We fly free as one

PRIDE AND AN ANGEL CALLED BOBBY

I would like to tell you a story about my friend Bobby.

I met Bobby in a music downloading chatroom called mIRC in 2002—well before Myspace, Limewire, Facebook and iTunes came along. We hit it off because we shared a love for two things, turbo cars and house music. After chatting for a few weeks, we decided to meet and take our Nissans for a cruise up the coast.

Over the next few months, I spent a lot of time hanging out with Bobby. We had the same silly sense of humour, the same impulsive nature, a good dose of A.D.D, a mutual love for the golden arches and would play Ministry of Sound annuals on non-stop repeat. He was also painfully easy to talk to, which at the time, I needed bad.

It wasn’t long before Bobby told me he was gay. He’d fretted for weeks about telling me because so many others had abandoned him when he came out. With that behind us, Bobby was able to open up too.

“You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to about hot dudes,” he said to me as we scoffed Mcflurries one Saturday afternoon.

If I was the most supportive, then his parents were the least. They were religiously conservative and considered his sexuality a sin. They kicked him out of home when he came out at the age of 15. Bobby lived on the streets for a year before being taken in by a government agency responsible for looking after displaced kids.

Over the years, Bobby and his parents slowly mended their relationship. They were on fairly good terms by the time I came along, and he was keen for them to meet me.

I agreed and went to their home. They seemed nice at first. His Mum was a nurse, while his Dad had worked in a timber mill until retirement. They spoke of the same things my folks did and offered us tea and biscuits.

But after chatting for an hour, they somehow got it in their heads that I was Bobby’s boyfriend.

“If I’d realised he was a fag, I wouldn’t have shaken his hand when he came in,” Bobby’s Dad said, thinking that we’d tricked him.

“He’s just my friend, Dad. Dave has a girlfriend.”

“I can see you’re lying. I want you two queers out of my house now!”

I was stunned and didn’t know what to say. But Bobby did, and the two screamed at each other until we were halfway down the road in his car.

From there, things went from bad to worse for Bobby. He fell back into the drugs, lost his job for missing a few shifts and wrote off his car in a drunken stupor, then walked out of the hospital before they could treat his head injury.

Three days later, he sent me the last text I would ever get from him.

“I don’t have anything left, Dave. I have to go.”

“Go where? Do you want me to come?”

But he never responded.

Shortly after he sent that message, he swallowed a handful of pills and took his life in his bathroom. He didn’t write a note, nor did he tell anyone why.

It’s impossible for someone to remain mentally stable if they aren’t accepted for who they are. So for the two most important people in a person’s life to alienate them, that person is in big trouble.

Fast forward twenty years.

I’ve now watched many brave people come out of the closet in their own special way, and it makes me smile at the increasing acceptance they find in the world. Of course, society has still got a long way to go, but during this month, I want to take pride in how far we have come.

R U OK?

If you’re feeling lost and don’t know where to turn, call Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14.