While I Built a Life, He Lost His
- Nico Sansegraw
- Jul 22
- 5 min read
Chapter Seven:
I decided that small-town life was no longer for me. I had failed in my mind in every way. I quit college. I moved home. I was hate-crimed. My family relationships were wearing thin. I got a DWI. And not to sound down in the dumps, but most of my life back home had been about survival. Let’s be honest, I was never thriving. Just trying to stay alive and make it through the day. I had to get out. I had to try something else. So I packed up and moved to St. Louis.
I wanted more gay friends. I wanted Black and POC friends — friends with different backgrounds. I wanted people who would get me, people who wouldn’t flinch when I opened my mouth or walked into a room. I wanted more. And damnit, I deserved it.
I found a roommate who was kind enough to rent me a room, and I got a serving job at this popular place in the Central West End called Sub Zero. The neighborhood was the spot back then. Cute shops, good restaurants, a queer coffee hang out, and Forest Park right next door. I even took up running. It was the first time in my life that I could walk down the street and breathe. Just exist without checking over my shoulder. It sounds dramatic, but I mean it. It felt like a real reset.
I didn’t know anyone, but I clicked with my coworkers fast. We were in it together. Late nights, double shifts, stress, chaos, vodka shots after work (and sometimes during). We’d go out after closing and run up tabs we couldn’t afford, then hit the drive-thru on the way home, blasting music with the windows down. We talked about everything. Trauma, dreams, shitty bosses, weird Tinder dates. It was chaotic and messy, but it felt like family.
Some of those people became my best friends for life. Kelly. Kelsey. Logan. Natalie. We probably bonded over how insane our bosses were, but we stayed for each other. We made that job bearable. We made each other better. And we’ve all done our own thing since then — Kelly works in the medical field and graduated from Washington University. Logan’s managing luxury hotels in Tampa. Natalie is working toward her doctorate to become a librarian. Kelsey’s thriving at a startup and just bought her first house. And me? I’m in Chicago, writing, podcasting, doing the work I always wanted to do.
We were lost kids in our twenties, but we found each other. And even now, nothing’s changed. I didn’t finish college, but being with them felt like what I imagined college could’ve been. Late nights, big conversations, inside jokes, pool days, blackouts, arguments, real love.
Sub-Zero had its problems. The owners were careless and arrogant. They didn’t know how to treat people. There were micro-aggressions everywhere. Kelly dealt with so many, including someone asking if her name was “Shaniqua” just because she was Black. During the protests in Ferguson after Mike Brown’s murder, management told us not to talk to customers about it. Just serve the drinks and keep our mouths shut.
A customer once called me a faggot — loudly, directly, right in front of one of the owners. And that man, who was also gay, just stood there. Said nothing. Didn’t ask the guy to leave. Didn’t check in on me. A few weeks later, that same owner was featured in a local magazine talking about how proud he was to be a gay business owner and how much it meant to hire LGBTQ employees. It was bullshit.
But through all that, we had each other. We had our first Pride together. Got sloppy drunk, danced on tables, cried in bathrooms, and laughed until we couldn’t breathe. We celebrated every birthday like it was a national holiday. Pool days. Potlucks. Way too many 3 AM heart-to-hearts. Natalie got me to start writing things down. Kelsey always knew when something was off before I said anything. Logan reminded me not to take myself too seriously. Kelly pushed me to see things I hadn’t noticed before — like the racism that’s quiet but constant.
We were broke. Exhausted. Messy. But we were surviving together. Actually, more than surviving. We were starting to live.
One night after work, we were all at the apartment eating takeout in the living room. The news was on in the background while we fought over fries and whether Logan was being dramatic again. Then the anchor said a name that made me sit up straight.
Nick Hunter.
That was him. The guy who beat me up back home.
And the headline? His wife had killed him. And my first thought — yeah, she killed his ass. If he was out here beating up gay people he didn’t even know, you know damn well he was beating her too. I believed her the second I heard it.
I froze. Just sat there holding my food, completely still. Everyone else kept talking, laughing, and telling stories about the bar. But I was somewhere else entirely. I hadn’t told any of them about the assault. Not yet.
It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t sadness. Just stillness. Like a weight I’d forgotten I was carrying, I finally let go. I didn’t say his name out loud. Didn’t tell anyone what it meant. But I breathed. Fully. For the first time in a long time.
And in that room, surrounded by my chosen family, I knew I had survived something. I had turned it into something real. Something solid.
I wasn’t just getting by anymore.
I was living.
The Hay Bales to Halsted series consists of stories and experiences from the perspective of Nico Sansegraw. These narratives are solely his own and do not reflect the views or opinions of GRAB Magazine. This series is intended as a work of storytelling and in no way seeks to glorify, endorse, or promote any specific subject matter. It is simply a story—nothing more, nothing less.
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