Not Kissing
I didn't kiss Zach this evening, on the corner by the Original Pancake House. I was walking to Barnes & Noble and he was going to the gym and we had just watched The Celluloid Closet and it was too public somehow and I didn't kiss him when we parted ways.
Zach and I have been together five years; well, five years this July. Through sickness and through health, through mini-meltdowns and through petty triumphs, he's my guy and I'm his and all it takes is something like a corner on a busy street to make us part like buddies. "Catch you later, friend." "You, too, pal." "We'll catch that game sometime." "Splendid."
D'oh!
What makes it keenly ironic is how much I was marveling over how far the gays have come. We're on the television, now, fixing up straight guys and hosting American Idol. We're in movies and we have our own magazines -- magazines that don't even come in plain brown envelopes; real magazines these are with those awful and ubiquitous subscription cards that come fluttering out like desperate confetti: "TIME'S RUNNING OUT!!!" "JUST THREE MORE ISSUES!!!" "Don't you like us any more?" We've come so far, and my mom made me a rainbow flag blanket, and sure we can't marry but even the Red Staters like their hair done well -- so it's not like they'll get rid of the gays all together.
And yet, I still sometimes don't feel safe kissing my boyfriend on a street corner before we head off to do our different things.
And it's not like I was even going for one of those inappropriate kisses. There was going to be no tongue. No open fondle and manic grind. A peck on the lips is all; something that says, "Hey, I'll miss you, but in a totally healthy way." A little more than a kiss-your-mother, but not so much where we'd need a fluffer standing by.
I feel guilty sometimes, complaining like this. Time was, no man could kiss any man who wasn't his dead father any time any place. Time was, it was you and Randy Quaid up on Brokeback Mountain, keeping secrets that become more impossible and more important to keep (because let's face it: cowboys never look like Jake Gyllenhaal or Heath Whatever -- cowboys do look like Randy Quaid, and it's him spittin' in his palm before stemming your rose in the real world of Wyoming and sheep and tents that sleep two). Time was, we lived lives of quiet desperation or furtive loathing -- unloved and untouched.
I'm just frustrated that I can't kiss my boyfriend on a street corner. And this frustration is, to use a phrase Susie Bright used in the documentary, like having fleas poured over me: the irritation is too much. We've progressed, but to where? We've made important strides, but where are those strides taking us? We live in a different world, they tell me, but so much of it still looks pretty familiar. We've come so far -- but we haven't mapped the country we're trying to get to.
And in that country, I'm sure, there's a street corner by an Original Pancake House and I'm on my way to Barnes & Noble and Zach is on his way to the gym and it's public and people can see us and some of them look and most of them don't and none of them care or if they do, they only care that on that street corner I stop, hold Zach's face, and give him a kiss.
Zach and I have been together five years; well, five years this July. Through sickness and through health, through mini-meltdowns and through petty triumphs, he's my guy and I'm his and all it takes is something like a corner on a busy street to make us part like buddies. "Catch you later, friend." "You, too, pal." "We'll catch that game sometime." "Splendid."
D'oh!
What makes it keenly ironic is how much I was marveling over how far the gays have come. We're on the television, now, fixing up straight guys and hosting American Idol. We're in movies and we have our own magazines -- magazines that don't even come in plain brown envelopes; real magazines these are with those awful and ubiquitous subscription cards that come fluttering out like desperate confetti: "TIME'S RUNNING OUT!!!" "JUST THREE MORE ISSUES!!!" "Don't you like us any more?" We've come so far, and my mom made me a rainbow flag blanket, and sure we can't marry but even the Red Staters like their hair done well -- so it's not like they'll get rid of the gays all together.
And yet, I still sometimes don't feel safe kissing my boyfriend on a street corner before we head off to do our different things.
And it's not like I was even going for one of those inappropriate kisses. There was going to be no tongue. No open fondle and manic grind. A peck on the lips is all; something that says, "Hey, I'll miss you, but in a totally healthy way." A little more than a kiss-your-mother, but not so much where we'd need a fluffer standing by.
I feel guilty sometimes, complaining like this. Time was, no man could kiss any man who wasn't his dead father any time any place. Time was, it was you and Randy Quaid up on Brokeback Mountain, keeping secrets that become more impossible and more important to keep (because let's face it: cowboys never look like Jake Gyllenhaal or Heath Whatever -- cowboys do look like Randy Quaid, and it's him spittin' in his palm before stemming your rose in the real world of Wyoming and sheep and tents that sleep two). Time was, we lived lives of quiet desperation or furtive loathing -- unloved and untouched.
I'm just frustrated that I can't kiss my boyfriend on a street corner. And this frustration is, to use a phrase Susie Bright used in the documentary, like having fleas poured over me: the irritation is too much. We've progressed, but to where? We've made important strides, but where are those strides taking us? We live in a different world, they tell me, but so much of it still looks pretty familiar. We've come so far -- but we haven't mapped the country we're trying to get to.
And in that country, I'm sure, there's a street corner by an Original Pancake House and I'm on my way to Barnes & Noble and Zach is on his way to the gym and it's public and people can see us and some of them look and most of them don't and none of them care or if they do, they only care that on that street corner I stop, hold Zach's face, and give him a kiss.
posted by Mike at 7:59 PM
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