(FRIZELL)
Lost in
a cloud
I think I caught a glimpse of you
To discover it’s my mind
Playing tricks on me again
Tricks on me again
Some things you never get used to
(From
the song “Some Things You Never Get Used To,” from Diana Ross & The
Supremes’ Love Child album, 1968,
composed by Nickolas Ashford/Valerie Simpson)
I met Frizell in 1980. He was attending classes part-time at
Coppin State College in Baltimore, and planned to leave his job after he
graduated to go work as a schoolteacher.
After we started dating, I found myself helping him with his studies and
preparing his student lesson plans.
Frizell was big and masculine, the total opposite of my first
lover, Tim. He was pigeon toed and
had a sexy walk. Brown skin, big
feet, thick glasses and a deep voice turned me “upside down, inside out, and
round n’ round!” I was twenty-one
and, although he claimed to be only a few years my senior, I later learned that
Frizell was twenty years older than I was. A former Baltimore cop, he was divorced with two daughters. He was missing some front teeth and
wore a dental plate, which he removed before we had oral sex. The process was funny, and fascinating,
but I never had to worry about teeth bites.
When I met Frizell, he confessed that he was a former heroin addict. He
told me he had gone cold turkey, had beaten his addiction and never picked it
up again. I figured his past was
of no consequence to me, as long as he could say he was clean. And I wasn’t one to judge, considering
I had done my share of experimentation with drugs.
I enjoyed helping Frizell when I went with him
on his student teaching assignments; I designed his bulletin boards and graded
papers. Just as he said he would,
he quit his job after graduating from Coppin and went right to work for West
Baltimore Middle School, teaching special education. Frizell was able to pull some strings to help me get a job
at his school as a substitute teacher.
Frizell moved into the two-bedroom apartment that I was sharing with my
brother, Ricky, and my mother. Our
extended family eventually moved into a large house behind Memorial Stadium.
On paper, I really was not qualified to be a substitute teacher; I
lacked the necessary credentials, including a college degree. But Frizell had friends in the school
system, and this allowed me a way in.
There was a lot of corruption in the school system during the early
80’s; however, today you could not be a substitute teacher without some college
credentials. The female principal at West Baltimore Middle School met with me
and saw the work I had done to help Frizell get his classes ready for the
upcoming school year. When one of
the regular teachers had a family emergency and could not start off the year, I
was immediately hired as a long-term substitute for seventh grade English.
Things with Frizell were fine for a while. Although he didn’t like night clubs and disliked most of my
male friends, he did get along with my older family members, including my
mother, her sisters, and her brothers.
I assumed this was because he was much closer to them in age. Together, Frizell and I bought a used,
beat up, powder blue Volkswagen Bug and, although I still did not drive, I
helped with the payments and cost of repairs.
Despite his relatively cool
manner, Frizell did have a bit of a mean streak. Once, when we were driving to work, I said something that
set him off. He stopped the car,
reached over, and smacked me so hard that I saw stars. Then he continued to drive as if
nothing had happened. I then remembered that he had once told me, “When I was a
police officer, they trained us to hit in ways that will not leave marks on
suspects.”
On the evenings that I was not nude modeling, I
continued to pursue my dream of acting. I discovered a musical theater studio
on the campus of the College of Notre Dame of Maryland. I auditioned and received
a scholarship to their Cultural Arts Institute. The performing arts program there was run by
Debbie London, a wonderful lady who taught classes in dancing, acting, and
singing. It felt like a mini-version of the 1980 movie Fame. Debbie London
was my Lydia Grant, the inspiring dance teacher in that film, and the role that
made Debbie Allen famous. I bought
jazz shoes, leg warmers, colored tights and headbands, and cut up a ton of
sweatshirts. I purchased my first dance belt, a much tighter version of a jock
strap. My
self-confidence soared when the voice teacher chose me to sing the song
“Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?” from My Fair
Lady for our recital. This brought back memories of my sixth grade
performance. Wouldn’t my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Brown, be proud of me for
actually singing a song from My Fair Lady instead of just talking my way through it?
Our regular performances were primarily free concerts at senior citizen
centers, like the Waxter Center in Mount Vernon, and downtown plaza
concerts at lunchtime for the chess and checker players. I was thrilled to be
singing and dancing on a stage. It hardly mattered to me that my
audience might be a group of homeless people engaged in their own
fantasies, or seniors who could barely hear my off pitch singing.
Frizell supported my aspirations of an acting career in the same way
that I supported his teaching career.
That was never a problem.
The issue that would mean the end of us, however, would emerge on a day
when I should have been riding a performance high.
My graduation recital for the Cultural Arts
Institute was a special program that took place on Notre Dame’s campus. On that day, Frizell, Ricky, my mother,
and our next-door neighbor, Kathy, squeezed into our blue little Volkswagen to
come out and support me. The evening was perfect. I recited my favorite
monologue from Live Spelled Backwards,
performed a dance number with a group, and sang a duet from Kiss Me, Kate. On the drive home, I felt like a Broadway star, cramped into
a limo with all my adoring fans.
We were laughing and reminiscing over my performance
when out of nowhere there was a loud “pop!” The car suddenly turned around to face the oncoming traffic on the 83 North
freeway. My mother screamed like a banshee, “Oh, my Lord Jesus! Oh God! Oh my
God!” Fortunately, Frizell was
able to guide the car to safety. We narrowly missed a pole as he steered us to
the side of the road.
As the car came to a stop, my mother kept saying, “Thank you, Jesus!
Thank you, Jesus!” Luckily, no one was hurt, and we weren’t hit by any other
cars. But all of us were shaken
up.
My mother grabbed Ricky’s hand and pulled him out of the car. She ran up the side of the embankment,
bent over, pulled down her panties and watered the weeds.
With my mother and Ricky out of the car, I screamed at Frizell, “You idiot! I told you not to buy those re-tread
tires! You could have killed my family!”
You see, some people skimp on quality when making purchases because they
want to save money. Frizell had
skimped on something of critical importance, reliable tires, so that he could
spend the excess money on drugs. Like Tim before him, Frizell
had bad credit, but unlike Tim, Frizell actually had a job. But a good amount
of the money that would have gone to pay his bills went to support his drug
habit.
Frizell had told me he had quit, but he had lied. I didn’t have any direct evidence of
this, but I had noticed other signs.
Throughout our relationship, Frizell had dealt with “sexual performance”
issues. Sometimes he got an
erection, but often not. One of
the side effects of heroin abuse is lack of an erection. I finally realized why his penis
wouldn’t stay “at attention.”
One day, I came home and got the blatant evidence I needed -- I found
hypodermic needles in the basement.
As if the drug use wasn’t bad enough, my mother later told me that
Frizell had taken some kids from the middle school into the basement. And the 8mm film left in our projector
proved that they had been watching adult movies.
The gravity of the situation hit me stronger than any slap Frizell had
used on me. I could not expose my
mother and brother to this kind of scandal. And I couldn’t live my life with a drug addict.
Sometimes, I think my heartaches come to
an end
And then something brings them all back
again
I told
Frizell to leave. He obliged
without much fanfare, but refused to help pay off the charges we had run up on
the credit card used to repair the car.
I always entered a relationship with an excellent credit rating, but
usually left with bad marks.
Not knowing where else to turn, I went to his school
principal for help. She knew of
our living situation, but never spoke of it as a gay relationship. I told her
he had moved out and had left a responsibility to pay a debt. She simply
replied, “I can’t get involved.”
I was infuriated. I had
contributed so much to that school: producing slide shows for events, helping
to write the new school song, and donating countless hours in volunteer
activities. I had even created an
after school mini-course called “Storytelling Through Dance.” To her credit, however, she had been
instrumental in helping me get over whatever emotional ties I had to Frizell;
before all the drama exploded, she had recommended me for a job doing book
inventory in the school system, at a site away from West Baltimore Middle. I
had already been at the new job about a month and had started an affair with
one of my co-workers. So the sting
of Frizell’s departure was barely felt, except in my bank account.
It’s
like a child’s first step
‘Cause you were always there if I should fall
And now there’s nobody else that I can call
It’s like wanting you and not having you
I’ll never get used to
“A relationship built on lies is destined to fail.”
No comments:
Post a Comment