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A New York Escorts Confessions

Secrets and Lies

On my trip I’ve beheld the treasures of Ponderay Lake. I’ve gazed on endless upward sweeps of majestic evergreens. And I’ve seen first hand why D didn’t want to invite E.

In my experience, every person reveals their secrets eventually. A gesture that belies someone’s youthful appearance. Words here and there that tip you off to a long-stifled regional accent.

But D was different. You would swear he was a city kid. You’d put your money on a top-notch, impossible-to-get-in public high school like Stuyvesant or Bronx Science. And even though I knew what he really did for a living, I wouldn’t be surprised if he told me he secretly had a trust fund.

Out here in the west though, I’ve seen D and all his tricks laid bare. D doesn’t come from money; if anything he comes from public assistance.

There was never any father in the picture. His Mom lives three doors down from an abandoned shack that was condemned as a meth house. I saw a neighbor come by to drop off a quart of milk.

Rather than be shocked or surprised or thrown to learn the truth about D’s background, I found myself feeling…flattered. Touched that he would share parts of himself with me that he clearly didn’t reveal to most people. And I also felt a sick pit of despair about his relationship with E. She actually would be very shocked. She would try to cover it up. But ultimately she would never be able to look at him the same way. Not that she was a bad person. She just lacked a certain…adaptability, to use D’s word for me.

On the way to Montana, we stopped about a half hour before Sandpoint to pick up D’s uncle and aunt. And here was another surprise: both of them were mentally disabled. D’s uncle had had scarlet fever when he was a kid, was nearly blinded by it, and now needed help to do almost everything. D’s aunt was only slightly more functional than he was. The were able to live on their own only because his D’s aunt’s parents lived in a house just down the road from them.

D’s aunt wanted to be sure she gave me a tour of her double-wide trailer. It was neat, and much-loved, but reeked from the stench of cat litter. Apparently neither she nor her husband had any sense of smell. When D’s aunt’s mother came by a little later to say hello, she teasingly reprimanded D’s aunt. “Susan dear. You know you have to turn on the air conditioner on days like this. I’m sorry about this,” she said turning to me.

“Oh,” I lied, “It wasn’t on? I didn’t notice.”

“No. I keep telling her. And you know how it is. You know how trailers get.”

We’re all so tucked in our own reality, aren’t we? Of course, I would know what a trailer was like—even though I had never stepped foot in one until that very moment. Of course in E’s eyes D would be able to buy her a two-karat diamond ring—even though he probably was living check to check. It made me feel lonely, really, all of us so separated.

But that wasn’t the script I was sticking to after all. “Yes,” I said looking directly at D. “I know exactly how trailers get.”

new york escorts

confessions

licked by alexa on Sep 5, 2006

Comments

Beautiful...

Posted by Kate on Sep 6 01:54AM

Yes, truly a nice piece. And it contains the very antidote to the loneliness and separation you describe: people like you who are able to accept others without judgement.

Posted by PeteGonzalo on Sep 6 09:40AM

This subject really does hit close to home. I hate to say it, but speaking from experience, love most definitely does not conquer all...especially when if comes to issues of class and economics.

Several years ago, I was friends with a guy named Darryll. He was funny and smart...and he'd grown up in a trailer. When school ended, he told me wasnt going to college, and his family was about as supportive as a pack of wild dogs. His dad was with live-in lover number seven and his mom was just ending her third marriage and neither one of them seemed very interested in Darryll and his life. He was a hard worker trying to escape Tucson and become a reasonable success. Or as much as a success that he could show his face with pride at our 10-year reunion.

I told myself not to be a snob, to give Darryl a chance despite our very different backgrounds. But the longer we were friends, the more the class thing came into play. I'm not from a rich family, but when I was hanging out with Darryl, he acted like I was some sort of King.

You never realize how much you talk about something until you try not to talk about it. College and dreams of the future seemed to come up all the time in conversation; friends, things I'd learned so far...simply a reference point for when things happened. I liked Darryll, but ultimately, we were doomed. I couldn't be friends with a guy whose family made Archie Bunker look pleasant and Darryll couldn't bear being the only person in the clan who didn't have amusing stories about college life.

I've been even less successful at being friends with wealthy people. Like my old school friend Danielle Hawk. She was from one of those rich Southern families where everyone has about seven names, all of which are "family names", and is related to some sort of tobacco or cola company. I met Danielle in the tenth grade and for the next three school years, we went regularly to her family's desert ranch house, which was larger and swankier than my family's regular house. I should have enjoyed it, but instead, it made me feel awful.

While I worried about my military-active father being shipped to the Middle East, Danielle worried about whether or not anyone at school would notice that she was indeed wearing True Religion Jeans. When I stressed out about my job, she told me to "stop complaining and just quit." After all, that's what she'd done when she'd gotten tired of her job...a three-day stint at Victoria Secrets.

"But I have to pay my cell phone bills!" I explained, less than calmly. Danielle thought I was high maintenance and overly anxious, when I was really just a middle-class boy trying to survive in the midst of a recession and a crappy job market. She had no cell phone bills, no car payment, a trust fund in the seven figures and the freedom to do whatever she wanted. In contrast, I had no stock options, $30.17 in my checking account, a massive cell phone bill (I can talk well over a thousand minutes) and a job at Forever 21 that I hated but needed to keep.

Danielle wasn't supportive. She didn't know how to be. She didn't know what it was like to have to do things that make you miserable, simply so you can survive. She'd never had to cross her fingers and pray when she went to the ATM. She'd never had to put a 99-cent McDonald's transaction on the Visa card because she always had enough cash. She'd never avoided her cell phone to keep the bill low. She just didn't get it. Looking back, I'm sure Darryll felt the same way about me.

So really Alexa...I'm praying that you're relationship with D doesnt turn sour, and that it works out for the best.

Posted by David on Sep 6 04:22PM

Like anyone could even know that, Napoleon.

Posted by John DeCours on Sep 7 02:12PM

really well said.

Posted by j on Sep 7 10:06PM

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I'm a twenty-something New York escort. I love Prada, Seven jeans, and Jimmy Choos. I'm also totally addicted to Starbucks' grande non-fat white mocha and working out.

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