Avery Goes to Therapy. Again.

Following a thirty minute one-man pep rally, I finally forced myself to get out of bed for the first time in two days. My body ached. It was no wonder I didn’t have bedsores. After a long sigh, I made my way toward the window and opened the curtains. With a grimace, I squinted as light poured into the room. Who knew that two days of complete darkness could turn someone into a vampire?

The cats—I assume encouraged by the presence of sunlight—came running into the bedroom. Their familiar, desperate meows indicated that it was feeding time. After filling their bowls, I turned on my cell phone. There were 12 new voicemail messages and 20 texts. Most were of the expected variety.

“We haven’t heard from you, Avery. Is everything okay? Your Dad and I are very worried.”

“Avery, I’m sorry about what happened. I wish things were better for you. By the way, would you mind taking my shift at the hospital tonight?”

“Avery, it’s Jasper. Are you dead? If so I need to know, because you still have that “Waiting to Exhale” soundtrack you stole from me in 1998. I want it back after probate.”

I quickly dressed and made my way down to the street. The sun felt good on my skin. It was one of those perfect spring mornings when the weather is nice and warm, but the cool lake breeze prevents you from overheating.

I slowly made my way toward the Gold Coast, stopping only at Dunkin’ Donuts for an iced coffee. As I walked up Michigan Avenue, I noticed an abundance of tourists. They were out in full force. They all looked so happy, sauntering down the street with their “Chicago” tee-shirts and “White Sox” baseball caps.

A particularly large woman sat in Water Tower Park snacking on a large bag of Garrett’s Popcorn. She looked so content. Was she here visiting relatives? No. Maybe she was in town with the hopes of visiting the “Oprah Winfrey Show” on a day when La Winfrey dispensed her favorite things. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t help but envy her pleasurable mood.

When I arrived at the good doctor’s, I announced myself to the doorman who told me to go right up. I was so not in the mood for this. I’d been rehashing the events between Jack and I over and over in my head since he unexpectedly (and permanently) left the apartment too days ago. I really didn’t want to be forced to verbalize it.

“Hello, Avery.” Dr. Drexel Carrington said with a smile, as he opened his door. “Come on in.”

I blushed. In all my sorrow, I’d forgotten just how hot the good doctor was. Maybe I was in the mood for this therapy session. I did, after all, have a lot on my mind.

Avery Has No Friends

The plain clothed police officer was much nicer that I thought she would be. Apparently, she has just finished working and was heading home. The accident was completely her fault, and she didn’t try to argue otherwise. Unfortunately, because she was a police officer, she was required to dispatch a third-party to take the report.

She returned to her car, I slumped into my driver’s seat, and we waited. I looked at the clock. 6:58 PM. There was no way I could make it into work in two minutes. I quickly dialed the hospital on my cell. My colleague completely understood. She told me to get there when I get there and to “take my time.”

Staring through my rain soaked windshield, I noticed the plain clothed police officer talking on her cell phone. I wondered what that conversation entailed. Was she talking to her husband? I imagined the discourse.

“I’ve been in an accident… No, no, no, I’m fine…Yes, dear. I know I should be more careful on the road… We’re going to have to cancel the reservations… I know. I was looking forward to Maggiano’s… Uh, huh… Well there’s no reason to waste the babysitter. Why don’t you take two steaks out of the freezer and we’ll have our date night at home…”

It was a lovely thought, but it left me feeling lonely. I wanted someone to call. Someone who’d ask me if I was alright, who’d warn me to drive more carefully, to suggest we meet for a drink after my shift to call my nerves.

I searched through my phone’s contact list:

Jack: There’s no way I’d call him.

My Parents: I don’t think so. The only thing I’d get from them is a long lecture about traffic safety and the need to be more responsible when operating a motor vehicle on the dangerous streets of Chicago. No thank you.

I continued to scroll through the names. Everyone was either a casual acquaintance or no one that I’d consider turning to in a time of need. I called Jasper in New York. After about five rings, I was met with the familiar voice.

“Hi, you’ve reached Jasper. I can’t come to the—”

I slammed down the phone. It’s sobering to discover that your support system consists of only four people—scratch that—three people now that Jack was no longer in my life. What’s worse was the realization that I really don’t like to talk to my parents often and Jasper lived 700 miles away.

Once the third party officer arrived, we completed the proper paperwork and I was on my way to the hospital. Into the lion’s den, I should say. I was sure that the ladies in my unit would be brutal when they learned about the status of my relationship. And as lonely as I felt in the moment, I couldn’t wait.

Avery and Jack’s Domestic Bliss… Take Three

The first apartment that Billy took Jack and I to view was in a modern hi-rise situated right in the heart of the Loop. It had two bedrooms—we’d decided that Jack needed a home office—one and a half baths and a balcony. Jack loved it. Then again, Jack would love anything. Melrose Park… Irving Park… shoebox in the City with Avery.

“We’re do we go for late night munchies?” I asked. Although the Loop is the heart of downtown Chicago, the blocks surrounding this building were dead after business hours. Next.

Billy took Jack and I to see more apartments: River North, Gold Cost, South Loop, New East Side, but I was displeased with any of them: too small, an awkwardly shaped room, ugly bathroom tile, shag carpeting left over from an era before my time. Each was lacking something—that va-va-voom—I was searching for.

After the seventh showing, Jack became frustrated. “Just pick,” he would yell at me. He couldn’t understand that I didn’t want to settle. This apartment was more than a cot and a squat. This apartment represented the next step in our lives together. It would be the foundation to our future. One day, when we were old and gray, we’d tell our grandkids with great pride all about the first home we’d built together.

 A few days after seeing the last apartment, I received a call from Billy. “Come immediately,” he said excitedly. “I’ve found the perfect place for you and Jack.”

The doorman, who introduced himself as Sims, smiled as he led us to the elevator. Billy educated us on the buildings history as we rode up to the 14^th floor. This was a condominium unit owned by a man who’d moved to St. Louis for work. He’d wanted to sell it, but, as a result of his need to relocate immediately, was open to a rent to own situation.

Our jaws dropped when we entered the apartments. The space was so large and open, and the kitchen and bathrooms were newly remodeled. Nothing but miles and miles of blue Lake Michigan could be seen through the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows that lined each room. It felt as though we were sitting on top of the world. We were home.

These memories raced through my mind as I waited for our landlord to answer the telephone. I prayed with each ring that he wouldn’t answer. Although I’d (barely) accepted that Jack and I were over, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving this place.

With that thought, I hung up the telephone. Jack gave me a strange look. Did the landlord not answer? It wouldn’t have mattered had the landlord answered. In that split second, I’d decided that I was not leaving the apartment. 

Avery and Jack’s Domestic Bliss… Take Two

Jack and I had no clue as to how to begin our apartment search. He, the quintessential suburbanite, has no preference or concept as to which neighborhood would be appropriate for us. Although saddened at the prospect of losing my once perfect bachelor pad, I was eagerly looking forward to accomplishing a goal I’d set for myself as a little kid growing up in Oak Brook. I wanted to move downtown.

“But, Avery,” you’re all saying to yourself, “You lived in the West Loop. That’s downtown.”

You are correct. The West Loop is downtown, but the West Loop wasn’t the downtown I envisioned long ago. I wanted to be surrounded by the city’s tallest buildings. I wanted to step right outside my door and have no delay when hailing a taxi. I wanted to be walking distance to Michigan Avenue, Lake Michigan and all those other points of interest that we native Chicagoans make fun of tourists for loving.

“Sure. Whatever,” said Jack.

After all of my work with Dr. Drexel Carrington, I now have to wonder if Jack cared at all. As I said before, I believe his true motivation for “shaking up” with me was so he did not have to move in with his mother in Melrose Park or his dads in Irving Park. At the time, I gave this no thought. I was moving on up!

Through a friend’s referral, we connected with an amazingly friendly—and dreamy—real estate agent named Billy. Billy stood about six feet tall, had ocean blue eyes and spoke in a soothing baritone. His red hair sat messily on top of his head in a way that can only be achieved with the help of a $300 stylist and lots of product. Don’t cha just love a ginger?

“If it’s downtown you want,” Billy said, “then its downtown you’re going to get.”

With those words, we set out to find new diggs for Jack and me. We set out to find an apartment that met both of our needs. We set out to find a building that offered every amenity we desired—central air, a dishwasher and a doorman. We set out to build a home that would be overflowing with the most important amenity:

Love.

Avery Would Like a Manwich, Please

Not to be a snob—shut up, Jasper—but I may have overshot when it came to my contribution to the evening’s pot luck. I’d purchased a smorgasbord of gourmet desserts from Whole Foods Market—tarts, cookies, and other delectable bite-sized delights. In an effort to give a more formal presentation, I plated the treats on a sterling silver service “borrowed” during a visit to my parents’ home in Oak Brook.

Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I hadn’t had a Manwich since I was about 10 years old. Even in that instance, it was only because my mother left me with a teenaged sitter who was more occupied with telephoning her boyfriend than my nutritional health. But who am I to judge.
Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

“Dig in,” proclaimed Rodney.

I looked at my Sloppy Joe which was presented on Chinet atop an orange polyester table cloth. Oh well, I said to myself, When in Rome… or in this case, Milwaukee, circa 1972. I took a bite. OMG. Who knew that loose meat could taste so heavenly? A smile crept across my face. Jack smiled at me in turn.

As I continued to enjoy my Joe, I pondered the idea that these people could potentially become my in-laws. Sure the fashion was awful, the décor hideous and the artery-clogging gastronomical selection lethal, but—save for the awkward introduction between the mother and me—everyone seemed pretty nice. Furthermore Rodney and Stanley—who, it turns out is a retired flight attended (hold all jokes please, more about this tidbit of information later), were both extremely welcoming.

Just as I began to think I could really be at home there, the dinner conversation started. ¿Como se dice, WTF?

Avery Weighs His Options

The unlocked front door could only mean one thing: Jack was back. I froze. I couldn’t breathe. What was I going to say to this man who, only 12 hours ago, chose to end our six year relationship. A million thoughts ran through my head.

Avery Meets His Neighbors

How could my doctor be so stupid? His missing license number was the only thing standing between mental piece of mind and me. I sighed, resigning to the fact that I would have to wait another day to get my Xanax prescription refilled. After purchasing a large bottle of Advil— a consolation prize of sorts—, I made the disappointing journey home.

Avery Hearts Xanax, Part III

I nearly killed a woman when I arrived at Walgreens. I was so deep into my memories of meeting Jack’s parents, I accidentally walked directly into an elderly woman. She didn’t fall to the ground, but she was mad. The stream of obscenities that came from her mouth was enough to make Lisa Lampanelli blush.

Lisa Lampanelli - Tough Love (DVD)

Avery Visits the Grand Duchy of Wal-Martia

I can only imagine what this woman, Jack’s mother, must have been thinking as we stared into each other’s eyes. Only moments had passed since Jack came out of the closet and announced me as his boyfriend. Ironically, she dressed as though she should be the one coming out of the closet. In addition to her stonewashed jeans and Walmart button-down, Jack’s mother sported a store-bought perm that was poorly died a still unidentified shade of light brown. I must’ve looked like an alien to her. An impeccably dressed, well-coiffed, gay alien who’d come to steal her child.

Avery Goes to Lanford

“Hello?” I timidly said into my cell phone. Although I was hopeful that Jack would be on the other end of the line, I was also afraid to speak with him. What can you possibly say to someone who has told you that they’re no longer in love with you? Unfortunately, or luckily, I wouldn’t find out just yet.

You see, I have the unfortunate luck of having a telephone number that is extremely similar to that of a certain Rush Street restaurant. I’ve been politely redirecting callers to the correct number for nearly seven years. When this evening’s caller asked if I had a four top available for 9:30, I aloofly told her that we were closed for renovations. I was not in the mood helpful or polite.

Avery Hearts Xanax, Part II

Startled and disoriented are the two words that best describe how I felt when I awoke from my Unisom induced coma. The bedside alarm clock displayed 6:21 PM. I’d slept for nearly 10 hours. “What a crazy dream,” I thought to myself, “Can’t wait to tell Jack.” As I stepped out of bed, Bouncer, my black cat, yowled in the other room. A wave of panic set in.

Avery Hearts Xanax

Although I felt a little better during my telephone conversation with Jasper, the tide shifted when I hung up the telephone. It was only 9:00am, and I was already through a bottle of Whole Food’s Three Wishes Cabernet Sauvignon. As I meandered through the apartment, I was overcome with all of the memories that we’d made here in two short years. This was our dream home.

Avery Takes Manhattan

I can’t say that Jack’s leaving was a complete surprise. We had, in fact, had a row only a few weeks beforehand. Seemingly out of the blue, Jack presented me with a two pieces of paper. The first page consisted of nineteen of my most unappealing characteristics. Characteristics, he explained, that made life with me unbearable. I am, apparently, neither a good listener nor affectionate enough when with him in public. The second list contained eight—only eight—things that Jack loved about me. You’ll be happy to know that Jack appreciates the fact that I both own a car and earn a higher salary than he.

Avery’s Friend Jasper

Six years later, the memory of meeting Jack for the first time is as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Wardrobe aside, it was amazing. We instantly clicked. I can’t recall which film we saw. I only remember our hands began to touch sometime before the opening credits finished rolling. I sat sobbing in the kitchen of the home we built together, soaking in the reality of Jack wanting out of our relationship. My quiet contemplation was interrupted by a call from Jasper. I’d never been happier to hear his voice.

When Avery Met Jackass

As I sat in silence waiting for Jack to leave the apartment, a million things raced through my mind. How can he not love me? How can he leave now? Does he not remember that we’ve just gone into contract to purchase an apartment together? Is this all a dream?

Avery Gets Dumped

A few things about me: My name’s Avery. I’m a gay man living in Chicago, and, until this morning, my life was fantastic. I’m a night nurse at one of the city’s top hospitals, live in a fabulous Streeterville high-rise and share that home with two adorable kitties and my partner. Scratch that. Shared. This morning my partner of six years—we’ll call him Jack (as in Jackass)— announced that he was no longer in love with me. Let me set the stage.

7:00AM: I had just arrived from work in a great mood. A spunky four year-old patient, who no one thought would make it through the night, had pulled through like the trooper he is. After describing the previous night’s event to our doorman (Simms is the most awesome doorman in Chicago! Most every morning we have a brief chat over coffee.), I headed up to the 14^th floor.

Jack, already dressed for the commute to his Schaumburg office, sat at the table in our eat-in-kitchen. He looked like Folgers advertisement: This gorgeous man sipping a steaming hot cup of java, in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that frames the calm endless blue of Lake Michigan.

We’ve been renting this condominium unit for more than two years. The owner has accepted our offer to purchase the place. The deposit check was delivered last Friday.

“What’s wrong?” I asked Jack. He had an awful look on his face that I’d only seen once before. The same pained expression he wore when he told me that my lola (grandmother for you non-Filipinos) had passed. I silently complied when he asked me to sit. For the rest of my life, I will never forget his words:

“I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I realize I don’t love you anymore. I’m moving out.”

I went numb. He downed the last of his coffee, grabbed his keys and briefcase off the counter and exited the kitchen. I sat in still silence until I heard the front door close behind him. In that moment, I experienced all 7 stages of grief. One after another they hit— shock, denial, guilt, boom, boom, boom—as if they were numbers on that stupid spinning wheel on “The Price is Right.”

My wheel, however, landed on “Anger.” God forgive me for what I did next.