A Story I Never Expected To Tell!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                          Forgive me, darlings, because this blog post is going to get a little Joan Didion.  I would be lying to myself, though, if I did not write it.  So, here goes.

                          Gay or straight, we all have tales to tell about our exes!!!!!!!!!!!!  This is one of mine.

                          Between August of 2004, and the end of November 2006, I dated a man named Chris Schooler.  He was a corrections officer, who worked at Rikers, and he had, as I came to find out, a checkered past, having, in the Eighties through early Nineties, been a doctor, before losing his license for over prescribing meds and medical negligence.

                           These facts I did not discover, till he revealed them well into a year since we began seeing each other.  At the time, it never occurred to me to ask how someone with a criminal record could move on to a career in law enforcement.

                            That was only the beginning.   For, as time went on, and things began slowly falling apart, I began not only questioning the nature of the entire relationship, but who this guy actually was in the first place.

                             The first year was fine.  Dinner, romance.  By 2,006, in January, the two of us went on a trip to London, which he referred to as "our honeymoon trip."   So, things were moving, in a forward direction---I thought.  The next step, I imagined, would be cohabitation.  And the logical step would have been for me to move into his apartment, which was on West 56th Street, near Carnegie Hall, in Manhattan.  A huge high rise.  His apartment was on the 30th floor; the number was 3012.

                             I was actually in that apartment.  The view was spectacular; by day it looked like the opening shots of "West Side Story;" at night a fairyland.

                             But things began to get strange.  For one thing, I never stayed overnight once in that apartment.  Not once.  We hung out, he cooked dinner for me on occasions--he was pretty good at that-- but the next evolution of this relationship never materialized.

                              There was also something that struck me as strange about the apartment, even on my initial visit.  It looked, if such a thing is possible, almost too immaculate.  As if it had not been lived in.  The foyer was more in keeping with a doctor's waiting room--a small table up against a wall, with rows of magazines piled on top of one another.  Hanging in frames above this were water colored drawings of antique airplanes; the kind sometimes seen on calendars.

                               It had two bathrooms; one with a shower, the other without.  Two bathrooms, darlings!  Oh, my God!  Anna Wintour!

                                The bedroom looked more normal; that is, lived in.  There was a huge bookshelf, where I found a hard back copy of "Ice Palace," by Edna Ferber.  He gave it to me, for my collection, and I still have it.

                                 But, as I have said, things were falling apart.  In September, we celebrated his birthday, with dinner at Gallagher's Steak House.  I should add here that he always wanted to go to the highest end places; we sometimes compromised with spots like Marinellla's--which we both loved--on Carmine Street. And which, sadly now, is gone.  But, for Chris, it was all about being seen at "21," and such.  Never, not even on my birthday, did he ever treat me, nor help me out with the more expensive places.  I found myself falling into debt, as this was hard to keep up with, which I tried to make clear, precipitating an argument.  I was derided as "being so middle class!"  Can you believe it?

                                 Here is something else.  Chris met  many of my friends.  All of whom, I later found, did not like him, nor the idea of my seeing him.  But most kept quiet.

                                   He talked about two friends of his in particular--a man named Peter, and a woman named Rosemary.  I never met either one.  Rosemary, to whom he had mentioned me, was anxious to meet me, he said, and one year, gave us a $300 gift certificate, to dine at One If By Land, Two If By Sea; my first visit, there.

                                  The Gallagher's dinner was when things began to crack open.  He started by mentioning that this guy, Peter, whom he had been close to, and admitted my presence had filled the void he left, was starting to come back into his life, and reconcile.  I did not know who this Peter was--friend, lover, or what--but I sensed I was soon to be tossed over in favor of Peter.  I once asked about meeting him, and was told Peter would never like me, because I was too strong and opinionated!  Hmmmmmmmmmm!

                                    At one point, we met, and, knowing things were coming apart, I asked Chris if he thought we should break up.  I was ready, but he acted like he did not want to, and asked if we should both go to  couples counseling.  I was against it, because we had not been enough of a couple, in the real sense, to warrant it.

                                   The wake up call, for me, was the Queens blackout, during the Summer of 2006.  I was living in Woodside, no air conditioner, and, with a blackout, not even a fan!!!!!!!!!  I had made up my  mind that if this went on for more than seven days, I would go someplace else.  And I  had offers from everyone--my sister, friends Tom, Joe, and Judy.  The truth was, I was waiting to hear the same from Chris, not  only because we were supposed to be seeing each other, but it would help me, and it would be a temporary convenience--as I could walk to work  from there.  But the offer never came.

                                    Later, when I confronted him with this, the answer he gave was like a slap in the face. He simply said, "I didn't feel like it."  How cold can you get?

                                     I knew I had to get him out of my life, but, beforeI could take action, he did it for me, and hurtfully, by attacking who I was, what I read, (I was told I read too much fiction!!!!!!!!) looking for any chance to berate me.  An acquaintance in one of my book clubs, Steve, I had dinner with, and he expressed concern about me being in such an unhealthy relationship.

                                       My birthday, in November, and Thanksgiving the following week, was the kicker.  I had turned 52; at my request we went to Bamonte's in Williamsburg.  It was an awful experience; he was nasty to me all through the meal, right till we got on the train.  And I made certain we traveled on separate trains.  A week later, I was invited to the home of some coworkers for Thanksgiving.  I asked if I could bring Chris, and they said, of course.  When I told him, he picked a fight, saying I did not want to spend it with him; I said, why should we go to a restaurant and spend $82 a person, (which is what he wanted to do, and, truthfully, I could not afford) when we could be with nice people, and have a nicer meal, which was being catered by someone I had experienced, having dined with these two before.  His response was to get mad at me, saying he wanted nothing ever to do with me--and this was done the day after Thanksgiving, by email!!!!!!!!!!  Yes, email!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                      The aftermath was what you expected.  There was no more contact, and it was hard, in the beginning, to go to places that had become associated with him.  What angered me the most was one of the places was Marinella's, which I had discovered long before meeting Chris.  And when I did feel ready to go there, nine months later, the waiter asked me where my "friend" was.  I gave a polite answer, and that was that.

                                      As time moved on, and so did I, I was prepared for the possibility of running into Chris, being a habitue of that area, what with the theater, Carnegie Hall, and such nearby.  But I never did.  In my petulance, I made a vow.  I vowed that in ten years time--which would be 2016--I would go back to that apartment building, and find out whether he was still living there, as I was not so sure he would be.  As it turned out, I was both right and wrong.

                                       Now, we move to the present. My beloved and I are having dinner during the past week, and, somehow, Chris' name came up, and I mentioned my vow.  The next day, during a lull at work, his name again surfaced in my head, and I decided to forego waiting, and get the answer, via the Internet.

                                        I got the shock of my life!

                                       I found a New York Post news story, dated December 8, 2013, stating that a"retired doctor,"  on Saturday morning, the 7th, at 5:17AM, jumped to his death from a window of his 30th floor apartment, landing on the roof of a ballet school, near Carnegie Hall.

                                        I was shaking.  Never would I have expected this.  For all the negative aspects that ended our relationship, there had been some good ones, plus, knowing what I did of what he had been through, I always pictured him as a survivor; someone, who, in any situation, would somehow, land on their feet.  At my most upset, I never wished anything like this on Chris, and if someone had told me that, in the near future, he would be a suicide, I would never have believed it.

                                         But there it was in print; the victim clearly identified as Christopher Schooler.  It was him, unquestionably.

                                          Which leaves me with a lot of things unanswered.  The first, of course, being why?  What could have led to this point?  I found myself wishing Chris had reached out to me; I might have done something to help him.  By now, any overall emotion about our past had eroded.

                                              Even more difficult than the aforementioned, are questions like who was Chris Schooler, anyway?  Did Peter or Rosemary even exist?  Because, when I delved into the transcripts of his case online, I discovered his given name was--Peter Christopher Schooler!!!!!!!!  Was he schizophrenic?

                                               It is clear to me now why things ended.  He wanted them to, because he realized that the closer we got, the more I would havet found out things about him he did not want me to discover.  In some ways, I feel lucky; imagine anyone having to face this.  In an odd way, he did me a favor.

                                                 I knew very little about his family.  He was from somewhere on Long Island, had a brother, whom he spoke to, and parents he did not. Of them, he often said. "They never liked me."

                                                  Chris was, in one way, typical of a lot of gay men, who wanted to break from his roots of origin, make something of himself, and start a new life.  He did, but something, not just the revoking of his license went horribly wrong along the way.  I am left only to wonder what, wishing I could have somehow helped.  I never would have wanted this for him.

                                                    I dated Chris for two years, and yet I hardly knew him.  But did anyone else?  Did Chris?  Because, being a solitary soul, he had to live with who turned out to be the most difficult person of all--himself.  And, in the end, he was not successful at that.

                                                     Still I  mourn him.  A saint I ain't, but yesterday found me at Our Lady Of Angels, saying a prayer, and lighting a candle for him.

                                                      His story did not end happily.  I am grateful mine still continues, that I am with someone I genuinely love, and vice versa, and may that continue!  As for Chris, the shock will heal, but if there is anyone out there who can enlighten me further, please feel free to do so!

                                      Rest In Peace, Chris.  May you find the happiness you never found here!