THE BOX

When Mr. Aries raped me, I found myself beside myself.

I had been slipped the date rape drug. My only way of knowledge being the uncharacteristic feeling I had when I woke up in bed, my front door wide open and a line of clothes from it to my bed. I also had James who I had called and described what happened.

I did not remember the call. I did not remember the act itself. And at that time I was not prong to blackouts.

With no memory, whom did I believe? The guy I crushed on since 2001 after a Paul Oakenfold rave who said nothing happened and has every reason to lie since he had a boyfriend or my close friend who I told everything to and had no reason to lie?

It was a good thing I chose the friend. Mr. Aries had gone onto show his true colors and how crazy he was. But I was still confused about the situation. How could my crush be such a monster? Knowing he knew how I felt about him, why had Mr. Aries choose to do that? How could the guy who was my physical manifestation of what I want in a guy...who had hanged around me...turn into someone I did not recognize? Just attempting to understand what happened caused me to either grow really upset or shut down completely.

James's advice to my confusion over this guy I clearly liked?

"Put it in the Box."

I frowned when he told me that.

"The box?" I uttered. "What's that?"

The Box...was what James called that place in the back of your mind where you pt things like traumas or nasty breakups. A person periodically looked in the Box, pulling out the memory...and dissect. If a person is ready, they figured out what happened and hopefully move on. If not, the person just put the memory back in the Box. The point was to let a person eventually...slowly...let the event hold less power over them...because they moved on.

So...for the Box...I presented the curious case of...the Frenchman.

LAST DAYS

When was the last time I had seen Frenchman? Truly saw Frenchman?

There was a knock on Brazil's door. I stared up quickly. Against my better judgment, I had followed Brazil down his rabbit hole and gotten high. Not to mention drunk. I looked over at the door as Brazil opened it. It was my co-worker Joel. He was doing his rounds. He also had a message.

"Frenchman was looking for you."

Nuff said as far as my mind was concerned. I made it down to Frenchman's room. My mind raced, wondering if everything was okay.

Frenchman looked okay. He laid on his bed, his fingers busy with his X-Box controller. It looked like he had also been out drinking. I sat on the floor across from him.

We chatted. Frenchman went on about his night, his eyes alight. I listened as best as a person who was high and drunk could. He asked me how many friends I had...that I considered friends. I gave him my answer, feeling down.

He wanted to wrestle. I, hunched back against his counter, thought that was not a good idea. Given everything that had gone on between us in the last few months,, I believed we were in a place where getting physical...would be doing just that. We would get physical. So...the moment...passed. Frenchman went back to his game. I...left to head back to Brazil's room. I proceeded to drink myself into unconscious.

My mind stayed on Frenchman the whole time...thinking I should had stayed.

***

I headed to Hotel S. There was butterflies in my stomach. I was off for two days. If I knew schedules right, Frenchman should have moved out by now, staying at his cousin's for two more months. Gone, but not forgotten. I expected the place to be full of ghosts.

I kept busy. The owner was at work that day. I felt movement, looking up to see who.

It was Frenchman. He was still there. And he was checking out.

My jaw dropped. While I've known for months this was coming, I was confident that I wasn't going to be the one who checked Frenchman out of his room. It would be Joel or even Art. It wouldn't be me. It would be too much.

And yet here I was. Here I was giving Frenchman the paperwork. Here I was checking if Frenchman had any fines. Here I was being sure I didn't forget anything. On the outside, I was professional. On the inside, I fell to pieces.

Frenchman was busy filling at the forwarding mail information. I stood there, my eyes on him. My mind was all over the place. It was time for him to go. And I could say something...or not. The more professional I tried to be on the outside, the more feelings inside tried to crawl to the surface.

Finally...those feelings came through I came from behind the counter. then I grabbed him in a big hug and held on tight. Frenchman appeared surprised. I did that. But...he hugged back. For a moment, there was just us. For a moment, I held on as tight as I could. For a moment...

Then he was gone. I stared after him, leaving in his black jacket and bags in hand. As soon as he vanished from my view, I let myself go. I fell to pieces, tears running down my face and gasping for breath as I sobbed. I had a total meltdown.

***

The weirdest thing about all that had gone on between me and Frenchman? Kos...of all people...held my hand...by way of Yahoo Messenger. he kept bringing forth a sense of humor. I really needed humor.

My co-worker showed up. That was code for it was time for me to get offline. As I waited for my co-worker to check everything, my phone vibrated. My eyes widened. It was Frenchman.

I was surprised. It had not even been 24 hours since he left Hotel S. I picked up my phone and listened.

Frenchman was drunk, probably high, and very, very depressed. He really, really, really wanted someone to talk to. So...I let him talk, letting all of my plans fall away.

Frenchman felt like an idiot. After one day, he had already gotten into a fight with his cousin. After one day, he felt like no one was on his side...but me.

He was scared about leaving, full of regrets. He talked about how much I meant to him. He wanted to take me to a movie theater in Tijuana to see how different it was from America. He wanted me to visit him in Cancun, where he planned on going. He wanted to visit in America again, see his cousin. See me.

I did not know what to say. He...I did not know he felt like this about me. He cared that I cared. I felt important...and I knew it.

And that...was more or less...the last time I saw the Frenchman I knew.

YOU CHANGED.

It did not start any differently.

It was common for me to be online working on something to be interrupted by a knock. I looked up. Frenchman would be at the door, goofy smile on his face. I let him in, and we would chat. Frenchman had all these worries and ideas to run past me. And I...had my friend in some form.

Then one day I was on Facebook. Frenchman had vanished for a few days...weird for him. And on Facebook, I saw why.

His name was Ron. And there he was in pictures with Frenchman and a bunch of girls. And they were out drinking. Which would not have bugged me except I was Frenchman's drinking buddy.

It bugged me more when Frenchman had the look of the guilty when I saw him next. He knew I saw the pictures and immediately explained he was around gays. I told him I was fine.

Then I found out Ron 1) was gay, blowing that idea to hell, 2)Frenchman felt very guilty, resulting in a lot of drunk phone calls and texts to me, and 3) that all of a sudden, Frenchman started hanging around with a new group of people...who ironically...were gay people.

??? It was then that I wondered what was up. Frenchman was the type of guy who did not separate his friends especially of the same orientation. In any case, it was obvious something was up.

I walked through my apartment door. It had been a long, slow day at Hotel S. I had not seen Frenchman either. Hopefully that meant...

My phone vibrated. I looked at it actually hesitating as I saw it was Frenchman. But...I did. I lasted not even five minutes as he talked about being fun, having fun, and flaking on everything.

"Gee," I said, sarcasm dripping off my lips, "how Brazil of you."

"What?" Frenchman uttered, a hint of anger.

I knew mentioning Brazil's name would piss him off. Sure enough, it did. And boy, we fought.

I knew then we would have to talk. So did he. Apparently, whoever he was around did not like him talking to me. Because he vanished again.

Then it became a cycle. When he was in trouble, Frenchman ran to me. Otherwise, I never heard from him. Where once we communicate as much as possible, now I was lucky to get a text.

He had told me months ago he wanted me to be available his last week in San Diego. he drilled it into me. He WANTED me around. After much fighting with my manager, I got the time I wanted free.

What was I thinking?

TRAUMA

I knew something was up, when I had not been called. I knew for sure when I got to Frenchman's work place and he kept looking to Ron for answers for his plans for that night. He wanted me available to go out to his unofficial going away party and he didn't know what to do.

"What do you think, Ron?" Frenchman asked.

Ron kinda shrugged.

"What do YOU think?" I asked, my eyes on Frenchman. "It's YOUR party. So pick a place. It's YOUR thing."

I had already picked up on a vibe between Ron and Frenchman. And I, for one, wasn't in the mood for it. And I was very annoyed that Frenchman treated me like someone not important.

I went up the street to a bar. I waited for him to get off work...his last day. I had a pretty good time, chatting up an Englishman and one of my tenants. That is...until he stalked past me. I followed after a moment.

I should have stayed at the bar. When I made it to his club, it was bad. I sat there with him, Rona, and this queeny guy. I sat there and watched them act like I wasn't even there, even getting drinks for everyone, but me. Frenchman actually dissed me, saying things to them he had said to me....like how he would miss them...that they should visit. I believed my blood boiled as he mentioned his plans for the next few days, plans he had had with me. Not now.

"Uh...hello?" my mouth cut in.

I let Frenchman have it. The only reason I let it slide was at least it was with a high school friend of his. Oh, wait. No, I didn't. I was angry he could not get on a phone to let me know.

"Whatever," he said.

Whatever. Was I so little of a friend now that I got that dismissive word? Then why the hell was I here?

I saw red. My hands made fists. And I knew I was about to punch him in the face. Whatever..was a word Kos liked to use...and I don't take kindly to that.

I made it to the restroom. I shot off some texts. I also tried to control myself.

And all of that control went out the window, when I came back from the restroom and found the table completely abandoned.

I had actually gotten into a fight with my manager. Frenchman had actually bitched, moaned, and begged me FOR MONTHS to be there. And he upped and ABANDONED me for gay men he had over hung around with for THREE WEEKS???!!!

It went without saying that my first memory was being abandoned by my first friend when I was little. It was the genesis of my dark side in face. Several people had almost been killed when I truly lost it.

Cue Kill Bill Bride music...

From that point on...I blacked out. What I did remember were images and what people who saw me said. My mind was on two things.

I wanted to find Frenchman and kill his ass. I wanted to find those gay posers and kill their asses. I was mad as hell and wasn't going to take it anymore.

The other thought (that I said repeatedly...and the only thing Drunken Me said) was that we have known each other for almost two years. He knew me for two years and he threw me under the bus for guys he knew for THREE WEEKS!!! Three weeks? Really? Three fucking weeks? Was he and Ron fucking?

Almost got arrested that night.

So yeah he had changed. He turned into Brazil.

BOX-ING

Needless to say I never went to the official going away party. There was too great a chance for bloodshed. what Frenchman had gone was too much for me since it tied into my childhood trauma.

In fact, I was angry right up until the day my phone rang on his last day. I took one look at the number, thought about the great drunken night I had last night, said 'screw that!,' and turned over in bed.

My anger only got worse when I found out, (later on) he left his own party and stayed with Dork Boi...well known for taking advantage of the drunken...which Frenchman most definitely was.

I went livid and punched the filing cabinet. And let me not even mention calling Dork Boi out on it. While he said nothing happened, the fact he dashed out of the building (when it looked like he was staying in) showed how guilty he was. So...our friendship died right then and there.

The next day I was in a haze. I actually regretted not saying good-bye. Replaying Frenchman's last message really got to me. It was almost two years. He might not respect that...but I did.

I was talking to my new friend Jill. I felt my phone vibrated. I expected Carl wanted to reply to my x-news. The grin died on my lips.

It was Frenchman. He was in the Tijuana airport. And as usual, he called me due to the drama that surrounded him on his last day. Since this was probably the last time I would hear his voice, I cut through that.

"I really, really miss you," I said, trying to control my voice from breaking.

"I miss you, too," he said. "You have no idea how much."

Then...awkward silence.

"I felt like I was a waste of time and..." Frenchman started.

"No," I said. "You were never a waste of time...to me."

Even more awkward silence. I think we both knew this talk was going to a weird place. We got off the phone.

And so...pushed to my mental and emotional edge...I put the whole situation in the Box.

***

I peeked at it. I picked at it like a scab. The result was the same.

Frenchman had really hurt me. A month later, the whole situation was still fresh to me. I was now in a place where I felt comfortable enough to go out again.

However, something was different. My mind might have been full of lust, but my eyes were now full of distrust. My trust lost, I realized my contempt for gay men had returned.

And this time...I did not know if even time would heal that for me...Box or not.

Diego