Everything was going wrong. Alan was dead. Someone had taken her ’69 Pontiac for a joy ride. She had just been accidentally stabbed with a needle she found in the trash. Meanwhile there was a huge family party going on with cases of beer – both Bud and Coors, bottles of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels – favorite cousins of the family.
Some of the older women were gossiping in the kitchen. They didn’t like Kristie being there. They thought she was a slut. After all, she had been to college. But they tolerated her because they were just happy that Alan had a friend who was a girl.
Kristie had been friends with Alan for years. They met in college and were even roommates for awhile. Alan was gay in a family that was not about to accept it. There was no sex involved; he wasn’t interested. But having her as a sort of girlfriend was good for his cover.
He took her to a formal dinner/dance and she had a blast dancing all night, great food, drinks, live band… He was fun to hang out with. They attended various business dinners together. They were excellent companions.
She had felt bad for him when he first told her of his predicament. It must have been difficult for someone to pretend to be straight in a world where even the women had to be men. The joke was whenever one of the guys was considering a wife was, “She has to be able to start a generator and chop a cord of wood or the engagement is off.”
The town was too small and gossipy for Alan to fly the rainbow flag, but he did make the trip to San Francisco for recreational weekends. He was a great guy, and he did enjoy a good cuddle. She was sorry if he was unhappy because she genuinely liked him a lot.
She was afraid his death might not just be linked to his sexuality. There were other factors involved in this town. It was drugs, teenage steroid use, pharmaceuticals, meth labs, marijuana cultivation and sales, and a rumor about a still deep in the woods that produced some kick ass hard stuff. But most probably his death was due to extreme drunkenness, depression, and the inability to face the truth. Things were not going to be easier if he came out.
He was found hanging from the trestle by the railroad tracks – dead. His new slip-on shoes placed carefully outside the tracks, lined up just so.
“Why does everyone who commits suicide take off their shoes? ” Kristie wondered. No one really knew the real Alan. He was gentle and thoughtful, caring and generous.
“What a loss.”
Kristie thought about Alan’s mother, who was the supposed queen of the local drug scene supplying the housewives and teens alike with an assortment of pharmaceuticals. She could get it all: uppers, downers, tranqs, psychedelics, steroids, weed, whatever. Alan’s death was like some heavy karma.
The problem Kristie had was that she liked people – even drug addicts, gays, dealers, drunks, and hookers. She might not approve of all the abuse, but she could see why people chose to live that way and she was libertarian about it.
She called Jack from her phone in the parking area. Jack was silent and non-judgemental as usual. Jack and Kristie were “together.” They had been seriously dating during the whole time her ruse with Alan was going on. But Alan was more of a business friendship; Jack had her heart.
“Someone stole my car,” she told him. He knew how much she loved that car – tricked out and painted canary yellow with a gun for an engine – 350. “…and Alan hung himself…” Then she was silent because her throat was constricted in grief for her friend. Jack said he would come pick her up.
He couldn’t wait to see the place… one particular spot up on a hill over looking the Pacific Ocean with a view of 186 degrees. “Oh my God! This is fantastic!” he exclaimed.
Lulu’s Note: Suicide is not the answer. Things will get better. People left behind will always question if they could have done something to prevent it. Life is beautiful…. Live it!
