the naked man

part one | part two | part three | part four

That Christmas day, I had nowhere to go. I mean, I know Susan's family would have accepted me, and I know my family would have loved to see me. But I couldn't go to either of those places. I was so far away from those people, you can't imagine. None of us knew each other anymore. They couldn't understand where I was or why. I didn't want to be humored. I didn't want to be catered to. I wanted to exist, that's all. The best place for me to do that was at home with a six pack and a bottle of whiskey.

Was I being selfish? Did I hurt people who loved me by separating myself from them? I'm sure I did. But what could I do? Go and be coddled and cooed to and then whispered about from the other room? I knew everyone was worried about me, disappointed with me, and confused by me. Knowing that there was nothing I could do to change that, I avoided it. I'll never say it was right, but that's what I did.

Somehow, I liked to pretend that I was the only one out there, that I had no real connections. There was no one for me to upset, no one to try and make everything all right for me. It was just me.

Then Steve and Lucy showed up at my apartment to invite me over for Christmas dinner. I didn't want to go. It just didn't feel right. It was as if we had an understanding, a specific relationship which had been agreed upon, and this idea of, I don't know, closeness, went too far. I didn't want to know these people any more than I already did. I didn't want to be on the other side of the line.

That said, I still went with them.

I wasn't sure if they had planned to find me or not, since Lucy spent the whole time cooking while Steve and I drank. It occurred to me while Steve and I were drinking that he and Lucy probably had nothing planned for Christmas at all. That they had come over to my place on a whim, hoping to find someone at home who would come over and join them
for dinner. I realized then that while I was hiding from so many people, there were others out there who just wanted someone to be with.

I wasn't entirely comfortable being that person.

Lucy cooked a great dinner. We had ham, lasagna, soup, and cheesecake, not in that order. We ate like kings, which was good, since we also drank like fools. The whole time we ate, we drank and laughed and pretended that we were close to each other. Eventually, the drink sunk in and we felt genuinely close to each other.

I wish we had never reached that point. When the jokes turn to sincere admissions, and the admissions turn to confessions, that's when nights become difficult. I never needed Steve to tell me I was one of his few friends, and I didn't need him to tell me over and over again how much he loved Lucy. Especially when she told me that he beat her.

I wasn't expecting it. Steve went to the bathroom and she just threw it out at me. She grabbed my hand first, though.

"You know how he says he loves me?" she said.

"He seems to mean it, " I said. "You two have a great thing."

" He beats me." she said. "Do you beat on someone you love?"

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to react. I was foolish to say what I did, but I said it anyway.

" He probably doesn't mean to." I said.

Lucy looked at me then, the way a child looks at a parent that doesn't believe him. I saw the tears start, but she never let them fall. They just sat there, at the lips of her eyes. Then she shook her head at me.

" Does it matter what anyone means?" she said. Her face was so close to mine, I almost thought of kissing her. She probably would have kissed me back. It was that kind of a night.

I can't help but think that when Steve came back he knew what was going on. The way he looked at us, the way his eyes went back and forth from her to me. I could see it. He didn't mention it, though.

In the end, he didn't have to. The conversation became fragile. Each of us tried to be funny at one time or another, but our attempts kept trailing off into nothing, ending just with a sigh or a chuckle. By the time the night wound down and I excused myself for the evening, I didn't want to see either of them again. We couldn't go back to where we were. That was all gone now.

I didn't go back to the bar for a while. I didn't go anywhere, really. I just walked around at nights, staying inside during the day. I walked from Roxborough to Center City and back again each night. I stood by the Ridge Ave. bridge watching the small, pathetic waterfall while shift-workers waited for the bus home. I started to hate where I was. The sounds of the city at night drove me crazy. Every moment of silence and peace would be broken by helicopters or sirens. It was winter, and I was cold.

I knew I was going to leave town even before I found out that Lucy was dead.

The police came to my apartment to ask me questions. They informed me that Steve had come home from a late night closing the bar to find her dead in their bedroom. They said it was a suicide. They wondered if I might have any information, any idea why. I told them that I didn't. They seemed very happy to me. Then I mentioned that she drank
quite a bit, and maybe that made her depressed. They thanked me and said they were very sorry.

When they left, I wondered what I could have done. I wondered why she turned to me. I wondered why I ever had to get involved, and then why I stayed away.

I needed to see Steve. I tried the bar. He was there. He wasn't working, he was just sitting at the bar drinking. I wanted to join him. I didn't. I just told him I was leaving.

"I'll pay you for the remaining months," I said.

"You disappeared," he said.

"We both missed you around here," he said.

"I guess I missed you, too, but I have to go."

He looked at me. "Do you really? Do you have to go?"

"I can't be here for you, Steve," I said.

He looked away. "I thought you'd understand. You lost somebody, too."

"It's not the same," I said, "my wife died. You killed yours."

When he sobbed, I hated myself. I knew he really did love Lucy, and I didn't know what he'd do without her. But with those words, I no longer had a choice. It was all over.

He stopped me as I turned to leave. "Where are you going to go?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said, but I lied.

I knew I was going to New Orleans.

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