After Meth: Recovery Meets Romance Under the Milky Way

Slammed: a Memoir — Chapter 12 Part 2

Was I on… a date?

I didn’t know I was on a date.

Michael didn’t know he was on a date.

But I think… I think we were on a date!

I was back in Illinois for Springfield Rep’s 5th annual summer season, and by some scheduling fluke, Michael and I had the night off from rehearsals.

Michael was a little shorter than me with close cut dark hair, a cute face, a midwestern country boy personality, and an preppy Abercrombie style. His heritage was Irish, like me. Unlike me — who turns into a tomato if I even think about the sun too long — Michael was able to take on a lovely tan.

We’d driven to the mall the next town over, grabbed some Applebee's, and sat in a darkened theater watching WALL-E.

Wall-E plays an old recording of the movie musical Hello, Dolly! for his new robot friend, Eva. As the clip plays and Michael Crawford sings “It only takes a moment / For your eyes to meet and then / Your heart knows in a moment / you will never be alone again,” Wall-E looks at Eva’s hand with the overwhelming desire to hold it in his own.

Oh shit, I thought. Am I…am I on a date?

Should I hold his hand?

Does he like me like that?

Do I like him like that?

I was frozen.

It only takes a moment / To be loved a whole life long.

The moment passed. I didn’t reach for his hand. I also didn’t breathe for the entire scene.

We drove back over to Springfield after the movie, neither of us commenting on our non-date date, but something started that night. Call it a connection, call it a spark, call it whatever you want to call it, neither of us knew what the hell to do with it.

It was the summer of 2008. I had been clean for two and a half years.

When I arrived in Springfield, my first real post-meth relationship had just ended when he broke up with me.

For weeks we’d been talking about his birthday. But when the day came — in a movement of true John flakiness — not only did I forget it was his birthday, but I decided to go see a Broadway show with Jason. The kicker: I called my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend and asked him if he’d like to join us. On his fucking birthday!

The relationship wasn’t long for this world as it was. We’d given it a good go, but our personalities were not a good match. I still had a lot of work to do on myself as far as my recovery, which made it difficult to prioritize another person. And when I couldn’t prioritize him even on his own birthday, he broke up with me.

When I came out to Illinois that summer, I had zero intention of attempting anything close to a relationship. And I was never one for a Showmance. I rarely hooked up with anyone I was doing a show with, not wanting to shit where I eat.

Besides, I’d returned to school to finish my Bachelors with the aim toward a Masters in Acting, so my focus was on that. There would be no time for romance.

Michael was born and raised in Springfield. After pursuing a dancing career and working in Disney World for a few years, he’d moved back home while he decided what his next chapter was going to be. Dexter and Michael went to highschool together, Michael even beating him out for roles in the spring musical, so Dexter roped him into directing Jesus Christ Superstar — with me playing Judas this time and Dexter as Jesus — while also acting as the festival’s Associate Artistic Director.

Michael and I started hanging out more and more, eventually grabbing breakfast together every morning. When I mentioned I was cold one day in rehearsal because of the overpowered air conditioning, he lent me his green hoodie, which did not go unnoticed.

Unbeknownst to me, people had already been plotting behind the scenes about us.

Dexter and Jason could not get over how much they thought Michael and I were perfect for each other.

In fact, Dexter had prepped Jason before he met Michael saying, “Dude. Dude. Michael and John. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

When Jason finally met Michael, he met Dexter for lunch, sat down and said, “Dude. Dude. John and Michael!”

“Right?!”

Turns out my gut agreed with them. More and more I felt this weird thing in the pit of my stomach. Something I’d never really felt before. Something good. Something possibly wonderful. By mid July, there was no denying, we had a connection.

Yet, as much as we enjoyed each other’s company, we hesitated to do anything more than some innocent flirting.

He lived in Springfield. I lived in New York. What if our connection was as strong as my gut was telling me? How could we possibly make it work?

Michael went to Laura for advice.

“I really like him.” He took a long drag off his cigarette. “But he lives in New York. What’s the point of starting anything?”

“Michael, it’s rare to meet someone that you really like who also feels the same way about you. You know he’s smitten with you, right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say…”

“Come on! He follows you around like a puppy.”

Michael smiled, embarrassed.

“You obviously have a connection. Grasp it. Don’t let it slip through your fingers.”

“But what if it’s just a summer fling?”

“Then it’s a summer fling! What’s wrong with that?”

Michael grimaced. He didn’t want just a summer fling.

“Listen, maybe it would just be a summer fling. Maybe it could be more. But don’t wait. If you wait till the last week, the last three days and discover there really is that spark between you two, you’re going to regret you only had those three days. That you didn’t have more time.”

She took his hand and looked right into his eyes. “So go for it.”

I don’t know exactly when Michael had this heart to heart with Laura, but it must have been in the week before JCS opened, because the sexual tension between us was getting harder and harder to resist.

But he was my director, and I was an actor in his show. For that reason, we decided to keep it professional…till we opened.

That Monday after JCS opened — the day after my 30th birthday — the entire company traveled a bit out of town for a bonfire. Holding hands, Michael and I snuck away from the group, making like we had to get something out of his truck.

We stood on that dirt road surrounded by country smells of dirt and growth, with a field tall with corn on one side and a wooded area thick with trees on the other. We heard the sound of little critters rustling through the brush. Fireflies buzzed around us blooming bright green before fading away again. The Milky Way, faint but grand, reached its long arm across the sky.

We drew closer to each other, nearing the cliff we’d been dancing toward for weeks. The moment arrived and…

I pulled back, suddenly cautious, insecure.

“You know… you know I’m HIV positive… right?”

He took my hand.

“Yes,” he said smiling. “And I don’t care.”

He pulled me into him and we kissed.

For a few beautiful moments, I wasn’t an HIV-positive meth addict.

I was a boy — possibly in love — kissing another boy — also possibly in love — on a country road surrounded by dancing green fireflies under the Milky Way.

It was all surprisingly effortless after that.

A month after the festival ended, Michael moved out to NYC. He was only living with me temporarily. The plan was for him to find a place of his own because moving in together that quickly was just crazy, right?

Yet, after a couple weeks, Stephen — my final party buddy who had recently become my roommate — looked at us with confusion and asked, “Why? Why should he find his own place? You guys are fine the way you are.”

Michael and I looked at each other and laughed. He was right, we were fine. So Michael stayed.

Though for this relationship to last, I felt I needed him to know everything about my past.

Thankfully I had my past all typed up and set in a binder nice and neat for him to read.

He already knew the broad strokes, but I thought, since I was hoping to publish one day, it would be better if he knew the whole story.

He took it with him one day as he left to run errands and began reading it on the subway…

And didn’t stop till he had read the entire thing!

He rode the 1 train all the way to the end at South Station, all the way to the other end in the Bronx, and back again.

Mind you, this was an early draft. I had never even heard the word “predicate” till I went back to college. I can’t spell for shit. Homonyms are the devil. I still couldn’t keep the difference between “to” and “too” straight. And all you “your” series grammar police can fuck all the way off.

Regardless, he read the whole thing. In one day. On one long subway ride.

Now, I know my story; I lived it. But having written and worked on it for about four years by this point, I was pretty desensitized to it. I didn’t have a clue what kind of effect it would have on someone like Michael, let alone what kind of effect it would have on him having read it in a single sitting.

“Honey, I’m home,” I bellowed as I entered our fifth floor walk up apartment, returning home from classes. Breathing heavy from the stairs, I listened for an answer expecting Michael to be home. “Hello?”

Still no answer, but I could smell cigarette smoke which had to mean Michael was home.

When I entered the bedroom, I found Michael sitting on the window sill with his legs on the fire escape. I clocked an ashtray next to him with several stubbed out butts. He’d been chain smoking.

As I said “Michael?” I noticed a pint bottle of vodka on the dresser which was nearly empty.

Hearing me, Michael put out his cigarette and stood up out of the window. When he turned around, I saw his face was wet with tears. He’d been crying. He collapsed into me as he choked out a sob and cried into my shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as I held him.

“I…” he sniffled. “I finished your book.”

“You finished it? You finished it?”

“Yup.” He sniffed again.

“But…I gave it to you this morning!”

“Yup.” He laughed.

“Oh, honey.” I pulled him in, hugging him. “That’s….that’s a lot. That’s a lot to take in in one day.”

“Yeah, I started reading it on the subway and,” he laughed, “I just kept reading.”

“Well, holy shit.” I kissed his forehead. “If I’d read three years of another person’s trauma in one day, I’d probably down a pint of vodka too.”

I was briefly worried that maybe sharing my story with him had been a mistake. Maybe he wasn’t up for a relationship with someone with this much baggage.

Those worries were put to rest when, a year to the day after our first kiss, he proposed and I said yes!

We were married on March 17th, St Patrick’s day, 2012, with Jason, Dexter, Laura and Reid as members of our wedding party.

It was a beautiful day.

My friends who had seen me and suffered with me at my worst were now a part of one of the happiest days of my life, a day they brought about by being some of the best matchmakers a guy could wish for.

Best of all, I got to marry the man I love.

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Chapter Guide

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