Two Men Meet In The Road After Twenty Years

There's no going back and surviving a second time

Out of the shelter and into the frying pan. You see, the delusion is shattered and with it any hope. There really is no place for me to go. As long as I was homeless I could always pretend of "the life" beyond and make it whatever I pleased. Oh, I know a lot people did the same thing but never to my degree - not by a long shot. Doing crap jobs - and all jobs are crap - put me out of my mind, destroying my soul. It wasn't until today I realized I was keeping my soul alive by staying in the shelter.

I understand now my secret lingering fear pestering me. The one that told me no life awaited me beyond the shelter. All anyone wants to do is socialize you and get you off the books. Since I didn't have any alternative answer to give I went with theirs - story of my life. Get a job, get a place, live crappily ever after. End of story. What? What was that? You gonna say something? I thought not. Now run along and be a good boy.

Fuck, I was right. More right than I ever thought. Its obvious I've made the wrong choice because the darkness is closer now, surrounding me like Napoleon at Waterloo, a battle lost before it was ever fought. Why am I even fighting? The world's not going to change. Regardless of anything I do it will keep marching on its merry way to death. So where is home? Nowhere, somewhere out in the vast universe where the dust of dreams is reborn.

Before, I was half character, half me. I'm no longer me. It's amazing what the weight of expectations does to you, where you end up doing things in which you have no belief whatsoever. Still, I find myself playing the part of a "normal" person even as I feel my fingers being unpried from the grip of my useless soul. I figure I best be acting my part so "they" won't be disappointed and I can prove the system works for me even though it cannot.

Pete Zotos went to the same church camp as I, by Amarillo. Don't fret, this was Episcopalian, not some god awful Baptist boot camp. What it turned out to be was a place of bonding and everyone crying on the last day as we returned to our hell-homes. I remember personalities and feelings more than names and faces. In some ways, it was magical and surreal, like the time I was walking on the outskirts of Amarillo looking back at a dark and moody sky feeling as if I was stepping back in time. You remember moments like that.

But Pete I remembered as sort of a poor man's John Belushi. He was good with people, voted President and even though I've come to realize it's myself I'm always seeing, he seemed to walk in another world. I took note when he said his dream was to open a restaurant and I viewed it as a place that would be an extension of that mythical teenage time when anything seems possible. He did open that restaurant, right by downtown Dallas in Deep Ellum.

I did go there once for lunch but Pete was not there. That was several years ago when I was working my temp jobs. I never returned. Perhaps I had some mental block but it seemed like such a chore. But as my new improved character, time seemed ripe for a visit as a mark of my new social standing! Everyone wants a fucking lie? Fine, I'll serve it out in spades. Always good when you go in with that sort of attitude!

It's always awkward eating by yourself and in most eating establishments I refuse to do it. I was trusting Pete to give me a place I could feel at home. His advertising is whimsical and anyone who doesn't take themselves too seriously gets a good mark in my book. I eased in and was welcomed right away after sitting. I started to relax and absorb the atmosphere, thinking, "Yeah, I could come here." Well, maybe if I weren't living a lie.

I was stuffing down a mighty tasty tuna steak (never had one before) when I asked the waitress if Pete was around. "That's him, sitting at the bar." He was busy talking with an obvious friend so I decided to finish my meal before trying to interrupt. You never know what part of your childhood was real and part of me wondered if the legends would hold true while another part of me had complete faith. Self-conscious as hell, I strolled over when Pete's friend stepped away.

"Hi. You Pete Zotos?" "Yes." "You Episcopalian?" "Yes" "You ever go to church camp by Amarillo?" "Yes!" He was starting to smile wondering who the hell I was. I told him my name but I knew he wouldn't remember me as there were dozens of attendees each year. We safely reminisced about various people and aspects of church camp but I had a hard time recalling exact people. Isolated moments do stand out for me. One late night in the dorm we saw a couple of counselors outside shining a flashlight along the ground. I let out a sarcastic, "Must be looking for footprints" and I was a rare hero for the moment. Stuff like that is clear as a bell.

After that, I was left hanging. How do I explain my life as a deliberate nobody when I can't even explain it to myself? I've toyed with the idea of saying I spent eight years in Chino doing hard time as part of a drug deal gone bad (Someone got killed but I didn't pull the trigger. Same as Dog the Bounty Hunter's crime in my home town.) So heck no, I haven't been living la vida loca and vacationing in Maui. A glamorous felony seems a better explanation than just scraping by living hand to mouth. At least that way I could claim I tried to do something.

Sure enough, things fell apart pretty quickly. Do I have kids, am I married, anything at all going on? "I used to be funny in the shelter but now even that's gone," the only answer that came to mind. I decided to keep mum on that. Pete then explains he's heading out for a night with his family of three kids. My, what divergent paths we've followed. It's not that this was unexpected but in the moment you fully feel your footsteps of emptiness. I felt like the disfigured Peachy returning at the end of "The Man Who Would Be King".

But now for the mind fuck part, where parallel universes overlap. I'd decided beforehand on a WTF approach and ditch the "responsible" character on meeting Pete. Let the chips fall where they may and I'll be exposed for better or worse. I was telling of my plans to attend the closing night of the Asian Film Festival later on when Pete's friend returned, overhearing me. Then it was like everyone was talking at once as I got peppered with questions.

"You're attending a film?" "This your own film? "You're a director!"

I was so fucking disoriented I almost let out an honest answer. And that answer was "Yes". I had to fight myself hard to blurt out "no" but in his natural assumptions of me my natural thoughts started flowing out too. Jesus! Why did I feel like I was lying saying I wasn't a filmmaker? I did not come to lie, even if that was my pretense. I felt like a fighter who gets his bell rung early on and never recovers. By the end I was stumbling and fled.

It was good to meet Pete and see my childhood assessments vindicated. So many high school heroes end up drunk, dying or trapped in miserable marriages. Several people stopped to shake Pete's hand on their way out the door. I'm glad he was able to hold on to his charisma and fulfill his dreams. Me? I'm just looking to exit stage left while yearning for the spotlight.