Those are two things you would never expect to see together. I am not insinuating that gays are into devil worship, or that devil worshipers are gay. Rather, I have two stories that shared a starting point, a home shall we say.
I was introduced to the gay mafia via one of my roommates when I started renting a room near the campus where I worked.
(I don't want the specifics of what I now call the "Hell House" to loom large in this story as it deserves it's own literary space, which I will grant at a later date.)
I was hanging out in the living room of the house I just moved into, watching a movie when one of my roomies, let's call him "C', came in and started to shuffle papers on the desk near me. The effort was done only to attract my attention as he kept stealing glances at me while he ruffled the pages like a news reporter at the end of a segment. Every curious and someone that likes getting to know people, especially ones I will be sharing my living space with, I started some small talk. I started asking about him about employment, classes, and such as he reciprocated. We talked about the fact that I work at a university that we both attended. He asked me if I ever met this particular guy, who's name I cannot recall, and as chance would have it I did. This guy would be in one of the labs I administer once in awhile and asked me questions about printing not six months prior. Upon hearing that I knew this guy my roommate's countenance changed. Clouded over and with storm clouds no less. He started to ask me why I moved in here and if I still talk to this guy. I reaffirmed that I only met this guy in passing as I meet a lot of people day to day. I went on to state that I moved into the house we were currently in because it was across the street from my work. At this he chuckled his tongue. He preceded to tell me that I was sent her to monitor him by this guy (that I talked to once).
He then related his tale:
He had lived in a house not far from the very place we were now with this guy almost two years ago. Everything was fine until this guy started making advances towards him. He rejected the advances and the guy began an emotional war on him. He began telling other people my roommate was gay and all sorts of other drama. After a few months my roommate could take no more of this and decided to pay the remaining rent he owed on his lease and move out.
Now here I am back to spy on him.
I promised that I did not really know this guy and me moving in here was coincedence. I had no interest in harassing anyone and I didn't care what sexual persuasion he was anyway. Then my roommate pointed at the ugly loveseat I was sitting on and asked was it coincedental that the same style loveseat the old roommate that harrassed him had was here now? I asked what that had to do with me...which he replied that our other roommate had brought it in when he moved which makes him an accomplice as well. He began a small tirade that this old gay roommate had not only sent our other roommate here to spy on him but now I was his backup.
I again said that I don't care about that kind of scene and that I am not apart of any gay mafia here to stalk him.
He chuckled and said..."well, I will be watching you." which I could only reply "Have fun with that."
*Note - This roomate who complained of mistreatment from a supposed gay man has some idiosyncrasies I would like to mention to spice up this tale. This roommate has a stack of Cosmo' magazines on the shelf in the living room. He dresses impecably and goes out to clubs far, far, far from here. There is only one flyer on our refridgerator and that is from the Necto in Ann Arbor...a gay bar. His nationality is well known for the pressures family place on them. He doesn't talk to women, have a girlfriend, or keep pictures of women up in the house (and this is a college house). He periodically buys poster boards and cuts out clippings of fashion and beach scenes and stands them up on a bench in the house for a few days only to take them down and throw them away. Hmmmmm.
Just the other night my other roommate, we shall call him "M", came to the open door of my room while I was up in the loft. He looked a little scattered and tired hiding halfway behind the door frame. He asked me from below "Hey, do you know what might be making me feel weird?" which totally surprised me.
I asked him what he meant which he replied (here is where I will paraphrase the rest of the conversation).
"Well, have you put anything in my food?" - M
"Um. No." - me
"Have you drugged me? Are there drugs that can make me go crazy?" - M
"I don't really get in to the whole drug scene and wouldn't be giving you anything if I was. That's a criminal act." - me
"Well, there are some high doses of acid that can make you lose your grip on reality and several other intense drugs that can rob you of your ability to think clearly." -M
I sat there blinking at him. I agree that this is true but anything I spoke from here on out would only hurt my chances of getting out of this conversation quickly and without hurting this shaggy, neo-hippy.
He asked me again if I had been giving him anything without his knowledge. I replied that it would be a crime to do so...so No.
I would like to stress again that all this banter occurred with me sitting up in my loft looking down at him standing half in the doorway. He never made eye contact with me. His eyes were rolling around in his head and searching my room all at the same time. At times he would be talking and stepping out of my doorway and back into the hall as if he was done only to continue to ask me questions out of view.
"M" had been ill a few weeks ago and so I understood his concern for not feeling well still, but I was clueless as to why he thought I was the source of his lack of well being.
He then stepped back in, almost, and asked if I remembered the time when he and I were talking about metaphysical topics while watching Waking Life.
"Of course", I said, remembering back to one of only two nights we sat together in the shared living room.
He asked if I believed in ghosts. I replied that I couldn't really say as I think there are a lot more things happening in the universe then what our human minds can understand. He then asked if I thought there were ghosts in the house to which I said no.
He then asked if I knew of ways to hurt someone through magic. I said I don't really think that would be possible but I mentioned that voodoo and devil worshiping were ways I knew of that people can try magically to get back at people. He then asked me if I had cast a spell on him which I again said no to. I followed that up with a statement that I don't really practice a spiritual way of living in any measurable or structured way.
"I am not a christian or a devil worshipper." - me
"Do you have friends who practice magic?" -M
"Yes, but they were Wiccan and that the mantra of wiccan religion is 'do no harm to others'. - me (shit! why did I just say that?)
He began to get agitated that I wouldn't confess to using drugs, poison, or magic to make him lose his mind.
This went on for about 20 minutes. Him asking me random questions about magic, poisons, bad food, and ghosts...and at points he would ask the same question over again in hopes that I would change my answer.
I was beginning to think I would have to come down and look him right in the eyes and tell him to get over his fear that I was instrumental in causing his dementia or take him back to the hospital by force.
Suddenly his phone rang and he answered the phone in a chipper tone and walked out of my room as if we weren't even talking. I heard him downstairs talking on the phone about getting a B-B-Q going and that they should get right over and start it up.
There I lay in bed wondering if I should lock my door, kill him in his sleep, call the psych ward, or just wait for the drugs he had to be taken to wear off.
Two strange roommates in the same house. What's the chances?
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