QColumn: A Gay In The Life: The Queer Dear
The Queer Dear
By Steve Prince
“Ah,” I audibly sighed as I shut my front door behind me.
Few things are better than coming home.
My eyes burned with exhaustion. It took me six hours to fly from Oklahoma City to Denver, and then Denver to Los Angeles. Also, the airports were busy today, which struck me as odd since it was Christmas Day. I always like to fly home on Christmas. The crowds are always much smaller and because of the time change, I can leave Oklahoma in the late afternoon and arrive in Los Angeles by 11pm. Today, however proved the opposite; hence, I felt happier than usual when I finally returned home.
Instinctively, I locked the front door and dropped my bag on our couch. I plopped in a living room chair and sighed. In front of me, a pile of my mail sat on the coffee table waiting to be opened. Leave it, I told myself, but of course, I didn’t. Going through the mail is a chore and I decided to rip the band-aid and get it over with. I leaned forward and grabbed the stack, noticing how cool the paper had become in the unseasonably cold, rainy Los Angeles winter.
Bill, bill, junk, junk, donation request, junk–
“Oh,” I said a loud noticing a Christmas card addressed to me. I flipped the envelope over to see if a return address was written on the back, but I didn’t need to. I recognized the handwriting; the card was from Summer. I opened the envelope. I slid out a picture of a six month old baby and read the underneath it, Merry Christmas from The Denhams.
I met Summer in 1999, practically ten years ago. Summer came to North Texas to get her masters in music, while I worked there for my undergraduate degree. Grad students and undergrad students rarely mixed at North Texas. I don’t believe the separation was deliberate, but when you go to a music school that has 2,500 music students, it’s impossible to know everyone in the department. The competition alone sometimes gave students nervous breakdowns. I quickly learned how political and stratified the music department was; however there was one part of the music program that put all students on an equal playing field: The Opera Department.
Every voice student had to take two quarters of opera. Sounds simple enough, except for the opera director was notorious for only casting favorites. Summer and I were not favorites. In fact, we were so NOT favorites we didn’t even get cast in the opera; instead we were placed in the opera scenes—shitty little scenarios that grad students directed. There were five people in my scene: Me, Summer, a tenor, and mezzo, and a soprano. The tenor, mezzo, and soprano were all friends so during the first few weeks of rehearsals, Summer and I basically just did what we were told and looked at one another blankly.
About three weeks in, I walked into rehearsal frustrated as hell. I had just gotten into a fight with my boyfriend at the time. I had left his dorm miffed, and as I walked across campus to rehearsal, miffed soon became mad and then mad soon evolved into pissed off.
“Are you okay?” Summer said as I sat beside her digging in my backpack for my music.
“It’s been a long day,” I sighed.
“Tell me the fuck about it,” Summer replied. And with her sailor mouth, she poured out her day’s details. I sat there thinking why is she telling me all this, but five minutes later I felt so much better. They say misery loves company and perhaps that’s true. Listening to Summer’s shitty day made me feel better about my own. It was like she understood my experience.
A friendship began.
Soon Summer and I hung out more and more. She lived thirty minutes away, so she began coming over to my apartment for dinners before rehearsal. Next, we made a ritual of watching Will & Grace together on Thursdays, both of us laughing at the similarities she and I had with the main characters. Finally, when I broke up with my boyfriend, Summer and I began hanging out every day. My other friends would call Summer my “fag hag,” but I preferred to call Summer my “Queer Dear.” Summer and I talked about our friendship as if it were a constant that would never change, no matter our hectic lives. Summer even said that when she had kids they would call me Uncle Steve.
Within a year, Summer and I—along with another girl—moved into a three-bedroom apartment. Summer and I did everything together. She was from Ohio, so during Thanksgiving she’d come home with me to Oklahoma. I’d take trips with her to go see her family. We lived together for two and a half years, until I finished college.
Today, looking back on our friendship, I realize that Summer and I had really had a relationship, like my sexless girlfriend. While I was friends with Summer in college, I never went on one date. Summer never went out with anyone either. Finally, one month before I graduated, I started dating this guy named Craig, a guy in the theatre department. Craig and I basically dated one another just to fuck. It wasn’t serious at all, yet Summer went crazy during this period. She always made me feel as if I was choosing Craig over her and didn’t understand why things had to change. Even then I couldn’t see how co-dependent this was because I only considered her as my friend.
As I looked at the Christmas card Summer sent me, I thought about the hours and hours we spent talking over the drama with Craig. I remembered the many, many times I didn’t go out with college friends because Summer wanted to stay home.
Summer and I were best friends; I considered her family. As I looked at her Christmas card she sent me I felt a bit slapped in the face. She didn’t tell me she was pregnant. She just sends me a card, when she used to call me her family. The only time I hear about her life is when her sister sends me a message on Facebook.
Now, Summer is married, has a child, and hasn’t talked to me in three years. Literally, the day she met her current husband, the phone calls practically stopped. It was if I had been a replacement boyfriend and now that she had found a straight one—I was out and he was in. I lost my best friend.
So why am I bringing this up? Well, as I said a couple of weeks ago, 2000-Date didn’t go as well as I would have hoped. I feel like I really didn’t try and get myself out there and dated like I wanted to this past year, like I’m hitting some type of invisible roadblock. Seeing Summer’s Christmas card made me sad for missing lost time and it also reminded me of a fear I have: dating needy guys who need to be taken care of.
I like to take care of people; it’s a problem. It’s something I’ve had in me since Junior High. I’ve always been occupied with other people’s needs and wishes. I had a needy relationship in high school, a needy boyfriend in college, and then I had Summer—the neediest of them all. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for Summer’s friendship. If it wasn’t for her, I would never have ended up in California, living a life that I’m so happy living. It’s just that in seeing the card I wondered… am I scared to get involved because I’m worried that I’m going to be taken advantage of again? Maybe so.
A wise drag queen once said to me, “Cancel my subscription ‘cuz I don’t need your issues.” Since Summer, I’ve really tried to take that lesson to heart in my relationships. I mean, yes I want to care about people, but I need to focus on myself some too.
I also have to wonder if I want to take care of people because I’m gay. Let me explain. As a gay kid growing up in Oklahoma, I was never taught that I could “think gay thoughts” or believe that it was right to feel for other men. Homophobia surrounded me and I had to react to it some way. In responded by focusing all my energy on other people. I wonder if I thought about nurturing other people because I really wasn’t able to nurture myself—well, my gay self.
So that’s part of my resolution for 2009—taking care of my gay self. See, this is the plan: I think that if I take care of me and give myself a lil’ bit more love, I’ll eventually want to do that with someone else. Instead of searching for someone to date, I’m just going to work on being the better me that puts his self out there for others to see and experience.
So I challenge you to take care of your gay emotional self more and see what happens. I mean if you’re reading this on QC, you’re probably already taking care of the sexual you. Whew! I know I did that this year, but I really neglected my emotional gay self. Ultimately, that’s where the feelings of validation, love, and feeling sexy live in me.
I took one last looks at Summer’s card and then I threw it away. I trashed it, not because I wanted to be mean or spiteful. I threw it away because I have closed that chapter in my life. However, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the lessons I learned from Summer. By her ability to move on past us, I finally realized that in a relationship, I want to someone who’ll keep me on their mind. I deserve to be thought of, and I deserve to be loved. Hopefully as this year begins, we’ll find that along the way.
————————————-
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.
————————————-
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
