Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2006 07:09:26 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joseph Smith <gaymormonwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Love and Death in Venice  adult/youth

(Author's notes: Copyright 2006. This is not a typical Nifty story. It's
not about sex but about a relationship, friendship, loneliness, depression
and grief.  Emails welcome.)


Love and Death in Venice
Chapter 8


The simple life in Venice, Florida, could be extremely boring. My only
refuge was the beach-with my toes nestled in the sand and the sound of
water splashing onto the beach. My eyes followed the shoreline, watching
others, their lives following the paths they had chosen for
themselves...and what of my path? Full of detours, roadblocks and the
mandatory forks that confuse and bewilder me as I have tried to imagine
where the life choices I've made will lead.

Then there was that inevitable curve that came out of nowhere and you found
myself stumbling along, trying to pick myself up with some form of dignity
left intact.

There was a movie thirty years ago that used a certain tag line for its
advertising. It constantly reminded me of how life should be lived. It
read: "the quiet dignity of the human spirit". I was so taken by that quote
that I put it on the marquee above the title when I played the movie.

How I had struggled with the idea of a 'quiet dignity'. With my eyes
closed, feeling the warmth of the summer sun, the subtle wind whistling in
my ears, I realized that I had lost my 'quiet dignity' too easily.

Chase has done what no one had done before and I let him do it. I followed
him on this adventure to see where it would go because I wanted it. I
wanted him in my life because he gave me a sense of belonging in life. His
human spirit had been warm and loving. The gift he always gave was
himself. He touched me in a way that only one other ever has.

I worried that he would ignore the message in which I poured out my heart
to him. The last indignity of a pained soul or so I thought. Brady kept
telling me to give it time. I was impatient with time. At work, I would
close my eyes and think about Chase. I would look up, out the box office
window and my mind's eye would see him, leaning against the tree, smiling,
waiting for me.

I deluded myself with thoughts that he would drive to Venice and make peace
with me. As the weeks went by, my pain increased. Chase wasn't coming, I
kept reminding myself.

I would see his name on my Yahoo Messenger list and wonder if he was on
line. He told me that he liked his privacy. He would always appear as
'offline'.

The weeks went by and I grew more and more anxious. I had to constantly
check myself, fearing that I had developed an obsession.

The Nifty story kept my mind occupied for many hours as I continued the
spiritual journey of those young men, leading them to a destiny that I
wasn't sure I really wanted. I wrote from my heart as words and meanings
flowed from my fingertips onto the keyboard, hoping that by some cosmic
accident Chase would read the story and find meaning and contentment from
it.

After two months, I couldn't take it anymore. With no words from him, I
wrote an email. I told him that I had put my resumé out there nationally
and still was having little response. I blew the head gasket on my Ford
Escort and bought a pick up truck. It was a nice letter that friends write
to let the other know how they're doing. It was unemotional.

It too went with no response.

I spent the next six weeks writing the conclusion of my Nifty story. Though
I was pleased and happy with how it had progressed, it was time to end it
and in a way, that saddened me. It had been an exciting journey for me. A
dream I had always had had been realized. With the final chapter written
and posted, I felt a sincere sense of accomplishment. A rare feeling, one
that I knew I wanted more and more.

A reader sent me an email, telling me how great the story was but that the
syntax and grammar needed serious attention. I hadn't used an editor and
had proofread it myself. I had missed so much. We exchanged emails and
agreed to rewrite the story and prepare it for publication as a novel. The
story that Chase inspired was going to be on library shelves, I thought.

The day after I posted the last chapter, I sent Chase an off-line message
on Yahoo Messenger.

Dan: Today is the anniversary of my finding you last year. Remember we
talked all night long? I haven't heard your voice in 8 months, or seen a
written word in 6. You know I miss you. Please, don't leave our friendship
like this? It means too much to me. How are you?

Several hours later, the response came.

Chase: Dan, I am not mad at you, nor am I upset... I just have a lot going
on, and a lot of people demanding much from me... I only have time for so
much, and I seem to find people who are needy... And I'm having to sift
through my list of friends... I am sorry if I have caused you any pain.

Finally a reply, but it wasn't what I was hoping for, and I turned a blind
eye to it at first.

Dan: Chase, thank you for writing. Just keep in touch. Sounds like you are
doing well. If you get any time free, call me. It would be good to hear
your voice again.

I went back and reread his message. There it was in black and white. I was
one of the 'needy' ones. Chase had put me on the list that he told me I
wasn't on. He lied to me. Again. I felt that sick feeling in my stomach
that no one likes to get. I felt betrayed all over again.

Dan: Don't worry about me...I get it.

And then I cried.

I sent Brady an offline message: "I heard from Chase...I am done with him."

Or so I thought.

Brady and I had a lot of phone conversations about Chase. He listened as I
cried on his shoulder, feeling an incredible loss, like a close friend had
died.

"You knew this was going to happen," he said.

"No I didn't, not really."

"Dan, he ended it. It's over. Move on."

"I just can't turn it off," I said.

"You're not going to turn off the love you have for him, but he did turn
off everything else."

"Why, Brady, what did I do that was so wrong and why does he think I was
'needy'? I asked, knowing that forever I would hate that word 'needy'.

"You needed his friendship. You needed his love. You needed to love
him. You needed to move back to Texas. You needed him."

"I'm being punished because I loved and cared about him?"

"Yes."

"I tried to save him," I said.

"He didn't want to be saved."

"He didn't know he had to be saved."

"I think he knew. Besides, how would you have saved him?"

"By trying to convince him he could have God and also be gay."

"You don't think he knows that?"

"No. I don't think he feels worthy of that."

"Let him go."

"Brady, I'm afraid for him."

"Let it go."

"I still think he might do something."

"You can't stop him if he does."

"It will tear me up if he does," I said, fearing I would someday have that
knowledge.

"Let it go."

"I can't."

"I know."

I began to wonder if I ever would let it go.

"Dan, he's in your heart. That won't change. But you need to find someone
to replace him there."

"He won't be replaced. Just moved over for someone else."

"That works, too."

"Will I ever be over Chase?"

"Hopefully, but not anytime soon."

I never thought I could write another story. My editor told me to start
another one. The weeks went by and I started writing again. It's a story of
the first guy I had a crush on. It was the break I needed from the first
story. Though we had begun the process of rewriting the first one, I got
wrapped up in the new one.

Each day I would open the wooden wine box that I kept my watches and change
in and look at the ring, the CTR ring Chase gave me nine years ago. I
thought of the reason he gave it to me in the first place. I took it out
and placed on my finger. It was still too big. It was the only thing I had
of Chase's besides my memories.

I kept working at the theater, though I had grown weary of it after nearly
two years. I realized with much disappointment, that it was at this
location that I had been the longest in my career. My thoughts would tell
me that I shouldn't be here. I should be in Texas with Chase. I should have
been there a year ago. Christmas was coming soon and I knew I would be
alone.

I felt that I had one more thing I had to do concerning Chase. I got a ring
box with the intention of sending the ring back to Chase. I put the ring in
the box. It sat on my dresser for weeks until I got the nerve up to send
it, and to decide that that was the right thing to do.

I sat down at my computer and typed out a note for the ring.

"A caring friend with a warm heart gave me this ring nine years ago. The
warm heart has gone cold and the caring friend has been lost, like everyone
I have ever cared about in my life."

I had lost just about everyone I had ever cared about in my life: my wife,
my mother, my grandmother, my best friend of twenty-five years after coming
out to him, and friends along life's way. Since I have had so few friends
in my life, the number of those lost seems unbearable.

I have my son, my wife's sister and her companion, Brady, Dave and
John. I'm not completely alone, but my inner family is shrinking.

I didn't sign the note. I placed it in the envelope with the box and sealed
it. It sat in my truck for another week before I mailed it.

"Why did you do that?" Brady asked.

"The ring didn't mean what it did before."

"So sending it back to him told him what?"

"That he hurt more then he thought."

"You wanted to tell him he hurt you?"

"Yeah, badly," I said, feeling the pain.

"Do you think he's going to care?"

"I hope so."

"You should have kept it."

"Why?"

"It was all you had of him. The last piece of what you guys had."

"What did we really have, Brady?" I asked.

"Friendship."

"He threw it away."

"I thought you said it was because of his bi-polar disorder that he acted
this way?"

"I know. But this has been one hell of a long mood swing."

I finished writing the second story. My editor kept getting on me about the
use of commas and past tense words, things I tried consciously to work
on. When he's done with it, he always made my work look good. He can
unscramble the murkiest paragraphs and make sense of what I was trying to
write.

I really liked the way the story ended and I even had two female readers
email me about it. I even got a request to post it on Awesomedude.com,
which is strictly by invitation only.

In November, a northeastern theater company expressed an interest in
me. Finally I might be moving. But the process took months.

"You should write about it," Brady said.

"Why?"

"To get it out of your system."

"Is that the only way it will happen?"

"Maybe," he said.

"I finished my second story. I really have no idea what the next one would
be."

"Do this one."

"I don't know if I can."

"You need closure," he said.

"Write about Chase and me?" I asked. "Yeah? I know I still ramble on about
him with you."

"Dan, you need to move on."

"There's that damn word."

"What?"

"Need."

Brady laughed and said, "See, you have to write it."

"So I can see how 'needy' I really am?"

"Maybe."

"You're three thousand miles away, how needy do you think I am?"

"I don't know. But until you figure some things out, you will feel that
way."

"You're serious?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know if I can. It hurts."

"Exactly."

"Brady, my first two stories were fiction based loosely on actual events or
situations that I turned into a fantasy. That was easy. But this?"

"You have to do it."

"It's personal. I don't know."

"Dan, whether you publish it on the net or not, you have to write it."

"What if I don't like what I write?"

"You don't have to."

"Your constantly complaining I reveal too much when I talk to people. Now
you're asking me to reveal this?"

"You need closure, like I said. To finally settle what you had with Chase."

"You really think it will help?"

"Yeah, I do. Chase is in your heart. He's not going to leave. It's not like
you're taking a knife and cutting him out; it's a way to finish what he
started."


The end of Chapter 8