I have been thinking so much about my friend JT lately that I thought it was high time to share him with you.
I first met him in my friend Holly's kitchen. He was sitting on a stool wearing cut off jean shorts, a red white and blue terry cloth headband, and roller skates. I knew then and there that I would love him.
JT was born to entertain. He could take the mundane and make it extraordinary. He unapologetically dressed loud and lived louder. This may sound as though he was abrasive or a little too much, but he was precisely the opposite. He drew you in with his warmth. He was one of the kindest people I've ever known despite (or because of) the fact that the world had not been quite so kind to him.
He was born and raised in a small town in the midwest where he was taught to conform. That's like telling a lion to squeak. And being gay was out of the question. The unspoken rule that was enforced was silence. His sexuality was never to be spoken of or he would be cut loose.
As soon as he could, he hoofed it to LA with stars in his eyes and roller skates on his feet. He sang on cruise ships and choreographed shows and wrote and starred in musicals that he staged in cramped little theaters. Although I may be slightly biased, his shows were magnificent. Just thrilling.
And he could make me laugh like no one else. He could take a so-so story and weave it into a brilliant adventure. He could take what could have been an ordinary evening and make it an event to remember.
And the guy had a voice. When he sang it seemed as if the whole world stopped. You may have heard the song a million times, yet when he sang it, it was brand new. He was spellbinding.
And he was good at keeping secrets. Especially his own. But none of us knew it at the time. Maybe he perfected this skill while hiding himself away as a boy. Looking back it seems so clear that he was sick, but his exuberance and wit kept us all in the dark.
In April of that year, he danced with me at my wedding. He was wearing a vibrantly colored suit and held me close.
Just a few weeks later he died. It seemed impossible. I mean that sentence more than I can express. Impossible. JT had curled up cosily in bed and slipped away from us all. It still seems so hard to believe.
We had a funeral/party and tried to capture the essence of who he was. We tried to make it something he would have loved. And we came close. The only thing missing was him. To this day, when I find myself laughing so hard I cry, or dancing late into the night, I think of JT and realize those moments would be a whole lot more fun if he was right next to me.
JT made life an absolute celebration. And, in honor of his bright light, I'm trying my best to do the same.
