DECISIONS

Do we conceive to reflect? Or is there reflection in what we conceive?

Prestige. 

How the word saddens me. I find no delight in it whatsoever, but then I find delight in nothing. I stand in the silent apartment, staring out the window. I observe the other residents coming and going in the parking lot below. Eventually I will grow bored and turn to something else. Pondering how my life has turned out. 

By chance, I observe a pair of young men exit a car and head toward the entry. I think nothing of them. I think nothing of anybody. My life is an isolated existence. Three best-sellers and I am financially secure that I need no one else. I always wanted it this way and now I see it for its sorrow. 

I venture to the desk to write. I have an idea, but just can't think how to approach it. Still it eludes me. I decide to journey out, speak to no one and buy myself a dinner from the local market. I'll come back here and eat in isolation. 

I leave my apartment and as I approach the elevator, the doors open. Stepping out are the two young men from the parking lot. They are smiling, laughing, carrying bags of groceries. They see me. 

"Hi," one of them starts, "hi, Mr. . . ah, Edgeworth. Abel Edgeworth." 

I greet him with a faint smile. He hesitates, so I slow a bit as well. 

"I like your work," he says. "Very engrossing." 

I step forward to catch the elevator before the door closes. 

"Nice to meet you. I knew you lived in this building and was hoping we'd meet," he says after me. 

I manage a bit more of an amused smile. 

The other fellow speaks to him as they continue away. 

"He's not interested in knowing us," he says.

"He's eccentric," the first fellow says. "All of them are like that." 

I'm amused by this encounter, but it quickly leaves my attention. 

I don't know how much longer it was, a month, maybe two, time has grown to have no meaning to me. I felt compelled to write. I delivered all the rage and anger and confusion I could muster. Unsuspecting, insignificant characters completely filled with futile perspectives. Totally disregarded by society and life in general. Welcome to existence. 

There's a knock at the door. I am actually startled. I have no idea who that could be. I save my writing and venture to the door. 

It is the two gentlemen again. As young as they are and one of them being aware of who I am, I was half expecting this. 

"Mr. Edgeworth," the same one started again, "we were wondering if you had eaten already, or ah, . . . would you like to join us?" 

They had bags with them. Apparently the meal was already prepared. I hadn't eaten. I invited them in. 

"Oh," the little fellow said, "okay." 

I guess I didn't know if they wanted me to join them or were surprised I invited them into my abode. So they made their way in, dishes were brought out, the table was set. Food actually did smell good. 

"Did you prepare this?" I asked of either of them. 

"I did," the other fellow said. "I prepare all our meals." 

"Jim is an excellent cook," the first one replied. 

"He really is," I complimented, then said, "you really are." 

Jim was pleased. 

"So," the original fellow began, "have you done anymore writing?"

"Dave," Jim chided, "he may not want you knowing that." 

"No, no," I answered. "It's allright for him to ask. I have started on some more projects." 

"Your stories are so dark and deep and human," Dave commented. 

"My outlook on life, I suppose," I said, half smiling as I ate. Neither of them seemed to follow it. 

"You always write about racism," Dave commented. 

"Being from the south," I replied, "it's what I have endured the most." 

"Were you racist?" Jim asked. 

"No more than any white person anywhere else in this country," I answered. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jim tossing that around. 

We ate a few more bites, then Jim spoke up again. 

"Dave wishes you would write about homophobia."

I drank from my glass. 

"Well, I would, but I've had little exposure to it and how to handle and react to it." 

"Well, Jim and I could tell you," Dave said with a smile, "we've been a couple for nine years now."

"So you and Jim have been homophobic?" I asked, not missing a mark. 

"No, no," Dave sought to clarify, "we're gay." 

"Yes," I replied, "but we were talking about homophobia." 

They were a bit surprised. 

"Are you homophobic?" I asked. 

"No," Jim explained, "but we've dealt with homophobia before."

"How did you deal with it?" 

"We explained to them how they are being hateful and denouncing our lives and existence," Jim said. 

"Did they listen?" 

"I doubt it," Jim said. 

"Then what exactly did you deal with?" 

"It's not our fault they were judgmental," Dave replied. 

"They were condemning us for who we are," Jim added. 

"So the homophobia walked away, unaffected?" 

"We didn't want anything to do with them if they were going to be that way." 

"We could have hit them, I guess, thrown a drink at them," Jim said. "Would that have been better?" 

"Would it?" I asked. That was pretty much the end of this round. Jim and Dave decided they better go. 

"Don't leave on my account," I said to them. "It's just the only way to write about homophobia is to inquire about it and it seems that is something neither of you did, unless you have another incident you can recall." 

They had stood and were gathering what they could that was theirs. 

"We have lots of incidents," Dave chimed, actually a bit offended. 

"We can discuss them at a later time then, if you like," I spoke. "The meal was actually very good." 

I watched them as they ventured down the hallway. They never looked back at me. I anticipated hearing from them again, but I wasn't sure. I closed the door and returned to the computer. I continued on with my latest story, Segregated in Slavery. Somewhere over the course of the night, I opened my eyes to see an entire page of A's. I had nodded off and pressed the A button. I began removing all the A's to get back to what I had last typed. Once I got there, I saved the work once more. Before I retired, I looked out the draped window to observe the cars in the parking lot. This was my exposure to humanity. 

I'm not sure how long it was, two months, four months, but there came the knock at the door once more. It was Dave. He gave a faint smile. 

"Hello," I said. 

"I got some extra Chinese," he muttered, "wondered if you'd like to share." 

"Where's Jim?" 

"We're not together anymore." 

"Sorry to hear that," I said. "Please, come in." 

Dave and I sat and ate quietly. Finally I spoke. 

"So when did you break up?" I asked, "if it's okay to talk about it." 

"No, it's allright," Dave said, not looking at me. "We had problems before. It just all finally came to an end." 

"That's a shame," I said, then asked, "have you moved on?" 

Dave looked at me and gave a faint grin. 

"Yea, I got someone else I'm seeing." 

"I suppose that's good," I said. 

We finished this meal then Dave prepared to leave. 

"So did you like it?" he asked. 

"Obviously not as good as Jim prepared," I answered, "but I think you knew that." 

"Yea," Dave said. "Jim can cook." 

I closed the door as Dave left, then turned out the lights. I approached the window once more to gaze upon the landscape, namely the parking lot. As I stood there in darkness, staring out over the location illuminated by headlights in the distance and overhead streetlights, I saw a silhouette walk out to the car I knew to be where Dave parked. He entered the vehicle, headlights on and he drove away. No doubt going on his date, I thought. I retired for the evening. 

With morning, I stepped into silence once more. What would I do? I ventured to the window to gaze upon the morning, still and quiet. Dave's car wasn't there. I studied the empty parking spot. As I stood there, Dave's car suddenly turned up and pulled into the location designated. I watched him get out and he came toward the entry; he was quite alone. My deduction was he stayed with his date, but returned home without them. 

I sat down and wondered what I could write about Dave and Jim. My first reaction was they were isolated from the real world, unlike black people who existed in reality no matter what. Wherever black people walked, wherever they stood, the bigots were going to see them from far away. 

So who were the Daves and Jims, I thought to myself. I would write about them and their anger and frustration, but as I always did, I wouldn't use the real people I spoke to, namely Dave and Jim, as soundboards. I would create new characters and strive to not even base them on these two guys. 

I would begin with two of them. Would they be a couple? Or just two guys who know one another? I always worked better from distance. I named them Ned and Carl. Social misfits who happened to be gay. Ah, best way to approach it. They were friends and that was it. Not even outstanding as friends. They just got along and seemed to have no one else. Carl would date. Ned seemed to prefer isolation. Carl sought to attend parades and protests, but often ended up lost in the crowd, so to speak. Insignificant. 

Being treated like no one cared if he was there or not made Ned even more aloof. Always put something of yourself in your characters. I leaned back and gave with a deep sigh. Just wanted to think a bit. I hit save and turned off the computer. 

I turned the computer back on and opened the file again. I needed a third character. Also gay. I'd name him Gus. Gus was outraged by his perceptions of homophobia. He was outraged. This tended to make Ned even more distant, even tho he and Gus really got along with each other. 

Then there was an incident. During a parade, at a diner. It didn't matter. Gus was incensed. Carl was upset. Ned hated he was involved. He didn't want to be there. Did law enforcement not react as Gus and Carl felt they should? Of course not. Ned was concerned about his friends. Gus knew he had to reciprocate over the matter. The only way anyone would realize what had happened, what had been done. 

Gus was enraged, determined. He confided in Carl, swore him to secrecy, but Carl divulged a bit to Ned. Ned didn't want to hear about this. He swore to Carl  he wouldn't tell anyone, that he wouldn't try to confront Gus over the matter, but Ned was truly torn as to what needed to be done. I sat for a moment in the dark. I had written nothing that Gus felt he had to do. As far as the story was concerned, Gus was justifiably devastated over the tragic events. Unfortunate events? Disagreeable events? Regardless, Gus wasn't happy with the outcome. Ned may have felt Gus was over-reacting. 

I saved the story, then turned off the computer. 

I stood up. Walked to the window and gazed into the silent darkness. I wasn't thinking about Dave and Jim. Instead I was thinking of Gus and Carl. There was no reasoning with Gus, Carl felt. And Ned wasn't going to try. I knew what I intended to write for Gus, but I didn't put it down just yet. 

Gus, poor Gus. He just felt he had no other choice. What did he have to lose? 

I retired for the evening. I stared up at the ceiling, in the quiet dark. Some would highly regard what Gus would do as foolish, dangerous, criminal, but Gus felt he had no choice. 

The next morning, I went about my morning routines, then sat before the desktop. I turned it on. Good morning, Ned, Carl. 

Gus. 

I reread what I wrote, embellishing it a bit to make Gus even more unrelenting. I had to prop it up, leave a reader half understanding why Gus would do what he did. He was enraged. Frustrated. He had no choice. Yet still, I ventured no further. I gave not a hint what I intended to make Gus capable of. I had to make certain that was what I was wanting before I wrote it down. Did I need to make it more aggressive? Less aggressive? More confined? I knew it was better to make the actions as minimal as possible, resulting in greater consequences. Once more, I hit save and turned off the computer. I knew exactly where it would all go, but I wouldn't write down a hint. Not yet, I thought to myself. 

Not yet. 

I didn't hear from Dave and decided that was perhaps the best. I saw no reason to tell him what I was doing or how it was going and pique his curiosity. There was nothing he would disagree with. He'd know the homophobia was believable, so he wouldn't challenge anything else. I just didn't want him to know about any of it. 

My days stretched into weeks and my silent gazes were maintained sufficiently. I actually would watch for Dave's car to be absent. I tried to wonder if he had one steady or if that hadn't worked out, but I found only disinterest. He seemed slightly naive, but he was grown. The decisions were all his own. 

Carl pleaded for Gus not to do anything rash, but Gus felt he had no choice. How could he let this matter just go unrecognized? Carl didn't know what Gus planned, but he could tell Gus wasn't calming down from events. Ned wouldn't see Gus anymore if he was going to behave like this. Ned didn't want to know what Gus intended. 

I stared off into the darkness once more.

A week passed, then I opened the story once more. 

"Gus, calm down," Carl pleaded. 

"We can't stand by and be treated like this?" Gus raged. 

I stared off into the quiet once more, the dark silence. 

"Gus, what are you going to do?" Carl asked. 

"I'm going to do," Gus began, "what needs to be done. It's the only way." 

I hit save and paused for a moment. I turned off the computer and this time, moved to the couch and sat in silence. Yes, Gus knew what he had to do. So did I. But would it be fair? Was fairness what I was wanting to convey? How fair are we in life? 

A few days passed and as I wrote more, enraging Gus further, the phone rang. I answered it. 

"Yes?"

"Abel? It's me, Dave." 

"Oh, hello, Dave." 

What on Earth could he want. 

"I stopped to buy something to eat and was wondering if you had eaten already?" 

"No," I answered, looking around. "I've been writing my first homophobic story of sorts, . . . "

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm at a bit of crucial part."

"I'd like to read it sometime," Dave said. 

"Well, that's not how I work," I said, "unless you're a publisher." 

Dave said he understood. I told him to come around and I should be there. 

I sat back before the computer screen. 

What are you going to do, Gus? Oh, you know exactly what you are going to do, and so do I. I propped up on my hand and stared off in the distance. I stood and went to the bathroom. I put a wash cloth to my face and thought. 

I knew exactly what Gus was going to do. I looked at myself in the mirror. The room was dark since I hadn't turned on the light. I then heard the door open and heard Dave calling out. 

"Abel?" 

"Yes," I called from the bathroom. "Be out in a moment."

I stood looking in the mirror for a bit and in the reflection behind me, I saw Dave carrying the bag of food and unloading it on the table. That was when I saw the computer catch his eye. I stood motionless as Dave drew near the computer, where I had left the story in full display. Now he stood as still as did I in the bathroom in the dark. I watched him read over the story, the tale of Carl, Ned and Gus, the outrage and Gus vowing there was only one thing he could do to make things right. Slowly Dave scrolled more and more. 

I hadn't written the crucial event, so Dave would never know what it might possibly be. He had started reading the story, so I saw no reason to not let him finish, however much he wanted to read. I detected he scrolled a bit more, then took out his phone and snapped a picture of the screen. Slowly he scrolled again and took another image, then a third time. 

I stood unmoving, waiting until he was sufficiently finished. Normally I wouldn't approve of someone reading my work when I wasn't ready, but as always, I knew I hadn't yet written the significant bit about what Gus intended. Dave took one more pic, then stepped away from the computer. He sought to try to make it appear as I had left it, but he failed to notice where I had done so, but again, it didn't matter. Dave returned to the food on the table. I reached over and flushed the toilet, then proceeded to turn the water on a bit. Gradually I made my way out of the bathroom. 

"What's new?" 

"Nothing much. How's the story going?"

"Okay," I said looking over my shoulder. "Oh, you didn't read it, did you?" 

"No," he lied. Some might believe I left it out deliberately for him to read, wanting him to do so, but that was far from the case, but nothing I could do about that now, obviously. 

We dined. He departed. I looked back at the computer screen, scrolled a bit, then turned it off. 

How angry is Gus? How much will he deem necessary to get his message across? Will he truly think it is worth it? And all the while, Carl and Ned will have to summarize the events. Already in the back of my head, things were re-arranging themselves. 

Once more, time passed. However long, however little. Then I received a phone call. It was my agent. She informed me that someone appeared on a blog to declare they had information about a new story I was working on and was getting feedback on the story. I thanked her for informing me and sought out this source. 

Yep, there it was. Finite Literature. Seems a 'young acquaintance' of author Abel Edgeworth learned of a gay-themed story Edgeworth was working on. And there was Dave, discussing what information he had on the story. 

I was somewhat surprised he took into consideration absolutely nothing should I learn of his doing this. He seemed totally pleased with revealing what he knew about the story to eager listeners on this site. 

"And that's all you know?" the host inquired about the story thus far. 

"Yea," Dave said. "That's all he wrote." 

In a manner of speaking, I guess so. 

"Well, we all must really be wondering what Carl is going to do next, aren't we?" the host chimed in a rather condescending manner, I thought. Dave tried to correct her that the character-in-question was Gus, but she didn't listen or notice. I thought to myself, I hope it was all worth it for Dave. 

I told my agent not to worry. The story was very incomplete. 

I didn't hear from Dave for quite a spell after that, which was fine by me. I was focused on Ned, Carl and Gus. 

Gus, Carl and Ned.

Carl, Ned and Gus. 

Each character was defeated, felt weak, broken and knew of only one thing to do. 

"It's the only way." 

As I pondered how to go about completing this story, I finished Segregation from Slavery, which I had pretty much already finalized in my head anyway. I sent it to my editor to get them off my back. 

And then something totally unexpected happened. 

People were submitting their own endings to the fate of Gus, Ned and Carl to various websites; posting their own conclusions how things would end. I don't even think Dave anticipated this. I checked out one site and began reading over the concepts. 

In one version, the trio meet a fourth fellow and they became two traveling couples.

A second story, by Jayeffque, had Gus entering politics and taking over the government. I looked back at the first story, submitted by Tiffany Eye. 

I looked at a third possibility, by an author called Spot, in which Gus confronts his parents, then confronts Ned's parents. 

There were others, but I decided I had read enough. A glance at one seemed to involve growing marijuana or flowers. Another one quoted L. Frank Baum. 

I turned off the screen and thought for a bit. Did I want to finish the story now? Is this the only answers anyone could possibly see? Was I wasting my time? I thought about my intention, what I intended for Gus, Carl and Ned, in comparison to these ideas. 

I wondered if Dave had seen them? Is this what he wanted? 

I went to the computer, sat down, turned it on and opened the story. 

Gus declared, "it's the only way." 

I stared at Gus' words, then turned off the computer. I had to make sure Gus' way was indeed the only way. I decided there was only one way to go about that. I turned the computer back on and began searching. 

A week or so later, I stood in the apartment, gazing out the window. Watching the denizens mulling about the parking lot. I crossed over to the computer and began sorting through some papers I had stacked on my desk. 

There was a knock at the door. 

I went to open the door and there stood Dave with the complimentary bag of food. To my greater surprise, he was accompanied by Jim. 

"Dave?" I said, startled, followed by, "and Jim. I wasn't expecting you." 

They smiled and asked if they could enter. I stepped aside so they could do so. 

"We wondered if you had eaten yet," Dave began. 

I smiled. 

"You know the routine," I responded. 

After some polite banter, Dave had the food sorted out on the table and I followed suit to join them. After a while, the discussion began. 

"So you must be wondering why I am here," Jim started. 

"Ya think?" I said, smiling back, then said, "I really wasn't expecting either of you." 

"We got back together," Dave said. "Jim saw the appearance I made on Finite Literature about your upcoming book." 

Dave spoke about it as tho he were perfectly within his right to discuss my writing to an entire outside audience. 

"Seeing Dave again brought you running," I said to Jim. I couldn't help but think Jim and possibly Dave saw the three of us as Gus, Ned and Carl. 

"Have you finished the story yet?" Dave asked. I wasn't at all aware if Dave knew about the other online attempts to finish the story for me, posted by other potential writers-to-be. 

"No, I haven't," I answered, then continued, "I was hoping to get some input from some possible outside sources." I had a strong suspicion where this would go. 

"Well," Jim said, with a confident smile, "what would you like to know?"

"I'd like to know," I said staring back at Jim, unblinking, "if they will be arriving soon." 

Jim and Dave stared at me, then each other, unblinking. Clearly they would have all but deduced I was making something up, if there wasn't suddenly a knock at the door. 

"Oh," I said feigning surprise, "that must be them now," and I stood up and approached the door, leaving Dave and Jim somewhat perplexed. 

I opened the door to greet three figures; two rather feminine figures in the usual attire, heels, makeup, dress, and the third appearing to be a rather unkempt fellow who was very casual in appearance. I invited them in. They entered, saw Dave and Jim, who slowly stood to offer some sort of greeting.

"Before we get started," I announced, "is anyone hungry?" 

I tossed out a bit of a menu, offering some drinks. The third individual expressed being famished. I said, "help yourself." 

Dave and Jim were in a total fog, and I was completely loving it. 

The three newcomers sat around the table with the guys and I retrieved the stack of papers from the desk. 

"Now," I began, "who is Jayeffque?"

One of the women raised her hand. I passed the article to her. 

"And who is Spot?" 

Surprised by several of us when the second woman raised her hand. 

"So after our texting exchange, what about my story didn't you like?" Tiffany Eye inquired. Process of elimination confirmed Tiffany Eye was the unkempt looking fellow who was female.  

"Well, what about your story was likable?" I responded. 

"Abel, what is going on?" Dave finally asked. 

"Well, Dave," I began, having way too much fun, "when you went on Finite Literature to discuss my incomplete story, were you aware there were others who took it upon themselves to finish the story for me?" 

I made certain I said "me" and not "us" since the decision-making over the story had nothing to do with anyone else but me. 

Dave and Jim had no idea what I was talking about and seemed to think someone had invaded their little adventure. 

"To make certain the ending I envision for Gus, Carl and Ned is what I am really needing, I brought in these three random authors to discuss why they saw the outcome for these three characters that they did." 

The guys could only stare in bewilderment. Finally, Jim asked to see the copy of Jayeffque's story, to look it over and see what it was about. 

"Will you be completing the story anytime soon?" Spot asked. 

"The story was finished before Dave went on Finite Literature. I just haven't written it down," I said. The three women looked at Dave as if he had betrayed them. I suspected that was the most women Dave ever had look at him in that manner. Through it all, Jim said nothing. Whatever notion he had that I was writing about him and Dave was clearly shot through the roof. 

"So," I began, looking over my own copies of their stories, "why would Ned, Carl and Gus need a fourth guy to find happiness?" 

I couldn't have been less interested in what the women had to say. I could just see it was making Dave and Jim more uncomfortable that I had planned something that didn't include them. I took in all their discomfort and uneasiness to channel into Gus, Ned and Carl. Truthfully, there was plenty of it. 

After a while, it became apparent two of the women were lesbians, while the third figure, Spot, defined himself, yes, as a male, but as a gay man who dressed as a woman. 

"So are you currently seeing anyone?" I asked Spot. I suspected it would, I'm not sure why it did, but that was the final straw for Dave and Jim. Suddenly it was time for them to go. 

"Oh?" I asked innocently, "are you sure?" 

Tiffany Eye, Spot and Jayeffque all decided they must go as well. I thanked them all for their presence and was most amused by the coldness from the guys. Whatever they believed had not come to fruition. Thus do I have my source for awkward conversation that I use in my stories. Dave and Jim quietly made their way down the hall. The other three ventured toward the elevator and I closed my own door behind me. 

What a rich, thriving encounter, I thought to myself, and we never even approached why Dave felt he was entitled to go on the web site with my writing. I turned the lights off in the room, then gazed at the window. I supposed Tiffany Eye, Spot and Jayeffque would all be leaving now. Slowly I approached the curtain in the darkness as tho they would be able to hear my footsteps on the carpet. I looked outside to see three forms milling about in the dark, but while one ventured off on her own, the other two seemed to hesitate before one approached the other and they entered the same vehicle and drove away. As they departed, dear Spot watched Tiffany Eye and Jayeffque leave together, perhaps finding satisfaction in each other's company. 

And Spot, poor Spot. Spot was out. 

The car pulled away in the darkness, the headlights bright in the night and as my vision cleared from the glaring headlights turning away, plunging the parking lot in darkness once more, I stared down to see Spot, dear Spot. 

Spot was staring back up at me, standing in the darkness, curtains billowing around me. This was the first time I was aware someone had observed me, but my distance away meant Spot couldn't see clearly if I was staring at her or not. I just felt my attention had slipped. For the very first time. 

I acted as tho I didn't realize Spot was watching me. Finally she made her way to her car and departed, so I silently crept back into the satisfaction of my apartment.

The next day, I awoke and ventured to the computer. I turned it on, and opened the story. I looked at Gus' final line. 

"It's the only way." 

Carl asked Gus what he meant, but Gus waved him off and quietly departed. 

Carl pondered what Gus intended, that what he planned was the only way to bring any sort of attention to the tragedy that had occurred against the gay community. Carl contacted Ned. 

"What do you suppose he means?" 

"I wouldn't know," Ned replied. "I can never figure out what Gus is up to. Sometimes it just feels like he needs somebody to be there for him. You know what I mean?" 

"I suppose," Carl answered, "but he's just too reckless so often, like with this. He can't control everything he doesn't like." 

Ned thought for a moment. 

"Maybe," he began, "maybe if we just don't mention it around him, he'll let the matter go and move on." 

Carl nervously felt he could only rely on this decision, so he agreed with Ned. 

It was barely a month later of not having heard from Gus, that Carl and Ned would realize the folly of their decision. 

"Have you spoken to Gus?" Carl called up Ned and asked him. 

"Yea," Ned answered, "he called me rather cryptically this morning and said I should be online for an important message from him." 

"What could that mean?"

"I don't know," Ned responded, "but I've traced his call and it is coming from Pike's Hill." 

"What on Earth?" Carl spoke out loud, then asked, "what could he be doing there?" 

"I don't know, but I'm on my way there now." 

Not five minutes had passed before the announcment went out, the live video hook-up, which Carl and Ned both examined, as did anyone else who Gus had contacted. The video showed the clear blue sky looking over the ocean. Mulling voices were heard, laughter. 

"Wait a minute," followed by profanity, more laughter. The strong breeze blowing in from the open sea. Then the camera lowered to reveal several persons, one in a wheelchair, all smiling.

"Hi," Gus said, "for those who don't know me, I am Gus Sandmeyer, and these are my friends." 

Carl looked at the people behind Gus in the video and didn't recognize a one of them. 

"My friends and I," Gus continued, "are dissatisfied with the way law enforcement, . . . . "

"Police, . . . " someone called from the back. Laughter was heard once more. 

Gus continued. 

"We are unhappy with the way the police handled the crystal parade wedding attack in our community at the beginning of the year, and ah, we want you to know, that behavior will not be tolerated, so . . . . this is on you." 

Carl sat and watched the video further. Where was Ned? 

As Carl and anyone else watched the video, the figure in the wheelchair moved forward to the cliff, but hesitated. A few words were spoken, then one of the other young figures stepped up. Carl watched absolutely horrified as the young man leapt over the edge of the cliff. 

"For the gay community," he shouted as he plunged below. Gus followed him with the camera phone until he vanished beneath the waves. Carl stared astonished. 

"Ned!" he called out. Gus looked at the phone. 

A woman stepped up in the back, a rather portly young girl in tight jeans. 

"We matter, too," she cried out, then she went over the cliff as well. The video followed her plunge pretty much the same way. 

Two more figures stepped up, holding hands, and jumped. 

Carl looked at comments. Whoever they all were, they were just as astonished by what they were seeing as he was. There was calls to summon law enforcement. The wheelchair rolled on up and went off the cliff. Then another young man followed. 

"Don't believe everything you hear," he shouted as he fell to the water below. Rocks became visible and he clearly made contact with them, but waves rolling in covered anything that might be seen. 

Another figure leapt, laughing all the way down. 

Then another, crying out, "oh my God." 

"Ned!" Carl screamed as loud as he could. 

Now only Gus was left. He looked at the phone upon hearing Carl's scream. As soon as he did, he spun the phone around to show Ned's car, having just arrived. Ned was yelling, clearly upset by what he had watched, the same as Carl. 

"It was the only way," Gus shouted back. Ned yelled some more as well and drew closer to Gus. Ned was all but within the video and he could be heard clearly. 

"You didn't have to do this," Ned was screaming hysterically. 

"Nobody cared, Ned," Gus yelled back as he approached the edge, intending to go last. 

"Gus, no!" Ned called back, giving with a struggling noise. 

Then Carl heard it. As the two men seemingly tousled over the phone, Ned trying to prevent Gus from clearly intending to go over the cliff below, ending this final solution of his, Ned wailed at Gus, "I care. I care, Gus! I've loved you for some time!" 

Then there was a gasp, a scrape. The phone spun wildly, twisting, twirling. Then the video bobbed back and forth, back and forth, and Carl looked at the two forms, locked in an embrace, falling to the crashing waves below. The water receded, exposing the dark rocks beneath them. They struck, Carl all but swearing he heard the hit over the phone, then the waters washed over them. When the waves drew back again, the two forms still sat there where they hit, but obviously they were unmoving. 

Carl stared at them as the wave came at them again, yet still they remained. The swaying video grew slower and slower. Carl could only stare at the two of them on the rocks, covered again by the incoming waves. Then finally the video was switched off. 

Carl couldn't bring himself to anger. He just felt like he had failed his friends, or one of them, but he didn't know how or which one. He felt excluded from everything. 

Carl went to get a drink, his hand shaking as he poured. He could all but deduce Gus was heavily liquored up to do this, but who were all those other people? When Carl had sufficiently calmed down, he made his way to the police station. No matter what Gus thought, Carl knew this was the only way to find out what just happened. 

"Yes?" the officer at the desk asked. 

"Ah, my name is Carl Weston," Carl whispered. 

"Excuse me," the officer said, "I can't hear you." 

"My name is," he began louder, "my name is Carl Weston and I knew those guys, or two of them, who jumped off the cliff in that live video feed."

The officer looked at him. 

"Pike's Hill?" 

"Yes," Carl said, then repeated a bit louder, "yes." 

The officer summoned Carl to a desk and sat across from him, turning to look at his computer screen. 

"You say you knew them?" 

"Yes," Carl answered. 

"Have you been drinking?" the officer asked. 

"I should say so," Carl responded. 

The officer looked at Carl a bit, then continued. 

"Who did you know?" 

"The last, . . the last two," Carl stated. "Ned and Gus. I don't know who any of those others were." 

"We've had input as to who they were, some of them have been identified by family and acquaintances." 

The officer looked at Carl. 

"Any idea why he would do this?" 

Carl looked downward then responded, "he was angry. He was upset, . . . over the way the police responded to the crystal parade wedding attack." 

"So he said in the video," the officer commented. "He felt law enforcement didn't do enough." 

"You didn't do enough," Carl said, his eyes glaring, then settled back down. "He felt you didn't do enough to stop those guys and make them pay." 

"So this was his response?" 

"I guess so." 

"You knew anything about this?" 

"We last heard," Carl began, then corrected himself, "I last heard from Gus about a month ago. The guy . . . . the guy in the video with him at the end, didn't seem to know anything either." 

"That was Ned?"

Carl nodded. He looked at the officer. 

"Who were those other people?" he asked. 

The officer stared at the screen, then looked at Carl. 

"Best as we have been able to determine so far, Gus started attending crisis meetings, as you said, just over a month ago. Counselors said he seemed like he was after something else than getting help, like he was recruiting some of the other clients, acting like he was making new friends. It seems obvious he was assembling a mass suicide." 

"A mass suicide amongst gay people?" Carl asked. 

The officer continued to look at the screen. 

"So far, other than Mr. Sandmeyer and the other guy at the end, Mr. Tuttle, . . . " 

"Ned," Carl stated. 

"Other than Gus Sandmeyer and Ned Tuttle," the officer proceeded, "only two figures seem to have met the standards of being categorically gay." 

Carl had never heard it put like that before. 

"So the rest were, . . . "

"Basic suicidal types," the officer stated. "They were just looking for that one initiative to send them over the edge, so to speak, by whatever means possible, and it seems your friend provided it for them." 

Carl looked down. 

"He had the phone attached to a cord, a cable," the officer explained, "so that when he himself followed suit, the phone would remain toward the surface." 

"Like a bungee cord," Carl asked. 

"It was," the officer stated, "just like a bungee cord, so that even if he held the phone, it would spring back up to be found, which, obviously it was." 

Carl didn't ask about the phone. He didn't want to see it. 

"About how many people," Carl started, then continued, "about how many people saw the whole thing." 

"In trying to shut down and delete all videos," the officer replied, "we are about up to just over nine thousand hits. Some people have the video saved, obviously." 

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. 

"We didn't know he'd be doing this," Carl said again, choking back. "Ned and I didn't know." 

The officer looked at Carl. He stood up and walked around to the front of the desk, facing Carl. 

"Well, I'd recommend you avoid all media. Do you have anyone you can contact?" 

"No," Carl answered, "I . . . I'll be okay. I have . . . family." 

"Allright," the officer stated, "then if there's nothing else, you can go. I'm sure we'll be in touch."

Carl stood up to leave, but the officer didn't back up. Carl turned to look at him in the face. 

"We'll be in touch," the officer said, placing his hands on Carl's shoulders. Before Carl knew what to do, the officer had pulled him close and embraced him. All Carl felt was the brawny arms of this man he didn't know. In mere seconds, the officer released him and now stepped away. Carl looked at him and caught his name tag. He was a bit embarrassed by it all, to be honest. 

"So," the officer asked for confirmation, "will you be okay?" 

"Yea," Carl said as he approached the door. He turned from the officer and asked no more. His friends were gone, but he was to believe someone cared, even if it was a police officer. 

Carl avoided all news oulets. He stayed offline. He spoke to no one. He didn't go to either funeral. If anything, he had to ponder the end of the video, in which Ned said he loved Gus. By Gus' expression, he never knew. Ned didn't bother going out of his way trying to express himself in such a manner, so Gus never caught on. He just decided no one cared. 

And Carl never gave a second thought to trying to contact that officer again. 

In essence, the story concluded. 

I pondered it at best for one day, twenty-four hours, but I already knew from experience I was done with the story. I would add no more. I submitted the story. It went its routine and I was done. For however long it would last, my head was clear once more, until the next infestation occurred. 

The tale of Gus, Ned and Carl did what it was supposed to do. It stirred up angst, resentment, relatability, comprehension. Upon releasing the characters to their fates, I found myself alone again. In complete isolation. Alone in this world. 

After a passage of time, I responded to a knock at the door to find Dave standing outside. Surprisingly, this time he had no bag of food with him. I invited him in. 

"So," I inquired innocently, "what did you think of the story?" 

Dave fumbled a bit. I knew he was still trying to apply it to himself or Jim. 

"Which one was based on me?"

I looked at him, somewhat disappointed, but not overly surprised. 

"Whichever one you want to relate to," I said, then I added, "you and Jim not an item anymore?"

"No," he answered. "We never really resolved other issues from the past." 

"You and Jim really thought the story was about the pair of you or all three of us, didn't you?"

Dave looked away, a bit astonished. 

"I heard Jim actually contacted a lawyer, but he couldn't pinpoint one thing about the guys in the story that could relate to him," I said. 

Dave nodded, sheepishly. 

"Is that how you saw us?" Dave asked. 

"It was how I see conflict, inability to relate, incapability to comprehend, regardless of sexual orientation or, of course, skin color."

I observed Dave for a moment, then continued, "the notion we are completely relatable for others tends to bring about the biggest flaw imaginable." 

Dave thought a moment, then speculated, "if I were to inflict harm upon myself, I could say it was your story that made me do it." 

"Quite a stretch," came a voice from the kitchen, "but highly unlikely, especially as Abel now has a witness that you intended to use his story as a potential reason for why you would hurt yourself." 

Dave was a bit astonished to see Spot stepping out of the kitchen, decked out in full regalia. 

"Oh," he fumbled. "Did you stay . . . ?" Dave started, then fished around, "are you two a couple?"

"Couple of what?" Spot asked, then added, "you think I look like this every morning?" 

I could only chuckle at the prospect. 

"Spot showed up almost thirty minutes before you did, Dave." 

"What are you doing here?" Dave asked. 

"I wanted to commend him on his work as well, even tho he didn't go with my idea."

"You just can't believe even if you and Jim were predominantly the first gay people I ever encountered that first day that I would still have contact with other gay people, even those you saw me with for the first time the day I introduced you to them. You seem to think anything gay or pertaining to sexual identity I deal with has to go through you first for your speculation." 

I was about to say something to Dave about reading the story that day without my permission when he agreed with what I just said. 

"Yea," Dave started, looking down, "I suppose you're right." 

"Well," I said, "I've got a busy day ahead of me, so if you will excuse me." 

"Yea, I've got an appointment to get my nails done," Spot stated, proceeding, "I guess I'll call an uber since I didn't bring my car." 

"Can I give you a lift?" Dave offered. 

Spot seemed somewhat taken aback, then agreed, almost looking to me as if I would be a permissive parent. 

"Okay," Spot replied. They both made their way to the door. 

"So long, Abel," Dave said. Spot in turn looked at me and smiled. They closed the door behind them. 

And now I was alone again. This whole excusion into feelings and being and wanting took me back to where I always was, where it always left me. Slowly I made my way to my favorite location, staring out the window. I allowed them sufficient time to reach the exit below, depart the building and begin making their way to Dave's car. 

And there they were, strolling and chatting. I observed them a bit more concealed, since Spot previously caught me, but Spot wasn't concerned with me watching from the windows. I observed as Spot walked around the passenger side of Dave's car, opened the door for him to get in, closed the door, then Spot strutted the high heels around to the driver's door and entered the vehicle. Just as Spot was about to get in, a moment's hesitation gave a wave to my location, whether I was watching or not, Spot delivered a hearty wave to me, then entered the car. I gather Dave offered up the keys once they were both inside. 

As they drove away, I pondered their lot in life. By all appearances, they met the qualifications as far as anybody else would be concerned. Who could deny them that? 

I also thought about they wouldn't have met had it not been for my writing the story, to please Dave or Jim, and Spot's wish to also be a writer. No matter where their relationship goes, this encounter was one for the books. 

Or perhaps, one book in particular. Had I known, I would have dedicated it to them.