my careless contagion

Joey, as I recall, actually looked a bit like James Dean. Joey was his name. I know he was Indian (dot, not feather), and I think he lived in Columbus. I had moved in with my girlfriend, Kate, that summer. We got our own place. I remember holding her as she cried because there were dead cockroaches in the cupboards and the fridge smelled like paint (we got it replaced). I said we'd make the place ours. These were little things. The important thing was we were doing it together.  She cheated on me with Joey, a guy she met on IRC, the same place she met me. I took her to the bus stop and picked her up from the bus stop, her mood quite different upon her return. I must have been incredibly stupid to think she was going to just hang out and have dinner with someone. He got her off. She didn't return the favor. That sounds about right for her. I should have kicked her out when she told me what happened, but instead I slept on the floor in the other room, my little bed trample...

This isn't like me. Where did I go? I'm one of the toughest people I know. I've been through things that should have killed me. I've been through things that no one else will ever know. I've struggled through so many awful days and nights that stretched into years and decades. I was made of something that just wouldn't quit. What have I become?  Through a series of humbling misadventures, many facts about myself have come to the surface. That's my only explanation. My body, my soul, and my spirit show the carnage they've been through. The scars are there for all to see. I've been broken more times than I can count, have stood tall in the midst of chaos and pain that fell like rain. There aren't words to explain what I've seen.  It should have destroyed me. It didn't. Parts of me are gone now, never to be retrieved. I'm not an ordinary person. People eventually see it. It scares them. How could anyone shuffle through such mi...

I remember kneeling by your chair as you broke down and told me what you'd done. It was almost 20 years ago, but I remember you braiding your curly hair in an anxiety-ridden state like it was yesterday. You weren't like this when I dropped you off at the bus station a few days before. Something happened in Cleveland that you didn't want to talk about. I sat and listened. You cheated on me with a boy you met on internet relay chat. His name was Joey. I knew him; he was Indian, very good looking in your estimation, I'm sure. His sister cooked you all dinner. There were other details. And then I wished I didn't know them. And then I wished you hadn't done it.  My strongest reaction as a young male with no other clear coping mechanism was to make love to you. I wanted you back. I wanted to claim you as mine again. I wanted you to know I loved you and forgave you. You clearly felt bad about what you'd done. I thought you'd take my advances and run with ...