The Big-Big, Daddy Of The Rhythm
This morning I had the strange urge to listen to Dead Or Alive's Youthquake album.About 15 seconds into it, memories came flooding back. Mostly relating to my friend "Swish," who I was close to during my dominant DOA days - 1997-2000ish.
I first met Swish when he came into my gas station for cigarettes one night. He had kabuki-style makeup, 3 mohawks - each a different colour, bondage pants, and a leather jacket. He looked like a cross between Boy George and Trent Reznor.
There were 3 jocks in the store when he approached, and they started making fun of him, with lots of homophobic comments added.
I abruptly kicked them out, told them not to come back, and to blow each other.
Swish noticed this, and gave me a grateful-but-timid smile, bought his cigs and left quickly.
He started coming in nightly, and we got chatting. He worked the night shift at the indie video store a few doors down from me, and liked my company.
We slowly started our friendship. He had a boyfriend at the time, so things were strictly platonic, but there was definately attraction. One Saturday, we spent an entire night on my couch watching movies, stealing glances at each other and carefully sitting close-but-not-touching. I wasn't going to make the first move (he was taken), and he was just too shy. Later, I think we both felt pathetic about that night.
His boyfriend caught on to the connection, and actually growled at me when we were first introduced!
Our relationship had it's dangerous side. We never ever said no to each other. We'd go to The Dirty Bird for one beer, about 4 hours before work. Four hours later we'd fall out of the bar, climb onto his bicycle, swerve across the city, and stumble into our workplaces trying not to pass out. It also wasn't uncommon for him to close down his store and bring wine to mine.
He also brought out the more fun side of me. He inspired me to care even less about public opinion, to be myself, and to be a little less reserved. I was at a low point in my life - poor, depressed, angry, lonely... he helped to bring me out of that.
We were a couple of nasty bitches, even though there was the unspoken support.
When his boyfriend beat him up, I consoled him. Sitting on his front porch, cuddling, I gave him advice in my most earnest tone. After a minute, he looked up at me with tears in his eyes. "Fuck you, bitch - don't you ever quote Madonna to me!"
He'd realized that I was reciting 'express yourself'. It made him smile, though.
When he finally got a decent boyfriend, still not having slept with me, we started to drifted apart. With mutual acquaintances, we still heard things through the grapevine. He said nasty things about me. I replied with nastier comments. He came back with even worse. And so it went for a couple of years. We'd occasionally see each other, and be very nice - share a drink or a dance, make a catty joke. We were always super-pleasant with each other.
So one day he saw me on the street. He came running up and confronted me. "I heard you called me ********! Why?"
"Because you said ******* about me."
"I said that because you said ******!"
"That was because you said *****."
And we reconciled, hugged, and went for a chat (aka a shitload of alcohol).
It turned out that I'd missed the worst time of his life.
His father had died, his homophobic family stopped having anything to do with him, he'd had a breakdown, lost his job, his home, his friends. And he hadn't had the courage or confidence to call me.
By the time we ran into each other, he had managed to get a job and a home, thanks to a generous new friend of his, so he didn't need my help anymore.
We spent a long time together, and made a promise that we'd always be there for one another, regardless of how rarely we connect.
I've seen him once since that day. He was working as a "masseur," and seemed quite happy.
Until hearing "I Wanna Be A Toy" this morning, I hadn't thought of Swish in ages. Remembering him really put a spark in my morning. It reminded me to enjoy the good things I've got, instead of concentrating on the drudgery of office-bitch grownup life.
I hope he's doing well, I feel like I owe him.
Swish, if you ever read this, I apologize for giving you such an awful name. But it's suitable, so fuck you.
With love.
posted by St. Dickeybird @ 8:16 AM
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