QColumn: A Gay In The Life: A Night At The Museum

A Night at The Museum
By Steve Prince
“So when are we going to that museum you talked about?”
Me and my big mouth. The last time I volunteered with Kelly I just had to suggest we should go to a museum. I mean, who really suggest that to someone they just met? I felt like it was more of passing invite, and part of me was hoping he would forget about it. Well, he didn’t because now it looks like we’re going. The problem is I haven’t exactly told Troy about this little adventure myself. I mean… I didn’t lie to him.
“He’s very sweet,” I said over the phone, “and very conversational. Smart guy.”
“Okay,” Troy acknowledged and pressed on, “Did you get a good look at his ass?”

“No!” I scoffed, “we were sitting down. And you’re terrible!”
“Well, that sucks,” Troy said disappointed. Even over the phone, I could imagine Troy’s face drooped into a sad puppy dog expression.
“I’m kidding,” I said letting my enthusiasm resurface, “it’s totally hot. A little small, but it looks firm.”
“Ah!” Troy exclaimed, “I knew you had it in ya!”
We both laughed. “I did find out that he’s single,” I continued, “and that he is usually into bookish guys.”
“OK,” Troy chimed, “I read.”
Fifteen minutes later, I had finished my report.
“That’s all I got sugar,” I sighed, feeling like I had completed my assigned task correctly and efficiently.
“You really paid attention to this guy,” Troy said, “Thanks so much Stevie. I think–Oh, I have a call. Can I call you back?”
“Sure, call me later sugar,” I said hanging up the phone.
Thankfully Troy forgot to call me back that night and I had not brought the subject of Kelly up since then. I didn’t bother telling him about the museum proposition—I didn’t feel it was important. I mean, wouldn’t it be better for me to keep doing some digging into Kelly’s credentials before I set Troy up with him? In fact, wasn’t I doing what Troy asked me to do? I mean, did I like Kelly? No, I think I was just excited that he seemed like a nice guy for Troy… right? And besides, Kelly just met me so I decided that there would be no way he would take me up on my offer.
So imagine my surprise to get Kelly’s text reminding of the invite. But instead of taking time to think, I reacted quickly and irrationally; this is a problem for me and though I try be better at thinking on my feet, today was not the day. I took a short breath and texted back before I could change my mind, all the while reminding myself I am doing this for Troy. I’m doing this for Troy.
“How about this Saturday?” I texted.
Kelly responded within five minutes. “Word. It’s a date,” he texted, “I’ll call you on Friday to see when I should come buy your place.”
“It’s a date?” What the fuck does that mean? I hate texting. Hate it. Hate it. I can never tell someone’s inflection over a text. AND for some reason I always forget that I hate texting until it’s too late in the conversation for me to realize that this would have be better discussed in person or at least over the phone.
Suddenly, I began to panic. I couldn’t do this alone. I don’t know what it was, but something told me not to go to the museum with Kelly alone. Should I ask Troy to go? Hmm. No, because Troy still likes Kelly but doesn’t really want to meet him yet. Truthfully, I think Troy just wants to fuck Kelly, hence he wouldn’t want to get to know him that well. No, I need someone who is not biased yet still has some connection to Kelly, that way the third party isn’t totally random. I need someone who can help me figure out why this is all so weird and confusing. And then it hit me, I need Mother Norman!!
Mother Norman isn’t actually a real mother, but to myself, Troy, Cody, Alex, and Omar—he is. Mother Norman’s real name is Dillon Norman. Dillon is two years older than myself. We first became friends whenever he and I volunteered for a shift together at the helpline. Within my group of friends, Dillon is the funny, quick-witted friend whose humor and sarcasm is often laced with perception and insight. Dillon has lived a life. Once a young party boy who lived to drink and fuck around, Dillon now excels in his career, friendships, love life, and has maintained his substance sobriety for years. In other words, Dillon has been around the block, even though he is only thirty-two. As Dillon and I became fast friends, I found that when we got together we both chatted away during our volunteer shifts like two sixty-year-old grandmas from Nebraska. I would knit and Dillon would stalk our friends on Facebook, to which we proceeded to gossip about.
I loved being around Dillon because he exuded a level of confidence that I wanted to achieve myself. And if fact, the more I got to know Dillon, I realized what made him so confidant was his awareness of his insecurities. In fact, Dillon embraces his self doubts and confronts them head on. Oh yes, Dillon is wise, and I loved the drag queen wisdom that he would often spout out at the drop of boa. Hence, being in my own moment of doubt I knew that he would be a good candidate to help snap me out of this Kelly thing.
“Sugar!” I said as Dillon answered the phone.
“Hey girl,” he replied, “what’s going on?”
“Momma needs some advice and support,” I said with a sigh.
Dillon’s tone immediately changed and became very nurturing, hence the pseudonym of Mother Norman. “Daddy’s here girl,” he said consolingly, “Spill it.”
I explained the situation, while Mother Norman sat in silence.
“And that’s it,” I said, holding the phone and staring out my living room window. I bit my lip anxious for his response.
“Lord, you know how to make things complicated,” Dillon observed, “I’m coming with you to the museum. You need help.”
Three days later, I waited in my living room for Kelly and Dillon to show up. We were meeting at my house and then leaving from there. Kelly had actually texted me the night before. (He said he was going to call, but didn’t but whatever. You know my feelings about all the texting.)
There was a knock at the door. I walked to the front of the door to see Kelly standing behind the window smiling. I opened the door.
“Hey sugar,” he called walking in to give me a hug.
“Well hello,” I responded, “you look good.”
WHY DID I SAY THAT!!!! GOOD GOD I NEED A FILTER!
“Well thanks,” Kelly responded, “I thought it would be nice to clean up a bit.”
The next four minutes seemed like an eternity. It wasn’t awkward and there wasn’t silence, but of course I didn’t feel like any conversation I made was remotely interesting.
A second knock on the door relieved me; Dillon was here.
“Hello dear,” he said giving me a hug, “Hi Kelly.” They both hugged as well. Dillon didn’t know Kelly that well, but he had seen him enough at several volunteer events. Always the caretaker, Dillon seemed to smell my shyness and jumped on the situation.
“All right,” he said swooping his left arm to get my jacket, “let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”
And with that, we filed out of the house and made our way downtown. On the way there, Dillon did most of the talking with Kelly. In fact, Dillon did most of the talking the rest of the afternoon—to which I was incredibly grateful for. Kelly and I talked some but mainly Dillon seemed to be getting to know the newbie. Kelly and I did have some time alone. During one of the exhibits Dillon excused himself to go to the bathroom. We both stood staring at a vase and pause to listen the fading of Dillon’s footsteps on the marble museum floor. After a moment, Kelly broke the silence.
“So you and Dillon are good friends,” he asked.
“Yep,” I responded shortly. I turned to look at his light brown eyes, but then I caught myself and stared toward a vase.
Kelly walked over to a painting in the corner.
“The color’s nice in this one,” Kelly said softly, “Come look.”
I walked over by him and he shuffled his weight to one leg so that his left shoulder barely brushed my right. I didn’t move. I looked at the painting. In it a woman sat in a chair as a gentleman bowed. His left hand held a sword that he extended forward, its tip touching the ground. I don’t know a lot about art, but it looked like the piece was painted during the Renaissance period.
“Hmm…” Kelly seemed to be in deep thought.
“What’s ‘Hmm’,” I asked.
“Well,” Kelly said thoughtfully, “It’s so obvious that the his sword is supposed to represent his dick. I mean look how she’s looking directly at it in the painting.”
Kelly was right. The woman was gazing at the extended sword peacefully.
“It’s so obvious what they really want,” Kelly continued, “they both totally want to just be with one another but they don’t want to talk about it. It was all about the sexual tension.”
This time I looked directly at Kelly, to find he was looking directly at me.
“Are you two ready to go to another section?”
Dillon’s voice trumpeted through the gallery, echoing off the walks with shock.
“Sure,” Kelly said as he began to follow Dillon out of the room. A shiver ran down my back and I shook it off and followed.
We had a nice time the rest of the rest of the afternoon and a few hours later we were back at the house. Kelly hugged Dillon and I goodbye and left. Dillon purposefully hung back. As soon as the door had shut, Dillon locked the door and rounded on me.
“Sit down,” he commanded.
I did what I was told. I bit my lip.
“So,” I said cautiously, “do you think he would be a good match for Troy?”
Mother Norman glared at me incredulously.
“Let’s be clear,” Dillon said standing with a smirk, “No one at the museum today was thinking about Troy.”
“What do you mean by that,” I asked.
“I mean, you like him,” he shot back.
“I do not!” I replied, noticing the rise of pitch in my voice.
“You don’t,” Dillon asked.
“No,” I said, “I’m just being a good friend to Troy.”
“Okay,” Dillon said, leaning back and seeing I was a lost cause. “Well I will tell you one thing that’s for certain.”
I looked at him with raised eyebrows.
Dillon seemed to weigh his words before he spoke, “He likes you. In fact, I thought he was going to rip your clothes off in the middle of the Renaissance gallery.”
“How do you know? You weren’t even there to hear that,” I said it without thinking.
Dillon smiled. “Girl please,” he quipped. “Do you think it takes me that long to go to the bathroom?”
I sat stunned. For so long, I had been trying to ignore any feelings I had towards Kelly, but I never stopped to really think about what he was thinking. What if he did like me?
“Well,” I said trying to shake my anxiety, “I still believe there’s nothing there. We were just being friendly.”
Dillon stood up and grabbed his keys.
“All right,” he said with a knowing smile.
“You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make her drink,” he said, “but I’ll be here whenever you do want to fess up to what you’re really feeling.”
He leaned down, gave me a hug, and walked out shutting the door behind him. I could here Dillon humming to himself as we walked down the steps of my front porch to his car. I sat on my couch, taking in all that had happened. As if in a trance, I sat on my couch staring at the floor listening to the distant sound of humming growing fainter and fainter.
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Years after moving from Oklahoma, Steve Prince is still acclimating to the gay scene in Los Angeles—he’s a slow learner. By trial and error and a lot of sex, his mission is to make the uncomfortable, comfortable. Also it should be known that he is gayer than butt sex.
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Previously, on A Gay In The Life:
The Birds and The Birds
Lyin’, & Twinks, & Bears—Oh My!
Going Public
Christmas in July
Luck Be A Lady Tonight
I Left My Heart In Oklahoma
As Luck Would Have It
Shock & Awe
Blame It On Britney
The Unending Journey
Makin’ Copies
Bullets and Bracelets… and Lube
To Tell The Truth…
Stars Aren’t Blind
The Dark Knight
Come As You Are
A Date?
A Happy Ending
Better Than Nothing
A Man With A Slow Hand
Taking The Long Way
Everybody Knows
Wake Me Up, Before Ya Go-Go
Definition
The Best
The Upper Hand
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
2000-Date
Dick The Halls
The Queer Dear