Page 26 of A Straight Line

Chapter 6

Queer Mythology

Denny was standing by one of the drink troughs, a can of PBR in hand, engaged in conversation with a young woman I didn’t recognize. Obviously, she was one of the women who had arrived with Bethany and the “Littleburg Lesbians.” He was smiling and carrying on an animated conversation with her, so obviously I hadn’t upset him too much with my harsh tone. Giving him a second appraisal, I realized that Bethany wasn’t wrong. Denny wasn’t bad to look at all. In fact, he was hot. The black jeans and t-shirt definitely did his body favors. He seemed pleasant enough, personality-wise. I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

As I surveyed the massive backyard, my smile grew. People were in the gazebo, helping themselves to food. People were standing by the drink troughs, carrying on excitedly about…whatever. The elders were stationed in their chairs, holding court with the younger generation, smiles plastered to their faces due to all of the attention. A large group of people was dancing to I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me) by Whitney Houston. And my uncles looked absolutely over-the-moon happy as a group of younger queers fought for their attention. Knowing that people my age, and maybe even younger, were so interested in talking with the older generation warmed my heart.

Maybe tomorrow would be a different, and all of the younger queers would forget all about the wisdom and experience the elders could impart; they’d forget how fun older queers can be. But for this one night that was important to my uncles, they were giving back what my uncles had given them. If that didn’t make the whole night worthwhile, I didn’t know what would.

I decided to be a grown-up and not be too scared of such a large crowd. Instead of going to my uncles, where I felt safest and most confident, I traversed the yard over to the gazebo. I hadn’t had much to eat since lunch, which we’d had fairly early in the day since so much had to be done to get ready for the party, so my stomach was grumbling.

For the last few months, before I decided to bite the bullet and come stay with my uncles, I had been alone. Holed up in my apartment, focusing on deadline after deadline, pretending the world didn’t exist, I rarely stepped foot outside of my apartment until after dark. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but at a certain time of day, the crowds waned in my neighborhood. I could go down to the bodega without too much human interaction. I could have food delivered. I didn’t need another person in the world to remind me that people don’t always turn out to be as great as you make them out to be in your head.

Of course, those months left me distrustful of others, afraid of large crowds, and what Harry called a “general sourpuss.” I never said it to him outright, but how is a guy supposed to enjoy being around other people when the person you loved and trusted most proved they didn’t deserve your love or trust to begin with? It only makes sense that something like that would make a person need a while to recover before putting themselves out there again. Not that I’d ever been one to just throw myself out there, like Harry, Felix, Simon, or Bang Bang. I definitely wasn’t a Bethany. I was just some guy needing to heal a pretty deep wound and enjoy the emotional—if not financial—support of his uncles. In time I’d be normal again.

Right?

Most of the people in the gazebo who were helping themselves to the quickly disappearing food were not familiar to me. Most of them were the younger queers Harry and Vic had invited—who might have been regulars to the bar, but not to me—and they generally didn’t notice my arrival. As is common in our community, a few of the guys gave me sideways glances, checking out the new guy in the vicinity. Some even looked pleased with what they saw, much to my delight. But none of them bothered greeting me or tried striking up a conversation. They were focused on the food and whomever else they knew that was along for the trip to the buffet.

That’s another thing, a difference between generations of queers. If you walk into a room of elder queers, they tend to get right in your business immediately. What’s your name? I’m so-and-so. What do you do? Are you single? Married? Out/In? Welcome, welcome, welcome to the community. Younger queers take a more accepting and easier world for granted. They don’t feel as much of a need to welcome other queers into the community and find out their stories. I guess, growing up around so many older gay men, it just became normal for me to expect other people in the community to welcome a person with open arms.

I was an old gay man in a young gay man’s body.

I had grabbed a plate and was helping myself to a hamburger slider when a voice startled me.

“Oh, Russy!” A man’s voice chirped. “Help us out!”

I turned to find Floyd, one of The Flirtatious Five, standing by the tray full of individual servings of potato and macaroni salad, standing with one of the women who had arrived with Bethany and her gaggle.

“Sure, Floyd,” I said. “What’s up?”

I quickly slid two of the sliders onto my plate.

“Now,” Floyd said as I approached, plate in hand, “how long have your uncles been together? I can’t remember. I was telling Sheila that I knew they were pretty young when they met.”

“Forty-eight years,” I responded, to which Sheila’s eyes grew wide.

“We just say fifty.” I shrugged. “It’s easier to remember.”

“Jeeeeeeeeeezus.” Sheila exhaled. “That’s a long time to put up with one person. Joanie and I have been together for three years, and I think about smothering her in her sleep at least once a day.”

“That’s healthy,” Floyd patted her arm. “Totally healthy.”

I laughed, though it was forced.

Some of us would love to have someone we want to smother in their sleep.

“I was just telling Sheila about your uncles,” Floyd said. “She moved here last year with her partner Joanie—”

“Joan. We just call her ‘Joanie,’” Sheila said.

“—and,” Floyd said, “they’ve only been to the bar a few times. They never had the opportunity to really meet your uncles.”

“They’re something.” I nodded towards the semi-circle of lawn chairs where my uncles and the others were holding court. “They’d be happy to have you go introduce yourself.”

“I’ll do that,” Sheila said. “It was so nice of them to invite us. Well, Vic did. Harry seemed indifferent.”

“He has a thing against lesbians,” Floyd murmured.