QColumn: A Gay In The Life: Cross Country

Cross Country
By Steve Prince
“I want you to leave.”
His voice sounded so final that it scared me. I began to open my mouth to counter Peter’s words.
He raised his hand to stop me. “I don’t want to hear it,” Peter said. “You should go.”
I hadn’t seen Peter looked so determined in a long time. Still I knew that face from high school; there was no arguing with him now. And besides, he was right, I should go. It was for the best…

Two days later…
“Come with me!” I begged, actually pulling on Troy’s shirt. “It’ll be so much fun… and inspirational.” I added that last word and probably shouldn’t have. As soon as “inspirational” came out of my mouth, Troy looked as if he had taken a bit of something rancid.
He turned into his kitchen and waved his hand. “Inspirational?!” he scoffed. “You know I don’t go for that kind of thing. Remember, I don’t watch Oprah like you do.”
I flopped on the couch and sighed.
“Well, then who’s going to go with me?” I asked. “I already bought the ticket.”
Troy returned with two glasses of wine. I actually love our impromptu night chats. Every once in a while, I turn up unexpectedly with a glass of wine in one hand and some chocolate in the other. Usually, I show up just to see him. However, tonight I’d been buttering Troy up.
He handed me my wine glass and curled up on the couch, bending his leg a weird way that looked oddly uncomfortable. I sometimes forget Troy’s a dancer… he’s quite bendy.
He sighed, “Well, why in the hell did you book a flight to Washington, D.C. before talking to any of us?”
“I know it’s last minute, but imagine it,” I took a sip of wine to renew my enthusiasm, eager to sell Troy on the idea. “This could be a great moment for LGBT people—a march on Washington, and lead by Cleve Jones! The more numbers we have, the greater a presence we become. This could be like when African-Americans talk about seeing Martin Luther King speak. This could be a part of our history.”
“Cleve Jones is no Martin Luther King,” Troy retorted.
“You know what I mean,” I said. It was then I realized he wasn’t going to go…
The next morning…
“Troy already told me he’s not going,” Alex said. His tone implying that I should expect that he and Troy as a package deal.
“I know,” I said, changing tactics, “but Troy isn’t into politics like you are. I mean, you’re a lawyer.”
Alex nibbled on the inside of his cheek, as if chewing on my words. He paused and with a soft smack, his lips popped open.
“I can’t,” he picking at his salad. “There’s too much work now.”
“Ahh!” I said loudly. “Save work for later! Take a vacation day!” Why did I bring up his work? Dammit!
Alex shushed me. I’d been getting worked up and forgot that the vibe at Blue Plate was very Westside Santa Monica—very relaxed. It meant I needed to calm the fuck down.
I leaned towards Alex. “But don’t you want to get married one day?” I asked.
“Do you?” he asked, avoiding the question.
“I don’t know,” I said trying to stay on course, but he interrupted me.
“You don’t,” now his voice was raised. “So then why are you going?”
I sighed. “Just because I can’t get married doesn’t mean I don’t want the right to,” I said. “I’ve been this way my whole life. In fifth grade, I remember being pissed off that only girls could play jump rope. Can you believe my dumbass teacher actually told me I couldn’t?”
Alex rolled his eyes. Now, I was getting sidetracked.
“Hey,” I said, “it’s the principle.”
“Why don’t you ask your boooyyfriend?” Alex’s voice cooed like a teasing eight-year-old. He flipped when I told him about Peter. He was so excited that whenever we talked since, he always brought him up. I didn’t mind him teasing because I knew it was his way of voicing approval; it was kind of sweet.
“He actually told me I had to go, but he never expressed interest in going, so I didn’t ask,” I said. “Peter is totally not ready for this, especially after that fight. Small steps, Alex. Small steps.”
A pedestrian passed by walking an adorable puggle.
“Ooohhh,” Alex and I both cooed. And with a cute moment, that damned adorable dog ended the conversation…
That afternoon…
Pick up. Pick up. Don’t go to voicemail. Pick up—
“Hey Stevie Prince,” Omar answered, his voice ringing out of my car speakers, “what’s up?”
I had tried buttering up Troy with wine. No dice. With Alex, I took him to his favorite restaurant. All for shit. I decided not to beat around the bush.
“COME WITH ME TO D.C., DAMMIT!” I begged.
“What?!” Omar said.
“Come with me to the LGBT Equality March. It’s going to be amazing… maybe life changing,” I said, trying to think of more descriptive adjectives. It was like selling cancer. Ugh. I was getting beat down.
Omar clucked like an agitated hen. “Oh, no no no no no,” he warned.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I don’t do crowds,” he said flatly.
“Huh?” I said. “What about all those guys you fucked in Palm Springs? That was a crowd.”
He laughed. “You know what I mean. These things make me nervous, especially after 9/11…” he paused, “…it just doesn’t feel safe.”
Jeeezus.
That night…
“Cody, think of it. There will be sooo many guys you can fuck there,” I said, trying to talk over the bartending at Fiesta Cantina. It was a crowded night in West Hollywood. I looked around wondering how many of these people were planning on going to the march.
Cody eye-raped a ripped man in the corner and then glanced back at me. “Mmmmm,” he took a swig of beer, “it would be a fun time.”
I sat my beer on the table. “There are going to be so many gay guys there,” I interrupted myself. “Excuse me, so many HOT gay guys there. It’ll be like a gay buffet.”
“A gayffet!” Cody yelped with a laugh.
“Exactly,” I said, reeling him in.
“What day is it again?” Cody asked.
“October 11th,” I said, getting excited. However, Cody’s grin faltered.
“Oh, fuck Stevie,” he whined, “that soon? I’m closing on my condo. I can’t leave with everything going on, or else I totally would.”
Well, fuck me running.
A week later…
The plane’s wheels skidded and bumped along the tarmac.
The flight attendant’s voice announced our arrival.
“Welcome to Dulles International Airport and to Washington D.C.,” he said smoothly, “our nation’s capitol. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
As the plane taxied, I began to gather my things.
I was here.
I was all by myself, but here to march for all of us.
I took a deep breath and wondered if this is what someone about to make history feels like.
Come back next week to hear Steve’s account of the National Equality March.
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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