I Had to Say Something (23 page)

I started to think about my friendships. Perhaps I needed to tell people who I really was and what I'd been doing for my entire adult life. I was feeling just like I had as a child—alone and of little worth. When I got back to Denver, I could feel my depression start to hit almost the moment I opened the door to my apartment. I called Paula and Patricia just to see where things were. They both asked if Ted had called me, and I told them no. Things were still on for the men's retreat that weekend, but it seemed as if both reporters had lost all interest in me.

 

The Friday night before the retreat started, an unmarked van parked right outside my apartment building; it would remain there all weekend. Paula told me it was a Channel 9 van and to try to pretend that it wasn't there.

The weekend arrived, and I was full of anticipation. Every time the phone rang, I knew it would be Ted. The phone probably rang about twenty times that weekend and not once was it Ted.

I just didn't understand. It seemed odd that Ted called me more than usual in August and now, when I wanted him to call and to stop by, nothing. Did someone leak information to Ted? Was he out rustling up support for the Colorado antigay marriage amendment?

All weekend long, the van was parked right outside my apartment building. By Sunday afternoon, Ted still hadn't shown up, and I was certain they were calling me a bunch of names, including “liar.”

Maybe Ted wasn't coming around because I'd blown him off about getting more meth. Maybe the math was simple: no
meth, no sex, no fun for him. His feelings were hurt, and he probably felt that whatever was there for him on an emotional level was gone. Personally, I thought all the drug use was changing him. Drugs and sex were replacing the emotional needs he had. I was sure he'd sought other avenues to obtain meth.

The weekend came and went with no Ted, and I was really feeling down.

Paula called the Monday after the retreat and told me not to get discouraged, but I could see the writing on the wall. It was pretty simple. Channel 9 wanted more evidence. The only way to get more evidence was for me to see Ted again. I could not get more evidence until he called, since I had no way to reach him. Ted wasn't calling. That meant that my story was not moving.

I was raised with the notion that honesty is the best policy. Some have called me naïve, but I still hold to that mantra. That was why I couldn't give up on my story—I just couldn't stomach Ted's dishonesty.

I went back to a stack of Web pages that I had printed out. The
Colorado Springs Gazette
reported, “Ted is a proponent of Yes on Amendment 43 [which would define marriage as a union between a man and a woman] and No on Referendum I [which would have established domestic partnerships in Colorado].”

My stomach sank again. My only way out of this hell was to do something drastic. With the elections just a couple of weeks away, I saw things coming to a head. What scared me was that I also saw myself being right there in the nose of the rocket when it exploded.

CHAPTER 10

The gym did not open until five in the morning, but I liked to get there about fifteen minutes beforehand to sit in my car, drink my coffee, and listen to the radio. That's been my ritual for most of my life, and it helps me get my day started. If you want to get on my bad side, try stopping me from going to the gym. It truly is my house of worship.

As I worked on my biceps, I kept thinking about my story and whether it was going anywhere. It was less than two weeks from the November 7 congressional elections, and the entire nation could be in for another round of gay bashing and homo-phobia if the Republicans won again. Sure, the polls were saying they wouldn't win, but remember Florida in 2000 and Ohio in 2004? I didn't trust the polls. I didn't trust the Republicans either, especially now that I knew Ted was one of them.

Driving home, I turned on a talk radio station. I love listening to talk radio, and even though it can be sophomoric, I like the exchange of ideas between ordinary people like me. My favorite morning yakker is Peter Boyles on KHOW. He's been a fixture on Denver radio forever, and I have respect for him because, in my opinion, he's well read and comes across as intelligent. In addition, Peter has always supported gay rights and the right of same-sex couples to marry. What's not to like about that?

“Just let them get married,” Peter was saying that morning. I could tell he was a bit frustrated with the ignorance of some callers. Peter was discussing two initiatives that were going before Colorado voters in November. One was Amendment 43, which asked voters to amend Colorado's constitution to limit marriage to the union of a man and a woman. The other was Referendum I, which would make domestic partnerships—including homosexual ones—legal throughout the state. Personally, the right to marry doesn't mean as much to me as other basic rights. That's why it was much more important to me that voters support Referendum I.

As I listened, driving along Cherry Creek, the callers were starting to get under my skin. “Why should they have special rights?” was one frequent question. This longtime antigay rallying cry mislabels equal rights as special rights. I was getting pissed. Would someone tell me how my marriage to another man could possibly affect someone else's marriage?

Some of the callers used the word “fag,” and to this day, that word bothers me. I was called that a lot as a child. It's still a derogatory word to me. You still hear people yelling “faggot” from a moving car. The word remains acceptable for most people, and that's just wrong.

One caller was struggling to use a word other than “fag” or “queer.” He kept stuttering, and you could tell he just wasn't comfortable with more acceptable words like “gay.” How many times do I have to be called a fag or queer bait before people see how hurtful it is? Did anyone ever think that parents of lesbians and gays are listening and shouldn't have to endure such comments about their children? Every time a person makes a remark like that, they aren't just hurting me, they are also hurting my mother and father.

“The sanctity of marriage will be forever ruined,” another
caller chimed in. Let's see. Divorce, serial marriages, spousal abuse, child abuse, forty-eight-hour marriages. Let's also throw in shows like
Wife Swap
. Listening to these people, you'd think that the entire civilized world would come crumbling down if two consenting adults of the same sex were allowed to get married and enjoy the happiness and rights that marriage can bring.

Few people know that in a life or death situation, only family members can legally interact with the person whose life is at risk. Legal married spouses are considered family members, but domestic partners are not. That means that my partner, if I had one, would legally have fewer rights to make decisions for me than a second cousin would.

“I am so glad you all have perfect lives!” I yelled at the radio. My anger was building. As I drove along, I even started to feel that if I couldn't be happy, then no one should be happy. That's unusual for me because I'm generally the first to grant that
everyone
is entitled to happiness no matter who they are. I was taken aback by how much all this marriage talk was upsetting me.

“I don't know anyone who is gay,” one caller said.
Bullshit. Your life has probably been saved by a “fag,” and you didn't know it because that person was forced to keep their sexual preference a secret.
I found the thoughtlessness of some of the callers amazing. All these people who were talking to Peter had no idea what their gay-bashing preachers were doing when no one was looking. I was letting out steam hotter than my hot coffee. The election was less than two weeks away, and all these antigay measures might pass while the progay measures might fail.

And what the hell were Paula and Channel 9 doing with my story? Why did they need evidence from inside my apartment?
I was boiling over, and at the same time I was feeling very discouraged. I wasn't sure anything was ever going to happen.

Back at home, wolfing down my usual large breakfast, I found myself chewing with intensity. The last thing I ever wanted to do was draw attention to myself, but I was feeling more and more like I had to. If I didn't say something soon, I was going to tumble back onto my couch and stay there the rest of my life. I had to say something. The question was what.

I took a seat at my computer and tried to check my e-mails, but as I thought more about Peter's morning radio show, I grew angrier. Then I made a split-second decision. I decided I could not waste any more time waiting for Channel 9 and Patricia to gather more evidence. I pulled up the KHOW Web site, found Peter's e-mail address, and banged out the following letter:

Just like my instant decisions to write to Paula and Patricia, I decided that I had to do this. With just one quick click of the mouse and sooner than I could say Referendum I, my e-mail went out into the universe. I couldn't retrieve it if I wanted to. If I were to change my mind, I'd have to do a lot of backpedaling.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't too worried about my decision, but after all I had been through, I found myself not sure of much of anything, including my own judgment.

Just then, the phone rang, and I froze. I nervously picked it up, then sighed a heavy sigh of relief when I saw a 303 area code on my caller ID. I was still living in fear of seeing a 719 area code.

At times, I really wished I could talk to Ted, and at other times, I feared hearing his voice. I really wanted to know how he was doing, but in the same breath, I wanted to rake him over the coals for not telling me who he was and for putting me through all the hell I'd been through.

“Can I come over today at four?” the 303-area-code caller asked.

I wiped my face, said yes, and pressed the red “end” button on my cell phone, my hand shaking the entire time. I massaged my head and face, said a quick prayer to my mother, and started sorting laundry. I was so looking forward to the day when my life would get back to normal and my days would be nothing more than days.

Imagining Peter Boyles, Ted Haggard, his family, and my mother all in the same vision, I had a feeling that things weren't going to be normal for some time.

 

“Is this Mike?” a youthful voice asked.

Oh no! I double-checked my caller ID to make sure he wasn't calling from a 719 phone number. “Who is this?” I asked nervously.

“It's Greg Hollenback at KHOW, Peter Boyles's producer.”

Once again, I was both ecstatic and shocked to be called back. I figured I wouldn't be getting a call unless Peter
believed me. And just like before, I also feared that now I was going to have to spill my guts.

“Peter would like to have you on the show tomorrow morning,” Greg said.

My mind went in a million directions and nowhere all at once. I agreed, but then quickly added, “There are a few things you need to agree to before I come on your show.” I just threw that out, spur of the moment, just like my e-mail to Peter. “I will not use any real names. You have to call me something other than Mike, and I do not want Peter to badger me on the air to reveal the other guy's name.”

Greg agreed on the spot, adding he would call me a few minutes before six the following morning.

Well, now I'd done it. It was all going to come out. I remember feeling amazingly calm. I'd thought I would be in knots and return to the bad habits that had defined my life for most of 2006. Instead, I felt like a big burden was about to be lifted off my shoulders. Just moments after that call, I started feeling better.

Then I started thinking about all the things that could go wrong. What if no one believed me? What if Peter took pot-shots at me? What would my father think? This could go nowhere, and it could also explode.

That night, as I lay in bed, I tossed and turned. How I wished I could pick up the phone and call my mother like I used to. I could almost hear her say, “Give 'em hell!”

That brought on another round of intense emotions, and I lay awake that night with a bad feeling about what would happen the next day. But I also knew that the wild ride I was about to get on wasn't going to end anytime soon, and like it or not, it was one I'd initiated and that I'd have to ride out alone.