In few hours a 15 year anniversary will resonate around the world. An event which had an immediate impact to so many lives, but also slowly but surely added many more victims in the long term. Wayne is definitely one of the latter. I selfishly lost "my" beautiful towers; that day Wayne lost his faith in humanity. So many 9/11 victims are not engraved on the memorial, the wall would be too big, yet their voices need to be heard..................

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How many times did Wayne hear from his family/mother:" you were not in the towers, your sister was and now she is fine, get over it !" OUCH!

In memory of my forever love Wayne

When in transition, life should ressamble IKEA

As I watched the end of he doc’ “I am not a Guru” Toni Robbins asked his audience to remember three true grateful moments in their lives. I could only come with two: getting my first NY apartment on 25^th street and meeting Wayne at G bar nine years later on September 1^st, 2000. There have been many moments of happiness and joy mind you, yet none to rival the latter two. As life is settling in my new environment I suddenly fear I am not ready nor willing for a third moment. It got me thinking, I still have no real desire to find joy as if doing so would betrayal Wayne’s memory. Every ounce of logic I may have knows it is ridiculous, yet every part of my heart is subscribing to that feeling. Is choosing to become a self martyr now a part of my life? I need to find a way to shake so many negative feelings, first by getting free of the anger towards the Yetkas. All sounds so good in theory; after-all we are all told from movies, novels, real life stories that forgiveness and letting go is in order to go forward and regain hapiness. Is it so wrong to live with such raw feelings? Does time heal it all or does it require so much work to cross the bridge? I am eating, sleeping, I even once in a while let myself forget and appreciate the day. I just need to find a way to start stitching these days of bliss and web a positive future filled with happy memories. 

I wish there was a guide I could follow. Not unlike an Ikea piece of furniture one has to build, pieces can be missing, the language may be confusing, A may be C, yet at the end, it will stand, be functional and somehow be close to what was advertised.

Not searching for help nor apathy.... Why, as a total atheist, I often ]think (for a second) I should end it all to be reunited with my Wayne? WTF? I WILL NOT, wondering why the thought..... Anyone?

Headed to the local gay bar around he corner to lift me up and see happy people dancing around When it hit me, I really don't care I am turning 45, Since 1999 my best present was having Wayne next to me. No unwrapping needed. I really, really, REALLY miss my present.

Essay no. 3 On the Beach part. 2

I am now on the general population side of the beach. Not right by the entrance, but where people start to fan out (as told, 800 meters from the entrance on the right.) I am in the so-called gay section mixed with few breeders. I am all set again, ready to once and for all enjoy the rest of this day on the shore. I am actually enjoying people watching, from the canon of beauty to the beach whale… Wait a minute, how can this man walk around with those, he must be the understudy for Big Ben when the bells are jammed!!! The mind starts to wander, I make up stories about my beach neighbors, I now have a banker interacting with a serial killer sitting next to a closet case with 11 kids. The one coming out of the sea is definitely a flight attendant staying in Montpellier between two flights: his right arm is not moving when walking as if hauling an imaginary carry on bag, force of habits I suppose.

I also notice a man heading to the secluded back of the beach, he stops, turns around for a brief moment while stroking his crotch and off he goes. Less than minute later he is followed by a hunk and then a third. It is indeed the gay section of the beach a mating call ritual followed by a hookup in the bushes. I hope they will be safe and wish them a good time. A minute or two later, the latter returns to his towel (tail between his legs… sorry, I couldn’t resist) oh well better luck next time. Meanwhile the few straight families do not suspect thing.

Wayne and I met on labor day 2000, the unofficial end of the summer. Came June we tried our best to spend most of our days off on the beach. The art gallery I worked for closed on Sundays and Mondays. Wayne was working at BBnB and managed to have at least his Mondays off. At that time we did not spend much time in NJ. Long Island was our playground. The Pines in Fire Island if we had two consecutive days. Johns Beach or Robert Moses for our day trips. On one of our first escapade on John’s beach, while laying down on the hot sand, our eyes met, we both smiled, and something sparked, we ran for the dunes while giggling like school girls. As we tried to find a secluded spot we passed a hunk in a black speedo, he smiled and followed us for a moment. I pretended I didn’t noticed and we kept going to find our own private cozy spot. Ten years later, for a reason or another, we started talking about that day when one of us mentioned “the hunk in the black speedo.” As it happened we both noticed him while pretending we did not. We laughed so hard and shouted in unison; “we could have had a threesome, he was so fucking hot,” even though we both knew (from our previous experience with our exes;) as much as it sounded fun at the time, the outcome could have been disastrous for our couple. Later on “The hunk in he black speedo” popped up man times in our conversations, either to make fun at one another or to keep a healthy fantasy alive.

Half an hour later the two protagonists re-emerge from the Maguelone version of the “Enchanted Forrest”*. The are talking and laughing, they merges their beach accouterments together, seat on the same towel and hold hands. Did a couple form? Did destiny worked its magic and created a love nest for years to come? At least they make me happy, I smile at them, they probably don’t notice me. I imagine them ten years from now, married, happy as a clam, reminiscing about the day they met at the beach on a hot sunny summer day,”Do you remember that guy who followed us in the dunes?” “No I don’t, but I do recall the man with the straw hat smiling at us when we came back...”

*Famous wooded cruising area in Fire Island behind the dunes, located between Cheery Grove and The Pines (make sure to check for ticks afterward, Wayne could tell you a story….)

Arrrgh

Unfortunately today was one of these days when waking up on the wrong side of the bed was in order..  I was in a shitty mood all day, it was so bad  I wished the world was people free or better yet end all-together.  I had a hangover without alcohol.  I tried my best though: I forced myself  to discover a new fish market, followed by a trip to the zoo (check my Facebook post for the latter.)  Yet he presence of an other human with vocal cords few feet from me was excruciating.  By 3 PM I crawled back to my apartment. At 3:15 it rained cats and dogs, just saying...

Just one of these day when I overly miss my sweet price.  I love you Wayne..  Fuck I hate grieving, more now that I know it will be a forever part of me.

I now mostly have days with, and seldom have days without; today was a day without  Hopefully tomorrow will be another day. filled with with(es).  Hope is not lost, on the contrary. Happy thoughts, and happy dreams to y'a all.   LOVE

Essay. Chapt. 1, On My Way to the Beach

Waking up without an alarm is now second nature. An all senses organic experience starting with the operatic birds’ songs, an impressive luminosity, followed by the sweet aromas of my balcony plants (rosemary, mint, lavender and basil) with a hint of eucalyptus from the nearby park carried by a sweet breeze. A sigh of contentment, the fridge is right there, a glass of iced coffee and a cigarette, perfection. That’s when it hits me, my sweetheart is not here to share that moment of bliss. Gosh did Wayne love his morning coffee and first puffs. A tear or two followed by a good earthy wholesome out-loud curse: FUCK YOU! And as to pretend it matters, a look at the ceiling with a whispering I love you and a kiss. It has been a year and a half, yet it feels all surreal, it should not have happened to us, to me. Being halfway around the world did not change the fact I have a half missing. The other half seems to weigh a ton now. So here I am, with my lit cancer stick on one hand, a perfect iced coffee on the other, it’s a beautiful day in a beautiful town, so lets shout another FUCK YOU and try to make the best of this “new normal” life I so heard about.

My neighborhood is what one wants it to be. Mostly populated by students who make it their home for few years before heading to their future “real” lives, careers, crying babies, etc… A bit like being around NYU with its pseudo bohemian feel A final playground before stepping into adulthood and all it intakes.

Bars are plentiful, so are consignment shops, “cheap” eateries, late night opened squares to gather, meet, sing, dance and be merry and get stoned. Two blocks away the vibes become more mature, a micro center with its food markets, hairdressers and barber shops, semi high-end restaurants and high end clothing stores. Locals mixing with tourists. A West Village feeling.

The gay movement started one block from my apartment at the “Place du Marche aux Fleures.” The “Cafe de la Mer” was the original gay artistic and intellectual gathering place, it has since change owners. The “old queers” still live in the neighborhood and thrive with their antique shops, hair salons and interior decoration businesses, a cliché, but true. Just around the corner there are now two gay bars; one established for sometimes, “The Heaven,” and the newbie, “The Up Bar,” a little more upscale, imagine the difference between Cherry Groves and The Pines on FI. I do enjoy the latter one and the company of its owners, Parisians expatriates. Not unlike New York, Montpellier is mostly populated by non-natives, yet unlike New York, being accepted by a Montpellierain is not easy, they say one cannot call oneself Montpellierain before having been a resident for at least 6 years. The French I tell y’a! but I regress...

As I enjoyed a beer at Up the conversation turned into places to go, see, etc… I mentioned I was a fan of “Plage de l’Espiguette” unfortunately a little far away (it takes a tram, a bus and 30 minutes bike ride, a good 2 hours.) Beaches near Montpellier are plentiful, I am however very particular when it comes to beaches. They have to be secluded from buildings. not overly crowded, NO CHILDREN, no loud music, no this and no that either. Mostly untamed natural havens of sand, with birthday suits allowed. Sorry to be such a New Yorker: my NY references would be Fire Island or Sandy Hook, NJ. So of course ask the gays, mind you I am not looking for A gay beach, but usually it comes with my unorthodox demands… So “Plage de Maguelone” was mentioned, along with directions, tram (no. 4 Garcia Lorka stop,) bus number (32, stop Pilou,) and the turn to take once at the beach after passing the Cathedral de Maguelone (right, then 800 meters.)

So it’s 9 AM, I said my last FUCK YOU, took my umbrella, hat, and all the beach accessories needed, well my bathroom towel actually (mental note: buy a beach towel.) Halfway way down to the tram I realized I did not make cigarettes (I am “|tubing” now for economical reasons, does say the stupid idiot instead of trying to quit…) Anyway a day at the beach without fags, the smoking kind, would be like a day without sun or worst. A pack of Elyxir 100s later and a bottle of cold Perrier I am on the tram, so far so good. 9:30, looking for the bus stop, there are two, none mentioning no. 32. I am now sweating, I have ten minutes to find out where to go, my heart is pounding, I am running around like a headless chicken. I have a condition I call, nonsense panic when not knowing where to go with unknown public transportation. As if my life depended on it. Just a non comprehensible fear of missing THE bus, and it is not like there wouldn’t be another one twenty minutes later! Finally there it is, the infamous no. 32 bus, passing right by me not stopping! What to do? I am starting to run after this driving beast, am I supposed to bark to it as well? When suddenly it makes a U-turn and stops by the bus shelter right across from where I am standing. I must make a run for it through the upcoming traffic, my hat is about to fall, I don’t care, I’ll buy a new one, all I need is to catch that bus. Sigh of relieve, I made it, I won, I tamed the beast… I am good!!! Yet, as for my infamous win it was the terminal, the blue large vehicle will idle for another five minutes before departing. All sweaty, with my heart pounding a hundred miles per hour I sat, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.