Gay Meth Addict Gets a Call: “I Might be Arrested Again!”

Slammed: a Memoir — Chapter 8 part 5

After Of Mice and Men closed, it was time to move on to the second half of Springfield Repertory Theater’s inaugural season. In The Curious Savage, set in a home for psychiatric patients, I was playing a man suffering from the delusion that his face was horribly scarred, even though it wasn’t.

However, while playing delusion onstage, offstage I was dealing with very real, annoying things happening with my own body. The white canker-like sores in my mouth seemed to be clearing up, but I still had annoying dry spots on my hands and my unmentionables. Plus I seemed to be losing weight!

Losing weight? That couldn’t be right. I was eating. I was eating quite a bit, better than I had in months, thanks to the local fast food chain Culver’s and our host mom, a pixie of a woman who happily fed me like I was one of her own home from college. I had expected I would have a strong physical recovery like when I took a break to visit my brother in Seattle.

I had arrived at a good 140 pounds. By the time we opened The Curious Savage, I was barely 135.

Of course, doing non-union summer stock is hard work. Even if you’re not singing and dancing, you’re in rehearsals and/or performing nine, ten, up to twelve hours a day. So it wasn’t all that crazy that I was losing weight. I was just afraid getting skinnier would be a red flag.

With the new show, it was time to say goodbye to the bearded, unkempt transient and hello to a more clean cut, put together look. But could I pull it off?

I visited the salon in the local Walmart Superstore and asked for my regular: close on the sides and back with the clippers on a 2 and then leave enough length on the top to style.

What I got was butchered.

She must have used a 1 and not a 2. My hair was so fine it looked like she took it down to the scalp. The top looked like it had been cut with a weed wacker. It was thicker in some places and way thinner in others.

Of course I’m too nice to say anything, so I thanked her, paid her, and left. This is what I get for getting my hair cut at Walmart, I thought.

After a quick shower, I tried to style it as much as I could and made my way to rehearsal.

I wasn’t anywhere near self aware enough to hear the stumbling hesitation from those who commented on my hair. I simply heard “Oh, you got a haircut” and “it looks…good.” I started feeling better about it. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

Then Laura came into the dressing room. She looked stunning in a white pants suit with her dark hair falling over her shoulder and her white lapels.

“Guys, those of you who are smokers, I need you to make sure your butts are making it to the ashtray outside. We’re guests here and we want to make sure they allow us to use their space again in the future.”

I was pretty sure I was throwing all my cigarette butts away, but made a note to myself to be extra careful.

Laura looked at me and registered my new haircut. I smiled at her, ready to hear another complement.

“What did you do?”

“I…got a haircut?” I was confused by the question.

“It’s…really short.”

“…Yeah?”

She looked at me for another second and then said, “Ok,” moving on to other matters about that day’s run through. I couldn’t help but feel I had just sent up another red flag, but I honestly couldn’t understand why. Clearly she didn’t like my haircut any more than I did, but it was cut now so nothing either of us could do about it.

While I was doing The Curious Savage at the arts center, Jason was over at the high school performing The Pirates of Penzance. It sucked to not have Jason around, but I’d leveled out enough to finally be something of a coherent human being. Plus, he was understandably exhausted from being my caretaker and roommate on top of all his other responsibilities. The man deserved a break. Even I could understand that.

With our final shows open and no more daytime rehearsals, I was starting to relax and enjoy the summer.

Until Richard called me in a panic.

“Can you come home? Please!”

“What? Why? Um, I…I still have a little under two weeks left.”

“I just talked to my lawyer.” There was so much emotion in his voice, something I’d never heard before. He sounded afraid. He sounded terrified.

“And?”

“He said..he…I may still go to jail.”

Adrenaline shot through my body. I sat down on my bed. My hands started shaking. I held the phone harder to my head to steady it.

“Why did he say that?”

“You know how there were two ounces in the safe when the cops showed up?”

“Yeah?”

“They only wrote down half an ounce. They said anything more than a half ounce and I wouldn’t be released without cash bail.”

I remembered him mentioning this. The only reason he was released on his own recognizance was because they wrote down a lower weight than what was actually there.

“Ok, so they wrote down half an ounce.”

“They might!…They, my lawyer said that at some point someone is going to weigh it. And if it’s two ounces…John, I might be arrested again!”

It was tearing my heart out to hear Richard so panicked, so scared. I tried to keep my emotions in check. There wasn’t any good in both of us melting down.

“Well that’s not fucking fair. They wrote down a half ounce, so there’s no reason…”

“Can you come back?”

“I…I want to, Richard, but I don’t know…”

“Please.”

“I don’t know how that would help, what I could…”

“Please!”

Jesus Christ, I’d never heard him like this.

I thought for a moment.

With no more rehearsals, we had the next and final Monday completely off. Perhaps I could fly there Sunday night, stay Monday, and fly back Tuesday morning.

“Ok, I can’t promise anything, but I might be able to come back for a day.”

“Great! That’s fine. Just please come back. Please!”

I hung up with Richard and just sat there on the bed. The terror of that day he and Jackson had been arrested came flooding back. I had spent so much time with Richard, experienced many things, gone through so much. The idea that he would be arrested again, that he wouldn’t be there when I got back, I couldn’t handle it. I needed to get back. It might be the last time I see him!

I called Jason and told him to meet me at our housing, that it was urgent. Fifteen minutes later, Jason knocked and opened the door to my bedroom. Still sitting on the bed, I looked up at him. Tears welled in my eyes.

“I just got off the phone with Richard. He might be arrested again and I… I don’t know what to do!” I broke down. Jason stepped into me and wrapped me in a big hug while I cried.

After a short while, I composed myself.

“So,” I began, “Do you think…we have Monday off right? What if, if I were to fly out Sunday night and back Tuesday morning? I need to be there, Jason. He sounded so scared.”

I was ready to start crying again.

“Sure,” he said, comforting me. “That sounds doable, let’s go see if there are flights.” We left my bedroom and logged onto our host’s computer and found a pair of flights that fit my plan perfectly.

Of course last minute flights like these weren’t cheap, and I sure as hell didn’t have the money to pay for it. So I called Mom and told her the situation.

“But you’re going back soon, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, but he might be arrested by then, I need to get back now.”

“But why? What is that going to do? If they decide to arrest him again, there really isn’t anything you can do about it.”

“I know, Mom, but, I … I need to be there. I need to get back. He doesn’t have anyone else.”

“John, I think you need to take a breath. You need to step back and really think about this.”

“I have thought about it….!”

“John.” She brought out the “Mom” voice and I shut up. “Listen, I’m not saying no. But I want you to take the day and think about it, ok?”

“Ok,” I agreed, begrudgingly. “I have to get the ok from Dexter anyway.”

“Good, talk to them. They may have a point of view you’re not seeing.”

I went and talked to Dexter. I composed myself enough to keep my panic hidden and framed it as a quick jaunt home to help support a friend in need. I shared my intended flight itinerary assuring him I would be back in plenty of time for the start of the final week of performances Tuesday night.

To my great relief, he agreed.

Of course the idea that I might get to slam while home had crossed my mind, but I’d cross that Rubicon when I got to it.

Still, I felt the need to offer a thought, just in case.

Laura was manning the festival box office and I was hanging out in the doorway chatting her up.

“So, just in case,” I offered matter-of-factly, “it might be a good idea to have an understudy ready to go.”

Laura stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me. “Why?”

There weren’t any understudies for anyone that first season, which is a bit of a tightrope act in the best of circumstances. But Dexter had just gone on for the male ingenue in The Pirates of Penzance with script in hand when the original actor was struck down with gallstones. So what I was suggesting didn’t seem all that far fetched.

“Well,” I shrugged, “There might be the chance I could be arrested myself.”

I didn’t actually think I would be arrested, but it seemed wrong not to at least suggest they be prepared for the possibility. I thought what I was suggesting was reasonable.

It turned out to be as reasonable as a fan covered in shit.

As soon as they heard, Jason and Dexter immediately turned against the idea.

I was so fucking dense. I didn’t understand that they would react as strongly as I had when Richard told me he might be arrested.

That evening after the shows, the four of us met in the town park where we had been performing A Midsummer Night’s Dream. In the center of the park stood a tall marble monument dedicated to those lost in conflicts dating back to the civil war. Four statues of soldiers, each from their own era, stood surrounding a winged angel armed with a sword. The moon in the clear sky reflected off the patina and marble giving it a soft glow in the darkness.

The summer night was warm.

The air was still.

Feelings were not.

Laura was blunt and got right to the point. “John, we took a chance on you, letting you keep this track. I had other actors lined up. Honestly, none of us were sure you were going to show up.”

It made sense and I couldn’t blame her. “I know. I know. And I’m grateful. I really am. I’m not saying I’m going to be arrested. I don’t think I will be. It just seems like a good idea to have a backup plan, is all I’m saying.”

Jason wasn’t saying anything. He just stood there, hands shoved in his pockets. Even in the dark I could tell he was struggling to hold back emotions. Again, who could blame him. His best friend was saying he might be arrested.

“John,” Dexter started, “I understand. I understand…you feel you need to run to Richard’s side. I understand the want to be there for someone who needs you. But right now, I have to think like a producer. I need to think and do what’s best for the festival.”

It seemed I was about to be told “no,” but he continued. “I think you’re caught up in the heat of the moment. Please, take the day. Think it over. There really isn’t anything you can do for him and you’re going to be home before you know it.”

I was fairly certain that my mother and Dexter didn’t know each other, but stranger things have happened. Having received the same piece of advice from two people whom I loved and respected was enough to give me pause.

“Ok,” I relented. “Ok. I’ll…I’ll think about it.”

The next morning, after a surprisingly good night’s sleep, I called Richard.

“Oh no, you should stay there,” he said. “There’s no reason for you to come out here. You’ll be home in a couple weeks anyway. I’ll see ya then.”

This motherfucker.

I was aware enough to know that my life had become filled with unnecessary drama but come on!

The day before he sounded like the cops were about to beat down his door. Now? Sonofabitch sounded like he was strolling through a garden smelling every rose without a care in the world.

With Richard no longer in desperate need of my company, I scrapped my plans and finished out the last week of the festival.

Springfield Rep’s inaugural season was a great success and we started planning for the next summer. To my amazement, I had survived. I was a hot fucking mess, I had scared my friends, and they and anyone with eyes could plainly see I wasn’t ok, but I survived.

The sores in my mouth had finally cleared up, though the dry skin on my hands and genitals lingered. I dealt with it as best I could.

As July turned to August, I traded in my bus tickets and paid a bit more for a direct flight back to Newark where Richard picked me up.

Within an hour of landing, I was naked and writhing on Richard’s bed, a used and capped syringe on the nightstand next to me, as I rode the waves of euphoric head and lust I had been without for the past two months.

The first slam back was always the loveliest.

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