The deep end beckons...

I called a friend in the city and he came and picked me up. No questions asked. The Tennessee Williams line about the 'kindness of strangers' rang in my head. I got out with what I brought, minus a little self-esteem.

I still had my job and our mail boy at the office, a small, gay, Asian kid with a big heart would bring me dim sum from the Chinese place next to his apartment. He said it would heal a broken heart.

(The following year he went to New York City on vacation. He was cornered in an alley and beaten to death. No rhyme. No reason. A wonderful soul, released to the universe while his body lay broken in someone else's garbage.)

I stayed with my friend until one night he got drunk, started crying and professed deep feelings for me. Holy shit. Not what I needed. When I told him that, he turned vicious...hell hath no fury like a broken down queen.

My boss helped me find an apartment.

I started to drink again. A quick one at lunch, then deep breaths until five o'clock, then home and flagons of red wine. All was well until I looked out my bathroom window at the adjoining apartment roof one morning, maybe eight feet away. A man was standing on his roof, staring into my bathroom while he masturbated.

That'll unnerve ya before coffee. (Lesson learned...close my blinds.)

Why me?

Then I got a phone call at work. My Father was having open heart surgery. He wanted me to be there.

My first thought was not of him. It was not of my family.

It was I had to go home, and I would not be able to drink.

I shuffled through the mental Rolodex and hit upon the solution.

Valium.

Once again, it was a good idea at the time.