Teddy
“On a scale of one to ten, with one representing very mild pain and ten being the most unbearable pain you can experience,
where would you rate your pain today?”
“A million!” I yell at Ron. “There is a catheter up my wee-wee! It feels like I have a U-Haul parked down there, and that
parking space is only meant for compact vehicles!”
My shouting does not thwart nursemaid Ron. He props me up even further in bed, and hands me a glass of water, pills for bladder
spasms and a stool softener, and a bowl of fresh fruit.
Ron sniffs the air and winces. He yanks down the blanket.
“Not again,” he says.
“Put me out of my misery,” I beg. “Please.”
The incontinence was not supposed to start until my catheter came out, but bladder spasms cause nightly leakage. Even worse,
after I put up with being constipated the first few days postsurgery, the water, fruit and stool softeners are kicking in
as they are supposed to, but I’m too exhausted and too medicated to realize it and call for help in time. When I finally realize
what has occurred, I’m too ashamed, so I sit in my own waste like a baby in his diaper.
“I’ll clean you up,” Ron says.
I turn my head away, mortified.
“It’s okay,” he assures me.
Ron returns wearing gloves and carrying an arsenal of wipes, towels, soap and water. He washes me as I used to bathe my mother
when she was dying. The warm washcloth feels good against my skin.
“I should have hired someone to do this,” I say. “It’s not fair to you.”
He gets another washcloth and rubs my legs.
“That’s what friends are for,” Ron says. He looks at me. “You’re my best friend, Teddy, and I love you.”
“There are things a child should never see,” my mother said to me once as I cleaned her dying body, eyes locked on the portrait
hanging on the wall in front of her bed.
“And there are things you should do for those you love,” I said.
“You love me?” she asked.
“You shouldn’t have to ask,” I replied.
“You love me?” I ask Ron.
“You shouldn’t have to ask,” he says.
“Thank you for being my friend,” I say.
His face contorts with emotion. He nods and walks to the bathroom. I hear him washing his hands.
Sid and Barry enter the room. I look at the clock. It is 7:00 a.m. on the dot.
“Your laminated chore chart finally worked,” I marvel to Ron when he returns to the bedroom. “After all these years.”
“I’m just stunned you didn’t have anal cancer because you’ve been such a raging asshole for so long,” Barry deadpans.
We roar in laughter.
“Help me get him up,” Ron says. “We need to change these sheets, and you need to stand for a few minutes. You have to start
moving around a bit more today, okay?”
“Yes, Nurse Ratched.”
Barry and Sid put their arms around me and walk me around the bedroom, down the hall, through the living room and back again. I am winded easily.
They help me back in bed, and—as my gown goes northward—I pat the drainage bag around my leg.
“I just love you, bladder buddy.”
“Good God!” Barry yelps. “No wonder I only date younger men.”
“You need some petroleum jelly down there,” Ron says, heading into the bathroom. He sets a tube on the tray next to me. “But
you’re doing that all on your own.”
Sid is quiet, but I can tell something is on his mind.
“Just say it, Sid.”
“What about . . .” Sid stops, searching for the right word “. . . sex?”
“Jury’s still out,” I say. “Some flags remain at half-mast forever. But I’m confident I will rise to see another day. Otherwise,
what do I have to live for? I do have to try to get an erection once my body has had a chance to heal,” I say. “In fact, I
will need an erection as soon as possible for my penile rehabilitation. Any takers?”
Barry gags.
“I guess I’ll just have to look at old photos of Tom Selleck, then. If it worked when I was young, maybe the magic will work
again.” I eye Sid and continue. “I suppose you’re just asking because your sex life finally got a new lease with Leo.”
Sid ducks his head. “That’s over.”
“What?” I gasp.
“A few too many mommy issues.” Sid shrugs.
“Him or you?” I ask.
Sid smiles, but I can tell he is deeply hurt.
“I’m so sorry, my dear,” I say. “Is there any chance at all? I know how much you liked him.”
Sid looks out the window. “Loved him. I think I loved him.”
Suddenly, my heart hurts more than the catheter.
“Want me to be honest?” I ask.
“When are you not?”
“You’re already well past the life expectancy of a man in the US.”
“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.”
“What do you have to lose?” I ask. “I mean, just look at me. My husband killed himself. I am incontinent. My Christian sister
got pregnant out of wedlock. Ron is my nursemaid. And I still am fighting for something more in this life. If I can do it,
you can, too, Sid. You are the kindest man I know.”
“Hey,” Ron says, acting wounded.
“You,” I point at him, “are the man most likely to get C. diff that I know.”
He laughs. “I better go shower. You got this, Barry?”
“I do,” he says.
“Sid?” I say.
“What?”
“Look at me.”
He does.
“Fight. Let’s make this final act the best yet. No regrets.”
Sid nods.
“Say it with me. No regrets.”
“No regrets.”
Sid forces a tiny smile.
“I have to go get ready. It’s Reading Hour at the library. I’ll be back for the evening shift.”
“You mean the evening shit,” I say.
He pads out the door in his slippers.
“It’s just the two of us,” I say to Barry. “Blanche and Dorothy.”
“Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead,” I say, gesturing to a chair.
Barry takes a seat on the bed next to me.
“This seems serious,” I continue.
Barry looks broken.
“I know you would cry if your eye surgery allowed it,” I say, patting the bed. Barry crawls into bed next to me. “Tell mama everything,” I whisper.
He tells me about Kyle.
“I’m going to kill that motherfucker!” I yell when he’s done.
Barry laughs. “At least I don’t have to see him again until the movie premieres,” he says. “And he’s been treating me like
gold, talking me up to producers and directors. His money is on the line with this film, and the last thing he needs is bad
press. We all need a blockbuster, and the studio thinks it could set a box office record when it launches.”
“I wish I could have come to see you on set,” I say. “You’ve waited for this your whole life.”
“Thank you, but I had to do it on my own terms. For once. I just don’t know what to do next,” he says. “I’m getting all of
these scripts for TV and film. I’m getting interest from the hottest directors. It’s everything I wanted.” Barry sighs. “I’m
just not as happy as I thought I’d be for some reason.”
“Then be happy! Go back to doing it the way you’ve always done it. Be in control of your life and work,” I say. “You think
you only did crappy community theater, but you wrote, acted, directed . . . you did it all, Barry. You changed people’s lives
with these shows. You changed our lives. And it’s been a blast, hasn’t it?”
“It has.”
“Have you ever considered that your life has worked out exactly the way it was supposed to?” I ask. “Have you ever considered
that the three of us were your big break? That maybe being a friend is the role of a lifetime.”
He eyes me skeptically. “Who have you become?”
“A eunuch,” I say. “It’s softened me. And I can sing soprano now.”
He laughs.
“You just need to write your happy ending, Barry. What’s that fancy word you use for the end of a story, when the strands
of the plot are drawn together and everything is resolved?”
“The denouement?” Barry asks.
“That’s it. You just need your personal denouement.” I nudge his shoulder. “Every great character grows and changes. Perhaps
that’s what’s holding you back right now from taking advantage of your hard-won success. You’ve grown and changed. I mean,
you haven’t brought anyone home in ages.” I shake my head at how insane that is. “I think you just need to write your own
final act.”
Barry sits up straight.
“That’s it! That’s what Ron was trying to tell me, too!”
He leaps off the bed.
“I’ll be right back!”
He returns with his laptop, takes a seat in a chair and begins to type furiously. Barry glances at me. “Let me know if you
need anything.”
“Just keep writing.”
A few moments later, my cell rings.
“Hi, sis.”
Trudy’s face appears on my phone.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m trying to tinkle an ice pick.”
“Thank you for the visual,” Trudy says. “I sent flowers. Did you get them?”
A gorgeous bouquet sits on a nearby table.
“Yes. Thank you. They’re beautiful. How are you feeling?”
“First few weeks of therapy are going well,” she says. “And I do have a surprise.”
“What now?”
“Ava is looking at the California Institute of the Arts.”
“That’s amazing! CalArts is incredible.”
“And Santa Clarita isn’t that far from you,” Trudy adds. “Ava says you inspired her. She’s interested in studying costume
design there.”
Barry looks up and applauds.
“You have two very excited gay men here,” I say. “It would be great to see her more.”
“What about me?”
“I’m seeing you right now.”
“What about in person?”
I cock my head at Trudy and position the cell next to my face.
“Close enough now?”
“I mean, in person.”
I pull the cell away.
“I actually listened to your advice and have been looking at real estate listings in Palm Springs,” Trudy says. “I could never
have something like you have, but I’d like to live closer to family as well.”
I look at Barry, who acts as if he is wiping away a tear. So sweet, he mouths.
“What do you think?” Trudy asks. “I would never move if you didn’t want me closer to you.”
“What about your son?”
“He’ll be fine,” she says. “They’re the ones who ran away from me, and I don’t blame them. But they have their own lives.
I want to spend the time I have left with my little brother.”
“That would be amazing,” I say. “You’ll be a hit at all the gay bars. Everyone will think you’re a lesbian.”
“I’m hoping to come out this summer to visit some colleges with Ava. She actually asked me to come with her,” Trudy says.
“I can look at some homes then and see how hot it gets.”
“You’ll want to move in October,” I say with a smile. “When things stop melting. Just save up for AC.”
“I’ll give you a call later,” Trudy says. “It was good to talk to you.”
“Thanks for calling, sis.”
I begin to hang up, but Trudy says, “Wait, Teddy?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, sis. Bye.”
Just as Trudy hangs up, I see—over her shoulder, hanging on her living room wall—the cheap Biblical oil painting Mama won
at the church raffle.
She did go home one last time to say goodbye.
I look out the window.
Candy-color clouds like the ones in the painting, as orange as Mama’s Bakelite bracelet, are hugging the mountains at sunrise.