Crossroad To Nowhere

Stephen W. McDermott

Whenever that week comes to mind, I cannot help but recall Dickens' words about a chain of gold or thorn and the day upon which a first link was cast. That week is whole unto itself for no one day stands out as a beginning of this pain and torture; its growth was slow and by degrees and only after the fact was the fact so horribly evident.

But that week alone cannot be totally responsible, for it must be joined wth the yesterdays of predisposition and the tomorrows of established habit, with the abysmal loneliness and isolation that separates all of humanity from itself, the constant search for fulfillment coupled with the latent fear of frustration.

Frustration indeed! Today neither latent nor feared. Welcome my brother, my ego, myself-thou has found a roost wherein to lay thy youth.

If a beginning must be found, an incident which forged the chain's first link, it could be said to be the evening I first met Lee. I was having drinks with several members of our new show when Pete's room mate joined us. He was exciting, creative, and the most beautiful person I have ever seen; he was Lee. We spoke briefly, everything remained properly casual and soon Pete and Lee left. Their departure was welcomed by me, for in spite of the very informality of our meeting, I had to continuously remind myself and guard my heart. So much had happened recently I simply couldn't afford getting involved again, allowing entrance to my heart-only to be refused and rejected.

Along with the unfinished scotch there remained the leftover extras-one of whom had noticed my fascination, and asked what I had to say. "What can you say about something like that?"

"They're both so beautiful," he murmured.

As I approached the makeup table the following evening, Pete came up to me, "I hear you're interested in Lee," he began, "I thought you'd want to know that Lee mentioned he was interested in you

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But I hadn't been interested in Lee-I kept warning myself-threatening myself-not to be interested!

Lee joined us again for drinks after the show. I could tell by their short tete-a-tete that Pete was making the final groundwork. I wished, even then, that he hadn't. I could not then use the fear of rejection as an excuse-and Lee was already an uncomfortable intrusion into my well-kept isolation.

The group spent hours together that evening-changing bars twice and being joined by various and assorted transients. The minutes turned to hours, while Lee became more and more an affirmation. My will grew weaker, my resolutions began to dissolve into hope, then desire, then need. Was it the scotch, the hour, or the assurance that Lee was safely mine that allowed me to be carried away, to afford him entrance, to attempt the risk of love-for Pete was our guarantee!