Has it really been twelve years? We've been in so many places, both literally and figuratively that it seems like more, but the spurts of time that we've spent together were always too short, so it also seems like less.
When we met at Townhouse we were the only people there under the age of 30. The only reason to go there for me was that it was probably the only gay bar that had not had me as a patron. You didn't believe me when I told you, but I really was clueless that it was a bar for older men and their admirers. My wide eyes quickly caught your smile, which revealed to me someone that wasn't really there for a hook up, but someone that was just in search of a different kind of conversation.
And what different types of conversations we had. Your deep beliefs in spirituality met my deep beliefs in cynicism. I was in a pretty dark place back then and you brought me a little more into the light. And at the same time I brought you some dark reality at the same time. All those conversations in various places that we'd meet, inevitably getting caught in the rain.
Such conviction I had to my newly found sophistication that I would tell you of guest lists and drink tickets at Makeup Room or Limelight. You'd shrug and invite me to rooftop parties that usually would start and end before I could even arrive. Remember my first arrival at one of those parties at two in the morning? After everyone had left? Yet you still invited me to come inside to have a glass of wine before I headed out into clubland.
Eventually I did show up on time. It was your birthday and I'd found the perfect gift: a vintage silk umbrella for my friend that was always getting caught out in the rain with me (the fact that it didn't properly work and that I'd wrapped it in newspaper escaped me). You invited me inside to world filled with architects, painters, writers and film-makers. It was intimidating, but you encouraged me to just be myself.
In time these parties would be my favorite events. They were a place where I could shed the faux veneer of club life and speak of substantial projects on which others were working. And then you honored me with your screenplay and asked my raw opinion of it. Maybe I tried to hide it or maybe you knew, but your asking for my opinion was really special to me. And maybe was the spark that started our 'romantic' phase.
There were the times just hanging out and watching movies on your 13-inch television. There was the effort you made me go through to find out my time of birth so that you could personally do my astrological chart. (Everything you told me was spot on, but as I pointed out, you had known me for a few years at this point.) And then there was the time we tried to 'go at it'. Clumsy, ridiculous, impassioned, hot. But no romantic spark. We'd just remain being friends.
When you moved to Waikiki it seemed like we spoke even more often. We at least put more effort into our communications. Inviting me out (along with my then 'latest' boyfriend) to celebrate the turning of the millenium. Showing a 'new you' that was a bit of a party boy. Walking us out to a point surrounded by water on just a strip of rocks behind someone's private residence. Letting the pills hit us and sort of give us this amazing sense of tranquility and oneness with the Pacific. Leaving me to deal with the little boy and little girl who had burst into our little magic space to ask, "Is the world about to end?" Sweet, special, magical, hilarious.
Then there was some separation and you returned to New York. Your identity had been stolen in L.A. You had joined Kaballah. You were a little lost or at least searching down some new paths. I didn't understand it, but still offered you the couch for three months while you pulled yourself back together. We had some tense times as we were growing in different ways. (Your teacher in Kaballah setting you up on a date with your soulmate and you coming back disappointed and me telling you, "But Devin, there's just no way your soulmate is a woman.") In time we both knew that the tension could injure our special little friendship. But we never let that happen.
Instead we've been more distant for a few years with Nicole and Sarah trying to encourage our contact. For me it was fear that maybe we wouldn't get along anymore. I think it was the same for you.
Last night I happened to be telling the story of New Years in Hawaii, even the part where I'm sitting next to a urinal just chatting away with people I don't know. And telling new friends about my special friend Devin.
This morning the call came at 6:30. It was Sarah. And you're not here anymore.
You contracted HIV sometime in 2000. You chose a holistic approach and told no one. You passed away last night, while I was talking and thinking of you. "Rod, there's no such thing as coincidence," you'd tell me so many times over the years.
I'm still not much of a spiritual person. But it's just so you for that coincidence to happen. You'll make a better person of me yet, Devin. You'll make a better person of me yet.
