The strangest drug I ever did was Broke Back Mountain. How does one DO Broke Back Mountain? You need pills, the tranquilizing kind, an urge to escape, and an obsession with being ‘involved’ with two men who ‘involve’ themselves with you as well as with each other, in a ménage trois where they live with you, in a relationship, on a king-sized bed. First, space out on Klonapin. Take three, four at a time, sit back, turn on the TV and melt into the movie while your brown eyes dilate to the size of oranges. Let the movie wash over you, the theme music, the scenery…
Cue Twilight Zone music: I’m in that stinky tent, BETWEEN Jake and Heath, helping Heath ‘do it to Jake’. I’m bathing in that brook with Jake, helping him reach the part of his back by his ass. When they sing those songs that cool night, I sing too, having a good ‘ol time. Water walkin’ Jesus, take me awayyyy… It’s all a mishmash phantasmagorical ride, where I don’t refer to them as Innis or Jack. I want Jake, Heath – that does it for me.
Everything they feel, I feel. I feel disappointment, embarrassment when that guy in the bar rags on Jake’s character for coming on to him. Fuck that guy! When Heath and Jake meet years later and kiss, I pause, rewind, pause. That pause button is hot from my finger. I add shit to the scene. In my scene, their mouths are open when they kiss. But I’ve done that with other scenes too, added shit, have them get full frontal naked, with erections, and have them say stuff not in the script. They say stuff to me too, to Sandee. I don’t give a crap how Annie Proulx wrote it. And, they’re not gay, they’re bisexual. I’ve convinced myself of this, as I come home from work, ready once more for my umpteenth viewing, replete with tranquil scenes of Tetons, twangy country western music, and sparse western streets. I’m the only black person in the town but it’s my Twilight Zone episode so leave me alone. Please. I’m having bad days. I must escape.
In social gatherings I bring it up. “Have you seen it? It’s dreamy. Very well done. I like the movie better than the short story, actually. They are so fine. I know the whole script, I’ve seen it so many times.” This last part — a quiet calling out to reveal my unhealthy obsession. Maybe. Do I need help?
Friends and family can’t find me. When they turn the TV on and see the movie, they gasp, drop the remote control. Some faint, other’s run out of the room. My sister knew all along. “She’s, she’s in…THERE,” she says, trembling, pointing at the threesome frolicking in babbling brook.