Makeovers, Milestones and Memories

When I moved to Houston in 1997 my life changed. In a very literal sense I left my old self in the deep south and built a new life for myself in Texas. I reinvented the person that I was, I forced myself to become comfortable with my sexuality and for the first time in my life my friendships/relationships were built on full disclosure and lived out in the open.

A close friend of mine used to drag me out to the gay bars in Houston on occasion to accompany him on his never-ending quest for the perfect boyfriend. I would reluctantly go even though the types of bars he frequented catered to a younger crowd and I couldn’t have been less interested in that demo. Nonetheless, I would tag along get quasi-drunk and watch the infantile drama unfold from the front row.

One particular Friday night I was again reluctantly at the aforementioned bar with my friend and a guy walks up to me and says hello. We were both the same age and our conversation flowed like silk. He was cute, had a job and seemed like a fish floundering out of water in that place. He grew up in a small town in North Dakota similar to my upbringing in small town NC. We both shared that special something that small town folk do, so basically he had me at hello. We connected. In a very gentlemanly, straight-out-of-1950’s manner he asked for a legitimate date and I agreed on the spot.

Mark was my first real boyfriend. I had dated around before but always very discreetly and usually with disastrous results. Mark was different, he would grab my hand in movie theatres or in restaurants and for the first time in my life I wasn’t worried about what other people thought of it. He would write me letters and cards and consistently did things to show how much he appreciated me. Mark and I stayed together for about 6 months before our differences slowly reared their ugly faces and the relationship fizzled. I ended it, abruptly and immaturely and Mark never forgave me for it. He faded into the crevices of the big city and we rarely ran into each other afterwards.

Since our split Mark struggled with relationships and bad influences. The gay community can be vicious when you’re young, inexperienced and cute. The fast crowd scooped Mark up and swallowed him whole. I was disappointed that he let himself get caught up in it, and couldn’t bring myself to even approach him the last time I saw him in public years ago.

I received an email from an old friend in Houston today. He told me that Mark died a few weeks ago. He took his own life. I froze after I read it and haven’t been able think about anything else since. I ripped apart my storage room looking for the box that I saved with all of his letters and cards in it. I found the last letter that he wrote me, where he explained how overwhelmingly hurt he was about our breakup. The last line in his letter said “I hope you’ll do me the courtesy of responding to this”… Sadly, I never did.

The letter was dated May 9, 1998…Mark died on Wednesday, May 9.