QColumn: A Gay In The Life: Blind Faith

Blind Faith
By Steve Prince
“Just let ’em sit in their own shit and smell themselves.”
My Grandma Ida used to say that, God rest her soul.
She also loved to cook and feed her family. When you came to Grandmamma Ida’s you ate whether you were hungry or not. Her home cooking also came with food for thought. Often, as I ate macaroni and cheese and sipped Dr. Pepper from a can, Grandmamma would recite her own life lessons and stories of raising my father and his four siblings.
Grandma Ida (Ida Jean to be exact) was a master of sayings. Growing up I knew her as an old, stubborn, and extremely wise woman with a heart of gold. She said what was on her mind, whether it hurt or not—the truth, or her opinion of it, was paramount. She had lived an extremely hard, very poor life in Southern Oklahoma, yet she loved her children and her grandchildren with a ferociousness that could also be scary if you ever crossed her. She was a survivor to say the least.
As Peter and I stood in Obar, me waiting for the bathroom and he wearing a waiter’s apron, I watched him shuffle from side to side, his eyes darting for refuge. I felt my Grandma’s ferocious spirit—bubbling inside of me.
Don’t overreact, Steve, I kept telling myself.

Thankfully, I had taken a leaf from Grandma Ida—I let him sit in his own shit, not saying a word. Let’s see how he gets out of this… grrrr… I hate being lied to. Hate. It.
“You sure, you don’t want me to get you a free beer?” he asked.
I remained silent but crossed my arms.
“Here,” he said, “I’ll be right back.” Hastily, he ran to the bar and fumbled for a beer.
I looked behind me to make sure the boys at the table couldn’t see us. They couldn’t. I wanted to figure things out on my own before Omar, Cody, Troy, Alex, and Dillon jumped on the situation. God, Dillon hadn’t even met Peter. His opinion mattered to me, and I didn’t want this to be their first meeting. What would they think of me? I didn’t want to look stupid in front of my best friends.
What the fuck was Peter doing? And why had he lied to me? I had only been gone to D.C. for five days for the march. We both had talked once a day. I actually appreciated that we both seemed to be giving one another our respective space. I didn’t want to be one of those couples that call one another five times a day when apart. It’s important for me to retain my own life as well. But now I wondered if I should have kept tabs on Peter while I away. Ugh. Just the thought of “keeping tabs” on someone made me sick to my stomach. I never wanted to be that type of boyfriend.
“Here ya go,” Peter said handing me a bottle of beer, “on the house. One of the perks—”
“Of working here, I see,” I shot back at him. I took the bottle of beer. My face felt flush with anger but dammit, I can never turn down free booze.
“Well, yeah,” Peter said shuffling, “kind of.”
“I’m so confused,” I began. “When did this happen?”
Peter swallowed, “Well, my shift began at four pm today—”
“No, Peter,” again, I interrupted, “when did this happen?” As I said “this” I gestured wildly indicating the entirety of the situation. Come on, he’s not that dense. I could feel him avoiding the question.
“Oh,” Peter conceded. He paused. “Four days ago… surprise.” He grinned feebly.
“And you couldn’t tell me because…?” I said, staring at him blankly.
Being cute wasn’t going to work on me. So he could just wipe that shit-eating grin off his cute little face. I was pissed, dammit. Suddenly, I felt myself acting like my mother used to act whenever she questioned my father’s fidelity, before their divorce. This type of conversation was a weekly occurrence for over a year. I never wanted to be that person and I felt like now.
“Come here,” Peter, said taking my arm and leading me to a booth.
As he took my hand, my heart fluttered. I couldn’t help it. Even when I was mad at him, I couldn’t deny that I cared for him, a lot. His hand felt familiar and warm. He caught my eye and smiled. Perhaps he felt the same.
I settled myself in the booth, and Peter sat as if preparing a speech.
“Okay,” Peter began, “so you know I’ve been looking for work right?”
I nodded.
“Well,” he continued, “while you were gone, I found a job listing on Craigslist so I applied and they took me on here. Same day actually.”
“But Peter,” I began, “why didn’t you tell–”
“I didn’t tell you,” he interrupted, “because I didn’t know how you would feel about me working here. Hell I don’t even know how I feel about me working here.”
Huh? Why would I care if he worked in West Hollywood?
“I’m totally confused,” I said honestly. “You have to get a job, so it would make sense for you to do that.” I paused biting my lip and debating whether how honest to be. “I feel like that’s either not the real reason or you’re just making a bigger deal of this than it actually is. None of this adds up to me.”
Peter looked deflated. “Steve,” he said, “this is a big step for me. Working with all of these,” his voice became a whisper, “gay guys. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m still uncomfortable with this whole gay thing. I did this to push myself. I thought you would be proud of me. I mean you took me out to Weho before and we just got into a fight.”
I stared at him blankly. He scanned my face, searching for a reaction.
“Maybe you don’t remember what it’s like coming out,” Peter sighed, “but this is really fucking hard for me. Really hard. I just feel so goddamn conflicted about everything.”
I was trying not to get defensive. I wanted to understand but was Peter breaking up with me?
“Then if I was going to be proud of you for doing this, why wouldn’t you tell me?” I asked, trying not to yell.
“I dunno,” Peter said rubbing his face. “It was just hard to admit to you… to anyone.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” I spat out. I have this terrible habit of emotionally vomiting out my thoughts. I blame my mother for making me talk to her about everything.
I could tell this came out nowhere. Peter looked shocked. “No!” Peter said emphatically. “You’re not getting this. Why aren’t you getting this?”
“Well, you just said you’re conflicted about everything,” I shot back.
Peter sighed again, and took a swig of my beer.
“You know what? You’re right,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “You are the problem.”
I froze. Oh fuck, he’s breaking up with me. A guy who’s not even out is breaking me up with me. Awesome.
Resolve now etched itself in the lines of Peter’s face and a calm came over him.
“The problem is,” his voice low, “is that I like you so much. You’re my best friend and now you’re becoming something more important to me that I ever imagined. I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for you, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t hard for me. I need you to get that.”
I froze. Again. Well, that was unexpected. I didn’t know what to say. Now who was sitting on their own shit?
“And dude,” Peter said, looking at himself, “these shirts are so fucking tight. I look like a packed sausage. And the other night,” he continued awkwardly, “some drunk guy stuck his hand down my pants and grabbed my bare ass.”
I smiled, feeling the ferociousness of my Grandma release into warmth for him. “Did he at least tip well?” I asked genuinely interested.
Peter looked at me, as if almost hurt. “Well, yeah, but did you hear what I just said?”
“Totally. And what else would you expect?” I asked.
Now Peter looked confused.
“Look,” I began taking his hand, “I get it. You’re just coming to terms with yourself in a lot of ways. But seriously, you’re not a hooker. You’re a waiter in West Hollywood. Any waiter worth his salt knows that flirting gets better tips. And I know some patrons that come here can be pretty… aggressive.” I squeezed his hand, “But I’m cool.”
“You are?” he asked, hopefully.
“I trust you,” I said. “I don’t think you’re going to cheat on me and just because someone grabs your ass. I wish you didn’t have to flirt to make better money but I understand why you do. Men are pigs… I know, I am one.”
I smiled remembering some of the ways I’ve tipped some hot waiters. “Boy,” I said giggling, “if I had a dollar for every waiter that I’ve…” Peter’s brow furrowed. “Well, neve mind.”
We both took a collective sigh, as if knowing the worst part was over.
I broke the silence, “Okay, point made. I’m sorry if I seemed upset.”
“Seemed?” Peter questioned with a smirk. “You’re were pissed.”
“Okay, yeah,” I conceded. I moved in closer to Peter. I loved his face. “The point is you have to be honest with me. That’s all I ask. No lies. Even little white ones. Flirting for tips I can handle. You feeling overwhelmed by coming out I can deal with. Lying I can’t… or actually, I won’t put up with it. Honesty’s the best policy and all that good stuff. That’s what I’m thinking as you and I do this.”
Peter smiled a relieved grin, “Okay. I’m sorry I’m so in my head about all of this. It’s all so new and weird, you know?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “I do know. And that’s why you can tell me all about it. Still, I came out a long time ago. So I appreciate the reminders.”
“Is this our first fight?” Peter asked.
I grinned. “What fight?”
I leaned in and kissed him. As his hand cradled my face, a familiarity of feeling spread over my body, and I realized… I loved him.
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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
A Night At The Museum
A Conversation
I’m Just A Girl Who Can’t Say No
Change The Way You Feel
Kissing A Fool
Leo The Lamb
The Elephant In The Room
Zuckerman’s Famous Pig
A Birthday Surprise
The Sleepover-er
SP Phone Home
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Closet
What If…
Just Beat It
Intimate Portrait
Intimate Portrait (Part Deux)
Intimate Portrait (Part Trois)
State of Mind
The Age of Disbelief
A Man For All Seasons
Summer Lovin’
A-Men
The Urge
Gettin’ It Done
Here You Cum Again
Eye Of The Beholder
The Present
A Minute’s Pause
Brotherly Love
Ladies Who Lunch
Here Cums The Rain Again
Dinner For Two
Blow by Blow
Commando
Cum As You Are?
Aftershock!
Caught in the Act
The Great Compromise
The Tipping Point
Cross Country
In Stereo
Get Smart