How We Breathe

Things just didn’t go the way they were going, but who am I to argue when something from out of the ordinary occurs? I definitely was not in the mood to take the bus from the airport, and was glad when Shannon offered to pick me up.
Just as I walked out of the terminal, she drove up to the curb and leaped out of the car. We hugged each other and got into the car for the drive to Capitol Hill. We chatted about my trip to San Francisco to visit with my friend Patrick, to promote my 2nd book and to ponder the offer of a newsmagazine to produce a documentary for their website. Four days and I’m exhausted. But I think I’ve finally found that satisfactory completeness that I’ve searched and worked for since my tween years. Who would’ve thought that it would take all of 52 years to reach this point? I sometimes thought it would never happen.
Once my novel, Beautiful Men, was published (one critic called it ‘the definitive whiny, wah-wah story of a gay black man who purports to speak on the behalf of all gay black men’) and my You Tube commentary show and documentaries lead to a monthly column in the Seattle Gay News and a couple of published P.O.V. essays in Out and The Advocate. I was approached by my agent that the publisher of my novel wanted to turn a collection of my essays into a book. So, I will face further scrutiny once the book hits the streets next week.
Shannon asks me about my trip and I give her the highlights. I feel a bit drained and even though I love talking with Shannon, all I’m wishing for is to jump into a shower, get stoned and kick back with some take out pasta and a movie that won’t ask me to think much.
“What did I tell you, you pessimistic grouch?” she says to me in jest when I mention that producing the documentary short actually has me thinking of my first feature. “Your work is wonderful!”
I smile. For anyone to tell me my work is wonderful – and to preface it with an endearing insult, Shannon is the one that makes it feel real. She has been my muse for quite a few years; inspiring me write and keep on writing. “You can only get better!” she has told me numerous times.
And her. She is the most talented person I’ve ever had the pleasure of being friends with…she, herself, being an established – and accomplished – writer. Her four Marietta novels and her three Compass Jones novels have gained a lot of attention in the realm that people are now asking ‘what has J.K. Rowling done lately?’ Shannon’s political essays and comical homage to all that is life has been the buzz for many years and have made people not only think but to kick back and wonder about not only how absurd life can be, but also how not to take it all so seriously.
“Thank God there is not much traffic. I can’t wait to get home!” I say.
“Don’t you want to drop by the Pub for a beer before you get to your apartment?” Shannon asks.
“Only if forced by the wills of Satan, Charles Manson and Sarah Palin,” I tell her.
“Uh, well, I’m supposed to have you there right after the airport. You didn’t hear it from me, but the gang has a surprise party waiting for you.”
As much as I want to yell ‘crap’ I can’t help but to smile. “Oh, alright.”
We spend the rest of the drive with shop talk. She is finishing up the fourth Compass Jones novel as the movie adaptation of the first novel has launched its marketing campaign.
Once we arrive on Capitol Hill, Shannon parks her car and we stroll down the street to Madison Pub.
“Brace yourself,” she tells me. “And act surprised.”
When I see the smiles on my friends’ faces and feel their arms around me, I know that I had made the right decision back in 2008 by deciding not to move back to California and live with Patrick to build yet another new life. It has been a decision that I’ve flipped over and over in my head and as much as it does hurt whenever I realize that I gave up San Francisco for the Pacific Northwest, the satisfaction and comfort I feel when I’m surrounded by those that I love cannot be measured.