Thinking about JB and Jude lately…
JB, who was Jude’s first friend. JB, who carried Jude to the college hospital when he witnessed him having an episode in their dorm.
JB, who shouted and made a scene in that same hospital until a doctor finally saw Jude - and that doctor was Andy, the only physician Jude ever allowed to care for him for the rest of life.
JB, who helped Jude move into the apartment he shared with Willem on Lispenard St. JB, who brought along his friend Richard to help that day. Richard, who later sold Jude his beautiful apartment on Green Street that Jude loved so much. Richard, who secretly looked after him more than Jude ever imagined, who at one point saved his life, and at another point reminded him his birthday was worth celebrating, when Jude himself had forgotten and his world was bleak.
JB, who envied his life, his looks, his career, his relationship (even his limp!). JB, who saw him as competition, rather than someone to pity. JB, who thought he was beautiful, who thought killing something small and adorable was worth it if it meant looking like Jude.
JB, who brought him to parties, who showered him with laughter and provocations.
JB, who asked too many questions and wanted all the answers but got none of them. JB, who then asked Harold to back off from asking all the questions and wanting all the answers as well.
JB, who captured his life in galleries, on canvas, on film. The good and the bad.
JB, who’s art invaded and celebrated and decorated. JB, who’s art froze Willem in time for him.
JB, who was Jude’s last friend. JB, who Jude resented, who Jude hated, who Jude never forgave, who Jude wanted dead.
JB, who found him at last, who put away his suits, who handed out his letters.
JB, who outlived his friends, who was left alone, with his pictures, and his paintings, and his pain.
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