Sadness…within my Rainbow Party

morning 4

There have only been a handful of times in which I truly felt; my life was in danger and that, perhaps, I could die!

As a child my life had been barren of love’s touch.  There had been very few moments of physical abuse…But the threat?  The threat had always been there in the form of verbal an emotional abuse.

With a childhood not made for fairy tales.  Suffering from the debilitating and chronic illness of addiction.  None of the events peppering my early childhood memories come close to the two times I had been told,

‘Dyke, I’ll show you what a real man is!’

The first time encountering this vulgar statement I had been at a Gay Right’s March in Atlanta.  Surrounded by persons with a bible in one hand and hatred in the other.

Fortunately, there had been a strong police presence and I walked away with cuts and bruises and disgust.

The second time, had been a darkened parking lot in Asheville, North Carolina.  Having just left a club called, O’Henrys’, it was an evening of dancing, gossiping and doing what people do…people who feel a kinship towards each other.  It was a gay club.  None assuming and basically, a wall flower of clubs.

As my partner and I headed to the car, just after midnight, a gang of young men with sticks and bats and hate, came out of the shadows!

I could go on and on and on about the banter.

It was the typical shit poured upon one person, from another.  With the other being filled to the brim.  Filled to the brim with an unending need to hurt.

The look in someone’s eyes that conveys this horrible hate, is very distinctive.  There is a glare and/or an icing over the pupils.  No matter the color of their eyes…they turn black quickly.  The look can best be described as, hollow.

A young white man pinned me up against the Escort…passenger side.  My partner having dropped her keys on the ground…time was ticking slower than the walk of a turtle.  My life seemed to start at the street I grew up on…Memories of getting into trouble, slumber parties and the game winning home-run…I had hit.  All these… flashed quickly before me.

What came next was just a miracle.  A group of about eight gay men had been piling out of the club.  A little tipsy but not so drunk that they could not see the event taking place in the dimmest part of the parking lot.

Why is it cowards always hide their hate in the shadiest of places?

My story from there on out…is simple.  We were saved.  And, other than, several years of post traumatic stress…in dealing with confined spaces…Life went on for me.

 

I do not understand hate crimes.  I dare to say, I hate…hate crimes.  Homosexuality is not a nationality.  It is not an ethnicity.  It is a choice.  A difficult choice.  For the simple reason…those who come out of the closet, know, life will be all the more difficult for them.  On top of living life on life’s terms…a gay person makes a cognitive decision to…place themselves in harm’s way!

I pray for those in Florida.  I pray for their choice.  I pray for love.  I pray…for more understanding!

selfie 2 john

 

Salvation in Homophobic Parents

is god gay?
is god gay? (Photo credit: the|G|™)

I said it is a moot point; to Zoey, my now only true and guiding friend but even she is a forbidden fruit.  Actually, I don’t have the guts to even tell her that I cannot prevail over Professor Pathology-Mum Theresa!

Tell her what?  Tell her that this is my life, Beckett Couvillion the third, a failed attempt at the Peace Corps, abolished try at AmeriCorps and no money in the bank account.

I’ve been browsing Craig’s list for some nude modeling gigs.  Tapping into all the resources I can.  I even played phone tag with the instructor of Not So Fine Art down at the Not So Technical local community college.

This is what I have so far:

I call my life a moot point… Like I know what that means. My parents mention that term over and over again when it comes to describing my life.  So I’m assuming it is of some significance.

Everyone I know is accepted by their family. I’m not. Their family supports them. Mine would disown me.  I’m not allowed to be gay. It’s why I can’t tell my mom right now. I don’t have the backbone to stand up to her.  You’d think a woman that professed human rights at UNH could at least bring some of that knowledge home!

The homosexual breakaway almost happened a few months ago:

 Mum was planning going to be in Atlanta from Weds-Saturday which meant daddy would let me do whatever I want.  I had planned on having Kate to myself at the Shalimar.  A little sleepover without the sleep.  We had been there before.  Nervous as hell I took ten sedatives, drank twelve cups of coffee, lied to Mother Theresa about going to Durham, so on and so forth.

What happens?  Every time I came close to an orgasm the texts would come:

Ambien, Beckett Couvillion the third isn’t eating.

Ambien, what are you watching?

Ambien, when are you coming home?

Ambien, I hope you’re not drinking?

The second trip to the Shalimar never came and never went.  I was enlisted to stay home and keep an eye on Daddy!

So dinner time on Auburn Street never revolves around:

Gay marriage, abortion, equal rights for homosexuals, my bi-sexuality and possible sexual identity crisis.

Dinner time around the table in the dining area which is separate from the library, which is apart from the kitchen nook, which is something out of the Not So Rich but Pretend to Be homes of Concord NH, circles around:

Hey, I cleaned my room today.  No worries about me ending up like my birthmother…isn’t that great?”

Mother Theresa retorts, “It’s about time.   All the plates, bowls and cups are missing.  And, your laundry is so soiled it’s sticking to the attic floor!”

I told my mom not to worry about the depressive hoarding I had taken too.  And,  she just ate dinner!   Then out of nowhere she accused me of breaking the TV when she wasthe one doing something wrong with it and I fixed it! Wah, wah, wah!

The evening usually stands still until Mother Theresa hides herself away upstairs.  Father Floyd watches life pass him by and grades papers on economics.  And, I become more confused and extremely tired as to my place in the world and the talks that surround me like I”m a 2 year old!

Mother let me go.  Homophobia is a dangerous disease and you are spreading it like wildfire at the dinner table.  Eat some humble pie will ‘ya!