘s being a down day. We were playing Gin rummy in the Sanctuary when the noise blared through the speakers. ―What the fuck?‖ Crown asked popping to her feet. ―Hmm, fire alarm,‖ Traci lolled back, apathetic on Haldol, it could have been the second coming and Traci would have simply rolled her eyes. ―Oh, well, now that is annoying, Traci, sorry to break you from your happy place, but what do we do?‖ I ask. Crown said, ―Well if I‘m gonna burn up I‘m gonna have this last cigarette before I burst into flames. Course ol‘ Reece there got us both beat. How does that flame feel today, my boy?‖ it was a gay joke and I flipped her the bird. ―Ooo, such language from such a nice young, lady.‖ The alarm remained on and on, urgent in its calling to the unit, piercing all of the conversations and demanding attention. I finished my smoke and I walked out into the disarray of the unit in the middle of the fire code. Staff were jumping left and right trying to line us up. It was an exercise akin to rounding up chickens. Especially, for one client named Sherry. It seems the sound had triggered the alter personality of Sherry out of the patient, Lisa. Sherry (Lisa) emerged from her room topless and ready to go onstage. She approached one new patient and demanded to be escorted to her stage so she could dance. The new patient was discombobulated by the events to the point that her response was simply to scream. Sherry was not expecting a scream. She ran to a staff member on the other side of the unit, and demanded to know what was going on. That staff member knew Sherry, and tried her best to take her hand while explaining she needed to find a shirt because she might have to exit the building. Of the long, calm explanation, Sherry heard only the word, fire!

―Fire!! Fire!!,‖ screamed Sherry, bounding from room-to-room. She was pursued by a staff member who had grabbed a tee shirt, and was shouting at Sherry to put on the shirt. Sherry did not seem to take any notice of the staff member, and continued to bellow, and flap, flap and bellow, as her body‘s attributes shared airspace with almost every square inch of the unit. Sherry stopped suddenly, and the pursuing staff member crashed into her. ―Wait, what do we do in a fire?‖ Sherry asked loudly (of no one but herself) ―We do CPR, CPR, CPR!‖ Sherry cried out, and within a second, Sherry was upon us insisting we all needed CPR because there was a fire! However, Sherry‘s idea of CPR required reciprocal action. ―I‘ll CPR you, if you CPR me!‖ she offered to each resident. At this point, the staff had managed to get most of us against the evacuation wall. The alarm continued to scream. One of the patients was shouting that the sprinklers would soon be on, and would be showering us with hydrochloric acid! Sherry finally reached the other male on the unit, who earnestly agreed to her request. It was love at first CPR! The staff moved to separate the two, and clothe Sherry. The rest of us completely lost it at the silliness of the scene. It was what the staff would refer to as a bad day. However, as far as I know, the term ―I CPR You,‖ survives as an inside joke on the Trauma Unit to this day.

Chapter Fifty Six – The Hard Times Within the routine of the day on the Trauma Unit, groups of first one sort or another, meals and free time, I met with my wonderful psychologist Jeff. At our first meeting, the thought of ―Oh, great. Another Jeff in my life and I‘m just now getting the last one paid off!‖ I first met with Jeff in one of the unit‘s therapy rooms. It was what one expects out of a therapy room. A couch, a chair, Kleenex and soft lighting. Jeff was about my age with kind eyes and a confident look. He looked like someone who one could trust mightily. And, the memories of my early childhood had begun to come to the surface in new waves. Dreams of horror mixed with the terror of the pain. I needed to talk and Jeff was ready to listen. ―Where would you like to begin?‖ Jeff asked. I closed my eyes and began. ―Let‘s talk about my Uncle Tom, Jeff.‖ Tommy had already progressed into a dark place with his disease. He had become bitter and angry, and trouble was brewing beneath the surface. He was a prisoner to the disease which severely limited his life. He took breathing treatments many times a day. He could not hold down a job, or have a relationship. The illness seemed to block him at every turn, and he had given in to its isolation and insidious nature. My arrival did not sit well with Tommy. He had been the center of attention all of his life. He had learned the role of victim, and had given it his full energy. Everything had been about Tommy. Suddenly, he had competition from a wriggling, happy, healthy boy, named Reece. My Grannie V would make a fuss over me at every opportunity. Mother, too, gave me her full attention. She had become a surrogate parent to Tommy, but now she had her own child, and Tommy‘s needs had to take second place. Tommy‘s hate for me increased. He was jealous and angry, and would soon make me a target. Jeff summed up what I had said to him. Then, when he had reflected what he‘d heard, I continued with my life. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 456

It was Easter Sunday. I was eight years old. I had become a rather plump kid who turned to food to handle my emotions at the wellintentioned advice of my Grannie V. Nothing, after all, was so bad that it couldn‘t be overcome with a fine meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and a pie made from scratch! To this day, I still find a nice friend in a chocolate cake! I was dressed in my new Easter clothes. Regardless of the budget crisis of the moment, either my mom or my Grannie V would see that my brother and I had new clothes for church. After all, it was family show-off day. I can‘t remember everything, but I do remember how I ended-up in my Uncle Tom‘s trailer which was located on my Grannie V and Pa‘s property. They had hoped that giving Tom his own place would encourage him to be more active in life. Tommy was not tidy, and consequently there were odors in the trailer. I never felt safe there. On this particular Easter day, Uncle Tom told me that the best Easter egg was in his trailer. Whether it contained money or chocolate, I was definitely interested in getting the best Easter egg! I wanted bragging rights over my brother and my cousins who were gathered there for the Easter celebration. I had followed Tom back to his trailer, and once inside, he locked the door. He had never done that before, but I was still focused on the idea of the prize egg. ―Come here and sit on my lap and I will tell you where it is,‖ my Uncle Tom said. Uncle Tom had made sitting on his lap an activity of late, and one I knew I didn‘t like. But, the call of the prize egg was great! I responded to the request, and sat on his lap. A few seconds later, through a terrible display of strength, my Uncle Tom ended my childhood as I had known it. Tom became cruel, and he growled his words, ―Shut up! I‘ll tell them all if you don‘t shut up! They‘ll know how weird you are. They‘ll know, and they‘ll hate you!‖ The words, ―They‘ll hate you,‖ still ring as an eerie echo in my memories. Even now, it seems as if I could lift my head and hear the same words out loud. It didn‘t last long, the pain subsided, and I started crying. I didn‘t know what else to do, but cry. All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 457

I was eight, my clothes had been pulled apart, my body reverberated in pain, my mind filled with fear, and I simply cried and cried. Uncle Tom‘s voice returned to normal as he cooed how much he loved me, and how special I was to him. He handed me a five dollar bill, and told me that was the prize Easter egg. He helped me get dressed, combed my hair, and led me back to the family. It was the first time of many—torments that would last until just months before his death. His darkness led him to say just the right things to soothe and confuse a child‘s mind as the situation required. At his deathbed, I forgave my Uncle Tom. At least I said the words of forgiveness. I wouldn‘t speak of the abuse for many, many years. Like most kids who endure abuse in their lives, I suffered it alone, quietly. I lived my childhood the best way I could: with friends, schoolmates, and family. But the threat of Tom had always been around the next corner. When he died, it was sad for the family, but I felt free for the first time in many years. Depressed and ashamed, I kept the secret that only Uncle Tom was privy to, and had taken to his grave. Jeff had listened and asked clarifying questions as he needed to understand. We‘d spend a few more sessions on this topic. I had experienced Tom on the Other Side as well. He was a cold, dark sphere. The only impression being one of selfishness and the inability to exercise a will to reach out for true love. Perhaps, that is what hell is after all. There were dark moments on the unit as well—times when hope could not be rallied despite the best efforts of staff, therapists, psychiatrists, and even patients. Jacob had been my roommate for about a week. Anthony had ―graduated‖ to the day program. Jacob and I had become friends over the week. He and I being the only men on the unit. ―I think we need a sign that says estrogen free zone,‖ I said as I rounded the corner into the room. Jacob was sitting on the end of his bed, crying. No one really knows how to handle that particular entry. You come in making a joke and then the person is struggling in pain. ―Oops, sorry, Jake,‖ I said. ―Do you want some space or do you want to talk about it?‖ I asked. Jake patted the side All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 458

of the bed indicating he wanted me to sit down. He was holding a letter in his hand. As I sat down, it dropped to the floor and he buried his head in his hands. I put my arm around his shoulder. He cried harder and indicated the letter. I picked it up and scanned its contents. ―Oh, man, I‘m sorry.‖ I said. The letter had been from his fiancé who had promised she would stick by him while he was getting the help he needed. He had been on three tours to Iraq. He was tough as nails and his back and neck were heavily muscled as my arm set on them. I gave him a little hug, and a ―it‘ll be alright.‖ Alright was always something we always hoped for and wished for others. But nothing was all right with Jake that day. ―Thanks, Reece,‖ Jake said and hugged back. ―I guess I‘ll get through it. She was all I thought of while I was over there. I‘d be in a foxhole, taking fire, and I‘d think, ‗I‘ve got to get through this and not break her heart‘. I just wonder if I would have gone to heaven if I‘d eaten a bullet.‖ ―Hey, if all gays go to heaven, so do all war heroes,‖ I told him. We sat there for another minute. Me pondering the time in the Crossing when it had occurred to me that there were so many beloved gay friends on the other side. Unknown to me, Jake was digging through the idea of trying to take the trip himself to answer the question. Then Jake said, jokingly, ―well not to get you hot and bothered but I have to take a shower.‖ ―Yeah, oh baby oh baby,‖ I mocked him back. But I did get up and give him some privacy. I headed back down the Sanctuary. Clang. The sound was sickening. It was a boom, crack noise and it made us all jump. Outside the Sanctuary, having run at full speed down the hall into the main support column on the unit, Jake lay bleeding. He had impaled his head onto the column and had bounced off of it cracking his skull. Blood spewed and the staff were on him in a minute. The EMS staff arrived within a few minutes and Jacob was still breathing. We, the All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 459

patients, had been kept back from him and I watched helplessly as the man who had shared my life with so intimately over the past week was walled off from me. ―Hang in there Jacob,‖ I shouted. The EMS loaded him up quickly and we heard the thwoop thwoop twhoop of a helicopter landing and then taking off again. As they wheeled him out of our Unit, they also wheeled him out of our lives on the unit. Although we would later hear he‘d live, we‘d never speak to him again. The next day, as I was meeting with Jeff, we talked about Jacob. ―Jeff, that really, really confused me.‖ ―How so?‖ ―Well,‖ I said, ―if he‘d been successful, he‘d be out of pain and in paradise. As he is now, who knows, I kind of wish he‘d made the crossing.‖ ―Reece, that‘s normal. Now, it‘s not normal for me. You‘ve helped me be less afraid of death, but I‘m still not sure I want to rush off the planet.‖ ―That‘s what I‘m needing to do, Jeff. I know I have things to do here, and I‘ve been trying to figure out what the heck someone like me could to here on the planet.‖ ―Okay, Reece, so what do you think that path is? What do you think you are supposed to do with everything you‘ve experienced? How you can turn that into a reality for people.‖ ―Jeff, I don‘t know what to do with it. People would think I was crazy. I mean, it‘s not like this happens to people every day. Did you know I still have dreams?‖ ―Dreams?‖ Jeff asked. ―Nightmares really, I guess. In my sleep I am dreaming that I‘m back in the face of the Source. There are millions of people I knew intimately surrounding me with love, peace, and knowledge. Then I begin to fall back. First, the knowledge is gone. Then the sense of peace. Then the pain comes back. I wake up to the big black bird with the insatiable beak. As I come into conscious ness I can almost hear feathers.‖ I started All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 460

to cry and I couldn‘t stop. I was thinking about being among all of the others. All the love. Oh, God, how I miss it. Even though it may have just been tenths of a second or two days, time doesn‘t matter over there. ―I just miss it so much, Jeff.‖ ―So, what are you going to do about it?‖ Jeff asked. ―What is your purpose, do you think?‖ ―Damned if I know Jeff. Damned if I know.‖ ―Reece, I want you to try something and see if it makes a difference.‖ ―Yeah, Jeff, what‘s that?‖ ―Write it out.‖ Then our time was up. A visit to Sanctuary where everyone was gathered seemed to be right what I needed. Crown greeted me with a toothy grin and bummed a smoke off of me. ―That was major shit, wasn‘t it?,‖ she said. She blew smoke out and seemed to be thinking deeply. I knew she was talking about Jacob and I knew she was right. It had been some major shit. ―So what‘s a boy like you been up to in that counseling room. What kind of deep dark boogers you got in your past, Reece?‖ Crown asked, half challenging, half interested. Or maybe just all passing the time. With Crown, you could never be sure. I decided she had asked about me and I wanted to unload. The stories came like a fountain. The before times with Jeff and in Lubbock. My first gay experience. Captain. The suicide attempt. The illness and the trip through heaven. All in all, it was a 30 minute diatribe. During which Crown listened and smoked my cigarettes. ―Shit, heavy, shit,‖ Crown summed up.

Chapter Fifty Seven – What About a Path? I had three primary demons to deal with during these sessions. First, was the sickening abuse I experienced at the hands of my Uncle Tom. The second was the tragedy of the nerve damage and the resulting chronic pain from the botched surgery. Finally, I had to deal with crossing over to Heaven, and then crossing back to this life again. Dr. Ross was fascinated and followed me closely. My life felt like an unfinished path—a driveway reaching only halfway to a garage. Spirit-self is as important as body-self and mind-self. I would not learn that lesson until I began work with a very talented therapist named Suzette Doescher. Somehow it seemed like just days had gone by, but in fact, three weeks had passed, and I was ready to leave the Trauma unit at Timberlake. I had been stabilized, and was now ready to transfer out to their day program. There I would begin working with Suzette. But, there was one last day to complete on the unit. I had become very, very close to the people who shared the Trauma Unit with me during my stay. Even the staff members and I had made bonds that would be missed. And the patients had changed my life through their learning and sharing. Dr. Ross had prepared me to ask the important questions. The institutional food had left me ten pounds lighter. The Sanctuary had turned me into a smoker. The coffee had made me a caffeine junkie. All things considered though, I dreaded saying goodbye my final day.

The morning I would leave, we began AM group according to routine. However, one-by-one, the patients, when asked how they felt, echoed ―confident,‖ and added, ―for Reece!‖ When asked what the goal was, everyone on the unit answered, ―hug Reece,‖ or ―say goodbye to Reece.‖ Even the staff leaders echoed the sentiment.

I was touched. Here were a group of people, all suffering from their own personal horror stories, and they were focused on letting me know I was loved. We had spent three weeks together laughing, crying, and just surviving. We had seen some come, and then be released to go home, and still others went on to long-term care facilities. We had shared it all, and I will always be grateful that my personal stories were not the worst of those heard on the unit. I left with these new beliefs stirring in me. They were not yet truths because I had not yet become aware of the spirit-self burning within me. But I wrote these down in my journal in the last hours I was on the unit.

I am loved. Bad things have happened, but they were beyond my control. I can control how I react to things. There are good people in the world. There is a God Who loves me. I have all of the strength I need to change my own life.

All Gays Go to Heaven ÂŠ2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 463

Chapter Fifty Eight – Transitioning to Real Life Suzette had escaped New Orleans in the wake of Katrina. The horrible storm had robbed her of her home and her possessions. I am truly thankful it did not rob her Spirit. Suzette arrived in Texas with essentially the clothes on her back, and her license to practice as a social worker in Texas. Suzette was a powerhouse of a woman. Standing only 5‘6‖, with a head of silver hair. One would never guess this would be the vessel God would use to put me in touch with my spirit-self in such an amazing way! Suzette was, as were most of the counselors I knew at Timberlawn, a devotee of the cognitive theories, with a few exceptions. The Day Program continued to be a structured setting. The group of five to ten people would gather in a comfortable little room in the Lane Unit. None of us knew quite what to expect the first morning on the ―outside.‖ We were giggling, and drinking obscene amounts of caffeine. We walked outside, looked-up to where the Sanctuary of nicotine hovered over the lawn below, and taunted the ones remaining on the ―inside.‖ Essentially, we were claiming the rights of the ―outties!‖ We were bandaged—had earned our patches pasted-over our emotional wounds. We would watch those wounds form scars during our time in the Day Program. Guiding us on this path was Suzette. There were five of us, and Suzette gave it her all to keep each one feeling as if she were focused on only one. Her size belied her ability to fly from person-to-person and back to the chalkboard. She threw titles of books at us as if hurling rocks at our old beliefs. She diagrammed, she pleaded and she assigned homework. For a woman who had lost everything just months before, she was an amazingly effective therapist! Suzette also had a distinctive personality that led some to love her, and some to be less than enthusiastic about her. Let‘s just say the word All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 464

―bitch‖ was thrown. It was love me or hate me attitude, and she really did seem undaunted by which way clients would go. She had a job to do. And, she did it with the self-assurance of someone who was not only wellpracticed, but who passionately believed in the ―big T‖ Truths.

Her passion for this belief helped my spirit-self awaken my mindself. My mind-self was still holding fast to old beliefs from the experience of sexual abuse by Uncle Tom, the physical abuse by a step-father, a crippling injury from a botched surgery, and finally my great disappointment at being sent back from the Source. As you can imagine, Suzette had her work cut out for her! It would be a very powerful three weeks. Few would make it to the end of the prescribed program. Especially those with DID, and various other severe personality disorders. Those of us, however, who responded to cognitive therapy, blossomed. Not only would I flourish with the cognitive therapy, but I would find my spirit-self as well. I would find it on a badly worn brown sofa, somewhere in the underbelly of the Trauma Unit. God would use a woman named Suzette. This is how He began bringing Reece- Manley back to his intended work for good. Part of the routine of the Day Program included signing-in daily, and filling-out a brief form on how our night had gone. We rated our depression, anxiety, etc. for the purpose of creating great reams of paperwork One morning I wrote down, ―I had a nightmare about my crossing.‖ It was the first time I mentioned my near death experience to Suzette, although I‘m sure she had read my file with its carefully documented notes from counseling. One day, she pulled me aside during the break. ―Break‖ being the official term for the mad rush of nicotine addicts who would shove each other to the ground to get ahead. We firedup 15 feet from the building. Nicotine rocks.

I was focused on pulling out a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and extrapolating one said cigarette from the pack in a single fluid motion. I almost missed Suzette‘s words. ―We need to talk after classes today,‖ she said. It didn‘t register with me that I was about to have a very important discussion that day. I believe God sends us thousands, or even millions of such little moments to tell our ―spirit-self to listen‖. That message got through with a tap from above. ―What‘s that you said?‖ I asked. ―I‘m sorry, Suzette. What did you say?‖ ―We need to talk a few minutes after we finish classes today, ― she repeated. I felt my brow furl with the thought of having to delay the demand for nicotine. ―Don‘t worry,‖ Suzette said, ―I know better than to fight tobacco urges. I just want to speak with you after classes end today.‖ The group went quickly out the door, and to the designated smoking patio. Patients, wait, no, we were now clients. Clients like to gossip about the goings-on at Timberlawn, and I was happy to contribute to the groups fodder for focus during the next twenty minutes. The gossip went around and around with puffs of smoke, and gulps of caffeine interrupting the flow. Before we knew it, the twenty minutes had gone by, and we were making our way to the rest of the day‘s classes.

Chapter Fifty Nine – The Big Truth At the end of the day, I sought out Suzette in the little office she shared with another therapist at the end of the hall. She motioned for me, and I took a seat on the chair directly in front of her desk. She held a piece of paper in front of her and studied it. With dread, I recognized it as my sign-in sheet for the day. ―You know, Reece,‖ she began, ―This is your key. This is the thing that is going to make it easier for you than for anyone else in this group. You know why that is?‖ I was stunned. Not only did I not know why that was so, but I didn‘t know how she could say such a thing. I was here to recover from my crossing. In my mind, recovery meant to put something behind you. To forget about it. To put it in its place, and not dwell upon it. And, here was the woman whose opinion I most valued in terms of healing help, telling me a piece of paper was my ―key‖. ―No, Suzette, I don‘t know why that is,‖ I responded. She dropped the sheet, looked over her reading glasses at me, and studied me for a moment. This was one of her favorite poses to strike with me. Her eyes seemed to be underscored by her reading glasses for emphasis. It was as if what she said was going to be very important. ―You already have a capital T,‖ she said. She paused, and a grin played over her face. She looked very much like a six-year-old who had shared the most precious secret in the universe with her little brother. ―A capital T as in capital T for Truth.‖ She laid down the paper, allowed the grin to subside, took off her reading glasses and laid them down. All this she did without taking her eyes off of mine. ―What would you think about us working together after I‘m done with the Day Program, Suzette?‖ My mouth said the words without any permission on my part! I remember thinking someone behind me said the

words and I started to turn my head before I recognized my own voice. Occasionally the spirit-self does reach out and take over the body-self! Suzette smiled broadly and returned, ―I thought you might ask that.‖ She hauled up her scheduling book stuffed with sticky notes, and shuffled through it. ―Looks like you can have Thursdays at 11:00 AM. Does that sound good to you?‖‘ No! I thought! That certainly does not sound good. I don‘t want to know the big T‘s in life. I was satisfied with knowing the little ―t‘s. The simple, small, easy to follow ―t‘s‖ that only required me to follow a certain list of rules resulting in an acceptable life. The last thing I wanted to do was add big, life-altering ―T‘s‖ into my life. Absolutely not! ―Yes. That sounds great.‖ The sound came from my mouth but who had said that? I opened my mouth to correct the statement, but found myself being cut off quickly. ―Great,‖ said Suzette. That‘s it. Oh, and you‘re time is about up here at the Day Program. We‘re looking at discharge Tuesday, so I‘ll be seeing you next on our first appointment on Thursday.‖ She set her schedule book back into place on the pile of paperwork. What just happened here? Did time shift? ―Anything else,‖ Suzette asked? I found my hand digging quite frantically in my right pocket, and performing its cigarette retrieval trick. I was set up with the great Suzette Doescher, LCSW as my primary therapist. Oh what a difference a few seconds make. In retrospect, Suzette was exactly who I needed. I now believe the Source moves people in and out of our lives when both parties can benefit from it. If you ever find yourself wondering why a major relationship just seemed to pop into your life, you can be certain your spirit-self has been working with the Source.

I met Suzette for our first session the following Thursday. Her office was hard to find, and I arrived puffing from the brisk walk over each floor of the building. The sign on the door read ―Practical Wisdom,‖ and Suzette‘s name was duly noted below the plaque. Our first session began the way I had initiated sessions with my clients, ―So, tell me what‘s going on with you?‖ It was very weird for me to be on the other side of the counseling chair. ―After all, you know it‘s all connected so any place you want to start is fine.‖ And, so it began with a simple question which would lead to a healing relationship that would bring me to an emotional plus ten! The sessions with Suzette were inspired. It turns out the Truths with the capital T came to me quickly through my work with Suzette. She focused on the beliefs I held, and we examined each one carefully. As we would go through the beliefs, I would keep turning back to my time in the presence of the Source. There, I would find Truth. I challenged beliefs that would not stand up to what I knew to be capital Ts. It was hard work emotionally. I spoke at length about the terror of being at the mercy of Tom—the feeling of being used and dirty. The feeling that came when I was crying, alone, a young child trying to hide the evidence of the rape I had just endured lest someone find out. Tom had instilled a belief in me that love was hurtful and manipulative. In the face of the Creator, I found no such evidence. Instead, I found that love is gentle and kind.

We delved into the beliefs created by the beatings of a step-father. He would deliver unspeakable terror and pain upon me, and I watched in horror as he did the same to my younger brother. The belief that I was powerless, was challenged and replaced. There is all power in the Source, and it is a loving, healing power. We examined the horrible aftermath of the gastric bypass surgery. It had left me with damage to nerve cells that had no idea how to heal themselves. They call out their injury 24/7/365. Unending in their assault All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 469

of pain, they are simply damaged tissue. They are not proof that God is angry with me. After the crossing, there was no pain, only comfort and great joy. Each time an old belief was changed; my spirit-self stirred and made the connection to the mind-self. I don‘t know how else to explain it. There was a Divine power at work as I changed each belief. The power to change was not coming from my physical-self. It remained in pain, and limited me. The power did not come from my mind-self. My emotions only winced and writhed under the memories generated by the storage of the mind-self‘s vivid ability to recall happenings. If neither the body-self, nor the mind-self was working, what was working on my behalf? I began to voraciously study spirituality. I considered all of the major religions. Some words I found to be untruthful, even though they were taken for truth by millions. But, one theme in almost every tome I reviewed, pointed out that mankind is eternal. Rather, some part of the whole person is eternal. However, some things written in the religious works I studied, directly challenged the Truth about the Creator as I knew Him. He loves us, and He does so through a direct connection to our spiritself. I suspected that some of the words were conceived by man rather than inspired by God. The God I knew was fully powerful, loving, gentle, and kind. This was a big Truth for me on the road to dispelling old beliefs. Any old belief could be challenged! Suzette taught me that through examining each belief. However, in order to challenge the belief, we must first articulate it. Whether we write it down in a journal, create a poem, write a song, the old belief must be stated so it can be challenged. Making the belief concrete, so it can be effectively challenged and changed, was like taking a checklist to the grocery so nothing important could be overlooked. Yes, there it was, right on the list—a dozen eggs I needed for the soufflé! I made the business of concretizing a daily task, and soon it became as simple as ticking-off the list at the grocery.

I practiced this step over and over as I brought out each old belief, and challenged it with my spirit-self in connection with the Creator, rather than with my mind-self. While the mind-self is a brilliant, shining diamond of accomplishment, (more powerful than we yet know,) it is limited in comparison to the spirit-self. Yes, the mind-self is limited to past knowledge. It is not capable of conceiving unique challenges of future knowledge. Whatever action or reaction we have to a place, person, or situation—no matter how logical we try to be, our mind-self is affected by every similar past experience; it makes a judgment, and then reacts based on past knowledge—repeated experiences. These experiences go all the way back to birth. Not surprisingly, the mind-self has written millions of scripts to handle every situation which has been experienced. Each time it adds to the little truths. This truth becomes a belief over time, and the mind-self automatically reacts to any given situation by playing back this mind-self experiences tape! Without the spirit-self, we cannot effectively change our reactions, emotions, or behaviors. We cannot effectively love ourselves or love others. Without the spirit-self, we can‘t realize our full potential because we are living life by two-thirds of who we really are. Why would anyone want to live in such a limited way—missing one-third of what is rightfully theirs through the Source? Talk about a handicap! Yes, I was spiritually handicapped, and so was mankind—hobbling around with two-thirds potential on a daily basis!

I began to bring out more and more old beliefs, and for each one I tried, I allowed my spirit-self to test it as true or false. Each time, my spirit-self was able to give a new Truth to the situation. I worked with Suzette once a week for four months. At the beginning, the work was slow. I had to face all of my graduate-level training in counseling, and my doctoral work in human development. All All Gays Go to Heaven ©2010 Reece Wyman Manley Page 471

of the documents on my wall, testifying I was an expert on mind issues, were working against any true change. As time went on, it became easier. I developed my connection to my spirit-self to the point that it was an ever-present part of my daily life. When new situations arose, or an old one changed, my mind-self would actually wait to receive the consciousness of my spirit-self to act upon the situation. My spirit-self would seek out its connection to the Creator for inspiration, information, and structure. And power—such incredible power I found in the connection to the Source. I had finally given myself the gift of acceptance. And in that acceptance, I went from victim to survivor. Suzette and I rapped about it at the last session I would have with her before the six month break, the time required for her to legally go from counselor to cohort. Our hour passed quickly as we reviewed the standard counseling things. Remember to look for ways to challenge your thinking. Remember, we are all loved and accepted by a Creator. She gave a list of instructions on how to avoid stress, seek out meditation. Try to eat right. For God‘s sake, stop smoking. The usual. ―So, this is it,‖ Suzette said with a wonderfully inspiring smile. ―I guess so. Where do you mail my ‗Certified Sane‘ certificate?‖ ―We don‘t give those out anymore. Too many rescinds,‖ she kidded. ―I can just see the repo men now!‖ In fact, I hear a knock at the door.

Epilogue Dear Reader, One of the hardest things to do as a writer is to end a work about your life without the life ending. I know it leaves questions and they are questions I continue to have about things. My mentor, friend and hero, Dr. Gwen Sorrell, passed from a very aggressive cancer before I could tell her about my crossing and return. I know that the Creator is richer for the knowledge Gwen formed when she was in this life. I know she was surprised to find God, the Creator, was indeed available to hardened academics with very, very soft hearts. Captain was as brilliant as any person I will ever meet. Her passion lives on in the Center for Women‘s Studies at Texas Tech University. Lubbock, Texas, was never so enriched as the time it had Gwen there. She touched thousands, inspired hundreds and reached many of us with her passion for knowledge and integrity. I can‘t help but smile when I think about her passing and finding that she indeed was assimilated. Resistance is futile. My beloved friend Jeff is currently a guest of the Colorado Department of Corrections. I hear from him time to time. He has always found a way to stay cocktailed, even in jail. His AIDS will assert itself and then it will retreat. I still love him and hope against hope that one day he will win the battle he has with addiction to crack. Jeff‘s boyfriend James took his life in Colorado. It was a suicide that shook me to the core. It was after I had crossed and returned but I knew when he crossed and I know he is there. Finally happy, at peace with the love and acceptance he had always longed for. That we all long for. The other people in Lubbock have moved out of my life. I don‘t think I could track them down if I wanted and that is how it should be. No, I‘ve never heard from Chris and that is also as it should be.

Today, I am a writer and a speaker. My first two works, Crossing Twice and Spirit Thinking, were written immediately after I left Timberlawn and before I began to regain my place in the gay community. I wrote them for the progressive Christian readers who need to know we go on. I wrote them for good reasons but not for the right reason. This book, All Gays Go to Heaven, is written for the right reason. To celebrate the fact that GLBT people are as worthy as anyone of the Creator‘s love, peace and acceptance. I tried to lay out my sins so others might go – yes! I‘ve been there! In fact, they weren‘t sins at all. They were me doing the best I could with what I had to work with. That‘s all we can do. I do want to say one thing about the integrity of this book. It is a true story. I may have missed a date or two by a month. I may have gotten a name wrong. Of course, there were many things left out and maybe one day I‘ll bring them back. But, yes, it all happened. Finally, yes, All Gays Go to Heaven! There is a Source, a Creator, which we return to after this life. This Creator loves us with an incredible passion and longs for those who have yet to connect. Truly, my experience on the other side changed me forever, eventually. I rarely get things right the first time I try them. But I do keep trying and in doing so, come to find my path. One last quote, from Suzette, I wish to you. The path is not to greatness, there is greatness in the path. Writing from Addison, Texas, on May 10, 2010, I send you blessings. Hailing frequencies remain open. Love and Light, Reece