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

 

You, Beautiful Boy…John Lennon.

john 1

 

Had it been a colder winter, would Vicki been more aware of the day, the time…the shift of wind, to the subtle change of the earth’s emotions?  A typical day, no matter the season had been a hippie rainbow, splashed with a tie dye of skeleton, neon green and pink…

Typical?  No, no, fuckin’ way!  The day played out in the 13 year old’s, tainted by peace and love, screw the establishment…, mind.  This time though, it had been  recorded in tears.  Similar to looking at that larger than life, black-light, poster of Elvis, in a pantsuit…one toke shy of a good high!elvis

Sitting, lotus style on the shag carpeting of Lynn’s bedroom, attempting to really understand the true meaning of…

 

Terry Jack’s; Seasons in the Sun

 

A wonderful song about dying, the rebirth of spring and the friends we leave behind.

At the time, as two rebel freaks adverse to conformity…Vicki and Lynne only thought of the song as a sad good-bye to their childhood.  As it was certain, once High School began, the end poetically and physically, would be near.

Yet, none of that silly lonely life felt by many of similar breed and congruent thought mattered…For down below, in the bowels of the ancient home, sat, Lynne’s brother, Eddie.

Eddie, posted upon a stool made of stolen milk crates, smiled a mad-dog grin…as he and his buddies, banged out

Stairway to Heaven!

It hadn’t been that the band played poorly.  It wasn’t that the four mop-heads didn’t somehow resemble Muppet Puppets.   The simple fact had been, those fools just were not cool!  Anyway you cut it!  Those white boys had no rhythm and certainly, no style!

Vicki and Lynn cranked that hot pink record player.  So often had the needle been manually brought back to go that…well…one verse repeated itself over and over and over again.

Papa
Please pray for me
I was the black sheep of the family

No matter the loudness of the house.  No matter a child’s play at bettering the current situation.  No matter, the pleas, the tears and the questions…the ‘just give me some truth,’ could not be tucked away.

John Lennon, the prince of peace, the maker of all love, the heart and soul of a collective few living in a small New Hampshire city, tucked away in the middle class, had been killed the night before.

It had been a Monday night, 10:50 p.m., 1980!

John 2

The next day, with songs cranked, with outrage pouring out of every Yukon Jack bottle, with Vicki and Lynne attempting to drown their fears in the therapy of music…with all this…a handful of mourners headed for the capital.  One of these walking tributes to all that John Lennon could Imagine, had been Lynne’s mother.  Decked out with beaded vest, bell bottom Tough Skins…faded just right, and a pair of knee high, ‘knock me down and show me a good time’ black leather boots: Lynne’s mother made Stevie Nicks look like a girl scout in training.

And, it was on this day, Tuesday, December 9th, 1980…between the blue grass music being tortured by an all bad male band, and, the young ladies quietly paying respect through lyrics…Lynne’s mother lay entombed in her bedroom to distraught to go to work.

Odd, years later, Vicki would visit the Orpheum theater in Boston to see,  the Plastic Ono band.  She would be high on technicolor and acid!  She would not remember much of that night.  She would remember, Yoko’s acknowledgement of her long lost husband.  And, she would remember that day…a handful of years back…

That day, when within her little world of Peace, Love and Happiness, she learned of  new emotions.  Terror and pure hate!  To the current day, Vicki could not bring herself to read, ‘Catcher in the Rye’, she could not capitalize on anything relating to John’s death.  No new and recently found works of Lennons‘…posthumously!

Fading to black in the very back row of the Orpheum theater, weirdness abound, with necklaces made of Barbie Doll parts, Hippies zoned out on weed, the sweet smell corroding the walls…a simple verse is all that Vicki could recall…

Goodbye to you
My trusted friend

We’ve known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we’ve climbed hills and trees

john 3