I was watching a lot of television. My television watching was bordering on unhealthy. I wanted to paint, but it was hard, and I wasn't inspired to do anything much outside of what PIFA made me do. It was just easier to watch Criminal Minds in my free time. It was a nice distraction. I talked about the episodes with Mom – she sometimes watched them with me. It was like thinking, but not actually thinking.
That was my plan actually; to go through the motions of life, without having to engage my thoughts or feelings or emotions. I was so sick of thinking and feeling. Plus, I was afraid of myself, and what I would do if I thought too hard. I'd probably do something stupid. I always did something stupid. So, Criminal Minds it was.
Brian ruined my plan.
Fucking Brian.
For once, I don't think he did it on purpose. I'm sure that I was the last person on his mind when he became puppet-master for Stockwell's campaign.
In any event, he ruined my plan. I really tried to be disengaged, but it was hard to, given what Stockwell was saying and doing. I didn't hang out in Liberty Village anymore, but I still read the news, and heard what other students at PIFA were saying. My blood started to boil.
Mom thought it was a fabulous idea that I started caring about something other than my own bad decisions. She also thought I should get a 'proper' job. I was soooo smart, you see, that I could cure cancer and AIDS, if only I would put my mind to it. Maybe she just wanted me distracted to death by the outside world so I wouldn't think of Brian.
Suddenly, I was inspired to create art. Just not the kind of art people paid money for. I started creating anti-Stockwell posters. I started defacing the ones that were already up. Mom knew – I didn't hide it from her, though I sure as fuck hid it from the rest of the city. She was…I think she was proud and disappointed. I could see the wheels turning inside her head. She was proud that I was taking a stand, but quite scared of the means I chose. I honestly didn't care anymore.
Stockwell…just another homophobic prick drunk on power, creating a bogeyman and not giving a shit as to whose lives he ruined in his climb to the top.
It was hard to fight him as much as I wanted to though, given my self-imposed exile from Liberty Avenue. I couldn't join community groups, I couldn't talk to people there…there was so much anger in me that I was a walking, talking time-bomb. I was mad at Stockwell, at Brian, at myself, and my helplessness and idiocy. I sure as fuck was not a pleasant person to live with.
Sometimes I got exhausted by all the anger and frustration. I would sit in the tub with the shower running, and cry. Maybe Mom knew. Maybe she heard me. I don't know. I hope the water muffled the noise. I just sat there and cried and cried until I was too tired to even move.
Sometimes, I thought about how absurd it was that I had to hide in the bathroom with the shower running just to cry. Did other people do that?
Sometimes, that thought alone made me want to cry.
Mom knew something. She came up with the internship idea, and she wouldn't have thought of it if she hadn't any clue about the state of my mental health. She suggested I work for Councilman Deekins' communication team. He was the strongest contender who could beat Stockwell, and it made sense for me to be actively involved in his campaign. It didn't pay much, but at least it made me feel less guilty for bailing on the supermarket job.
I think that job saved me.
I was so on the edge…I thought of killing myself. I thought of calling Brian and screaming at him. I thought of begging him to take me back. I thought of asking Lindsay for advice. I thought of going to Babylon and stealing all of Brian's tricks. I thought of stalking him. I thought of telling Stockwell about Brian and me. I came up with all kinds of plans, and when it struck me that not one of them would work, and not one of them would make me happy, I curled up into a ball and cried. Again and again and again.
Working for Councilman Deekins was Mom's best idea yet. It gave me something to do, it gave me a sense of purpose, and I wasn't skulking around in the dark anymore, even though I still did that as well. Every spare minute of every day was spent on his campaign. Life became PIFA and the campaign office, and there was barely enough time to eat and shower and sleep.
I didn't pay a lot of attention to the others on the team. They seemed nice. A lot of them were young, like me, or maybe in their late twenties. They were all so dedicated, and it was great. I didn't feel like a misfit. But we talked about little outside of the campaign, and politics. Sometimes, we'd go out for a beer, and we'd still talk about the election, and Stockwell, and politics. That became my life.
I stopped crying in the shower.
A couple of times, I met Senator Baxter. She was nice to me, and Councilman Deekins said great things about me. Good old Senator Baxter, from the Gay-Straight Alliance days.
It was too painful to think about those days, so I didn't.
Everyone knew I was gay, but no one hit on me. Not for a long-term thing, not for a short-term thing, not for anything. I don't know why. I would have said no anyway – I didn't have time to fuck around. I had an election to win. Daphne said I gave off a 'vibe'. Whatever. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the election.
Daphne came and volunteered sometimes. Mom came and volunteered often.
We were going to win this.
I didn't see anyone anymore. Who had the time, anyway? I sent Mel & Lindz emails. I sent Debbie text messages. I always responded five hours after someone contacted me. I didn't want to get into real-time conversations. They seemed to be doing ok. Or that's what they said anyway. We never discussed much – just hi, hello, how are you, fine.
Brian sent me an email.
It was just a one question email – Why aren't you doing Rage?
I stared at the email. I drafted about eighteen different responses. I wondered why he emailed me. I overanalysed the email to death. I told Mom. I called Daphne.
In the end, I didn't reply. I didn't know what to say.
I wasn't over Brian in the least.
I wanted him to send a follow-up email. I wanted him to try to contact me again. I wanted some sign that this was just a ruse for Brian to try and establish contact again.
Brian never followed-up on that email.
After weeks, I cried in the shower again.
The polls were close. The harder we worked, the more I knew that all this work wasn't going to be in vain. We were the good guys, and we were going to win.
It was tough. Stockwell was licence enough for bigots to come out and play. He made their bigotry ok.
It wasn't ok.
Deekins wanted me to come to an All Candidate debate. It was going to be a waste of my time; I'd be able to far more useful work at the office. I couldn't say that though, so I said ok. Mom came with me; she could not be more proud of me even if I had ended up curing cancer and AIDS.
Brian was there.
Of course he was there. He was Stockwell's right-hand man.
I wasn't going to go talk to him. No fucking way.
Deekins wanted me to ask Stockwell questions about his homophobia. What I wanted to ask him was whether his advertising guy had managed to fuck him yet.
I stuck to Deekins' question. Stockwell gave a smarmy, useless answer typical of bigots like him.
Brian walked up to me after the debate, and asked me what I was doing. I told him that I was doing the right thing. He just nodded and left.
Mom told me that she was proud of me.
We went home, and I didn't have a shower. I didn't cry. I was almost proud of myself.
What was I going to do after the election? It had become my whole life. I thought about the day after the election, and it scared me. Often, I didn't think that far.
I was kind of happy for now. I was part of something I believed in. I was doing work that mattered. I was helping, even if my own life was for shit. We were going to win, and life was somehow going to be better after that.
Deekins booked a bar near the campaign office the day of the election. Mom and Daphne came with me. The place was packed with volunteers, and for the first time in months, we were all too scared to talk. The atmosphere was so tense.
It was a close election. We came so close.
We came so fucking close.
Deekins lost.
I asked Mom to take me home, and I started crying inside the car. I couldn't stop crying even after we got home.
