Sunday, May 9, 2021

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 12

Two weeks later, Tom and Alex have brought a joint into the shelter. Everything has seemed to be heading in a direction to put me on “a path” in life. I would finish up my time at Equinox, move to Saratoga to live in a group home, and then go off to college. Tom and Alex stand at the top of the stairs and wait to hear Laroy’s snoring before they open my door. “Come across the hall,” whispers Alex, motioning with his hand. “We are going to smoke some weed.” Silently we cross the hallway and enter Alex’s room.

I had been in Alex’s room before but now he was living alone. His roommate recently worked out his problems with his parents and moved back home. Against one wall of Alex’
s room is a pile of mattresses that are kept there as storage. Our job in the morning is to move them to a storage room on the upper floor of the building. People are always donating things to the shelter, and since our numbers are always growing, the donations come in handy.

We get the idea to block the door with the mattresses so that no one can get in and surprise us. Alex reaches in the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a joint, he then places it in his mouth. Pausing to smile, he takes a lighter out of his pocket and lights up.

The smoke curls around Alex’s head as he inhales deeply and holds the smoke in his lungs. Tom reaches out and takes the joint from Alex holding it between two fingers. “Smells like skunk,” says Tom with a laugh. Alex gives him the thumbs up.

We sit on the fire escape for about twenty
 minutes, talking about what our dreams are when we get out of here. Tom and Alex want to see the world and travel across the country. I want to move to New York City and become a dancer.

We finish the joint and while we’re climbing back in through the window, it sounds like someone is pounding on the bedroom door. “Open this door now!” screams the person on the other side of the door. It is
 Laroy. “I know you’re smoking weed!” he screams. Alex and Tom run across the room and lie against the mattresses, trying to block Laroy from coming in. Laroy, tired of asking us to open the door, begins to kick it down. The crunching and splintering sound created by the door as it crashes in is deafening.

Once through the door, Laroy butts the mattresses and sends Tom and Alex flying across the room. I stand there with my mouth hanging wide open, completely in shock. “The police are on their way,” screams
 Laroy, as he takes the mattresses and tosses them as if they weighed nothing.

The Albany police, ever none too subtle, pull up in front of the building with their lights flashing. Laroy grabs at the air as we try to dive past him. Somehow this tiny little ex-Hells Angel kicks
 in a door, throws mattresses around, and grabs three boys as they jump out of his way.

Laroy drags us down the stairs and into the office. We can see the police at the front door. Laroy throws each of us into a chair and pointing, screams, “Don’t anyone move!” Running to the front door, he opens it and in a calm voice says, “Gentlemen, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” The cops laugh and walk into the office. You can hear their walkie-talkies going off, as one of the officers pushes his hat back off his head. “You got any more on you?” he asks, scanning the three of us.

“No……no…
no sir,” Alex stammers. “Well, you’d better not,” he responds. Speaking into his radio, one of the cops walks back out of the room. The one who stays begins to give us a lecture on the evils of smoking marijuana. While he is talking, his partner re-enters the room and begins to go through our pockets.

 

Thank God they never found anything. When he was done with his speech, he tipped his hat to Laroy and he and his partner walked back out into the night. “Tonight is your last night,” said Laroy. “Go back to your rooms. In the morning you have to leave.”

Saturday, May 8, 2021

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 11

I return to the Equinox shelter, and life returns to my “new normal.” Mornings are spent taking the bus to Stuyvesant Plaza, getting picked up and driven to school. Few people know what I am going through and I try to keep it that way. I have never been a very good student in school, and all this makes it even harder.


One day I come home from school to find that Donna is waiting for me. Ushering me into the office, she explains that Parsons Child and Family Center has a bed for me and I will be moving into one of their group homes. The only problem is that the house that has a spot for me is in Saratoga. “This is good news,” she says, “you will have whole new life to look forward to.” I explain that I looked forward to fixing my old life. I’
m worried. I don’t know anyone in Saratoga and I will be starting school there in the middle of my junior year. “Mrs. Vanderbilt-Whitney lives in Saratoga,” Donna reminds me. “Am I living with her?” I ask.

Donna tells me that there is no other place for me to go and that this is the best thing for me. Standing up, she motions with her hand for me to leave the office and that our talk is over. I have four weeks left at the shelter before I will be moved, so it’s time to say my goodbyes.

I go into the kitchen and find Jay T. Tucker stuffing a chocolate cupcake into his mouth. He looks up at me and smiles. “
Well, old friend,” I say sitting down next to Jay T., “it looks like my time is up here.” Jay T. starts to tell me that he has left the shelter two previous times and has been returned. “Is that because you’re a mean mother fucker?” I ask. He laughs, spitting cupcake onto the table. He pushes himself back from the table and stands up. “Jay T. Tucker is a mean mother fucker,” he sings. “And a mean mother fucker is he,” I add. He starts to pound on his chest. “Jay T. Tucker is a mean mother fucker,” he sings. “And a mean mother fucker is he,” I add again. Now we begin to march around the table in rhythm to our new song. “Jay T. Tucker is a mean mother fucker,” he sings and points at me. “And a mean mother fucker is he,” I sing back. Round and round the table we march, when Laroy walks in the room and joins in. Now the three of us are marching around the table singing, “Jay T. Tucker is a mean mother fucker and a mean mother fucker is he.”

That night in the TV room I get to meet two new kids who will be living at shelter for a couple of nights until the staff figure out what to do with them. One of them will be staying in my room and one will be staying in the hall across from me. The kid who will be staying with me is named Tom. H
is friend’s name is Alex. It turns out that they are both runaways who arrived from Buffalo. They got picked up by the police at the bus station where they spent the night sleeping on the chairs. When questioned, they didn’t have any bus tickets and refused to talk about their families. After a day, the police brought them here.

Tom and I stayed up late and he told me all about his life. Alex snuck across the hall and joined us. I told them to stand at the top of the stairs where you can hear Laroy’s snoring coming from the office. If you can hear it, then the coast is clear. The rule is that once “lights out” is called, everyone needs to be found in their own room. No one challenges any of Laroy’s rules.

The next couple of days at school are strange. I tell only my closest friends that I will be leaving and living in Saratoga. It is too hard to explain and I find that saying goodbye is very tough for me.

I come home two nights later and Donna is waiting for me in the office again. She introduces me to a woman who is creating a brochure for the shelter and wonders if I would like to design the cover. I am over-the-moon and I’m told that I only have two days to do it. I get to work right away.

Three nights later a news station comes to the shelter to do a story about what they do and Donna asks me to be a part of it. The news channel doesn’t want to show my face but they get a shot of my cowboy boots walking down the sidewalk and into the front door. I am now the poster child of the runaway set, except that I never “ran away.”



Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 10

Two weeks pass in a blink of an eye. I am now standing out in a hallway at Child and Family Court in Albany, New York. My parents are at one end of the hall, and I’m standing alone by myself at the other end. Donna and the lawyer have gone in search of the women’s bathroom.

My mother looks at me, her eyes all red from crying. It might be for real, but I’ve seen this before. She looks in my direction and shakes her head; her pain has come to the surface. I am not moved, but I wonder why she is playing this card. It is clear that she needs to look like a mother who has done everything, and look where it has gotten her.

Donna and the lawyer hurry back, Donna’s heels clicking on the marble floor. Seeing where I am standing, the lawyer takes my arm and pulls me out of the view of my mother. We enter the courtroom. The judge is a large man who stares down at me; his glasses sit at the end of his nose. He looks at me and smiles. “How are you doing today?” he asks. “Fine,” I answer, afraid to look at him, in fear that I will be sent to jail. Donna has explained to me a million times that this is a hearing so I can move into a group home. I need to be declared an Emancipated Minor in order to be granted custody of myself.

The whole hearing takes about twenty minutes. Through sobs and tears, my mom explains that she has done her best, but that I am a menace and turning her house into an emotional shambles. We both decide it is better that I don’t return. The judge shakes his head as my mother finishes. I’m sure that he has seen many an emotional parent standing in front of him and can tell what is really going on.

It has always seemed weird to me that I was adopted because they “wanted” me, and now I am being “thrown away” because it is not working out their way. So many things happened in that house and under that roof. I remember that one night when I came home, my mother sat me down to wait for my father to get home. When he did arrive they told me that they thought I was gay. 
It was going to be their job to take me to therapy to “fix me.” This led to oh, so many fights. Once, on the way to meet the therapist, I even jumped out of my father’s moving car and ran into the woods.


Standing in front of the judge got me to wondering where I would be going now. My life as I knew it would be changing. After the hearing Donna took me and the lawyer out for ice cream. I didn’t even watch my parents walk out of the courtroom.



Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 9

For the next several months I settle into life at the Equinox shelter. I rise early in the morning, eat, and take the city bus into Guilderland. The stop is located 45 minutes away at a strip mall called Stuyvesant Plaza. Once I arrive, Kerry meets me and drives me to school. Then she takes me back at the end of the day. Kerry does this day in and day out, never once asking for anything in return. I am happy and have very little stress in my life. I haven’t been fighting with anyone, and the constant battles with my mother seem to be in the past.


It is now the six-month mark. Jay T. Tucker and I are the only ones from the original group who are 
still living at Equinox. Donna, my social worker, has been trying to find me a permanent home, but it has not been as easy as you might think. According to them [the staff ??],[1]  I’m not a problem child, so it will be harder to place me. One solution that sounds good to Donna is Parsons Child and Family Center. Their main headquarters are located in Albany. One day Donna takes me over to look at their school and facilities. The main buildings are located just off New Scotland Avenue. As we climb out of Donna’s car she tells me that Parsons has group homes in both Albany and Saratoga, as well as an independent living center in Albany.

We are let into the building by security. There seem to be security guards posted everywhere. One guard walks us down long hallways that have loc
ked doors on each end. There are more security guards posted in front of them. So far this does not seem like the kind of place where I want to be left, and I look at Donna. She seems to be as nervous as I am.

T
hen we are lead into the director’s office. The director is a large woman dressed in drab blue. I guess she thought that black might be too dowdy for this institution. She smiles at us and I sense that it is just for show, and she seems more uncomfortable doing it than we do seeing it. I feel that Donna and I might as well be Hansel and Gretel.

With a sweep of her hand, she motions for us to take a seat. Pulling out the chair, I look at the name plate on the desk. Her name is Margaret. She notices that I am reading her name plate and smiles again. My stomach drops. “I have read all the notes in his file,” she says, looking at Donna and leaning back in her chair. “I think that this might be the perfect place for him.”

Donna smiles and asks when a bed might be ready. Margaret reaches across the desk and opens a large black ledger book. She flips the pages furiously. “In about a month,” she says. Donna and Margaret discuss formalities. “Is he a ward of the state?” I hear her ask. “At this time he is, but we have registered to make him an emancipated minor, and luckily that hearing takes place in front of the judge in two weeks.”

 [1]

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 8

 

Back in the kitchen, I can hear Donna’s booming voice calling my name. I quickly head down the hallway to the main office. “Have a seat,” she says, motioning with her hand. A lone chair has been set up for me. It looks as though I am about to be interrogated.


“I have to go through a couple of things with you,” she says, pulling a pen out of her hair, starting with what you can expect from us, and what we expect from you.” One of our first goals is to become a liaison between you and your parents. What can you tell us about them?” she asks, preparing to write. “
Well once,” I say, my voice breaking, “my mom took me to a recruiting station to have me join the Army while my dad was at work.” “How old were you?” Donna asks, her eyes getting big. “Fourteen, I’d say.” She sighs and leans forward. “What happened?” “Well,” I say trying not to well up with tears, “first they said I was too young to enlist but they would wait, and then out of fear I bolted for the door.” Donna blows air out of her mouth and shakes her head. “Later I got grounded for trying to run.”

Donna is holding a legal pad, and she begins to tap it with the pen from her hair. “How is your relationship with them now?” “
Not good,” I say. “Well, my Mom and I didn’t get along at all. She used to take me to a therapist when I was younger, but when they told her that she was the problem, she looked for another therapist.” “How many therapists have you seen?” Donna asks. “Oh, about six or seven.” Donna squints her eyes.

“What happened last night?” Donna asks, trying to change the subject. “Can we talk about that later?” I beg, as tears start to well up in my eyes again. “Of course,” she says. “I’m going to call your school today and we will figure out what we are going to do with you.” She smiles and I give her all the information on who she needs to call at my school. It seems like our interview is over for a moment and she picks up the phone to dial Information for the number at
Guilderland High School.
Sitting in the chair, I am a little worried. We have started rehearsals for the school show. We are doing 
Brigadoon
 and I’ve landed the role of Harry Beaton. They gave me an understudy because it was pretty clear that I was going through something at home. I will be damned if he gets to do the part, but the show must go on.

I see that Donna is on hold with the school. Placing her hand over the receiver, she tells me to wait outside. I nod and walk into the hallway. The house seems empty and quiet now that everyone has gone to school. It looks like I will have the day off. I climb the stairs and head into the TV room. I am the only one home, so the TV is off. The rest of the staff is moving throughout the house. Everyone seems to be in the middle of projects. Lorraine is wearing yellow rubber gloves and carrying a toilet brush. She keeps pushing her glasses up with her forearm in between scrubbing. “Are you bored?” she asks, waving the brush at me. “Want to help clean the toilet?” “No thanks,” I say and continue down the hall.

I walk into the entryway that houses some of the bedrooms, and find a chair to sit in. Throwing my legs up, I lie down on my back and stare up at the tin ceiling. Pretty soon, I am out cold. It’s not long. I wake up about twenty minutes later to Donna calling my name. I sit up, and am still feeling groggy as I head back down the stairs.

“Well, I just got off the phone with your school; they are wondering how we can make this work.” Donna sighs, “Maybe we will have to send you to Albany High.” In my head I hear Christine’s comments about being not being raped in the bathroom making it a good day at Albany High. “I can make it work,” I say, the panic rising in my voice. “Okay,” Donna says, “well, let’s see what we can do.”

That night I call my friend Kerry. She has been worried about me and what happened. “It’s all over school that the police were at your house last night,” she tells me. The only plus is that Kerry knows my parents. It’s been hard because I’ve never been allowed to have friends over at the house, but Kerry would always pick me up in her car and drive me wherever I needed to go. It seems like I’ve always been in trouble and always grounded while living at home. In many ways Kerry is saving my life that day by offering to help out. The plan is that I will take a bus from Albany to Stuyvesant Plaza, and Kerry will meet me there and give me a ride to school.

The next day I tell Donna, and she thinks this is a great idea.

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 7

I look over at Jay T., who is still stuffing his face. “She’s a bitch,” he says through a mouth full of egg. Someone behind me asks, “Are you Geoff?” I turn around. Standing in the door is a large woman dressed all in black. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she has glasses on a chain hanging around her neck.


Taking two steps forward, she pulls out a chair and plops down into it, making cups on the table jump. Jay T. is oblivious to her and stares at the chandelier. The sun is making a light dance around it and he is transfixed by it. The woman has a cup of coffee in her hand, she takes a spoon and swirls it around the inside of the cup, making an obnoxious clinking sound. “
Donna is my name, and I’m your new social worker.” 

 

I think to myself that since I never had a social worker before, she will be my only social worker. “I have already started a file on you, so finish up and we’ll talk.” Her eyes get real big, and while grabbing a piece of bacon off my plate, she pushes out her chair and stands up. Popping the bacon in her mouth, she turns and walks in the direction of the office. Her large hips sway side to side. “She’s a bitch,” Jay T. says with a laugh, spitting more eggs into the air.

I drink my coffee and push away from the table. I’m not hungry, but I want to check out the backyard. I glimpsed it through the window in the kitchen. From what I saw, it’s part garden, part basketball court. I walk out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and into the backyard. The garden is a little overgrown and the basketball court is a gravel driveway that used to be blacktop.

Standing behind the house, I see that Christine is out in the backyard smoking. Her nervous eyes dart back and forth, she looks lost in thought. She spots me walking down the driveway towards her and hugs her body closer. She has thin white arms. Raising her cigarette to her lips she mutters to me and asks if I want one. It seems to me as if she is going out of her way to make some sort of effort. “I would love one,” I say.

She shakes a cigarette loose in the pack and offers it to me. “Rough night?” she asks. There is red around her eyes, making me believe that she cried the night away. It also seems pretty clear to me that Vinny hasn’t let her know about his trying to skull fuck people before they sleep. 

“Yeah,” I say, putting the cigarette between my lips. It’
s a Marlboro Light, my favorite. Christine holds up a lighter. I lean forward and light my cigarette. “Do you go to school?” I ask. Christine’s laugh in response to my question creates a smoky cough. Covering her mouth with the back of her hand she hacks up phlegm and spits it on the ground. “I go to Albany High, if you can call it a school. If you make it home at the end of the day and you haven’t been raped in the bathroom, it’s been a good day.” She laughs again, spitting up more phlegm. “Oh shit,” Christine says as Lorraine opens the back door, popping her head out. “Christine let’s go, it’s time for school.”

“Gotta go,” says Christine as she takes two steps before flicking her cigarette over the fence into the lot next door. As she walks past me, Christine’s face changes and a big grin appears. She is looking towards the house. 
I look to see where she is looking and there at the window is Vinny, standing behind the glass. Once Christine walks into the house she gives Vinny a quick kiss. As Christine passes, Vinny sticks his head out the back door, stares at me, puts his fingers to his eyes, then points at me. I assume this means that he is watching me. He turns and walks back into the house. I finish my cigarette, flick it over the fence like Christine did, and walk back into the house.




Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 6

When I wake up the next morning, Vinny is still snoring. Someone is walking through the house and banging on doors. I can hear a flurry of activity, including doors being opened and slammed. There is a lot of noise, but Vinny is sound asleep, still snoring away. I don’t know what to do or where to go. I slide out of bed, throw on my jeans, and slip out into the hallway.


In the hallway a small hippie-looking woman wearing thick glasses and Birkenstock sandals is standing outside the bathroom door on the landing. “You have four more minutes,” she’s yelling to whomever is in the shower. I can hear the water running.

As I start to slide past her she looks up, stopping me. “Lorraine,” she says, extending her hand. I reach out my hand and grasp hers. “You must be Geoff,” she says,
 looking into my eyes. “Laroy told me all about you.” Her hands are rough and slightly cold. She leans closer to me. “Also, don’t worry about Vinny, he means you no harm.” I can tell from her look that she is trying to communicate that everyone here has problems. I nod my acknowledgement to what she has said, and head down the stairs.

What was a quiet place last night is now a beehive of activity. There are about fifteen people running around. Everyone seems to have a task. Some are cooking breakfast and getting the resident kids on their way to school, others are moving in and out of the office. Across from the office is the telephone we are allowed to use. Sherry is sitting there on the phone, silently using the pick on her hair. She looks up at me smiles and mouths the words, “court today.”

I walk to the end of the hallway and into the kitchen, where f
ood is laid out in cafeteria style. There seem to be massive pans of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and oatmeal. People swarm around me on their way to whatever they are doing. Everyone who passes reaches out a hand, rubbing my back, touching my arm, or giving the occasional hug. There are so many staff members and so many names to learn. My head is spinning.

I walk into the dining room. Jay T. Tucker is happily gobbling down a stack of pancakes. He looks up at me. “Jay T. Tucker is a mean mother fucker,” I say. He laughs and a gob of pancake lands on his chin. I am now more convinced than ever that he is retarded.

Lorraine walks up behind me, and wraps her arm around my neck. “Your social worker just got here. You will not go to school today, but meet with her. We will call the school and let them know where you are. Grab some food and a seat,” she says, gently pushing me toward the food.

Walking back into the kitchen, I take a plate, put a pancake and some egg onto it, grab a coffee, and head back into the dining room. Christine has now joined Jay T. She looks up at me and quickly looks back down to the torn-up paper napkin in front of her. As I sit down, she gets up and storms out of the room.


Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 5

 

Now, I’m not sure what a skull fuck is, but I can figure it out as Vinny takes a step closer to me while unbuckling his pants. I slide as far up to the top of the bed as I can get. “Scream and I’ll kill you,” Vinny says to me, a crooked smile crossing his face. I’m thinking as quick as I can, looking around the room for anything I might be able to use to stop him.


Vinny takes another step towards me and the adrenaline builds up in me like fuel looking for a place to escape. I spring into the air and knock him to the floor. Landing with both knees on his chest, I begin to pummel him. “Stop it,” he screams. The adrenaline in me cannot keep me from punching him
 repeatedly. All my pain and fear is leaving me through my fists. 

Suddenly t
he door bursts open and Laroy steps in. “What the fuck is going on?” he screams. “He’s trying to kill me,” Vinny screams. With one hand Laroy grabs the back of my shirt and flings me into the air. I crash into the wall and slide to the floor, knocking over Vinny’s altar with the skull candle on it. Vinny shrieks and runs to save his skull after it hits the floor. 

Laroy looks at me and points a finger. “
We don’t kill people around here,” he says, his face turning a bright red. “Oh yeah, do you skull fuck people here?” I ask. “What the hell are you talking about?” Laroy says, looking between Vinny on the floor cleaning up his broken altar and me. “He told me that he was going to skull fuck me and he had me cornered.” Laroy looks at Vinny who is looking at me and mouthing the words, “shut up.” “Again?” Laroy screams, this time grabbing Vinny and bringing him to his feet. “How many times do I have to tell you, we don’t tell people we’re going to skull fuck them?” Laroy grabs Vinny by the back of his collar and in one move drags him out of the room. 

“You’re dead!” Vinny screams. I can hear him being dragged down the stairs. I lie down on the bed and stare at the wall. Hours later I am awoken by the sound of Vinny walking back into the room. “
Stupid faggot,” he mumbles under his breath. 

He undresses silently and climbs into his bed. “You are so dead,” he whispers in my direction. I’m lying awake but pretending that I am asleep. I only relax when I can hear him snoring softly. 

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 4

I follow quickly. Laroy is walking and talking. He’s giving me the history of the house as we go. “It has two additional stories to it,” Laroy tells me. One floor is for the youth who need to stay, and another floor is just for the staff. Climbing the staircase to the second floor, we pass the bathroom. “That’s one of four,” he adds. Slightly winded, Laroy pauses and places one hand on the railing. He coughs into his hand and waits to catch his breath.


From where I am standing I can hear a television. Laroy takes  in another breath, straightens up, and continues the climb. We walk into the
 room at the very top of the stairs. “The TV room,” Laroy says with a sweep of his hand. In the center of the room is a giant old black and white TV. Scattered around the room are several boys and girls. Everyone is smoking. “Everyone,” Laroy says, addressing the kids who don’t seem to move or look at him, “this is Geoff. Make him feel at home.” A couple of people look at me. 

 

Laroy goes around the room and introduces people. “Vinny, Christine, Sherry, Alice, and Jay T. Tucker, this is Geoff.” Sherry has a large afro with a pick sticking out of it. The end of the pick is a clenched fist. She looks at me and nods her head. Jay T. Tucker lifts his head, looks and me and tells me that he’s “a mean mother fucker.” “I’ll remember that,” I say.

Christine looks like a little bird, she is bone white and thin, with a head of uncombed black hair. She coughs into her hand, and I notice that her hand is very small and her fingers are red. She looks at me; her eyes are smudged with mascara. She holds onto Vinny’s arm even tighter than she already had been.

Vinny is tall, thin, and has his hair cut like Mick Jagger’s. He is wearing combat boots, and has one foot on the floor, the other on the couch. “Can you move?” he says to me, “You’re blocking the set.” “Oh, sorry,” I say and quickly step to my left. Jay T. is staring at the TV. I believe that he might have a disability.

Laroy motions with his hand for me to follow him. We walk into a small entry way next to the TV room. There are three doors off this common room. “Tonight you share.” He motions to one of the rooms and opens the door.

The room is small, with two beds. There are psychedelic glow-in-the-dark posters on one wall, and on the floor by one of the beds is a skull with a candle on it. It’s a skull that you would buy  in the mall at Spencer Gifts. Laroy points at the empty bed. I walk over and sit on it.

“Make yourself at home. I’m on the overnight shift tonight,” Laroy says while stepping back into the hallway. “I’ll be downstairs, come down when you are done.” And with that he is gone.

I sit on the bed and look around the room. “Welcome to your new life,” I say. I lie down on the bed, and tears flow quickly from my eyes. Twenty minutes later the door opens and in walks Vinny. He stands in the doorway and looks at me.

“Shit, are you crying?” he asks. “No,” I say quickly wiping my face. “
Good,” he says. “I dont want you crying when I give you a skull fuck.” With that said he reaches behind himself and pulls the door closed.

 

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 3

 

“The first rule,” Laroy says, leaning forward on the desk, “is to never talk about Equinox while you live here. There are several at-risk teens who call this home. The second rule is to make sure that no one follows you to the door. We have had a lot of people try to break in to get to someone.” He stands up and walks over to the office door. “That’s why we have this.” Leaning over, he grabs a baseball bat. He swings it and hits an imaginary ball, watching it fly into the crowd, and then makes cheering noises. “Home run,” he says, and laughs. He walks back to the desk, using the bat as a cane. “Rule three: no drugs of any kind. You can smoke cigarettes, but no weed.” He continues, “I was in the Hells Angels and I know what weed smells like, so please don’t test my skills.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down and giggles. 

 

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” Laroy asks, narrowing his eyes. “We had a guy named Louie in the Hells Angels, he was gay. What a good friend.” Laroy gets a far-away look in his eyes. I try hard to imagine what he could be thinking. I also try to imagine how accepting the Hells Angels are of gays in their club.

“Now, you can only live here for one month. W
e don’t have any more room than that,” Laroy says pointing a finger at me. Six months later we would laugh about that rule. Laroy stands up, walks over to a filing cabinet behind me, ruffles through it and pulls out a list of rules. Handing a copy to me, he says, “Here’s more that I can’t remember.” He giggles again and adds the word “Voila!”

There are rules about smoking, house meetings, bathrooms, bedrooms, sex, school, and mandatory meetings that you need to attend with a therapist. “You will also be assigned to a case worker,” Laroy says, “but we will worry about that tomorrow.” He stands up and motions me to follow him into the hallway. A large mirror above a table reflects my image back at me. My eyes look empty and hollow. Things had gotten so bad at home that it feels like I am no longer inside myself.

Laroy turns and walks to the end of the hall. The first room on the right holds the dining room and an upright piano. The sheet music for “The Me Nobody Knows” sits on the music rack. Laroy continues walking. Through the dining room is a door that takes you into the kitchen. He reaches over and opens the fridge.  It is stocked to the gills. Laroy says to me “You must be hungry. I know I am.” He reaches into the fridge and starts to pull out food. He crosses over to a cabinet and pulls down two of everything: two plates, two cups, two glasses, and a handful of napkins. He opens the bread and starts to make me a sandwich. He fills my glass with chocolate milk and does the same for himself
. Handing me my glass, he raises his and says, “To new beginnings and schizophrenia!” He clinksmy glass, then drinks down the chocolate milk, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Grab your sandwich and I will show you around.” That said, Laroy leaves the kitchen.

 

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 2

The cops proceeded to drive out of Guilderland and get onto the highway in the direction of Albany. “Are you okay?” one of the officers asks me. There is a mesh grate separating the front seat from the back. I just stare out the window into the night.


The squad car continues down the highway and as they put on their blinker, I see that we are entering the downtown Albany area. The ramp from the highway takes us to an exit right near the Albany bus station. Unfortunately, the area looks like a war zone. Empty storefronts, shady hotels, and burnt-out cars pepper the scene. Nobody lives or ventures this far downtown unless they’re destitute, looking for a prostitute, or wanting to
 buy some drugs. I have no idea where we are going. Out of the back window I can see a church that looks like it should be somewhere in Paris. It rivals Notre Dame, except that it seems like no one has been there in years, and its splendor has seen better days. The church stands abandoned, most of its windows smashed out. We pass several working girls who wave at the cop car as it passes.

Row after row of abandoned buildings line the block. I am scared but trying not to show it. We finally arrive and pull up next to a building that is as far downtown as you can get. There are no other buildings around it and it stands about three stories high. One of the cops walks around to the side of the squad car, opens the door, and motions to the building with one outstretched hand. “Welcome to your new home,” he says. The second cop is standing on the front steps. He explains to me that this is a runaway shelter named Equinox. It’s for troubled youths.

The first cop reaches out and rings the doorbell. I stand there and start to shake, expecting the worst. A light goes on above the front door and there seems to be a flurry of activity directly inside this door. Now I can see someone standing at the door on the other side of the window. The knob turns and the door gets yanked inwards. Directly in front of me stands a chubby little man about four feet, three inches tall, with flaming orange hair that shoots out in all directions. I would guess his weight at about two hundred pounds. It appears as if we just woke him up. He smiles, showing a mouth full of dead teeth. He is wearing a black Hells Angels t-shirt. A chain attached from his front pocket crosses his leg and is joined to his wallet in the back. “
Hellooooooooooooooooo,” he says, rolling his eyes and puffing out his cheeks. He looks at me and the cops and exclaims, “Jinkies, it’s the cops, what can I do you for officers?” I can tell that he is trying to put me at ease. The other cop puts his hand on my back and pushes me forward. 

 

“Laroy, this is a new ward of the state.” Laroy tips an imaginary hat and bows deep. “ ’ellooooo, young master, you’re going to like it here, and you’ll get an extra cup of gruel just for the asking.” He laughs to himself and shakes his head. He motions us to come inside and the cops flank me, one in front and one in the back. I’m sure that they are used to people trying to break and run.

They lead me into an office right off the main entry way. Laroy pulls out a chair and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a bandana that he uses to dust off the imaginary dirt on the chair. He laughs again and motions for me to sit, then takes the chair directly across from me. On the wall behind him is newspaper picture of Nancy and Ronald Reagan. Someone has taken a black pen and 
given Ronald an Adolf Hitler hairdo and mustache. Laroy follows my eyes to the poster. “I don’t know who did it,” he says and then mouths the words, “The Führer,” to me. He stands up quickly, walks over to a desk and grabs a large ledger book. “Oops, almost forgot,” he says. Returning to his chair, he pushes the book across the desk to the cops. One of the cops checks the time on his watch and signs the book. As the cops start to leave, one of them turns back to me and says, “If you need us, you call,” and with that, they are gone.

“They’re gonna break out the booze,” Laroy says, slapping his thigh. I try not to laugh, but I’m starting to feel safe for one of the first times in my life.

Laroy 
begins to give me the rules and the history of where I am and it’s called Equinox.


Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 1

 

To say I was having problems with my home life was an understatement. I couldn’t continue to go on living with my parents. My mother and I were not getting along at all and then she would involve my father. Our fights had gotten out of control: Much like my Mom’s relationship with alcohol. The arguments, the quarrels, and the screaming had become so bad that one night my parents called the police and had me removed from their house. Its ‘1979 and I’m a sophomore in High School.  It had been a living in Hell — a hell that I no longer wanted to live in and a hell that they didn’t want me to live in either.


I’m not even sure what this particular fight was about. I was never really sure what any fight was about. I knew that my mother was upset because my father travelled a lot and she was left in charge of everything. If we kids stepped out of the boundaries she established, the shit would hit the fan and our father would be called. Everything I did or said turned into a fight and a contest of wills. I had trouble understanding her logic and her rules. I felt that a lot of them were made up on the spot. It was like living in a pressure cooker. I couldn’t take it and I would lash back at her whenever she lashed out at me.

My brothers and my sisters were living at home at the time and would see these fights. They would become the targets of these arguments after I left but none of them would stand up for themselves, at least not until years later.

I needed to leave, because I felt like I was losing my mind. The funny thing that I remember about that night was that my mother told my Father she was concerned that the neighbors would talk, even though she was the one who had called the police.

I had very little time to gather my things. One of the cops entered our house and followed me into my bedroom. The other cop stood at the front door and waited for me. I could see neighbors looking at our house through their closed drapes, only pulling the sides to look out. Some neighbors stood outside on their front lawns to get a better view.

The cop car stood in our driveway. The lights on the top of the car were spinning, but they didn’t have the sirens on. It was a neighborhood-wide show as they marched me out. Things like this never happened in Guilderland.

One of the cops held the back door of the squad car open and asked me to “watch my head” getting in. I slid across the back seat of the car and the cop closed the door. I could hear the door lock but I remember that there were no locks that I could see on the door. I have never been more scared in my life. 

 

“We have a place to take you tonight,” one of the officers said through the wire screen separating the seats. I met his eyes in the rear view mirror. He nodded his head at me and gave a smile. “You’re okay now,” he said and started the car.

The cop backed the car out of the driveway. I could see my parents standing in separate windows. Their faces were illuminated by the lights of the squad car.

Saturday, March 13, 2021

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Enter The 9th Circle Part 28

 

I hurry down the stairs hoping that there are still some customers  left in the bar for me to wait on. I have spent way too much time with Bobby and I’m not making any money to pay my bills. The party in the bathroom has broken up and the door has been left wide open.


Almost running down the stairs, I pray that the buzzer summoning me back upstairs won’t ring for the rest of the night. I reach the bottom of the landing, and see that Stinky is with another date. This one looks like he has passed out. Stinky is rifling through the old man’s coat pockets. He flashes a smile as I pass by. “Don’
t judge,” he says, batting his eyes. “A girl’s got to make a living.”

Grabbing the knob,
 I open the door to the club and find that the place is packed. The lighting has been turned down and the place is now illuminated by the lights on juke box and various low-wattage lamps on the bar. Don lifts his head while making a drink and motions me over. “Our homeless boy has fallen asleep at the table. Go throw him out,” he says, grimacing. “Where’s Brian?” I ask. Don motions with his head to the pinball machine. Brian is in full ecstasy while he works the flippers and gently humps the game. “I’m on it,” I tell Don.

Walking over to the table I see the homeless guy has only nodded off again, but gives the appearance that he is sleeping. In fact, he is in a full heroin nod. Using a tray, I nudge him and he sways a little with the nudge but is still out cold. I nudge him again and this time his eyes open to half mast. “Time to go, my friend,” I scream in his face. He smiles and nods out again. I repeat the tray nudge and his eyes flap open. He smiles, stands and teeters back and forth. He gains a little speed and tumbles through the crowd. It is like watching a drugged-up Moses parting the Red Sea. The crowd literally jumps to get out of his way.

The patron at the next table signals me to get my attention. “He forgot his bag,” he says to me, pointing to the floor under the table. I quickly go to follow him but then think twice because he has nodded off in the doorway. I will get his bag and bring it to him.

Now I have a new problem. I don’t want to touch his bag, so I go back to the bar and ask Don for the broom. As I am walking back to the table, Mitch comes up beside me. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Getting a bag that belongs to the homeless heroin addict nodding off at the front door.” It strikes me funny and I laugh. Never did I ever think I would use any of those words in a sentence to describe what I was doing during a day in my life.

Holding onto the bristles, I push the broom handle through a loop on the bag. It is rather heavy when I hoist it into the air. “Gross,” says Mitch, taking a step back. No sooner do the words get out of Mitch’s mouth than the bag breaks and scatters the contents to the floor. Mitch and I jump into the air when bottles of Jergens lotion crash to the floor, spraying everywhere. Mitch makes vomit sounds and steps back.

Good Christ!” I scream out. I look at Don who is laughing his ass off while he watches this. “Can this night get any worse?” I scream as I drop the broom and head back to the bar. “Goddamned junkies,” I scream. I look over at the door while Don hands me some bar rags. I see that the junkie is gone; in his place stands Bob, his eyes scanning the club. When he sees me he flashes the biggest smile that not only lights up his eyes, but also lights up my heart.

“Excuse me,” I say to Don, dropping the rags on the bar. I push my way through the club to get to Bob. I deserve a little happiness — especially tonight — I think to myself. Bob is pushing his way through the crowd to get to me. The jukebox is quietly playing a Lou Reed tune. We meet halfway when Bob throws his arms around me and plants one of the most passionate kisses on me that I have ever gotten. I pause, come up for air and look into his eyes. Then I hear someone screaming, “Geoff, you fucking asshole, you’re the one dating my boyfriend?”

I look in the direction of the screaming just in time to see John standing on his bar stool, tears streaming down his face. I see him raise his arm and cock it back. The next thing I know, I get hit in the chest by a glass. Everything happens so fast. First the glass explodes on my chest and then the bar erupts into chaos. Brian, who was at the pinball machine, literally comes flying through the air out of nowhere and tackles John. Then I can see Brian repeatedly punching John in the face. John’s bloody and bruised face keeps popping up, then disappearing. Brian hits him and he crumples to the floor, so Brian picks him up off the floor and punches him again and again, repeating this until John is becoming pulp.

Bob checks to see if I’m all right, and pushes me to the side as Brian drags John past us. His bloody face is so messed up that he is now just gurgling and spit hangs from his lip. Violently dragging John down the front steps, Brian walks across the street and throws him on the ground. Rule number one is to never beat someone up and leave them in front of your club.

I push through the chaos, dragging Bob with me. I stumble down the front steps. Brian walks past me and says, “Nice job, asshole.” Across the street John is screaming, “Why?” over and over again. It is one of the most guttural cries I will ever hear in my life. I run across the street and kneel next to John who just continues to scream, “Why?”

John lifts his head and looks at me. “Why, why would you do this to me?” he screams. “I didn’t know,” I say, looking at John. “Please believe me, I didn’t know.” “Do you know what he does for a living?” 
John screams
, spit and blood spraying the air. “Do you?” Bob takes my arm and starts to pull me away. “He’s a lawyer,” I say to John, trying to free my arm from Bob. Bob starts to pull at me harder. “He’s in fucking porn movies you ass, he’s in fucking porn.” John just screams “Why?” between sobs. I look at Bob who is shaking his head. “How the fuck did I get here?” I ask myself.

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Enter The 9th Circle Part 27

The cats are very interested in the sink filling with soap and water. I’m sure that some of them have never seen this before, so I understand the fascination factor. Picking up whatever resembles a dish, I drop it either into the sink or into the bag that’s headed for the garbage.


“What the fuck are you doing out there?” he screams from his room. “Something you have never done,” I yell back. He cackles that smoky cackle of his, followed by a phlegm-filled coughing fit. “Ick,” I think to myself as I look at the yellow walls. It is hard to breathe in here, so while the dishes soak I decide to tackle the litter box.

I pull my shirt up over my nose. The cats stopped using their litter box long ago and have now taken to relieving themselves in whatever space they can find. My philosophy is to just do the chore and not get caught up in how gross it is. If I think about it I will pass out, and then wake up on the floor in this mess. I decide it’s better to remain conscious.

“I cleaned the litter box the other day,” he screams out. “Uh-huh,” I respond. I am sure that he is confused as to what year it is, not to mention what day it is. “Goddamned cats won’
t stop shitting,” he adds. “They tend to do that,” I say, as I use a spatula to remove an especially tough piece of poop from the floor.

I get up most of the cat shit but the ammonia is burning my eyes, so I decide to return to the dishes. The chore takes about 45 minutes of my time, but it’s also 45 minutes that I am not making any money. While drying the last dish, I decide that I’
m done here for today, but I figure there’s time for one more chore before I need to get back downstairs. Walking over to the fridge, I put my hand on the door and bracing myself for what I might see, yank it open. I am not sure what I’m seeing in there but the smell alerts me that something had “gone south” years ago. My worst fear was that I would find severed body parts; this smell is even worse.

 

“Um… When was the last time you ate?” “What are you writing, a book?” he screams at me. “Someday, I hope to,” I yell back at him, “but right now I’m just trying to solve a crime scene.” He cackles, followed by coughing up something and spitting it out. Thank God I’m not looking at him right now. “I get such a kick out of you,” he says. I imagine him wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Walking into his
 room, I come around where he can see me. “I am going to buy you groceries and deliver them tomorrow before I come to work.” For just a moment I see a crack in his façade, but it only lasts a split second and then he is back again. “Are you after my goddamned money?” he screams. “Are you after my goddamned money?” He repeats this over and over. I wait for the tide to settle. “Yeah, I can see that you are living in the lap of luxury,” I say, my face barely moving. His hand shoots out and he reaches for his cigarettes. “Everyone is stealing from me,” he says, a tear forming in his eye. I do my best to ignore this behavior because I am not sure how to process it yet. I grab the lighter off the table and light his cigarette. It shakes between his trembling fingers.

I walk back into the kitchen and look for a pad of paper to write down what he would like me to pick up for him. ”Do you have a pad of paper lying around that I can use?” 
I don’t get an answer from the other room. “Hello?” I say again; still no answer. Walking back into the room, I find that he has fallen asleep, the cigarette burning in his hand.

I gently take it out of his hand and grind it in the ashtray. I see this as my getaway, and walking gently across the floor, I open the door and step out into the hallway.

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Enter The 9th Circle Part 26


His grip tightens on my wrist and I relax. Looking deep into his eyes I can see fear. It’s the type of fear that comes from slowly becoming helpless year after year. “What do you need me to do?” I ask. His eyes look around the room. “They are trying to kill me,” he says whispering. “Who’s trying to kill you?” I ask, reaching up to cover my nose with my free hand. His stench is overpowering.


“They are, the ones downstairs,” he yells, spraying spittle into the air. I lean back to avoid getting hit by the spray, but he has me in a death grip. “Oh, okay,” I say, not really sure if they are or he has lost his mind. Right now I’m thinking that it could be a little of both. “It will be okay,” I say. Reaching out with my free hand, I try to pry his fingers open, but he holds on. “They sell drugs down there,” he says whispering again. “Do you think?” I ask sarcastically. “Goddamned right they do,” he screams, throwing his head back and letting loose with a cackle. “I have an idea,” I say, slowly wrapping my hand around his hand, trying to pry up his fingers. “What do you say if you let me go, I walk out of here and never tell anyone what I saw?” “
You ain’t going nowhere,” he screams shaking his head back and forth.

“I have another idea,” I say slowly. “What if I take that pillow out from behind your back, put it over your face and kill you?” With this said he cackles like a lunatic. “You got spunk!” he says, releasing my hand and laughing uncontrollably. “You don’
t need help,” I say stepping back. “I do,” he screams facing me. “The only thing you need is a bath.” With this said I step back and walk into the kitchen. “That, and some Windex,” I add. “I can’t get off this bed,” he screams. I can hear him trying to flip over and face the kitchen.

I am standing in front of the sink looking for a sponge. Maybe I will help him out. What’s it like to be so helpless? I see a bottle of dish detergent that looks like it hasn’t been touched in a while and I grab it. Moving all the crap out of the way, I turn on the faucet and squeeze the soap into the sink. While it starts to fill up I walk back into the bedroom and open a window. “They sell drugs,” he says, craning his face toward me. “No foolin’?” I respond, struggling to pull back the drapes. “You think I’m old and crazy, you think I’m an idiot,” he says, following me with his eyes. “Right on both counts,” I say, picking up several overflowing ashtrays in the room and carrying them back into the kitchen. I can’t locate a garbage can so I make do with a bag half-filled with newspapers on the counter and empty the mound of butts into it.”

“They lie to me,” he says, the panic rising in his voice. “What do they tell you?” I ask. “They tell me I’m crazy.” I silently mouth the words “you are” to no one in particular. “Listen, I’m going to help you out a little at a time,” I say. “I am going to clean a little something every time I come up here.”

“No one visits me,” he quickly adds. Popping my head back into his room I ask, “Would you like me to visit you?” He nods his head and looks at me with sad eyes. “Ok, I will come and visit you whenever I get a chance, does that work?” He looks like he’s about to cry and nods his head up and down. “
Good
. It’s official,” I say and turn back into the kitchen.

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Enter The 9th Circle Part 25

The buzzer started to sound with alarming frequency. I was afraid there was a fire in his apartment and he needed help. Everyone at the bar was staring at the buzzer and when I glanced at Don he was shaking his head from side to side. Skip, who was bartending the other end of the bar, pointed at me, and then pointed towards the ceiling. His message was clear, and I was on my way.


Don immediately set up the tray with water, cigarettes, and empty Mason jars. My dinner of one lone banana lurched in my stomach. “Dead Man Walking,” I yelled out, crossing the floor with the tray. I got to the door, looked at Don, and was buzzed into the stairwell. Climbing the stairs, I passed an old man humping Stinky in the corner. Stinky looked at me, nodded, then glanced at his watch. It was clear that he charged by the hour.


Arriving at the second floor, there was the usual cocaine-fueled party happening in the bathroom. I could tell that it was packed to capacity and could hear a choir of voices all trying to hush each other. It’s hard to keep about ten men quiet while they are crammed in a tiny bathroom, putting blow up their noses.


Walking up the stairs tonight seemed like the longest passage of time to me. Allegedly, the man upstairs pressing the button, living in his own filth, was the owner of the bar. I never saw him outside of his room, but legend had it that he used to sit with Janis Joplin when she hung out at the bar back in the 1960s. I was told that he turned a blind eye to everything that went on downstairs as long as he got paid and was taken care of.


I didn’t want to go into his apartment tonight; that was clear to me and my brain. I didn’t want to have to feed him, or worse yet, clean up after him. Just the thought of it made me grab the banister and hold on for dear life. I let out a chuckle, because at this moment I was reminded of the movie The Sentinel, where Chris Sarandon is stroking the cat while Christina Raines gets let in on the plot line that she lives at the Gates of Hell and the demons are busting to be a part of the world. Every night, the owner trapped in his room is the guardian of the Gates of Hell; of that much I am convinced.


Arriving at his “Go Away” sign firmly attached to the door lets me know that I’m here. Well that, the smell of rotting human flesh, and the sounds of the cats. Grasping the knob and turning it in my hand, I use my hip to push open the door. The stench rolls over me in waves. It seems to have increased since my last visit.

Looking around at the sea of cats swarming me, I can see an unusually large number of Mason jars filled with yellow liquid. The sight and sound of the room makes my head swell. Quickly putting down the tray, I run to the sink and cough up my previously-digested banana.


I hear him in the other room. “Who’s here?” he yells and then begins screaming it over and over again. Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, I call out, “It’s Geoff.” Without missing a beat he screams back, “What the fuck took you so long? I was ringing that bell for hours!!!” Popping my head into the bedroom, I see him lying on his side, facing away from me. He looks so fragile, like a baby bird. An old dirty piss, soiled, shit-stained-smoky baby bird, with a million cats, and questionable personal hygiene.


“Did you just barf in my sink?” he yells, while trying to roll over. “If you fucking messed up my house I will throw you out the window!” I figure that it would take a helluva lot of work to mess up this house, but the thought of cleaning the house with gasoline and a pack of matches needs to get pushed out of my mind.


He immediately starts with his list of demands. “Feed the cats, bring me my cigarettes, and hold that jar while I piss.” When he says this, he breaks into hysterical laughter; something seems to have tickled his fancy. Spittle flies everywhere.


Suddenly he stops laughing and tries to roll over onto his back to look at me. Once he has achieved that, he resumes screaming orders. “Don’t just stand there with your mouth hanging open catching flies,” he yells. “Feed the goddamned cats!”


I walk back into the kitchen. Cats come running from everywhere to get fed. “Food is in the fucking cabinet,” he snarls. I reach towards the cabinet door. I pause and swallow hard. The handle has years of filth clinging to it. I grab and yank it open. Half of the contents avalanche onto the counter. “Don’t mess up my fucking house,” he screams. “Sorry, I’m just redecorating,” I say. This strikes him funny, and he cackles away. “You’re a goddamned comedian, a goddamned comedian,” he says.


I empty the contents of several cat food cans onto slightly used paper plates and put them wherever I see a cat. Then I grab one of the Mason jars, go to the fridge, and throw some ice into it. Walking back into the bedroom, I put it down next to him. “Tell Jerry I want to see the fucking receipts,” he says, trying to lean up on his elbows. I reach around him, grab the pillows, and help him sit up. “Are you trying to break my ribs?” he screams, inches from my face. “That’s it,” I yell. “I’m out of here!" “I can’t do this anymore, I’m done!” I start to stand, but quicker than a flash of light, his hand reaches out and grabs my wrist. His eyes lock onto mine.


“Please don’t leave me,” he begs.

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Enter The 9th Circle Part 24


The crowd parts slowly as the Nazi and the six-foot-tall drag queen in the veil start to walk to the back of the bar. The looks on people’s faces cannot hide the shock they feel. When the couple reaches the mid-bar point, another, slightly shorter drag queen enters the bar. The crowd parts again and this new drag queen runs to catch up with her friends. As they get close to me, the shorter drag queen links arm with the Nazi, looks at me and winks. “Scott,” I hiss completely in disbelief. I can tell it’s him by his eyes. I don’t recognize the other drag queen in the veil but the Nazi is clearly Dennis. They continue past the juke box and sit down at one of the tables.
Slowly, and still in disbelief, I walk up to the table. “Errrr….” I stammer, “can I get you two ladies anything to drink?” I look right at Scott and say, “What are drinking tonight, Mrs. Braun?” Scott shoots me a “fuck you” look. “Two sloe gin fizzes for us ladies,” he orders, swirling his hair with one finger while motioning his head towards Dennis, “and he’ll have a vodka and tonic.” I put my hand out to the drag queen in the veil. “Hi, I’m Geoff.” This drag queen reaches up and pulls her veil to the side, revealing a giant handlebar mustache. “I’m Tony,” she says. Taken slightly aback, I think it’s uncanny how much Tony looks like Freddie Mercury. “Coming right up,” I chirp, pretending that this not out of the ordinary, and I turn on my heel.

Walking back to the bar, I can see that everyone is craning their neck to keep an eye on the strange threesome. “Oh boy,” Don says when I give him the order, “how did they make it here without getting killed?” “Do we have a policy about wearing a swastika arm band in here?” I ask. Don just laughs. “

Walking back to the bar, I can see that everyone is craning their neck to keep an eye on the strange threesome. “Oh boy,” Don says when I give him the order, “how did they make it here without getting killed?” “Do we have a policy about wearing a swastika arm band in here?” I ask. Don just laughs. “Oh, do me a favor,” he says, pointing to a table while making the drinks, “get that homeless bum out of here.” Following where he is pointing I see that a slightly skinny blond-headed kid has sat down at one of the tables. He is slowly dozing off while holding a cigarette. “He’s homeless?” I ask. Don nods his head.

I walk over to Scott’s table and start to set down the drinks. Scott looks up at me and bats his eyes, I burst into hysterical laughter. Scott gives me the “fuck you” eyes again. “Don’t you think I look good?” he asks. Now I can’t stop laughing. It comes rolling out of me like a wave. It is very clear that Scott is insulted, but I can’

I walk over to Scott’s table and start to set down the drinks. Scott looks up at me and bats his eyes, I burst into hysterical laughter. Scott gives me the “fuck you” eyes again. “Don’t you think I look good?” he asks. Now I can’t stop laughing. It comes rolling out of me like a wave. It is very clear that Scott is insulted, but I can’t stop. “I’ll be right back,” I try to say, but the laughter makes it hard to understand what I am saying. “Stop laughing!” Scott yells, his eyes turning to slits. This only makes me laugh harder.

I walk away and approach the homeless kid who is dozing off. “Hi, can I get you a drink?” He pauses in space. His head stops inches from bumping onto the table in front of him. His eyes pop open and he looks at me. “No, no thanks, I am waiting on a friend.” I look at the bar and see Don watching me and motioning with his thumb for me to give the kid the heave-ho. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to order something if you want to sit here.” With that he stands up. “Are you going to be okay?” I ask, reaching out to steady him. He nods and takes one step forward. Thinking my job is finished, I head back to the bar. “

I walk away and approach the homeless kid who is dozing off. “Hi, can I get you a drink?” He pauses in space. His head stops inches from bumping onto the table in front of him. His eyes pop open and he looks at me. “No, no thanks, I am waiting on a friend.” I look at the bar and see Don watching me and motioning with his thumb for me to give the kid the heave-ho. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to order something if you want to sit here.” With that he stands up. “Are you going to be okay?” I ask, reaching out to steady him. He nods and takes one step forward. Thinking my job is finished, I head back to the bar. “All done,” I say to Don. “Oh really,” he responds, looking back at the table. I look back and see that the guy has only taken the one step before dozing off again. 
 
That’s when the buzzer goes off, signaling me that I am needed upstairs.

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Enter the 9th Circle Part 23

 

I’m running. I wake up late and realize I only have a half hour before I am supposed to be at The Ninth Circle. Somehow, I slept through the alarm; it had been going off for over an hour before it woke me. Flying out of bed, I almost bang my head on the ceiling of the loft. On my way to the bathroom I slip and almost fall in another puddle of cat urine. If this is the way the night is going to go, I might as well just turn around and climb back into bed. 

 

This poor Siamese cat that my “out of town roommate” has left me is inches away from meeting its maker. Seriously, not that I would really take it to its maker, but it’s about 100 years old in cat life. I haven’t really been home long enough to know if it’s suffering though. I am aware that it can’t seem to make it to the litter box in time and has been peeing and pooping everywhere. It does howl constantly but then, on the other hand, it’s a Siamese cat. Apparently, that’s their thing. I will continue to monitor how it’s doing and will do what needs to be done when the time comes. So now, after cleaning up the cat urine, cleaning up the cat with paper towels, and jumping into the shower, I have twenty minutes to get to work. I snatch a banana off the top of the fridge, head out the door, grab acab, and we zip across town in an effort to get me there on time.

Entering The Ninth Circle, I see Brian at the top of the stairs. “Hey, asshole,” he yells out when he sees me. “You thought you were pretty funny pulling that stunt the other night.” I walk by him as if I don’t hear a thing he is saying. “Good luck trying it again tonight,” he says grabbing my arm. “I will definitely get you,” he adds leaning in close, inches from my face. I pretend that I don’t hear him and head to the back of the bar.

Don is sitting there waiting to take over. I thank God that Don is working and Jerry is leaving early. Jerry is extra twitchy and wound up. I watch him and notice that he can’t stop moving. “You,” Jerry says and points to me, then motions his finger to tell me to “run”. I walk over. “If that buzzer rings tonight,” Jerry says, spraying spittle into the air, “You go upstairs immediately and take care of him.” His eyes glance at the ceiling. I know he means the guy upstairs but secretly, I was hoping that the guy upstairs died before I arrived at work, but apparently, no such luck.

I’m also hoping that Bob will stop in. An hour later the bar is in full swing and I am running my butt off. Looking at the bar, I realize that there’s the usual cast of characters, all sitting where I left them the last time I worked. I am beginning to believe that they are at the bar every night. The only ones I haven’t seen yet are Dennis and Scott. 
  

Two hours into the shift John walks in. He scans the room, sees me and waves. I return his wave and push my way through the crowd to get to him. When I’m a foot away, I can see that he has been crying again. “Are you okay?” I ask. He sniffles and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. “I am here because someone told me that my boyfriend is dating someone here as well.” “Jesus, that sucks for you,” I tell him. “I couldn’t imagine having my boyfriend running around town. I’m so sorry.” I take his elbow and walk him through the bar. A seat opens in front of Don and I push John onto the stool. “Don, buy John a drink on me,” I say. Don sees John’s bloodshot eyes, looks at me, and rolls his eyes into the back of his head.

A commotion starts at the front of the bar. I stand up on the bar rail to look over the crowd. All I can see is someone dressed in a Nazi uniform, next to a six-foot-tall drag queen wearing a veil.


Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Enter the 9th Circle Part 22


I cannot get out of there fast enough the minute my shift is done. Bob is waiting outside for me with a flower in his hand. We walk around the Village and he takes me to an all night diner. I am enwrapped by all of Bob’s stories. He drops me off at the door of my apartment building at 6:00 a.m. After finding my identification, I am allowed access. When I turn back around, Bob is looking at me through the window. Our eyes meet and he waves goodbye.


I tiptoe into the apartment, hoping not to wake anyone. Climbing the ladder to the loft, I crawl across the floor and fall asleep on the bed in my clothes. Four hours later the three phones in the apartment are ringing. One phone is ringing downstairs in the kitchen, one in the bedroom, and the other right next to my bed. I ignore it but Regina, downstairs in the kitchen, does not. “Geoff,” she screams from the bottom of the ladder, “Your agent is on the phone, and he’s pissed.” Quickly sitting up in bed, I reach for the phone next to the bed.

Hello?” I whisper. “Where are you?” my agent screams into the phone. “I’m at home,” I answer. I can’t seem to get my voice above a whisper. “I got you an audition for a commercial in one hour and I’ve been calling you all morning.” Richard quickly explains that he submitted my photo to a top photographer from Japan who is here in New York looking for models to be “the face” of a new Japanese company. “Richard,” I croak “where am I going?” 

 

Searching around the room, I look for something to write with. He gives me the address and I jot it down with a red marker. “Oh, okay,” I say, “I’ll be there.” “Jesus, what is wrong with your voice? Do something about it!” he screams, slamming the receiver in my ear.

I skitter across the floor on my hands and knees and quickly climb down the ladder. Regina is waiting at the bottom. “God, you look awful,” she says as I brush past her, still in last night’s clothes. Looking in the bathroom mirror I see that I have bloodshot eyes, and my hair is standing straight up in all directions. “Oh, God,” I croak again, sounding like Brenda Vaccaro. “I have lost my voice.”

Having little time, I quickly strip and jump into the shower. I’m racing against the clock. I need to be across town in no time flat. Dressing quickly with no time to lose, I hurry out of the building and hail a cab, telling the driver to step on it.

When I arrive at the audition, I find the monitor and check in. I am dressed in a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and black motorcycle boots. My hair is sticking up in all directions and held in place with Dippity-do. Looking around the room, I realize that I’m in a room filled with male models. In my mind, I’m the only one that looks like a real person. Everyone else looks like they have just stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine.

I am called into the room with about twenty other guys. We’re lined up, and the casting director asks for our portfolios. I hand over my picture and resume. One of the guys next to me snickers. Then we’re asked a little bit about ourselves and handed a script. Not only are they doing a photo spread, they’re looking to hire for a commercial training video. They go down the line, asking us to read aloud, one at a time. I am terrified to open my mouth in this group. When it’s my turn to read the guy next to me snickers again. After I’m done I shoot him a look. We’re thanked by the casting director and released for the day. I have to work at The Ninth Circle tonight, so I hurry to catch a nap.

A couple of hours later the phone rings and it’s my agent again. Turns out that the Japanese company is working against a time crunch and they have to cast their project immediately. They tell my agent that they love me and that I have a voice that is perfect for their advertisement and commercial. “Very exotic,” they tell him.

I am so excited and exhausted all at the same time. I look at the clock. I have a couple of hours before work, so I roll over and fall back asleep.

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Leaving Home Part 12

Two weeks later, Tom and Alex have brought a joint into the shelter. Everything has seemed to be heading in a direction to put me on “a path...