Avery and the Grifter

I stood, mouth agape, in my living room. The television was gone. Had I been robbed? As I ran toward the media console, I noticed that its lower cabinet was slightly ajar and more than half of my music and video collection was missing.

I began to panic. How could I have been burglarized? This is a secure building in an excellent neighborhood. Simms, the doorman, had said anything when we spoke just five minutes ago.

Oh my goodness, I immediately thought. Could the thief still be in the apartment?

I crept toward the bedrooms. My heart was in my throat. I pictured the headline as it would run in the Sun-Times: LOCAL GAY MAN DUMPED THEN JUMPED. It wasn’t a pretty picture. Kicking open the master bedroom door (as I’d seen Benson and Stabler to so many times on Law & Order: SVU) I quickly scanned the quarters. No one there. I inched into the room and silently entered the adjoining bathroom. No one there either.

Suddenly, I heard a loud THUMP come from Jack’s office. Oh no, I thought to myself. I’m going to be murdered. Back in the bedroom hallway, I grabbed a broomstick—the only weapon I could think to grab—from the opened linen closet and made my way toward Jack’s office. The door was closed. I took a deep breath and then kicked it open, again SVU-style.

No one was in the room but the cats. The loud THUD was a book they’d knocked off of the windowsill. I sighed with relief. It wasn’t a break-in. No sooner had I calmed down did a knot form in the pit of my stomach.

Jack’s office was nearly empty. His computer? Gone. The pictures of us on one of our many vacations to New Orleans? Gone. Instinctively, I ran back to the master bedroom and violently opened the closet door. None of Jack’s clothes remained.  

Jack didn’t leave, I said to myself, He wouldn’t leave like this.

We’d both agreed to go through our belongings and separate them together. This was as much for my own closure as it was to insure that he didn’t take anything I wanted to keep. Apparently, he decided not to live up to our agreement, but rather chose to steal away into the night like a grifter.

I noticed an envelope taped to the back of the front door. Written on it, in Jack’s handwriting, were two words: I’m sorry.

Avery Comes Clean to His Colleagues

I’d been so nervous about telling my co-workers that Jack and I were finished, although I’m not sure why. I guess I was afraid of being judged. No one wants to look like a failure, particularly with colleagues. Losing the respect of your colleagues can feel like a death in the family. Think about it. The average person spends more waking hours at work than anywhere else. No one wants to be the outcast. No matter how we dress it up, the world is really just one big high school.

The women I work with, however, surprised me. They weren’t judgmental at all. In fact, they were more supportive than I could have ever imagined. They also felt obliged to let me in on their true feelings about Jack.

“I never thought that the two of you were a perfect match”

“I concur. He was a bit uppity for my tastes.”

“I heard that. Always looking down his nose—as if his doo-doo don’t stink!”

Thanks, ladies. Perhaps—next time—you’d care to share your thoughts before I move in, merge finances and purchase an apartment with an uppity doo-doo head? That’s alright. It’s the thought that counts.

I left my shift in a much better mood than when I’d arrived. Jack’s and my conversation, the horrible rainy weather and my fender bender were a distant memory. I even made my usual small talk with Simms the doorman, before boarding the lift to “heaven on 14”, wear a big glass of wine and a Unisom awaited me.

When the elevator reached my floor, I calmly walked toward our apartment. My apartment. Maybe Jack moving out wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I’d been single before. There really are worse things than being alone, such as… such as… I give you examples later.

I put the key in the lock and turned. The door slowly swung open. Everything was eerily quiet. I stepped into the entry way and slowly made my way into the living room. My jaw dropped. I could not believe what I was witnessing.

Avery Loves Psychobabble

I left Dr. Drexel Carrington’s office on cloud nine. My secret crush on him aside, the previous 45 minutes left me feel reinvigorated. Under the good doctor’s guidance, I was going to “breakthrough” this “mental crisis” and “reaffirm” my “self-worth”. I love psychobabble.

The sun shone brightly as I sauntered down Michigan Avenue. Everyone seemed to be smiling. Today was going to be a good day. First, I’d head home and take a luxurious bubble bath. Next, I’d treat myself to lunch at Pelago, followed by a drink at the Signature Lounge. Touristy, I know. But I can think of no better place to make a person feel as though he were on top of the world. The afternoon would conclude with a little retail therapy at Ralph. Mr. Lauren always makes me happy.

This renewed energy must have been written across my face. The moment I entered my building Simms, the daytime doorman, returned my smiled.

“You’re in excellent spirits, Avery. Didya win the lottery or something?”

“Nope.” I replied. “Jack’s moving out.”

I didn’t stop walking until I reached the elevator. I can only imagine the puzzled look on Simms’ ruggedly handsome, middle-aged face.

Once I’d reached the 14^th floor, I headed toward my front door intent on making lemonade out of lemons, sangria out of sour grapes, apple martinis out of rotten—well, you get the idea. There was a lot that still needed to be determined. When would Jack be moving out? What would we do about separating our finances? How were we going to get out of this real estate contract?

I shook those thoughts out of my head. Those thoughts were for later. This day of self-pampering would help me prepare for that discussion. This day would help me find that calm and collected space. Later, when Jack returned, I would be ready to broach these topics in a rational and civilized manner.

That was the plan. My smile, however, faded as I entered my apartment. Jack was back.

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.