Queer old Me - EP13
"The surgery was two days away and I still didn’t have the answer to what one was supposed to do when they only had a week left to live."
Queer Old me is an evolving queer memoir—written in real time—by a non-binary author navigating cancer, desire, and identity. It’s a sex-positive (sometimes raunchy), literary record of illness, intimacy, and becoming.
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“You’re so hot.” That morning’s hookup couldn’t take his eyes off of me. I envied him. I wished I could see myself the way he saw me. I seemed to be the highlight of his week; he was just another dick for the wall. When he left, I hurried to my markers, the memory of his anatomy still fresh. I had invested in finer tip board markers and enjoyed feeling them glide on the ceramic tiles. I drew him longer than I had him. I struggled with his pubes, erasing and starting over a few times. I stepped back and looked at the piece. It will do, the same way he did. It was lunchtime. I grabbed my shopping bags and locked the door behind me. The supermarket was less than a block away and I had a lot to get ready before my guests arrived.
The surgery was two days away and I still didn’t have the answer to what one was supposed to do when they only had a week left to live. You just lived. You woke up in the morning, you had coffee, you journaled, you made breakfast that you ate in front of the telly, you showered, you brushed your teeth and made yourself pretty, you got dressed and went for a walk, you agreed to meet up with friends, you went to the cinema, you fucked a stranger, or two or three, you read on the sofa, you cleaned the house, you took deep breaths, many deep breaths, you wrote your will, you decided what you would give and to whom, you told people they were in your will, you had long awkward conversations with people who tried not to say the wrong thing, you cried, you rewatched your favourite movie, you started reading One Piece to give yourself something excruciatingly long to keep you company until this was all over, you fucked other strangers so that your body could feel something and then fucked some more and drew their cocks on your kitchen wall. And before you know it, the seven days had dwindled down to two.
I planned one last dinner with my closest friends. The WhatsApp group titled ‘The Last Supper’ had a curated guest list and yet not everyone RSVP’d. It would be Cutiepie, Chaos, Mr Big, myself and Christopher. Christopher was by far my oldest friend from the bunch. I met him minutes after having landed in Madrid. First flatmate. First friend crush. He showed me his room and we bonded instantly over his Tardis collection. Christopher and I spent hours discussing sci-fi animatedly over beers. Hours. Often till the early morning. Christopher hated his job—our job. Christopher was cis. Christopher was white and of course Christopher was a faggot. Christopher wanted to find true love and someone to call his. Men didn’t last long against Christopher’s romantic ideals.
He was the first to arrive. He hugged me reluctantly and opened a can of beer.
“What the fuck is this horror?” He said pointing at my wall of dicks.
“You don’t like it?”
“You cook in here. Why would you do this in the kitchen? It’s unsanitary!”
“I have tiles I can draw and erase on, and theyr’e only in the kitchen, the rest of the house is gotelé!”
He took a step closer and pointed at one of the drawings.
“Is this who I think it is?”
“No! He is not on my wall.”
“Who makes the wall then?”
“Everyone I have slept with since they told me about the biopsy.”
“That was three weeks ago!”
“What can I say, I’ve been busy!”
“I didn’t imagine you’d ever get this promiscuous. I’m disappointed.”
“You’re disappointed because I’m getting laid? Or you’re disappointed because you’re not getting laid?” The argument was cut short by the doorbell.
Cutiepie embraced the whole of me. I burrowed in his glow and took all of the love.
“What is this?” I asked, looking at a suitcase the size of my door.
“Well, I mean! The surgery is in two days. You know tonight is going to run long. I’m not gonna go home to come back tomorrow. Let’s make this a two day sleep over ba-by!”
I hugged him once more.
“What would I do without you?”
Cutiepie dragged his suitcase in the spare bedroom, changed outfit and joined us in the kitchen. I had my hands full slowly stirring the pot of arroz con leche I was making from scratch.
“Christopher, Cutiepie. Cutiepie, Christopher. I don’t actually think the two of you have ever met.”
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
“So how do you two know each other?” Cutiepie asked.
“Well, he was my flatmate back in the day.”
“They used to live with you?” Cutiepie was giving him another chance.
“Well, as I said it was back in the day and back in the day he was a he.”
“Back in the day, they were totally posing as a he. I’m glad they came to their senses.” I heard how Cutiepie had gently reframed what Christopher had said. I knew Christopher heard it too.
“Yeah, yeah. ‘They’ were my flatmate and we just got on. How long ago was that? Fifteen years?”
“Closer to twenty now.” I replied. “Anyone wants a drink?” Christopher opened another can of beer and went onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette.
“Can I help you with anything?” Cutiepie looked around for something to do. He eagle-eyed the dishes and started the washing-up. I kissed him gently on the forehead.
The seminarian looked really dapper when he showed up. He wore a crisp white shirt, clearly freshly ironed, and simple black pleated trousers. He usually showed up in his sweats—they’re easily removed. I had never invited him to hang with my friends before. I was touched by the efforts but also knew it would make it harder to keep my hands to myself.
Christopher took me aside.
“The seminarian is hot.” He was staring right at him when he said that.
“He is. I know. A word of warning. We sleep together regularly.” I whispered.
“I don’t want your sloppy seconds. Fuck! You’re so selfish. Don’t you have enough? You have a whole wall for fuck sake.” He looked at me sideways. “Is he on the wall? Which one is he?”
“I thought it was unsanitary? Huh?”
Chaos showed up an hour late. Her and Christopher hugged. They hadn’t seen each other in ages.
“I sent you a copy of my last book. Did you ever get it?” She asked.
“I might have. I have a pile of packages at home I haven’t had time to get to yet.”
“I guess that means you haven’t read it then?” She laughed.
“I’ve been very busy.” He snapped.
“There is actually someone loosely based on you in it.”
“Are you serious?” Christopher’s eyes bulged out of his head. I got out of the way, grabbed the seminarian with me and hid in the kitchen.
“I see there has been further addition to the wall since I last saw you.” He said.
I blushed.
“Is this mine?”
“Yes. Is that ok? I’m sorry.” I rubbed my face and took a deep breath. He didn’t answer straight away. He studied the drawing with a sparkle in his eye.
“I don’t think anyone has ever drawn me this way before. Actually, I’d be surprised if anyone did. It isn’t to size though.” He joked.
“There wasn’t enough wall space.”
“Behave.”
“Yes, sir!”
Chaos slithered into the kitchen discreetly but dropped her wine and the glass shattered on the floor.
“Shit!”
“Please, let me.” The seminarian crouched down and picked up the pieces of shard.
“No, please let me.”
“It’s probably best you let him! That way we’re sure this doesn’t end with blood on the floor.” I objected.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t kneel.
“I think I pissed off Christopher.”
“Why would you tell him you based a character on him? You know he has massive trust issues and now he is convinced you portrayed him as a monster.”
“You’ve read the book. What do you think?” She asked sheepishly.
“I think loosely is too tight a word. I wouldn’t have made the link if you hadn’t told me. My guess though is that he’s going to run off home before dinner is over, ransack through his boxes and skimread the whole thing to find the passages that concern him. You’ll probably get a text in the middle of the night. He’ll be mad and accuse you of having ruined his night with your nonsense. Wanna bet?”
“You seem to know him really well.” My crush said.
“Twenty years. In my country we say that I know him as if I had birthed him. Alright. Dinner’s ready!”
They all sat down on the floor around my table and held their plates up. I served them each a slice of my homemade tuna quiche and added some fried green beans.
“This looks delicious.” Cutiepie said. “I’m starving.”
“Is there any salt?” Before I could answer, Christopher stood up and found what he needed in my cupboards.
“This is really good. I didn’t know you could cook.” The seminarian held my gaze and I blushed.
“So fucking good!” Chaos ate slowly and chewed with delight.
As I watched them eat, I cried. I was overwhelmed simply because they had come. I wanted them to show up for me and they did: sitting crosslegged around my tuna quiche. Cutiepie saw me. He sat closer and leaned against my shoulder. The conversation did not break. Christopher was ranting against Christianity and how ridiculous it was to believe in a white bearded guy in the sky. The seminarian didn’t contradict him. Instead, he talked about all of the people he got to help on a daily basis. He talked about how he believed God was patient, that He could wait while he looked after the ones who suffered. Christopher smoked and rolled his eyes.
“How is Bruno doing?” Chaos asked.
“Who the fuck is Bruno?” Christopher turned his head and was looking right at Chaos.
“Bruno is what they called their tumour.”
I sighed, a little too heavily. “Nobody else knew Lucy. Thanks!”
“I put my foot in my mouth again, haven’t I?” She squirmed.
“It’s ok.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
“Why did you fucking name your ‘tumour’? It’s nothing. You know it’s nothing, you’re just being a drama queen!” Christopher said.
“Whether it is deadly or not, and I’m sure we are all here hoping it is nothing indeed, they are going through brain surgery on Friday. Isn’t that right?” The Seminarian spoke calmly and authoritatively. I could have kissed him.
“Yes. On Friday, I have my first ever general anaesthesia. They’re going into my head via a little hole in my throat. It’s the fastest way to reach the tumour.” I added.
“So it’s not brain surgery then, is it?” Christopher corrected me.
“No, technically, it isn’t brain surgery but it is very close to it.”
“See, he’s a drama queen that one, I tell you!” Christopher laughed, stood up and went to the fridge to get another beer.
I had filled vintage wine glasses with the arroz con leche and placed them carefully in front of them.
“Enjoy! I haven’t made these in over twenty years. I hope it’s ok.”
“Not for me, thanks. Need to look after my figure.” Christopher pushed the glass away.
“I’ll have yours then.” Cutiepie grabbed onto his glass and held both of his desserts up in the air and then he stood up, arms out, almost reaching the ceiling. “I win, I get two!” and then he started singing: “I am the champions, my friend Tudududu and we’ll keep on fighting to the end.” He defied me: “Together!” and so I stood up too. “We are the champions. We are the champions.” And everyone else joined in: “No time for losers cos we are the champions, pampampam of the world!”
I retreated to the kitchen to do the dishes. I wanted a moment alone to admire them all from afar and soak it all in. I washed the dishes in the echoes of their laughter and I cried, again.
As predicted, Christopher was the first to leave. He wanted to rush home and find that damn book. I moved to hug him but he stepped back.
“I’m not a hugger, you already got one today.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Next time, what about some spices in the food? Huh?”
I shrugged.
“I’m not gonna say good luck on Friday because you don’t need it. You’ll be fine. I’ll see you once you’re out. You know how much hospitals freak me out.”He downed his beer in one long gulp. “And one for the road. Alright, bye! Text me.” And he was out of the door. I realised there and then that this was the last time I would ever see him. My first proper goodbye. Dread took over. Someone wrapped their arms around me from behind. I let them embrace me entirely while I cried.
When I turned around I realised it wasn’t Cutiepie. It was the seminarian. He smiled at me and wiped the tears from my face.
“Come, join us. We’re still here.”
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Another beautiful entry. Christopher sounds like a bummer of a friend that unfortunately we all have, who’ve stuck around way longer than the purpose they’ve served in our lives. You captured that push-pull painfully and beautifully.
Okay first and most beautiful and brilliant one that I met on substack.
I don't have as many membrum viriles to fill a wall, but I'm going to draw them to add global Power to the Membrum energy because the dick is the thing and the thing will be the first thing you think of when you wake up from surgery and get good news.
Because that's happening.
ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎ꨄ︎