Tim Fogarty’s Blog

A year and a half since I’ve written! Had plenty to write about, some incredible stories, but one needs to respect other peoples privacy. Up to a point.

I’ve written many things over that time, all are unpublished. This story I need to tell. But it’s been three weeks now that I’ve been trying to create a narrative, trying to summarize the how and the why. Paragraphs ain’t going to happen , so let me try bullet points.

• New Years Eve, go to the Mayan, the big gay dance event downtown, with CCS and FAR. YEG was invited but doesn’t show up. We get in free (a savings of over $300!) because CCS is friends with someone at the theater’s property management company. Don’t have to stand in line or nothing. I’m the designated driver. A good time is had by all.
• We leave the club at 4:30 a.m., get home by 5, shower, eat something, get to bed by 6. Not bad for New Years Eve.
• I get woken up by a phone call at 9 a.m. BZE (or is it TZA?) calls. He woke up and found blood in his house. Oh and he has a gash on his arm. Can I come over?
• Thank God I did NYE completely sober. No way I’d be able to handle what’s to come hung over.
• BZE had been the victim of some violence in the recent past (d.r.). So I’m very concerned. I get over to his apartment and find blood splatter outside his door. I go in and am shocked. There is blood everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, on the furniture. I rush into the bedroom finding BZE laying in bed, awake, with a 4 inch gash on the back of his head, and an 8 inch gash on his arm, flayed open 4 inches wide. Surprisingly, both had stopped bleeding and there was little blood in the bed.
• I ask what happened. He doesn’t know. He had been out drinking and partying from about 7 p.m. New Years Eve, came home at 1 a.m., took an Adivan, and then remembers nothing.
• Since it can take forever to get through 911 in the big city, especially on a cell, and takes even longer for paramedics to arrive, and that BZE was stable and not currently bleeding, and that Cedars was just down the street, I grab a clean t-shirt, wrap it around his arm, and take him to my car.
• As we’re sitting in his driveway, just to show us how cruel life can be, we see a neighbor’s beautiful big ol’ house cat walk right into the path of a car going no more than 10 miles an hour, head being crushed, and flopping around until its dead.
• I get BZE to Cedars’ ER. Not surprisingly they take us right in. His pulse and blood pressure is normal, no evidence of major blood loss. Who’s blood is all over his living room and kitchen? (oh and why can’t we get a hold of the roommate?) I insist that we talk to the police.
• A few hours later a WeHo sheriff officer shows up. He tells her his story. I tell her mine. She goes over to the apartment, agrees it looks like a major crime scene and calls in the CSI unit. They’re there well into the evening, taking samples, interviewing everyone in the building.
• I watch the doc put 8 staples in BZE’s head, closing up that wound, staple, staple, staple. I leave Cedars at 3 when they roll BZE up for surgery on his arm, but the surgery gets delayed until 6. After a short nap, I come back at 9, stay with BZE until midnight.
• The next day they discharge him and I take him home. The police are finished with the apartment and we’re allowed to clean. (The roommate had finally checked in, had spent two nights at a friend’s place, not that they slept any, had no idea anything had happened.) I spend four hours cleaning up the blood. Once we start cleaning, it becomes apparent that this wasn’t a crime scene. There had been no one else in the apartment. BZE had been at the kitchen table, took a step back, tripping over the dog bed, fell backwards, breaking a big glass vase, slicing his arm on the vase, continued falling and hit the back of his head on a big wooden chair. All the rest, the soaked jeans in the middle of the room, all the towels soaked in blood, all the hand prints on the wall, the footprints, the trail of blood that goes out the front door, down the hall, turns around and goes back into the apartment, was BZE in his panic filled Adivan haze.
• A few days later, the police detective calls each of us for a final interview. The CSI found only BZE’s blood, and they conclude that no crime was committed. The detective comments to me that in his 30 years he has never seen anything like that. He was sure they were going to find a body near by.
• Before we started cleaning I took pictures. They are amazing. Kind of artistic. Email me if you want to see. No worse than what you’d see on Dexter.
• Which brings us to the next part of the story. I haven’t talked to BZE since Jan 6. He’s mad at me for violating his privacy.
• A little background: I met BZE this summer and had a torrid little affair. I really fell for him and he for me. But I’m not good with drinking, so I said call me when you get sober.
• And call me he did, in October, and again in early December, and then on New Years day. But not because he was sober, but because he was in trouble. All three events were major and could have cost him his life.
• So, this time I had a talk with his best friend, and in my opinion, his primary enabler. I made sure his friend knew how serious this event was. How had the cut been millimeters deeper, BZE would have cut an artery and would have died all alone in his apartment. That he has to stop being the enabler. This got back to BZE and now he won’t speak to me.
• I want to show those pics to every one of BZE’s 30-something WeHo pretty-boy friends, try to put the fear of God in them. But I’m told that would be a violation of his privacy.
• Some of CCS’s friends are also BZE’s friends. BZE’s birthday was just over a week ago. They had a big surprise party for him, lots of celebrating all around.

WeHo is a small town and I’m sure I will run into him again. And when I do, I’ll tell him my offer from this summer still stands.

If you find this story interesting, you should hear the ones about SJC, BOG, and YEG. Well, maybe not.