Update (mid November) – Marshalling Up Escape: From the Frying-Pan into the Fire

Greetings Readers,

Today I have begun to write about some of the most BIZARRE events that have occurred in our adventures in Salt Lake City (and the entire jaunt around the country). This includes a Run-in and extremely frightening situation with a man who was not only dangerous, but preyed on the discreditably and youth of our society. That being said, while I feel we got even, in some minor respect, I feel very conflicted that this man is still out there doing what he is doing. I have reason to believe that he has been acting like this for some time prior to both Christopher’s and my arrival, and that even former employers of his may be aware of his activities. While I am not going to come out and say who he is right now, it is safe to say that this man was a pedophile who worked in mental health of younger boys and he certainly did victimize them and use all the tricks in the book. I am seriously considering what I should do about who he is and what I have discovered.

I am not exaggerating when I also say that I feared for my safety and well-being but more importantly, I feared for Christopher’s safety and well-being.  This was in-part due to the fact that Christopher is a small guy and has similar qualities to the —shall I say — younger types that our new host found appealing in both boys and men (but more often boys).  My presence however threatening, constant, or boasting could not deter this man from trying a myriad of techniques starting with drugging us both, in order to get what he wanted.  This obviously included Christopher in his control and me out of the way entirely.

I was smart enough to recognize an insincere and strange tension when he was around, I noticed without needing any information about the guy that something was not right.

Not only did this guy play that icky part mentioned above, he was the worst elements of everything in this country I have come to hate: An Idiot who puts politics to play like his own toy-soldiers and utilizes idiotic cliches with rhetoric producing some half-baked political moronic sludge that was incoherent and senseless. It is safe to say this guy is one that I both feared and loathed with everything I could feel at first.  This fear grew more substantial as I put myself to discovering what the foreboding atmosphere was all about. It was NOT easy to play the part that I did for a little under two months.

There was a younger neighbor boy living nearby as well and I will go over his living situation, his mother, and another side of parenting for which I feel very conflicted about. All of this in my next post on “Marshalling Up Escape: From the Frying-Pan into the Fire.” From there we move onto the last section concerning our Salt Lake City travesty concerning, “The Trigger-Full-House. Both Aptly named. I hope my readers look forward to the excitement to come and will learn a bit from it.

From DC-topia to Salty Lake City

Living in DC was some of the most fun I had ever had. Unlike most people that live there whom I actually hang out with… aside from my shorter, less-white, name’s sake; I enjoyed going to the museums and visiting the art galleries. I did so often. With that being said, I loved the night-life– I love dancing, music, socializing, etc. But I don’t like people that complain about their government jobs or contracting position, complaining about it over drinks but also squawking about how much they make and where they live what they drive, blah blah. I gladly told people that I was unemployed when the question came “what do you do?” I was unemployed, living in a great spot and LOVE gloating about it (even though secretly I didn’t feel like it was something I should be gloating about). My cultural pursuits in the district may have warranted my being there in of themselves– in simple reference to art galleries collection of art from the last century.

The story of us leaving for Salt Lake City is really a story of hopes for a new beginning. Christopher and I had been living in the Newport west on 14th and Rhode Island Ave NW in the District of Columbia. Those who know the corner know that there is a Caribou coffee right around the corner and a Whole Foods Market behind it. While we were sufficiently comfortable there, I spent a meager allowance that allowed me to live sufficiently and looked for paltry work in the meantime.

First: without getting any deeper into how I was really living, let me say that I look fondly back at this time in the district. I was waking up to Christopher lying next to me, heap fulls of clothes scattered throughout the room, because it just would not do for either one of us to get dressed into an outfit (for an outing that might only last an hour), and be happily satisfied with what we were wearing. From the clothes Christopher might pick from pick from my discontentedly-scattered and tempest-tossed wardrobe while I might pick from the odd shirt that a third party (living temporarily in the next room). I felt justified in doing so because he often picked from my wardrobe too. Those who know this system will label it in some form as the “gay bartering system.” Either way, with so much going for both Christopher and I, we paid these little indiscretions no mind. Although it should go without me mentioning, that we wanted the temporary roommate out. In fact, we wanted him out so badly that we partook in extreme theatrics in order to enact this desire into a reality.

This third party I will call Millhouse. Without being outwardly cruel myself, I will say that one fellow I know described Millhouse as being a real-life Arthur the Aardvark, on account of his particular skin-shade, shape of his head and the glasses he wore. All superficiality aside, we wanted rid of Millhouse because he treated our place of residence as though he were a house-boy, which two guys in their mid-twenties without doubt, do not need. Especially, one looking like Arthur the Aardvark. Just barely touching on what we were go through in order to get rid of this lad, I recall one night Christopher and I entering the apartment, –without the need of any alcohol at all– being caught in some inconsequential argument. However, upon hearing the argument as it was–as Christopher and I bantered and entered the apartment–it could have seemed quite serious. With little more than a phrase whispered between both Christopher, we escalated “the argument” and added references to give it meaning to the common eavesdropper (or unfortunate persons in the neighboring room –or adjacent apartments for that matter). Then push comes to shove, one ventured unto insult and drinking glass goes smashing on the floor accompanied by shouting (my touch). At that moment smiles have crept onto both of our faces and we are trying to keep those smiles from sounding off in the discourse of the “argument.” Performing very well under pressure, broken glass under foot, and real emotion understood to houseboy, we conclude our “argument” and exit the apartment in a dramatic fashion only suiting for such a ridiculous farce–giving us a means to relieve the laughter that has been building up inside of us.

So as you can see, our lives in the District were not completely without merits for staying or going. Pressure was building in my mind about the financial feasibility of our situation and I was of the believe that if something was not done the longevity of Christopher and I might suffer the more for our lack of foresight and action.

However, it seems that fate always has a plan in store, whether or not the parties involved in that plan were ready for it. As it turned out come April, Christopher and I were being evicted in the most clandestine way possible. No notice at the door, our exorbitantly expensive rent was being paid on time, nor any mail from the courts. I had the inkling that my mail was being intercepted when I checked it upon arrival one day, returned it to my mailbox and re-entered the building only to fetch mail that was no longer there. Strange? I agree.

Let me first say that I was renting a sub-leased apartment– on the chance taken that I was certain it would not be allowed and if discovered would only serve to see me kicked out. Well without too many details this saw itself into fruition. Should I mentioned that I was packed and ready to go, with everything in the truck by 3:30 PM, when Federal Marshals bang down your door to see you out of your dwelling-unit? Well both Christopher and I were ready and we had train-tickets to see our personal effects and our persons on the train to Salt Lake City the following day. I hope that the aardvark living there had ample time to get his stuff and get out. I am not a particularly vengeful person, but seeing as he was the primary cause for getting us booted, I thought it quite sporting of me to give him a good four-hour head-start before the marshals were scheduled to arrive.

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(I haven’t survived some of this without a little help)