Naked

by David Sedaris

“The guy was a homo, right?” Jon curled his lips in disgust. “That happened to me once back in the army. There’s a lot of sick people in this world. The guy asked if he could hold me, that’s what he said. ‘Can I hold you?’ I still had legs then and I used them to kick his ass. But you’re that way, too, aren’t you?” I nodded my head. “I knew it the first time I saw you operate a sander. I said, ‘That guy is sick.’ And you are, aren’t you? You’re sick.” He said it with concern, the way you might address a friend with tubes running from his nose. “You’re sick.” I attempted to re-create my crying jag, but it sounded false. “Boo-hoo-hoo. Aww-ha-ha-hu-hu-hu-hu.” There was no mucus, and I had to provoke my eyes with my fingers to produce tears. “A-he-he-hu-hu-hu.” “Don’t cry to me. Tell it to Jesus,” Jon said. “Reach out to him. Tell him you’re sorry. Crouch down there on the floor and pray, for God’s sake.” “Oh, God, hu-hu-hu, I’m so sorry I met that guy. He was so stupid.” “And tell Him you’re never going to do it again,” Jon shouted. “And I’ll never do it again,” I said. “No Curly, never again.” “With any man. Tell Him you’re never going to lay down with any other man. Tell Him you want to get married.” “Oh, please,” I said. “Please let me get married.” “To a woman,” Jon said. “Married to a woman.” “Toman,” I said, hoping that if the transcript were ever brought to heaven’s court, I could not be accused of making promises I didn’t keep. “Toman.” Somewhere along the line, I had...