CHAPTER 13

LAnd just like that, it ended.

He walked out of my life just like he entered it.

Without a lot of fanfare, but with integrity, grit, and a heavy dose of sexy.

He's a man who executes living life with determination and precision.

Mozey Cruz was a gem: rare, precious and so very stunning to look at.

But he was never mine to begin with.

Maybe you're wondering how the story can possibly end here.

Or perhaps you're thrown off by me speaking directly to you (again).

But I'm sure you've noticed I'm honest.

I appreciate transparency and keeping things out in the open.

I want to tell you everything that happened so you can judge for yourself whether or not you think I'm a bad person.

A lot of time is about to elapse, and I'm sure it will piss you off—so maybe a fair warning will make it less disorienting.

You see, I can't keep going here because you'd probably die of boredom.

There was no way for me to undo the professional relationship between Mozey and me.

Yes, of course I imagine what would have come to pass between us had we met under different circumstances.

It would still have been an awkward age difference, but who cares? We would have been fabulous.

Scorching.

We probably would have been perfect.

But as a social worker and someone who cares about kids, I could never live with myself if I were to look back on a situation and feel like I had caused him distress or added to his pain.

It may not seem like that now, because you know the story, but believe me when I tell you, troubled kids are chronically attracted to authority figures.

They seek approval from adults like moths to a flame, and I would NEVER take advantage of that, especially for someone I cared about as much as I cared about Mozey.

I would never take someone's vulnerability and use it to my own gain.

That's exploitation, an evil I have dedicated my whole being to fighting.

Was I attracted to him? YES! Was I in love with him? Maybe.

But attraction isn't sustainable, and Mozey was too young to understand how you change as you grow and that relationships can't be fed on passion alone.

He made it clear to me that my advances, were they offered, would have been eagerly accepted.

But if Mozey were to love me, it would have to be him loving me for who I am and not at all influenced by his need to please me.

Because that wouldn't be real love—that would be acting out a twisted role-play.

Even though it's been three years and Pathways has since folded, I can still tell you more or less what's happened to Mo.

The reason I'm able to do this is still surprising—even to me.

I'm sure you noticed how well he blended right into my dysfunctional family.

Well, remember how I said Lexi couldn't make friends? How he was too strange and awkward, and had never been capable of making or keeping them? Turns out there was one guy who had the patience and dedication it took to befriend him.

Lex and Mo stayed in touch even though I forced myself out of the picture.

Somehow he warmed to my brother's strange ways—such as syphoning happiness from watching arrivals and departures at bus stations at three in the morning.

Mozey thought Lex was quirky and loyal, and he understood his good heart.

Quite possibly the only person on earth to take the time to figure out that part.

The only person, ever, besides me and my parents.

Alexei got Skype, and they chatted often.

Mozey sent him art pieces that still hang in his apartment.

Lex even came out to LA for a visit.

He stayed with me and one day had lunch with Mozey, but I declined the invitation.

Growing up in Detroit we never really fit in.

We weren't the only immigrants in school, weren't even the only Russians, so it wasn't our background.

We had enough money to wear trendy clothing, ride bikes and have the right kind of toys, but despite our ever-ready assimilation, Alexei was a die-hard weirdo and I was a wallflower.

I guess it didn't help that my mother always covered her head in a scarf when she left the house and yelled at us in Russian.

That she fed us the food she'd grown up with as a child, we didn't get Oreos or PB we all became kindred spirits.

He was one of us.

He was part of my family.

I think the real reason I was always so passionate about social work was because I felt a connection to any poor soul who had ever been written off as a an outsider.

Hardship comes in all different forms and measures, but the inadequacy it breeds all tastes the exact same flavor.

A sour syrup that makes you gag when you swallow (especially when you're little).

Often I could only feel "good enough" when surrounded by people who were also deemed "not good enough" by others.

Because there might be nothing worse than feeling like you can't fit in—that you aren't qualified to jive with everyone else, those who are all off somewhere jiving joyously together.

When Mozey walked into my life, he understood me.

Then he walked into my family disaster and became one of us.

It wasn't a process or a struggle; it was instantaneous and it was natural.

It hasn't happened again since, and it probably won't ever.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I royally blew it.

Do I think about him often? Well, would all the time be considered often? I want you to know that I'm not crazy and I'm not obsessed.

But no one has ever acted like he did.

Mozey walked out on a limb for me, it was brash, it was brazen, it was almost ostentatious—the way he inserted himself into my life.

I don't like that he didn't have my permission, but I also love that he instinctually knew just how much I needed him.

I bet you're wondering what happened, and I guess I should tell you.

Mozey married a girl from Ecuador and they had a little boy they named Igor.

What? That's not what you were expecting? I know, right? That's not a Mexican name or even a traditionally

Hispanic one.

In fact, it sounds Russian! Oh, wait that's not what surprised you? Oh, because he married someone else! Right.

That.

Why would that surprise you? Because this is supposed to be a love

story? Well it is.

I eventually fell in love.

Sort of.

His name was Dale, and he was from Annapolis.

He grew up in a

military family, but he got the social justice itch just like I did and became a documentary filmmaker.

After Pathways folded, I went to work for him.

I did key grip and catering, make-up and editing.

I also did some easy camera work and dialogue writing, and I temped on the side whenever Dale was on the downside of funding.

We lived together in an apartment near Venice, we had a cat named Kitty and three different kinds of mustard in the fridge at any given moment.

Pretty good life you're thinking?

Sure, it was.

And I can tell you all of this because I'm writing it from my kitchen.

Dale and I have agreed to never get married because we'd rather spend the money on things that are important to us.

We like to watch foreign films together and give foot rubs and eat take-out.

It's not like we don't fuck because every once in a while it happens.

But Dale and I are like brother and sister that fight over legroom and keep separate finances.

I don't do Friday night drunks anymore, and I stopped my misuse of the random penis.

We're a better team than we are a duet, better partners than lovers.

Well, if Mozey got married did he do it for love? If I'm with Dale, where does the whole story go? Let me assure you when Mozey left Pathways, it wasn't the last time I'd see him.

And to answer your question—the story goes south.

It goes all the way to Mexico.