“He’s a very popular guy,” said David, who along with his husband Jason were two of my oldest friends from LA. “He’s got friends all over social media. All I’m saying is take it easy, you might want to be careful. He’s been known to be flaky at times and to have given some people the wrong impression about himself and what his feelings might be.”
It was Memorial Day weekend about a month before I would meet Jonny in person for the first time. Like hundreds of others David and Jason were enjoying a holiday weekend in Palm Springs. We were having brunch at Elmer’s Restaurant on East Palm Canyon with our mutual friends Steve and Jack and a few others I’d just met.
I was rapidly coming to the end of my ability to be coy about having an online affair with a man who lit up my days like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, and I had long since passed the stage where even the most casual observer could tell I was either falling–or already head over heels–in love.
It didn’t take David and Jason anytime at all to figure out that the casual internet flirtation I’d been talking about since joining them at the table was Jon and that he obviously meant a great deal more to me than I was willing to let on. Of course both of them knew him. Jason, who’s also Canadian, knew both Jon and Brodie from social media and David, who’d been working in Toronto several years before, had met and spent time hanging out with both of the boys from Hamilton.
“He did just disappear from the internet for the longest time, then just popped right back up,” said Jack adding to the conversation.
“What are you doing?” I asked my thoughtful, logical mind, Brain.
“Trying to determine where I went wrong,” he responded somewhat despondently. “I want to see where I made the error or errors that led to the past week’s catastrophe.”
He was playing and replaying the memory of that Memorial Day weekend brunch.
“If I recall correctly,” I said approaching him slowly, for he looked every bit as bad as I felt now that the full effect of the previous evening’s drunken emotional outburst had taken hold of me, “you and I together made the decision to take David’s warning under advisement but not act on it. In fact,I don’t believe we even mentioned it to Griselda.”
Like hundreds of others David and Jason were enjoying a holiday weekend in Palm Springs.
It was true, knowing how uproariously rapturous and completely detached from reality Griselda had become, Brain and I decided to handle the matter of David’s warning on our own. I remember thinking at the time that while I had no doubt David was simply looking out for the well-being of an old friend. The things he said were so contrary to the words and actions of the man I’d come to know that neither Brain nor I could accept them at face value. We agreed to keep Dave’s counsel in mind and ears open for similar warnings from others who knew Jonny.
After all, it wasn’t like there was a shortage of Bears in Palm Springs that knew him, knew of him, or had simply thirsted after him.
“Want to hear something funny?” Brain asked and then without waiting for a response continued, “I still think we made the right decision based on the evidence at hand.”
As we were commiserating, the now lovely and age appropriate Griselda joined us.
“Vanessa?” Brain softly muttered in disbelief.
“Not now,” I cautioned him as she drew closer. “I’ll explain later.
Paying no heed to us or what we’d been doing Griselda asked, “Do either of you boys remember going online and posting something last night?”
“I don’t think so,” I said with a quizzical look turning to Brain.
He appeared even more ashen than he’d looked since we all awakened.
“Oh God no,” he said sinking into a chair, while staring off in the distance as if suddenly recalling something disturbing. “You didn’t. We couldn’t have.”
I looked at Griselda, she looked at me, and we both turned and looked at the now seated Brain.
“The picture…” he said.
“What picture?” I replied.
“At the depths of what you were going through last night you wanted to see what you looked like but were too drunk to stagger over to the mirror in the hallway.”
“Yes,” I said. “I remember that.”
“Go on,” Griselda said.
“You used Photo Booth to snap an image of yourself…”
“I barely remember that,” I said.
“There’s a memory in here somewhere,” Brain continued groping as he went along to reassemble my short term memory. “Something about Instagram.”
“OH CRAP,” I said fumbling for my iPhone then bringing up my Instagram account.
There it was larger than life, plain as day—insert you’re own sudden realization cliché here—a picture of me, puffy, red swollen, deeply sorrowful eyes and on top of everything else, shirtless.
Not my best selfie.
I collapsed into a chair.
“Both Jonny and Brodie are followers of mine on that account,” I said in despair.
Brain and I now both looked as if a monumental bone crushing hangover was the least of our problems.
“Sweetheart,” Brain said to Griselda, “walk over to that shelf, take down the third volume, go to index and lookup “The Fates.”
Griselda, her optimistic outlook and extremely positive disposition shielding her from the worst effects of the previous day’s alcohol addled breakdown, tried to comfort and support us.
“Let’s use today to recover,” she said in a confident, reassuring tone of voice, “get ready for the weekend and then on Monday finish picking up the pieces and start over again.
After all, the worst is behind us.”
“She didn’t,” Brain said looking at me.
“She did,” I said dolefully.
“Sweetheart,” Brain said to Griselda, “walk over to that shelf, take down the third volume, go to index and lookup “The Fates.”
Sure enough several hours after choking down breakfast, the second shoe dropped.
I was in the living room, blinds drawn to keep the sun out, trying to think of something to keep myself occupied while wearing off the mother of all hangovers when I heard the faint chime of a text message alert coming from the iPhone in my bedroom.
I walked into the bedroom, over to my desk, picked up the phone and opened the messaging app. There was a new message. It was from Jonny Bear.
I’m upset with you. You’ve had a lot of my time lately, and have been relentless in pursuit of it. Brodie is upset as he feels like you are simply using our friendship to wedge into my life. That’s not cool, and it’s extremely selfish.
There is more to say on the matter, but for now I’ll say this. I’m taking time out for myself. I need to focus on college right now. Then I’m going to Montreal. I won’t be coming to Palm Springs in August. End of story.
We can discuss this later, but clearly a cool down period is required. I would prefer not to say anything while I’m upset, and that’s right now while I’m trying to study.
This is my only message between now and then. Talk to you later.
There’s an old adage that goes something like, good writers research, great writers steal. At that moment I could only think of the words of William Goldman and used them as my response.
“As you wish.”
Edited by
Kenneth Larsen
Join us again on October 3 for: Downhill From Here
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