.

[rm]

My father will never set foot in any home of mine again. He is too old now, and after a week in bed, too fragile to climb the stairs. It's for the best though, and no great loss -- he's not been allowed in my home in years, after all the apartments that no matter how beautiful or clean they were, he told me looked like prisons.

When I was 21, I was sleeping with a married man 19 years my senior. He wanted to start an off-shore electronic options markets and I fantasized about living in the British Virgin Islands with him and having five sons. In those fantasies, I always wore long white billowing dresses and walked on the beach, and there was always a sadness to me: the weight of so many men.

It's funny, how adrenaline takes you. Crime too. It seems so absurd, you process weird things. Fixate on them, and yet ignore others, until they hit you later like a fist. Patty has a pot from Syria in which she keeps a gerber daisy. The most recent one was wilting and I bought her a new one just the other night, so there were two in there. When she came home after the burglary, the wilting one had been removed from the pot and half its petals had been pulled off and vanished. We obsessed on this. We told the cops to dust the flower for fingerprints.

No matter how out you are, you're never really out until you deal with the cops as a gay couple, until you kiss in front of your locksmith. Everyone was kind. No one blinked. Even the robbers did not disturb the framed pictures -- Patty and I, our friends, the one of me as Jack -- on our wall. I was even able to talk to my mother about the blessing of this. It is enough to feel safe.

Patty keeps noting the details while I stare blankly at the mess. They even dumped all the things on the window sill next to the bed on the floor. Tonight we'll try to sort out the bedroom, and I will dig for the watch I am nearly sure was stolen, and Severus' bracelet, which I'm nearly certain wasn't.

The night before the party, I moved my Anubis and my Jizo from those sills into the shelves in our living room. Thank god. I don't know how I would have handled anything happening to the Jizo. Anubis, I imagine, can take care of himself.

About ten years ago I had an abortion, but I cannot remember when. I cannot remember what year it was, what season. I cannot remember the date. And I cannot remember the days of it except in gasps; I was part of the RU486 experimental trials, and I almost died.

He has a name and was a boy and was buried in a shabby corner park that wasn't anything much more than waste ground near where I lived by the BQE. I am not ashamed of it, and I do not, per se regret.

I wonder what it is like to read a story and not feel as if it is about myself. I have never had that experience. It is not arrogance, although people think it such. It is not pride, but rather a life of being desperately, frighteningly permeable. It is beautiful, and I would trade it for nothing. But I do wonder.

Yesterday, I read Get Loved, Make More, Try to Stay Alive by dsudis, and cried. It has taken me a long time to come to terms with never being a mother or a father, and it might surprise you which has been the greater burden to me. By and large, I do not mind.

When I was pregnant, I knew immediately that I did not wish it to be so, and that it was a terrible idea, both of circumstance and genetics. Of course, since then, we've learned even more about my biological family's health, and the decision seems even more sound. But it also seems a shame. I am something special in the world, and should in a fashion make more. I hope I do so by the way that I live. I hope at least some of my words are tiny seeds.

Patty loves children, as long as they are someone else's. And I love watching her love children (except when Martha Stewart has dressed them in food-shaped Halloween costumes which we find very disturbing). It makes me happy, and without regret, and we have more than one set of friends intent on kids who let me refer to these as yet unborn creatures as our loaner babies.

They will come to New York, and I will take them to the theater. My parents took me to see Camelot when I was five, and it is the map of my soul.

The mystery of the flower was solved an hour ago. The thieves left doors open we normally close. They didn't touch the flower. Little Kitty, who each and every cop that came into our house remarked was not stolen because she was too heavy to lift, ate it. This makes me more happy than I can possibly describe.

We slept on my mother's floor last night, and I told Patty stories, and I called her my tiny turtle (I am her giant fruit), and I thought about how there was a moment, just this one mad moment yesterday after reading dsudis's story, where I thought, we could do this. We could have a baby. We could make the office into a nursery. I'm making enough money now. But it's not our road. I am not Jack Harkness in an mpreg story that doesn't suck.

At thirty-six the body merely demands I consider the matter occasionally, and I don't mind that, it's nice to live a life full of active choices and have a body that obeys. Finally.

To be frank, when I consider children, I feel like I dodged a bullet. One that would be ten now and doesn't really visit as much anymore. I think that's the age when parents start to become embarrassing, and I read different stories now anyway.

You should know among all the rest of this that I have never really been afraid of violence, but then, I have never really experienced violence. Friends of mine have been beaten, and I have had bottles thrown at me, but when it really came down to it, I've always gotten away or stared down (there's an insane story involving a kid with a gun in North Carolina and me at my stupidest) the bullshit. People don't fuck with me.

Our apartment clearly didn't radiate the same, and that's fine, but what I can't shake now is this feeling that everything is precarious, that everything is luck, that thank god we weren't home. I feel fragile and inadequate in the face of violence right now, and to my surprise, I do not mind.

Yesterday my father was moved to a step-down unit in the stroke ward. This is good. But he didn't do well once he was there, complaining of weakness, and I think it is a true thing to say there is no such thing as a minor stroke.

Or a minor burglary.

Or a minor life.

The locksmith, Patty says, was angry on our behalf, and the whole thing is going to cost us $850. We can swing it. It will be tight this month, parents may have to help, but my next paycheck should make it all go away. Those of you who have offered paypal are very kind, but I would instead encourage you to do what we cannot now as much as we'd like because of this -- donate to Soren's fund, or Obama's campaign or No on 8. We'll be all right. Nothing that was stolen was anything we need, but I am really, really pissed about Shark Attack 3: Megalodon.

Meanwhile, we are still going to CT, tomorrow, after I finish my political report. Patty will take her bubble bath and on Saturday we will dance at a ball. Sunday, we'll come home a little early to try to get our bedroom in some damn order.

Much was taken, but it doesn't seem like anything was broken.

As I will always tell anyone who will listen -- the cops, the locksmith, and strangers' children on the subway -- all stories are true. This is my act of faith. And I know none better.

Comments

[delicatetbone.livejournal.com]

oh damn, and now i'm weeping....this is so beautiful and real

[rm.livejournal.com]

Sorry about that, but thank you.

[virginia-fell.livejournal.com]

Much love to you guys. I'm glad to hear from you and I have to say... the tiny glimpses I get of your relationship with Patty are the sweetest thing ever. You guys sound wonderful, and I wish I knew you in 3D-land.

[rm.livejournal.com]

Thank you. We have a lot of fun, and smiled a surprising amount in the last twenty-four hours.

[phaenix-ash.livejournal.com]

Oh, R, thank you so much for sharing this. It's beautiful and explains so much of you that was a bit of a mystery before. It's funny what our minds process during crisis, the seemingly random fixations which really aren't random at all. I've been thinking of all of you and agree that you must have a streak of good luck on the way.

They will come to New York, and I will take them to the theater.

Sometime, probably not all that far in the future, I'd really like to have you and Patty accompany T and I to the theater, the same way I want T to meet her aunt who works at Carnegie Hall, to sneak her onto the stage for photos when no one else is there, and take her ice skating in Rockefeller Center. I have no doubt this will happen eventually.

[rm.livejournal.com]

You know, there's absolutely nothing in this piece that is any sort of secret, but it felt so good to put it together. I like being able to map my life and be clear on how it all connects, and knowing that it all connects like this means it doesn't connect in some other horrible way where I did something to deserve this fucktacular week. I feel so much better now (my current state is calm when with Patty, very anxious when not). It's a little strange.

[demotu.livejournal.com]

I think it is a true thing to say there is no such thing as a minor stroke.

Or a minor burglary.

Or a minor life.

Oh, shit, I don't think I can explain how much that hit me like a ton of bricks. You're a writer, and I expect even when writing at your most stripped down and honest, you can't help but evoke emotions in those of us reading along, so I can't help but commenting as if you intended to - but at that point the whole picture became clear, how your thoughts and experiences wove together, and it was a perfect thing.

I'm so new to this public journaling thing, I don't think I'd grasped entirely what it means - but I do, in a strange but very real way, feel honoured to be able to read part of your story. It's a very different experience - different from a journal published postmortem, because you are so very alive and present, for example - but one I'm growing to appreciate very much.

All my sympathies for this shitty, shitty week.

[rm.livejournal.com]

Thank you. It was really, really important to me to write this well (and the idea of some of the things I had to say here began with dsudis's piece (I'm tempted to link her to this, but talk about weird feedback from someone you don't know)), but I actually didn't understand how it was going to fit together until I started, but that was the purpose. If I could make a map of this it would tell me why and the why turns out not to be because I did something wrong, so it helps me feel better.

[schpahky.livejournal.com]

This was so satisfying to read. I hope it was satisfying to write.

I'm glad you and Patty have each other.

[rm.livejournal.com]

Really. Really really. I'm adrenaline sick and have too much work to do, but I feel unburdened.

[monkeysugarmama.livejournal.com]

What a damn mess.

In the end, may all the pieces fit back together so the cracks barely show :)

[rm.livejournal.com]

Thanks. I think we'll be just fine.

[spydielives.livejournal.com]

There is absolutely nothing I can say in response to this, other than to tell you I weep.

*steps away from the laptop for a while*

[theycallmeboy.livejournal.com]

We don't know each other incredibly well, but I've always enjoyed reading your blog, and I'm honoured to have read this piece.

I'm very sorry to hear about what's happened to you this past week, but I'm very, very happy knowing you have someone there with you to battle the obstacles. Material possessions come and go, but you still have love.

*hugs*

[graene.livejournal.com]

Because I feel helpless to do anything else, I am checking fares on bringing loaner babies to you in November. Amtrak actually has child discounts, but I'm not sure about their behavior for ten hours each way. Want visitors?

[rm.livejournal.com]

November might be a bit soon, although I do want to meet them. Let us dig out from under this before we even try to think about!

[spiralflames.livejournal.com]

you amaze me with your courage, even when some of it is elegantly manufactured.

[rm.livejournal.com]

Thank you. As you might imagine, I need the structure of it right now ;)

[brightflashes.livejournal.com]

Thank you for sharing this slice of your life with us. A glimpse into your life with Patty sounds heavenly and I'm so glad for you that you have a sense of being unburdened and free about this; it shows a sense of strong character and resilience. And that is something I respect a lot about a person. I understand that it's hard for some people to bounce back from certain situations, but it's very refreshing to see more people who are able to bounce back with wisdom and a sense of inner knowing.

[brightflashes.livejournal.com]

Also, despite your strong attitude I just wanted to offer you ::gentle hugs:: and let you know that you'll be in my thoughts. :)

[idunn.livejournal.com]

This was difficult to read but beautiful. Thank you for sharing.

[imaginarycircus.livejournal.com]

I just donated to Obama's campaign. I hope that your run of good luck starts now.

[rm.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[theotoky.livejournal.com]

i love that you and patty have each other.

you never cease to amaze me.

[norda.livejournal.com]

You're not alone in appreciating the importance of even the smallest detail in difficult times, details like Little Kitty's repast of flowers instead of one more violation by the robbers.

I'm glad you and Patty have each other, and I'm sorry this robbery has added to the weights you're already carrying.

[marchek.livejournal.com]

I ate lunch by myself today because of this post. I was on the verge of tears and couldn’t be with people for awhile.

I wish I had your faith.

[kittenboo.livejournal.com]

I don't know if you'd like them, but I offer you some *gentle hugs*

[lolliejean.livejournal.com]

That last line. Yeah.

We stand.

xo ~ Lori

[rm.livejournal.com]

God, thank you for weighing in in the midst of your own shit (which I am sorry I have not commented on, but I like to say the _right_ thing, and I haven't had a hold of myself at all).

You, however, are going to kick cancer's ass. I'm just pissed off, completely pissed off, that the process remains convoluted and is going to take up any of your time.

[heron61.livejournal.com]

all stories are true. This is my act of faith. And I know none better.

Yes.

I can think of nothing else to say beyond the fact that I am deeply impressed with the courage with which you live your life.

[kalichan.livejournal.com]

I can't believe they stole Shark Attack 3!

[rm.livejournal.com]

That's been one of the points of fixation. They left all our really gay/foreign movies.

[tsarina.livejournal.com]

Jesus wept, those bastards. When did this happen?

Is there anything I can help you replace? I don't call, because I assume you are always on the move with something. but you can call me whenever.

Oh Little. What a wonderful kitty you are.

[stef-tm.livejournal.com]

This is so moving and eloquent - and has given me a spark to write on my blog. Thank you.

[stakebait.livejournal.com]

Jesus. The shit, she just keeps coming. I am glad you are both safe, and I am sorry there are such sound reasons for you not to feel secure in that.

[sociallyawkrd.livejournal.com]

I echo that this was incredibly moving. And I thank you for being yet another one of us who is not ashamed. I was, for years, I allowed others the relegate all my feelings to something else. And then one day I woke up and realized that people don't know what they say and I refused to be ashamed and I refused to not admit it.

[feyandstrange.livejournal.com]

It's odd how we fixate on the stupid little things, which apparently mean so damn much in the face of such a violation. When our house was robbed I found myself vacuuming the spots where the thief has walked as if to eradicate his presence (never mind the rest of the rug being filthy), and being really pissed that he'd taken my purse, not because going through the hassle of getting new ID when I had basically none was going to be hell, but because the purse itself was an irreplaceable souvenir. Never mind that he could have murdered us in our bed.

We love stories, and we *are* stories, and every stupid little object that was taken or damaged has a story, and it's the theft of the story far more than that of the object itself. It's a bad end to their history in our eyes.

I feel as if I'm holding my breath a great deal these days - to see you two "safe" in CT, to make it through the election, hoping a dozen hospitalizations and cancer tests and the like come back with good results. I wish I had the strength to do more.

I'm glad the cops were kind. It helps. A human dignity restored.

In a hundred years, few of those who loved us will wish that we had had children; they will wish that we had made more art. I cling to that sort of thing and try not to regret the ghosts.

[rm.livejournal.com]

Thank you. This was probably the most helpful, although the most difficult thing anyone said to me about all this (*random gesture of handwaving at my infodump*). It completely made one of the parts of me that I habour fall the fuck apart, but that's okay, because he needed to.

I am aghast at my incoherence and weirdness right now, but I could not let this go by unremarked.