Altogether, my two year run in Nevada, from northern to southern, was a blast throughout. Granted, I did take a 3-month “break” from residency within their hellacious atmosphere & terrain. Given that, the only “break” I got the entire time I was there came at the end of my stay… and not pleasantly.

Vegas had me seeing actual temperatures of 124°, with “feels like” temperatures slightly in excess of 137°. Northern Nevada wasn’t much different, aside from a mild reprieve in high temperatures. The climate was still dry, the air was still hot and the ground still cooked you. Vegas sometimes offered ground-temperature readings 40° to 60° hotter than the outside “air” temperature, depending on time of day. We had instruments to check these things, so we knew. Either way, when I got from Point A to Point B, I figured it’d be cooler there.

Nope.

Upon arrival, it was important to me to show gratitude for the favor that Uncle BallBagBiter had just done me. He’d just rescued me from crisis without having seen or heard from me in years… and he had absolutely no knowledge of my deteriorating health. Sure, he’d heard I had a “health issue”. He told me that in all honesty, he “heard about it from our family”… he chalked it up to childhood having toughened me. And as I smiled backhandedly while not nearly as happily buying his insincerity, yet wanting to club him… I sat silently & took it tolerantly, while envisioning an eventual “escape route.”

By all means, this taster of testes was about to offer me his spare room in an emergency situation… with my aunt beside him. Mind you, my aunt is the blood relative, not quite the nibbler of knob I expected to find in her. Regardless, I didn’t want to piss the offer away. Arrival, then “realization of placement,” didn’t make my new “at-home situation” very desirable at all. Sure, I’d called on them out-of-nowhere… but the “spare bedroom” they instantly moved me into was already packed when I got there. Full drawers, full closet… filled everything. They wanted me there like they wanted a newborn baby in their 70’s.

With me, I had brought only a suitcase & taken medication prescribed to me by state-aided-insurance-paid doctors at that point. Still, not one medication had yet worked in years. I was wrecking cars, falling out of beds, and now, what came next?

Aunt & Uncle knew that I’d been diagnosed with a serious neurological issue… one that had nearly proven fatal in the past… and they moved me into a spare, upstairs bedroom, a blind-corner’s-turn away from their staircase I fell down . Fµςking NOTHING resolved my glitch, whether resting or waking. Right then, more than ever before, I felt like a walking malfunction… waiting anxiously to “happen,” and in the worst, possible way.

While hospitalized that time, Uncle BallBagBiter was decent enough to pack my things for me, without me knowing preemptively. He delivered them to my hospital room afterwards unexpectedly, along with an unexpectedly included, handwritten note… one detailing that my invitation into his home had expired.

I wasn’t surprised at all. From there & without even thanking him, a marathon of staying with friends in other states began… and I got to spend a little time with a guy who wanted to do business, in another country.

Throughout that particular junction, were it not for a long-time loved one of a decade plus… I’d have ended up homeless or dead. That’s not because I lacked self-control… it’s simply because I had nowhere left to go, no one else to turn to. After northern & southern Nevada, I saw the same ends of California, as well as southern Texas… followed by a brief international uselessness sprint, which was sponsored by an enthusiastic (yet reclusive) procrastinator. Eventually, I made my way back to Southern California… but not without the help of those most important to me. Not only had I never traveled like that before, but I’d never needed to travel like that before… let alone on such short notice. If one year prior, you had told me that I’d be stranded in a neighboring country with no route out… I’d have told you to dine upon raw, unseasoned, same-sex genitals, tongue-first, as I laughed hysterically.

Lo and behold, there I was… a token “white guy”, holed-up in the “ghetto woods” of East motherfµςkin’ Los Angeles.

Though those who surrounded me closely were kind & caring, many at that particular property were dangerously involved… sometimes having prior convictions… or better yet, right then, some of our roommates were actually serving housebound parole for serious convictions there. My friend did their best to find me safe housing upon my “rescue-run” return. They were diving into family-allocated savings to help me in a bind… showing care & concern in ways I’d never seen anyone show, ever before. Though this new place had roommates that’d scream at themselves from behind closed doors during panic attacks & schizophrenic breaks… and though some of them had come close to violently killing other men they were housed with… I withheld commentary & involvement. I kept to myself. I kept my mouth shut with all but a select few. I still have one of their guitars.

As soon as we talked & I updated “My Love,” it was only days before I was retrieved & rescued… the rest is history. Though we’d been apart for so long, nothing distracted us from what we felt for each other at heart. Right then (though she wants to say it took us weeks at first), I was right into her. I’d missed her, and our time apart had just given us that much more to catch up on. I’d known her mother since childhood, I was socially there when her sister was delivered… then I was there once each one of her own children was conceived & born. Having been as tightly-knit as we were since youth, our closeness now made so much sense. I couldn’t wait. Now, more than ever… I’m glad I didn’t.

“We hear you cry, we hear you wail…We see that smile on your face.”

~Chris Cornell