On Meth, I Forgot to Eat and Became a Gaunt Hookup Imitation

Slammed: a Memoir — Chapter 4 part 2

One hot summer afternoon, I headed home after a hookup went bust. I had been invited over by one of a couple only to be immediately disinvited by his partner the minute he got home. Apparently, he had made invites of his own and I wasn’t their “type.”

I walked up the fairly clean sidewalks of Broadway on the Upper West Side. Bistros with outdoor seating were filled with people munching and chatting, dark glasses blocking summer sun. Frozen air blasted through open glass doors trying to entice passersby into upscale Upper West Side boutiques.

In spite of the August heat, I was wearing hand-me-down black military boots two sizes too big, jeans, and a black shirt with sleeves long enough to hide two or three spots where I had recently slammed.

As I clomped my way to the 103 Street subway station, I became exhausted. My boots seemed…heavier? Each step I took felt more taxing than the last, like my boots were made of lead.

Then my relaxed jeans suddenly became too relaxed and dropped! I grabbed them just in time to keep them from falling to my ankles, which was good since I wasn’t wearing underwear. Not wearing a belt either, I spent the trip home holding them up, the waist firmly gripped in my right hand.

So there I was, disinvited from a hookup, boots of cement, and jeans trying their damndest to get me to moon the Upper West Side. “The fuck is going on?” I asked rhetorically, more frustrated than curious.

Making it home, I felt I was working against gravity and time. Holding up my pants, my leaden boots clomped up the stairs two at a time. I had my keys at the ready for a quick and practiced unlocking of my front door. As soon as I could get into my apartment, I was safe.

As I landed on the 5th floor I ran smack into Reid.

Not too long after I moved to NYC, Reid realized his aspirations were bigger than Billings. He moved to NYC, initially moving in with me, eventually grabbing a studio across the hall.

“Hey!” Reid said, happy to see me. He was always happy to see everyone. It’s one of his more endearing qualities.

“Hey” I replied. I, on the other hand, was not so happy. I fumbled to get my key in the lock, wanting to be on the other side of my door. Now.

“How are you?” He came in for a hug. There was no escaping it so I weakly hugged him back.

“Fine, I guess, though I think I’m fighting something? So I’m gonna go…”

Reid looked at me and, in that moment, really saw me for the first time. “Are you ok?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine, I just… I’m fighting something…”

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Have I?” I looked down at myself like he’d said my shoe was untied. “Well, maybe a couple pounds.”

“No, John, I think you’ve lost more than that.” Seeing my sternum through my open shirt, he reached out, almost involuntarily, and felt how pronounced it was. “Are you eating?”

“Oh my god, yes,” I said, my frustration spilling over a bit. “I made myself a whole stack of pancakes this morning.” Might have been the previous morning, but still, I had.

His look of worry deepened, his eyes growing full of concern. Brow furrowed, he opened his mouth to ask questions I simply did not want to answer.

“Listen,” I said with finality, “I’m not feeling well, but I’m fine. I’m gonna head in and see if I can get some rest. How about we grab lunch or something. You can watch me eat. Sound like a plan?” I had no intention of having lunch with him and every intention of ending the conversation and getting on the other side of my door.

“Ok.” Reid looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Well…give me a call when you want to go to lunch.”

“Will do.” I unlocked my door, stepped inside, closed the door and locked it just as quickly. I stood there, heart pounding from running up the stairs, taking deep breaths, allowing the feeling of sanctuary to calm me.

I listened and waited for Reid to leave. He just stood there for a long minute. Then I heard his door open, close, and lock.

Come to think of it, I was kind of hungry.

Though there was nothing in the fridge, I had a half a bag of fun size Twix candy bars on my desk.

As I unwrapped my fourth or fifth Twix, so happy for my chocolate caramel impulse buy, I found I couldn’t shake my feeling of frustration. Of course I was frustrated that the hookup had fallen through, but it was more than that. A black hole, a singularity in the center of my diaphragm, was tugging on my entire body, pulling me inwards, slowly growing in strength and intensity.

I felt like I hadn’t blinked in weeks.

I felt exhausted, empty.

I was like a hum, a ringing growing steadily louder that would not be ignored.

I had to do… something.

“I don’t know, man, I mean, New York. I think it’s just getting to me,” I told my brother, Jeff, on the phone. “It’s just…I don’t know. I guess I’m having a harder time than I thought now that I’m single. On my own in the city. I kinda just… I kinda just want to get away. Just for a bit. Do you think Mom and Dad would spring a plane ticket for me to fly back to Billings? For a couple weeks? Recharge or something?”

My parents were still supporting me financially and I was hesitant to ask them for yet more money, so I bounced the idea off Jeff.

“Why don’t you come out here?”

“To Seattle?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Come out here. You can stay with me. I may even be able to hook you up with a job at my restaurant.”

“Dude, really? That would be awesome!”

Growing up with a brother who was eleven years older than me was like growing up as an only child with parents who were well broken in. By the time Jeff left for college when I was 7, he had played his role of angst-ridden teenager to the hilt. Smoking, staying out after curfew, yelling at Mom and Dad after they doled out punishment.

By the time I was a teenager, with my parents, I didn’t have a chance. Luckily, I was too busy with theater to get into any real trouble.

Because of this age difference, Jeff and I never really had the chance to be brothers. The few brotherly moments I remember consisted of me in the backseat of his $100 car with its $1000 stereo, covering my ears and screaming while he blared Def Leppard at full volume. I still have flashbacks whenever I hear “Red light, yellow light, green light, go!”

Spending a month in Seattle with Jeff would finally give us the chance to bond as brothers and adults.

At least, that’s how I pitched it to Dad.

“How long would you be out there?” Dad asked.

“Four weeks. I have a gig lined up later in September.”

“Ok,” Dad said to my relief and sprung for the tickets.

I called Reid to let him know we weren’t going to be able to have lunch as I was heading to Seattle for a month.

“John, I think you’re just running away from your problems.” Pretty astute of him considering he had no earthly idea what my problems were. “They’re just going to be here when you get back.”

Fine by me!

I wanted to get one or two more hookups in, maybe even score a slam, before I flew out in a couple days. For which I decided it was time to update my pictures on Manhunt.

With my digital camera, I snapped a couple selfies and a couple shirtless body shots. I downloaded them onto my computer and brought them up to see which one would be my new profile pic.

“Oh my God!” I jumped back from my computer, horrified.

The face that filled the computer screen wasn’t mine. The face on the screen was gaunt, borderline grotesque. Its eyes were sunken. Its cheeks were hollow, cheekbones sharp and pronounced. Its smile was more appropriate for a Spirit Halloween than for a hookup site.

The shirtless pictures were even worse.

My skin was vellum pulled tight over every individual rib, barely any meat left on me. It was like I hadn’t eaten in three months because, well, I hadn’t eaten in three months.

When I created my profile on Manhunt, I had been a “slim 150 lbs.” I jumped up from my desk and ran to the bathroom to step on a scale.

It read 124 pounds.

I didn’t hook up before I left for Seattle.

I did, however, order a pizza.

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