Page 5 of A Straight Line

“Russ,” He smiled as he reached over to pat my hand, “whenever the gays gather—particularly for a special occasion—it’s simply magical. You won’t have to try.”

Uncle Vic was waxing poetic, but I didn’t want to ruin the poignancy of it by making some offhanded quip, so I chose to remain silent.

“Now,” he announced, “I need to go check myself over. What if the reporter from The Gazette wants photos?”

“All right.”

“Hey,” He stopped next to me and bopped me lightly under my chin with the fleshy part of his fist, “how are you doing? Really?”

I waved him off. “I’m fine.”

Uncle Vic’s eyes bore into mine.

“I swear.” I gave him my best chuckle. “Things will be fine once I really settle in.”

“Okay.” He gave my chin another light tap before resuming forward momentum. “I have to pretty myself up for those pictures!”

Uncle Vic received a mere smile from me as he peacocked away, off to primp while we waited on the doorbell to signal the arrival of the caterer the and reporter from The Gazette. I stayed perched upon the stool in the kitchen, mulling over my thoughts. The kitchen I was sitting in had once been all Formica and linoleum; at one time, white appliances and fluorescent lights had done their best to brighten up a room with no windows. Now, the kitchen had large windows that looked out over the property at the back of the house where gorgeous Silver Maples and Red Oaks dotted the acreage. The floor of the kitchen was now hardwood, and the countertops were quartz. Solid wood cabinets, painted black, didn’t darken the kitchen, thanks to the numerous windows. Pendant lights now hung over the island and kitchen table. The room no longer looked like the sad, worn down, outdated kitchen it had been when Vic and Harry bought the place.

The first time my parents had brought me to visit my uncles, the house had been in shambles as repairs and renovations were ongoing. All my uncles’ money had been sunk into their business venture—A Straight Line—and it was just starting to turn a real profit for them. This was twenty years into owning the bar, mind you. With their first real profits saved up, they had bought a house that sat on plenty of land and needed a lot of love, excited to bring more joy to their lives. As the years went by and the bar expanded, so did my uncles’ income. What was once virtually a hovel was now a home that a person would see on an interior design website. Or, at least, Pinterest.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Mom and Dad had initially scoffed at Uncle Harry’s and Uncle Vic’s idea to open a gay bar in their tiny rural town. Not only was it likely to go under, dragging them with it, they also worried about how my uncles would be treated in the community. Their safety was always a concern. Of course, it hadn’t been easy, keeping A Straight Line afloat—or even open—at times, but Vic and Harry had persevered. Forty years after the doors had opened at A Straight Line, they had made enough money and felt it was time to enjoy their twilight years. The bar was put up for sale, as is—which was in pretty good condition with a giant built-in clientele—and Harry and Vic took their leave. A Straight Line would no longer be theirs in a matter of days.

However, like any real gay men, they had to have the final say. One last party to commemorate the previous forty years of hard work, headache, heartache, happiness, sorrow, friendship, loss, and joy. A Straight Line had meant so much to them from the very beginning. Now it was so much more than a dream of two gay men desperately in love, looking to change the world. It had become a sanctuary for all the LGBTQ-plus people within a hundred miles of Littleburg, Iowa—The Biggest Little City on the Wapsipinicon River.A Straight Line—and my uncles—had been there for the LGBTQ-plus community when no one else was.

Though I was definitely a cynic—especially when it came to love—I knew my uncles, their bar, and this final party to celebrate it all was important. So, I affixed a smile to my face, gave myself a mental pep talk, and decided that for at least one night, I would believe in the magic of being part of the LGBTQ-plus community. Even if sitting in front of the T.V. in my pajamas sounded way more appealing than trying to be interested in small talk with people I hadn’t seen in years or never even met before.