“I’m not the problem,” I thought to myself standing there reading and rereading Jonny’s words. “I’m the trigger.”
Mine was no longer a personality at odds with itself; my heart and mind were now working as one. There was no longer the slightest doubt that what my heart had known from the beginning and my logical mind and I struggled to accept was true: I loved this man and he, at the very least, cared deeply for me.
“It’s about time,” Kenneth said upon reading the story describing the realization I’d been misinterpreting Jonny’s words for weeks, “I’ve been wondering when you were going to see that.”
I suppose many of you might have been wondering the same thing.
It’s hard to explain how, after a lifetime of self-doubt brought about by virtually every authority figure in my life, starting with my own parents constantly calling my every thought, word, and deed into question, I could so readily fail to see what was right before my eyes.
This had long been a problem for me since I had so desperately tried and failed to make loving relationships so many times, each built on an unconscious desire to find the true unconditional love that was lacking in my childhood.
I returned from Georgia with a renewed determination to pursue a relationship with Jonny. I refollowed him and Brodie on Facebook and Instagram and began liking and commenting on just about everything they posted.
Without being nasty, I took to the habit of posting humorous, or so I hoped, snarky comments on his selfies intending to take the piss out of Jonny’s legion of fawning admirers.
After a while, Jonny began to respond to my comments with laughing emojis. Soon we were counter-commenting on one another’s posts. At that point, I upped the ante and began texting him once again. Soon we were trading funny comments and responses on a regular basis.
I was relentless in rebuilding communications with him. It became a full-time job, I was texting day and night.
At one point, Jonny related having spent his Thanksgiving break with Jim and John in Wiarton.
“Thanksgiving?” I wrote back. “Halloween is still weeks away.” That’s when I learned Canadians celebrate their Thanksgiving on the first Monday in October.
“What do you serve?” I texted. “Poutine, pea meal bacon, and beaver tails smothered in maple syrup?”
“Ha. Ha,” came his response.
Knowing at one time he had been married to an American, I asked if he’d ever had a typical American Thanksgiving and what he thought of it.
“Way more food,” he said. “And for some reason your Thanksgiving meals lend themselves to a food coma. Both my ex and I, along with most of his family, were out for the afternoon.”
Suddenly I was stricken with an idea.
“Well, how would you like a real old-fashioned Yankee Thanksgiving dinner next month?” I typed.
There was a long pause, which could have been for any reason, before his reply came through.
“Sure. How are you going to do this?”
That was a good question.
“Do you think your friends Jim and John would let me use their kitchen?”
That was even a better one.
After saying he would have to check with them to see if it would be possible, we said goodnight.
From that moment on, I made sure Jonny was a part of nearly everything I did in Palm Springs.
Being three hours earlier and far too early to call it a night, I immediately checked flight availabilities and costs.
A few days later, Jonny texted to say that not only would Jim and John be happy to let us use their kitchen, we would be welcome to stay with them over the weekend. Moments later, I confirmed my itinerary and car rental for yet another trip to Canada.
From that moment on, I made sure Jonny was a part of nearly everything I did in Palm Springs. During the annual downtown Halloween street party on Arenas Rd., I made a series of short videos of people in outrageous costumes saying, “Hi Jon. Wish you were here,” and sent them off to him.
He laughed.
A few days later at Oscar’s Sunday Tea Dance, I videoed Alota Paine, one of the Tea Dance drag performers, beckoning Jonny to return to the desert.
A few days later at Oscar’s Sunday Tea Dance, I videoed Alota Paine, one of the Tea Dance drag performers, beckoning Jonny to return to the desert.
He laughed.
All seemed to be going well until about a week-and-a-half before I was due to take off. Suddenly I received a very angry message from Jonny. About an hour later, a second angry part arrived. In the messages he railed on about his wishes not being respected.
“It’s as if I’m not being listened to,” he exclaimed.
I quickly scanned all of our exchanges for the past several days to see if I could find anything I might have said or done that led to this emotional outburst.
There wasn’t a thing except for series of increasingly funny, playful exchanges between two people clearly enjoying each other’s, albeit long distance, company.
“I’ve triggered a threat response,” I thought to myself. The closer we get, the more something inside him fears he’s going to make a mistake of some kind.
I took a gamble and made a joke about not realizing how “seriously Canadians take American Thanksgiving.”
He didn’t laugh.
But over the course of the next few days, after showing no sign of backing down from traveling to Owen Sound, tensions eased so much so that I even broached the idea that he really hadn’t been mad at me, but that I “may” have inadvertently and unknowingly triggered an emotional response of some kind in him.
Two days before Thanksgiving, I took off once again for Toronto Pearson International airport. No drama on this flight, but for the fifth time in nearly as many weeks I found myself whiling away another two hours between flights in the Dallas-Fort Worth airport.
I also once again had a problem picking up a rental car, which I’d paid for in advance, because the rental company would not accept my prepaid AMX or Visa debit card as security. Ninety minutes and three rental car companies later, I left the airport driving a new V8 Chrysler 300 S at just twice the price I’d already paid for the car I couldn’t have.
I picked up Jonny at the condo he rented a room in. We chatted and laughed most of the way to Jim and John’s lake view home. It was shaping up to be a great Thanksgiving weekend, at least for the first hour or so.
When it came time to stow our bags and get ready for dinner, I discovered that Jonny would once again be sleeping in the upstairs guest room and I would be in the downstairs suite. Alone.
My heart sank. I was caught off guard and completely unprepared. Conversation for the remainder of the day was difficult and forced, and my attempts at humor became sharper and more bitter as the evening wore on.
Our hosts retired early as Jim had to work the following day and Jonny soon followed suit. I remained by myself in the great room watching TV before finally giving up and trundling downstairs to my lonely room.
After brushing my teeth, I turned out the lights and climbed into bed.
“How could I have been so wrong?” I asked myself through the tears.
Edited by
Kenneth Larsen
Join us again on January 9, 2018 when we begin the long awaited conclusion of God Can Wait. In the meantime Jon, Ken and I all wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanza, and the most festive of holiday seasons. See you next year.
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