Dear Readers,

                It’s raining here, as I write this. The beautiful week of crystal- blue skies and gentle breezes is over for the moment. I find myself in a very contemplative and melancholic mood, but the miracle is that I have made it to the weekend somehow only breaking down in private, save one time. Even then, I managed to mask my tears using a tenuous but effective excuse. Thank God for allergies… even if I have none.

                Most of my time was spent working on a rather mundane and physically challenging job. I had thought that the physical toll would deaden my senses and make the nightmare of the past week seem distant and less current. A feeling that I desperately need to find. Somehow.

                 It seemed to work, to some extent, as I lugged heavy shingles up my creaking ladder onto the roof where my focus had to be my safety first. I don’t think my body can take another fall, anytime soon. So, I gritted my teeth and wrestled the persistent but brutal monotony of self preservation and interacted with a neighborhood dog who seemed to consider me an intruder into his established territory. I guess that roof had been in his line of sight, unchanged, for many years, and my work was upsetting to him. He is a stubborn dog… much like a lot of people I have come to know.

                Change can be difficult. Unsettling. Even unnerving to some.

                But necessary, as well.

                 It was inevitable that my determination to NOT dwell on the obvious, eventually failed. There’s that word again-  Failure.

                 My friend. Gabe’s worse nightmare.

                  It had never been an option in my life, when it came to children. I fought tooth and nail my entire life to protect the weaker around me, and that was hard enough, until I found my way out here, some three years ago. I’m not entirely sure how it happened. How I got sucked into the vortex. I thought a lot about that this past week.

                  I got a bit of a reprieve on Tuesday, thank God. One of my Godsons had contacted me to let me know he was coming into town, and we had hastily made plans to get away for a day, to New York, to immerse ourselves in the tradition and excitement of Yankee Stadium. It was a wonderful and touching turn of events that came at just the right time. I don’t know how he knew, but he seemed to understand. He is a wonderful young man who means a lot to me. Thank you, James.

                   Without that interruption, I don’t know how I could have coped.  I had attended a funeral on Monday, still emotionally crushed by the news from North Carolina, and it seemed that things were conspiring to make this year one to be remembered for all things horrible, hearkening back to a phrase uttered by a grand old dame across the Pond, in 1992. Annus Horribilis, she described it- Horrible year…

                    You might imagine, dear reader, that as I stood at my aunt’s gravesite on Monday, my thoughts descended into the darkest of places, where there was only guilt and shame… and self doubt.

                      I can not get past this one question —-  Where were the men in that young boy’s life?

                      It is something that will haunt me forever, for reasons beyond what has happened. It would be a lot easier to move on if only I knew I had done every thing possible to help him. Whether it’s sheer frustration or the gnawing anger that I’m feeling more each day, I don’t know, but the lack of an answer and the silence on this blog to my challenge to reach out to help these kids is enough to make me scream!

                        What will it fuckin’ take for real men to come foward and prove that they deserve that title???????

                         Do we need more dead, gay boys to fuel the fires of perdition and cleanse our collective guilt for seeing them as sex objects rather than human beings??????

                         Is that the unspoken truth in all of this???  The fear that taking a chance to help a young boy is tantamount to an indictment of character???

                          Don’t fuckin’ worry, as Gabe might have said! There ain’t no fuckin’ men out here! Just little boys who need help and freakin’ gawkers who watch them die!

                          I don’t know what the rest of you people are going to do. Me? I’m going to war. Period. End of story.

Rest in Peace, Sweetie… It ain’t over! Thanks for opening my eyes! Tman<3

     

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