The History of Us in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

It was the early months of 2004. I was wandering around the streets of Sacramento trying to find this young guy I’d happened to see in our 20-something youth group at the Lambda Center. I had started going to the meetings because I was finding myself increasingly uncomfortable in church situations, plus, I think I needed to get my feet wet. I’d been having sex for years but I wasn’t really connected to the community as a whole, and I didn’t have any gay friends.

In the group, there was thing Asian guy who kept interrupting and saying the most hysterical things. He was like a noise-maker. His voice and comments just cut across the entire group and everyone was silenced whenever he spoke.

I had wanted to find him and talk with him, but where do I find him? He wasn’t in the bars, heck, even I wasn’t old enough to get into the bars yet. I went around to every one of the gay businesses, and there were surprisingly quite a few in the dark era of the Bush administration.

Finally, I happened to find him on the steps in front of Hot Rod’s, the Sacramento gay community’s answer to In-N-Out Burger whose specialty was a gigantic frankfurter that they called the Hot Rod. He was chatting from the center of an enormously large group of people. I beat my way in and somehow struck up a conversation.

Our first conversation centered around the brand new Janet Jackson album, Damita Jo, and how random all of her talking is. I shared a story about how my friend Shannon and I were randomly saying it as a way of declaring our shock when something random happens. Somehow he became fascinated with the whole situation and ended up becoming one of my biggest Damita Jo contributors.

Within a year, we went nearly everywhere together. There was a group of us, Richard and I had become part of a larger context and I don’t remember exactly how we all ended up together but it was amazing. There was Richard, the other Richard whom we called RV, Tru who ended up creating most of our catchphrases, and myself.

I spent a lot of time at Richard’s house where he lived with his mother, and grandparents. His house intimidated me and his bedroom was void of personality. He had so much personality zooming out of him that he really didn’t need to put things on his wall.

His mother had an incredibly deep voice, she would always feed me rice and tell me how I needed to protect Richard. Her Chinese accent was so thick and she called me “White Boy” but I could see that she truly loved her son. His life at home was so monochromatic that it totally made him burst out.

We went everywhere together, and most of the time, people always expressed surprise at our coming together as friends. The only thing we really had in common was humor. We were always the funniest people in the room and when we started going and feeding off one another, there would be no chance of leaving the room without having a good hard laugh.

As the year progressed, Richard turned 18 and decided he was going to move to San Francisco. I felt incredibly sad. I was happy for him, he knew what he was doing with himself. He was the only person who knew that I was doing stand-up comedy, he was proud of me and I wanted to return that favor. His going away party was something that was incredibly fun and sad all at the same time.

Just a few months later, I was leading a group of younger gays to their first San Francisco Pride celebration. I was excited to see Richard and I found him with everything he owned on the sidewalk in Union Square. His boyfriend had thrown him out and he was on the streets. He was begging me for help, pleading for me to intervene and do something that would save his life.

Many people never understood how much we challenged one another. He challenges me to be kinder and looser, and I challenge him to take responsibility and make good choices.

I told him that it wasn’t in my power to help him in San Francisco. I had taken on other responsibilities and that if it weren’t for these kids, I wouldn’t even be seeing him that day. I told him that he needed to figure it out for himself. Then I left him. Homeless in Union Square. I have never in my life felt more awful in my life, but I knew I couldn’t help him and I also knew that he wouldn’t come back to Sacramento.

He did get his life together and I began traveling more. He had fled to San Francisco because he wanted to take a bit out of the larger gay world and I found myself in Los Angeles because I wanted to entertain people. I visited him at least three times a year. A few times, when I was back in Sacramento, he would take the train in from the City and we would get In-N-Out and watch endless amounts of Golden Girls.

I remember when his mother died. Something shifted in him. He lost part of his carefree nature because he wasn’t her baby anymore. Since she passed, he has been more serious. Many people don’t see it, but it’s incredible to see him stand up as a man.

Over the years he had several boyfriends. He was always looking for love. I always advocated for his relationships. I remember chasing one of his first boyfriends, Quincy, through the streets of San Francisco after he and Richard got in a huge fight. His boyfriends always respect me because they know that the only thing I want is for Richard to be happy.

He has always had his own unflappable perspective on my life choices. He was extremely critical of Jeff the Jew from the very beginning. He cautioned me on getting too wrapped up with Edgar and letting him consume my identity. People don’t see Richard as a thinker, but when he knows someone, he knows them better than they know themselves.

When he moved to LA just over a year ago, he had come a long way. He almost immediately got a boyfriend and moved in with him. They have a dog and he has a good job working at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. And he decided to come and visit me before I left next week.

We had a great day and night filled with lots of laughter and some pretty ridiculous moments captured on Snapchat. We were asleep in bed (I think over the last 11 years, I have slept with him more than anyone else) when suddenly something changed.

It was like all of this passion erupted and we suddenly realized how much we really love one another. It was really abrupt and explosive. I don’t know if you know what I mean when I say this, but I’m going to write it anyway: I feel a little raw. What happened in the night happened, we finally declared our love to one another.... but there are some realities that have to be contended with in daylight.

I’m leaving. He has a boyfriend whom he loves and who loves him. No one is saying good-bye for ever.

Acknowledging those things, make me twinge but they also put my feelings for other people into perspective. We’ve had 11 years of building up love and stories and moments. Each of us has been there for the other when we could and made each other better men through love, tough love, real love.