As American As Apple Enema Pie
Tonight my daughter and I had dinner with my ex of ten years, her husband (don’t ask), and her 82 year old mother. My daughter was thrilled to see her grandmother and our friends.
Maybe it was because today I found out I have to make a trip to San Francisco in two weeks, maybe because so many more photos were out that what I remember, or maybe he was with us, but all I could think about was Curtis.
Curtis was my ex-partner’s younger brother. Curtis was gay, and to the day his father died, his dad thought his infected testicle at his son’s conception caused his gayness. Curtis was full of life when he wasn’t doing drugs. He laughed the time he broke his ankle when disco dancing in heels. He had many friends in Salt Lake City, most of whom I believe moved to San Francisco, as did Curtis.
Curtis was a performing artist, and his claim to fame came when he got national attention by being publicly chastised on the Paul Harvey radio show. Paul explained to his audience about one of Curtis’ performances, one I did not see in person, but at a party where a film of it was shown. Wrapped in an American flag and wearing tidy whities, while extolling the not so virtuous virtues of Mormonism, Utah, and America, Curtis filled a frosting bag full of apple pie filling, and gave himself an enema. Right there on stage. The entire bag full, as only a gay man could do.
While he continued his diatribe, he pranced around on stage for five or ten minutes, then took a pie crust in a pie tin, and shit out the apple pie filling into it, finishing his performance.
Curtis overdosed on heroin alone in a New York apartment in 1997, the same weekend that Princess Diana died. Two queens going on the same weekend. When we got the news, my ex and I were headed out the door for a San Francisco weekend. We tried to cancel, but “grandma” told us there was nothing we could do and to go. And we did.
We met in San Francisco with Curtis’ friends. We spent the entire weekend with the man he had broken up with just a short time before Curtis moved to New York. He was devastated. We took boxes of Curtis’ belongings back to Salt Lake City. And we were all sad.
I was mostly sad because I didn’t know enough of him when he wasn’t on drugs. I didn’t know enough of him before he found out he was HIV positive and became very angry. I was sad for such a waste of what could have been.
What a sad story.
I’ve been trying to think of something somewhat profound to write, but can’t put the words together. So… thanks for sharing this glimpse into & memory of Curtis. It has moved me to think about some people who have touched my life but are no longer here, for a variety of reasons. Thanks Sterk!