Compton - The yelp: a heartbreak in reviews

Copyright 2016 by Chase Compton

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Laura Klynstra

Cover photo: iStockphoto

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-1360-4

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-1361-1

Printed in China

Contents

Prologue

THE CITY OF NEW YORK has been drenched in romantic mythology since the dawn of time. It is a place that has come to be known for its stories of love and longing and heartaches and heartbreaks lurking on every side street of the Village and beyond. As a teenager dreaming about New York, I thought about the great love stories that seemed to be a common occurrence on this enchanted island.

I believed in fiction and rationalized that all fiction must surely come from a place that actually exists. Woody Allen, Carrie Bradshaw, and other such feeble-hearted dreamers were the idols that I looked up to when I decided to come here. Their stories flashed out in black and white over sunsets and cinematic views of skylines from bridges Id never set foot on. In the books I read and the films I watched, I plastered a vision of myself and my own heart on top of these stories that once belonged to someone else. I wanted to be a part of that vibrant, all-encompassing romance that seemed to drip from the pores of the natives on that island. I wanted Manhattan the way that the nerdiest girl in school looks at the captain of the cheerleading team: with unbridled longing. No matter that Im a dude.

Romance and make-believe are often intertwined when it comes to love in New York City. We all, at one point or another, hope for that moment that steals your heart as you take Prince or Princess Charming by the hand and gaze out at the sunset over the Hudson. We come here believing in fairytales and love potions (which in modern times have come to be called gin) and happily-ever-afters. For whatever reason, this place just made the fairytale seem so real. Those fireflies dancing in the bushes of Washington Square Park? I watched them with my eyes peeled, hoping for my own Jiminy Cricket to pop out. I watched and waited, praying that they were so much more than bugs blinking a bioluminescent booty call.

When I was eighteen years old, I ran away to Manhattan to see what all the fuss was about. Fresh out of high school and with only two hundred dollars to my name, I fled my small hometown in California. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. I had two choices: staying in the happy and sun-drenched hamlet of my youth, probably later going into art school in Los Angeles and growing up to be a fine West Hollywood delinquent, or jumping into something unknown and dangerous that had the ability to kill me. At the point in my young life where I was still discovering who I was and what I wanted, I was rather surprised to find out that I was more inclined to the latter.

New York opened her arms and took me in. This was probably the reason most kids like me sought her out: she just couldnt say no to wayward vagrants looking to lose themselves completely. So I dove in, and I tried to get to the bottom of what all of the poets and lovers and dreamers were fussing about. They say that if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.

I didnt realize that old saying didnt necessarily refer to love. I guess they were just talking about locking down a shitty little apartment and maybe a decent job that didnt make me want to kill myself. Love, it turns out, was a much more mysterious and elusive creature. Eventually, I was able to lock down an apartment in the depths of pre-gentrified Brooklyn and a few different jobs waiting tables, making coffee, and bartending all around the city. In my day-to-day, I still kept my eyes peeled for the one thing that was my real reason for coming to New York City:

Him.

I wasnt sure what he looked like or what kind of man he would be. I didnt know where I would find him: sitting at the old coffee shop where I spent most of my days off, writing poetry and chain smoking, trying to catch wayward glances of other mysterious-looking boys who might be the one. Would I have to go to a gay bar, armed with my fake ID and a smile, and pry open some complete stranger with vodka cranberries and my not-so-well-disguised California charm?

As a young New Yorker, I ended up finding several different gentleman callers to entertain my days. With an open mind and an open heart, I gave myself completely to these boys who I desperately hoped would fill that space in my heart I was saving for Mr. Right. There was the waiter I dated after I left him a poem on the bill for the burger I ate at some restaurant in Chelsea. He bought me a very pretty candle when I made my first journey into New Jersey to see him, and we lit it before we made love the first time. I dont remember why he and I never worked out, but it was inconsequential because shortly after him came the curly-haired opera singer who lived on Minetta Lane. Each time I went over to his apartment, I could only think of how badly I wanted to live on that streetit was surely the most beautiful street in all of Manhattan, and it was a block away from my favorite coffee shop! I still lived in the depths of Bushwick, where I, at one point, had to crawl over a dead cat that was covered in McDonalds cheeseburgers to get to my front door. Surely that kind of thing would never happen on Minetta Lane. Alas, eventually we broke up as well.

Looking back, I can recall each of the boys I had loved in my search for romance in the big city. I remembered the cab-driver-turned-photographer from Chicago; the club kid from Denver who, because he was born in Roswell, thought he was an alien; the yogi that I lived with for two years; and the boy from Los Angeles with the underwear-model-good-looks whom I took under my wing when times were tough for him. They all had their place in my heart at one point or another, but for whatever cosmic reason, none of them felt like the right fit. So I continued to grow older and wiser, learning from each new person I chose to let into my heart. I considered it all to be practice for the real love that was out there waiting.

It was here in Manhattan where I grew up into the man I am today. It was the search for true love amidst armies of aimless masses that turned me into the person that I was destined to be. With my eyes open and my arms wide, I carried on just as anyone else would have. I worked my jobs, paid my bills, and paved a life for myself in the city of dreamers. Life went on just as I had expected it to until there came a point where it couldnt any longer. I didnt know it at the time, but I was about to embark on a journey that would be the catalyst for all of this messwhich would raise the stakes and scare the ever-loving shit out of me.