01 March 1999 ~ Miss THANG!

It's technically not March first yet. I've still got six minutes according to the clock on my computer, which is even minutes fast. Sigh. Whatever.

I have to write. I don't know what to write, I don't know why I'm suddenly so compelled to glue my fingers to this keyboard for the night, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm doing up so late on a school night. But I know that trying to go to sleep at this point would be useless.

I want to talk about Ken. It hurts to talk about Ken, but I loved him, and he's a major part of my life, and - oh fuck it, I just miss him...

I was watching X-Files tonight when it hit me. Missing Ken. There was this tiger or something in the episode, and it made me think of Kenny's kitties - the only felines in the world I have ever liked. And that made me think of the night that Ken, Peter and I went to Wal-mart to get cat toys and litter pans when they first got those damn creatures. And THAT made me think of the fight that Ken and Peter had, which resulted in me and Ken spending the night bitching together in a gay bar over a game of pool, both trashed off our asses on peach wine coolers (me) and Rolling Rock (Ken).

He can't dance for shit. Never could as far as I could tell, anyway. But we danced to Madonna's "Like a Prayer" in that bar together. I think I scared him a little when I started thrashing around uncontrollably and fell to my knees a couple of times in mock communication with the higher powers (and who knows WHAT higher powers Madonna prays to these days!). It didn't matter, really. We were the only ones in the bar that night; we'd walked a good mile or two in the dark to get to the bar and we sure as hell were going to have a good time.

Ken was a wonderful person to know when you were in dire need of a party. He could always supply you with alcohol, and then he'd insist on drinking with you so that you wouldn't seem like an alcoholic. He's the only person I've ever known, gay, straight, male or female, who could pronounce "Miss Thang," with the right accent and tone of voice. He's the only person much smaller than me I've ever been intimidated by.

Ken used to have these parties at his and Peter's apartment. He called them the "House o' Decadence" parties. After drag night at the bar, he invited everyone back to the apartment for a few more drinks and a little bit of loud music. You weren't allowed to come if you didn't bring something to drink and share. Or cigarettes. Those were fine. Or you could just sleep with Kenny, and that would be fine too, depending on how desireable you were. Being underage, I never could bring alcohol, and being broke, I couldn't afford cigarettes... and being female, I wasn't going to sleep with Ken, particularly since he was dating my best friend, who went pretty much psychotic every time he realized what a jerk he was in love with. But Kenny kept me around. He needed me. He needed me to clean up the messes.

"Girl," he'd say out of the blue, "Let's clean the house!" We'd rearrange the furniture, dust, take the trash out, and do the dishes side by side.

"Girl," he'd say, "I hate my boyfriend. I know you're in love with him. Can you break us up? You can have him, girl." We'd discuss it and I'd promise to talk with Peter although I never planned on trying to break ANYBODY up. The "talks" never really got much further than, "so how was work today? Ken and I rearranged the furniture while you were out..."

"Girl," he'd say, "it is five o'clock somewhere and we are starting happy hour right now!" So we'd grab a bottle of whatever happened to be handy, and start happy hour, sometimes at noon. One day, I sat in the middle of Ken's floor reading gay porn magazines, drunker than I can possibly explain in correctly-spelled words, and three or four people walked in the door to ask Ken to a party or something. Ken, just as drunk as I was, began talking about masturbation and the "big load" he'd shot that morning. "I still have the Kleenexes!" he told the guests. "Wanna see?" The guests left.

"Girl!" he'd say, "Turn on Madonna! I'm gonna show everyone my routine! And bring me my belt!"

It was best to just hand him his belt, turn on the CD, and leave the room at that point...

I remember the last time I held Ken. He was lying in bed with Jeff -- this was just a few days after he'd broken up with Peter, but Jeff was already smitten and had pretty much moved in... There'd been a party the night before, and it had been a vicious one. When attending Kenny's House O' Decadence parties, you had to be prepared for the worst. You had to be on your toes. And I hadn't been. I'd been tired and cranky and irritable. Some jerk from the bar, Sam, called out across the room, "good job breaking up with Peter, Ken! The only good thing about that boy is his dick!" I might have ignored the comment if I hadn't been cranky already. I might have thrown a wicked come-back in his face if I hadn't been so tired. But I could only manage to say, "fuck you." Sam, who was wearing high heels, said, "whatsa matter?" Ken, who was more than a little trashed, drawled, "Peter's Helena's boyfriend more'n mine. She's in love with him or somethin'. Girl, tell Sam how much you liked havin' sex with him, even though he's got that nasty dick of his..." Sam snorted and made some comment about me having dated every gay man in town. Ken giggled. The jerk said, "'Least you haven't dated David." Ken howled. I thought of what I'd wanted to do to Sam when I found out he and David were seeing each other (LONG before any of this...). I thought of how Sam had been a total dickhead to David, and pretended to be all friendly with Peter in the bar. I looked at Ken, who was still laughing at me. I slammed the door in all of their faces.

The next day, I woke up from my uncomfortable position on the most gahd-awful uncomfortable couch I've ever slept on. I knocked on Ken's door, and walked in without waiting for an answer. Jeff lay contentedly in Ken's arms, and Ken sat up just a little bit. "Helena?"

"I'm leaving," I said. "I don't know if I will see you again. Um... if I'll see you again before I leave." I hastily corrected myself. Ken had been given two months to live a month earlier; he'd told me he had a tumor in his brain. I'd witnessed two seizures, and was more scared than I'll ever admit that I would watch Ken die in front of me. He was wasting away, literally, and I'd been watching it.

"'Course you'll see me again before you leave," Ken replied, heartily for someone who'd just woken up. "I love ya, girl!"

"I know, Ken, but I-" I stopped. It was too difficult to explain to Ken why I'd been so angry the night before, why I'd wanted to punch him in the face for being too drunk to defend me, for laughing at me, for making fun of two of my dearest friends. "I don't know if I want to come back here after what happened last night. I'm going to meet Peter at work today and see how he's doing."

"Girl!" He hesitated, trying to remember the night before. "Gimme a hug, girl," he commanded.

I bent down to the blue-and-white bedspread, reached under the covers, and found Kenny's skinny little body somewhere in there. He was topless and I was wearing a tank top, so I felt a lot of flesh. He was hot - more than just a little toasty from the covers - and I held back tears, knowing that once I left for Santa Fe, I would never see Ken again. Never. I held him, and I closed my eyes, and the embrace lasted longer than it probably should have. I felt Ken's fever, and his own personal warmth underneath that fever. I felt his soft skin burning up against my cheek, telling me it would all be okay.

I saw him once after that. We ran into each other at Peter's work the night before I got in the car to go to Santa Fe. Ken was teasing me about having one final fling with Peter that night. "I'm not going to seduce him," I told Ken, "you know I wouldn't do something like that." He teased me a little while longer, and then got into somebody's car to go to some party. Peter and I went back to my house and were snuggling cozily together on the couch when Ken called.

"Girl!" he said, obviously drunk, "Did you fuck him yet?"

"KEN!" I yelled. "I'm going to hang up now!"

I haven't seen him since I watched him stepping into that car, smoking a Benson-and-Hedges, on the way to his party. I haven't held him since that morning I tried to cure his fever with my fingertips on his back. Ironically, the last time I spoke to him, I was drunk when he called. And I'm absolutely certain I'll never see him again. Probably it's for the best if I'm placing high priority on my sanity. But a part of me died when he last stepped out of my sight. A part of me that will never come back no matter what diseases are cured.

Love Always,
Helena*

"Girl, analyze this dream for me! Come be my therapist!"
"Okay, just a minute! Okay, close your eyes for a second and imagine yourself on a soft couch. A big long leather one."
"Ooohh! Girl! Not LEATHER! You know what leather does to me! Mmmmm!!"
--Kenny and me, August 1998