After my dramatic run-in with Big Poppa, I was feeling much better than I would have expected. I had lived my life in limbo for so long, waiting for him to love me and only me, that now that I’d finally put a stop to it, I was feeling a surprising sense of freedom. Like I had given myself permission to move on with my life.
I was feeling so great that I pushed up the timetable on a project I’d been working on for a while. I had been making some calls on Ron’s behalf to see about him playing basketball overseas. Through a friend of a friend, I had managed to get a video of Ron’s skills seen by the coach of a team in the Ligue Nationale de Basket, France’s equivalent of the NBA. The coach liked what he saw and pretty much told me that a tryout was just a formality. If Ron wanted his career back, it was his for the taking.
I told the coach I would have Ron call and arrange a visit. But now that I was free of my entanglement with Big Poppa, I did something spontaneous: I stopped at a travel agency and bought us first-class tickets to France and three weeks’ accommodations at one of the finest hotels in Paris. He could meet with the coach, and then we could spend a few weeks celebrating in high style.
As I pulled up in front of the hotel, I couldn’t wait to get inside and tell him the good news. I was hoping that this would make him happy, because that’s what having him in my life did for me—Ron made me very happy.
“Welcome back, sir.”
I was greeted by the young man at the reservations desk, but his polite words were not matched by the expression on his face. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was a weird vibe coming from him and from the bellhop standing near him. The bellhop turned away as I approached, but not before I caught the smirk on his face.
I had an inkling that I knew what was going on, but I had to test my theory. I held up the bag of Mexican food and said, “Just bringing back food for me and my son.” Ever since we checked in, Ron and I had given everyone the impression that we were father and son. Ron still wasn’t ready to leave behind his down-low comfort zone.
The young man’s reaction let me know that I was correct; our cover was blown.
“Uh, yeah, about that, sir…”
I placed the food on the counter and looked at him with eyes that dared him to say the wrong thing.
“Well, first I wanna say that you and your friend don’t have anything to be ashamed of. I have two brothers who are gay.”
I didn’t give a shit about his brothers. I just wanted to know how he knew the truth about me and Ron, because I was pretty damn sure that Ron hadn’t been the one to tell him.
When I didn’t respond to him, he seemed to get even more nervous. At this point, the bellhop disappeared from behind the desk. He probably didn’t want to be anywhere near this conversation, because if this kid said the wrong thing to me, at least one of them was losing his job tonight.
“Yeah, well, anyway…um…I saw your friend coming back in earlier, and I said some things that might have upset him.”
I was still lost. The things this kid said were sending up so many red flags, I didn’t even know where to start. “Wait. Did you say he was coming back in? From where?”
“I’m not really sure, but he did ask me earlier for directions to the nearest post office.”
This made no sense at all, but I would ask Ron about that when I got back to the room. In the meantime, I asked the kid, “Okay, so what did you say that upset him?”
“Well, it wasn’t really what I said. I showed him this.” He reached under the counter to retrieve a newspaper, and slid it across the counter to me. “I just thought he should know about it.”
I picked up the paper, which was folded open to an article that nearly caused me to shit myself. There was a picture of Ron and me holding hands, along with a blurred version of the explicit photos Peter had taken last year. The headline read: FALLEN HERO: LOCAL BASKETBALL STAR QUITS SCHOOL TO BE WITH OLDER GAY LOVER.
I threw the paper back on the counter and looked up at the desk clerk, feeling close to tears and wanting answers that no one could give me. I wanted to know why Peter wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. I wanted to know why Ron and I couldn’t just get on with our lives without all this drama. I wanted to know why the clerk had shown this to Ron when I wasn’t there to comfort him.
That’s when I realized what all of Ron’s calls had been about earlier. He had seen the article and wanted to tell me. And I hadn’t been there when he needed me most. Shit.
“I’m really sorry, sir,” the clerk called after me, but I was already running for the elevator.
My stomach was in knots as I slid the card into the slot to unlock our door. The last time Ron had been humiliated by Peter, he nearly broke my jaw. For all I knew, he was waiting to hit me now, but I couldn’t stop to worry about that. We were so close to happiness; I just had to fix this situation as quickly as I could.
With my hand on the doorknob, I took a few deep breaths to try to calm myself. Everything is all right, I told myself before going in. We’re going to Europe. He’s going to play ball, and I’m going to start an import/export business. We will not let this stop us.
I stepped inside the room, which was dimly lit. The bed was unmade but empty. “Ron?” I called to him as I headed to the bathroom, the only other place he could be.
The door was shut. I called his name again but got no answer. “Hey, Ron, look. I know about what you saw in the paper, but it’s okay. We’re gonna get through this.” There was still no response. “Hey, you. Come on out and talk to me. I have a surprise that will make all of this better.”
When he still wouldn’t speak to me, I opened the door and went into the bathroom. What I saw turned my legs to jelly. I feel hard on my knees to the tile floor.
Ron was lying in the tub, his long legs bent into an uncomfortable position. His eyes were open, but heavy-lidded and vacant. A small trail of dried saliva traveled from his mouth down to his chin. His arm was splayed to the side, his hand hanging over the tub, almost like he was directing me to look at what he’d left on the floor. There were two prescription bottles, the medicines he’d been prescribed for his depression and anxiety after quitting basketball. Both bottles were empty.
“Oh, God! No!” I cried out as I crawled across the floor to reach him. “No, no, no, Ron!” I put a hand on his chest. It was motionless and cold. He was gone. “You didn’t have to do this. Jesus Christ, you didn’t have to do this,” I wailed. “I was gonna take you away from all this.”
I sat slumped on the bathroom floor for a long time, trying to come to terms with reality. Every time I looked at Ron’s body, I’d imagine him stepping out of the tub and then the two of us packing our bags and leaving for Europe that night. I replayed happy times with Ron in my mind, and cried until I had no more tears left. Then I just sat and stared silently at Ron’s body, not wanting to believe he was gone.
I knew Ron had had his depressed moments, and sure, he’d talked about not wanting to be here anymore, but I thought things were looking up. The last few weeks he’d seemed like his old self. I never dreamed he was capable of taking his own life. But then again, that was before Peter tracked us down again.
“Noooooooo!” The sound came out more like a roar than actual words. If I had never met Peter, this never would have happened to Ron. I was responsible for his death. As I finally pulled myself off the floor to call 911, I wondered how I would ever be able to live with myself.