Growing up I don't remember thinking of Gays as bad, immoral or scandalous like so many of my peers were taught to believe, they were just illusive, uncommon and mysterious. In my small mountain town they were something like Albanians or Communists or... or... Episcopalians; you knew they were out there, that they existed and were walking among us but to catch a solid glimpse of one, seemed close to impossible. I didn't really know what a Gay was, I just knew that they were somehow different and in my mind, better. I remember hearing the whispered implications that Martina Navratilova was gay and let's face it if she doesn't epitomize "better" than no one does. My 10-year-old logic deduced that if they were out there walking among us but we never saw them, then Gays must have special powers. I wondered, were they able to become invisible at will or were they shape shifters able to take on the form of average Americans whenever convenient? And if so, then when did they reveal their true gayness? Only in the privacy of their own homes? Or were there special Gay places? Were Gays like superheroes? Were there special phone booths they would duck into, to switch in and out of their gayness? I remembered hearing rumors that Rock Hudson was gay, was that why all the women loved him? Everyone loved him! Was it because of his superpower gayness? I knew that it had something to do with sex. I didn't know what exactly but it was definitely about sex, which only made it that much more alluring. I decided that being Gay must be really cool.
There was a strange bar in my town that my friends and I affectionately referred to as Hell. It was underground and you had to descend these steep dark stairs to get to it and I remember someone once telling us that "bad" people went down there, so we started calling it Hell and it stuck. Later I would find out that Hell was a Gay bar. I remember sitting for hours across the street from Hell waiting for someone to descend its staircase so I could get a glimpse of a Gay. I fashioned myself an urban anthropologist of sorts, stalking the illusive Gay trying to observe him...her...it in its natural habitat. For hours I would sit, under the cover of writing in my notebook, glancing up innocently from time to time, knowing they could arrive at any moment. But for all my gay stocking, I never saw one. I don't know what I was expecting; red capes, rocket shoes, halos ... but all I ever saw was average looking people, though perhaps a little better dressed. Ether the Gays really did have the power to become invisible or unlike my 10 year old self they were strictly nocturnal and I was SOL.
About a year later I thought I had discovered a way into Hell. You see, I had come up with the most brilliant entrepreneurial idea of my young, industrious life. Growing up poor in one of the richest counties in the country, had taught me resourcefulness at a young age, but this was sheer economic genius, if I do say so myself. My Girl Scout troop was having a cookie-selling contest, like they did every year, but this year the winner got a brand new pair of K2 Specialized racing skis! I'd been skiing since I was 3 but I had never owned an actual pair of brand new skis. The annual ski swap was my only option. I would save up all summer for the big fall event that happened just prior to ski season. I'd find the best deal I could for the measly amount of money I had, drag my prize home on the bus and then begin the arduous process of trying to scrub off the name of the previous owner which was inevitably scared into the top of my new skis with indelible marker. After rubbing alcohol, nail polish remover, and razor blades I would eventually give up and get out the duck tape. I would fashion a neat rectangular piece of tape to cover Sally D. or Freddy P. or Jonathan Wright III and write my name onto the tape, telling myself I was being courteous to the poor slob that would acquire the skis after me.
But here was the promise of a new day, no previous owner, no last years model, no beaten up edges due to another's inexperience, these skis were bright and shiny, brand new and destined to be mine. I just needed a plan and a dam good one. I certainly didn't have enough friends and family to pull off a win and the prime spot in front of the one grocery store in town had already been claimed. I had to think big, I had to think out of the box, I had to think unconventional. So I dawned my bright green dress and well decorated sash and headed for the Hotel Jerome, not the Hotel itself but the bar attached to the Hotel. Here was where money lived, you could practically smell it on the patrons breath just beneath the Makers Mark and Remy Martin.
Who knew drunk tourists were such suckers for a little girl in green and when I told them about the skis and how, with tears welling in my eyes, I had never owned a new pair in my life, well, they practically threw their money at me. And here was the best part: back in those days you didn't sell the cookies out right, you took orders which were pre-paid by the customer and then on your scouts honor you came back and delivered the actual cookies in a week or two. But these were drunk tourists if they even remembered that they had ordered the cookies what were the chances that they would still be there a week later to pick them up. So fuck scouts honor I kept all those boxes of cookies, resold them and pocketed the money for myself. I figured I deserved it as compensation for my young brilliant business sense, besides I was going to need a new ski suit to go with those pretty new skis! This was a bigger financial windfall that I had dared to hope for. Naturally I hit every bar in town.
Not only did I sell more cookies that year than any one in the history of my troop, but it seemed I had also found a way into Hell! Who knew that dawning that bright green Girl Scout dress and tucking a few sample cookie boxes under my arm legitimized my presences in the usually adult only land of the bar. Once I explained the nature of my presence I was allowed unlimited access to every drinking hole in the county. I figured Hell would be no exception. I was so excited as I skipped down the stairs to Hell, I was down right giddy, like some demented Rainbow Bright doll descending Dante's 7 levels. But I had only made it about half way down the stairs when an older gentleman came running up to meet me. "Where do you think you are going young lady?" I thrust a box of Thin Mints naively forward as my get in free pass, "I'm selling girl scout cookies" I beamed. But he wasn't buying, he wasn't even interested and thrust a pointed finger back up the stairs. "This is no place for little girls". He bombed.
"That's strange," I thought, making an anthropological note-to-self as I sulked back up to the street, "It seems Gays don't like Girl Scout cookies.
I put it out of my mind until high school. During my freshman year, my overly liberal progressive high school, as part of a life science class, was having a real live Gay come to our class to talk about the gay life style. I was so excited. Finally I would get to see one, for real, in the flesh. I had discovered what being gay really meant and now had lots of questions and concerns. I was pretty sure my affections for certain other girls was more or less normal but lately I was beginning to wonder. I assumed that, as girls, we all imagined kissing each other as we kissed our boyfriends but when I mentioned this to a friend of mine she denied it. I was beginning to rethink my assumptions and was questioning my own sexual orientation. I'm not certain exactly what I was hoping to find in this Gay; answers, clues, a kindred, family, a sense of belonging... I don't know, but I was definitely hoping for something. I got to class early and sat in the front row. I had even dressed for the occasion in my white skirt with ruffles at the bottom my fitted baby blue angora sweater and my favorite white patent leather baby doll shoes. I sat patiently waiting for the Gay to appear. Other students filtered in, chatting and choosing seats when suddenly everyone went quiet. A large hirsute man entered the room. He was wearing black leather chaps with what appeared to be nothing more than a thong underneath. On top he wore only a leather vest, which exposed his excessively hairy chest. He wore a leather cap on his head with rainbow beads snug around his neck. He was holding what looked like a whip of some sort. I immediately wished that I hadn't sat in the front row. With him standing and me sitting, his leather wrapped package was at a height that was very difficult for me to ignore. He started talking about leather and daddies and bears as if he was telling some warped version of Goldie Locks. His leathered bulge was thrusting towards my face as he emphasized certain statements and that whip thing was waving threateningly by his side. I was trying to listen, I really was, but I couldn't hear over the screaming in my own head. "This is a Gay! This! How could it... he... this be GAY!" I didn't feel a kinship to this being at all. I didn't feel anything except maybe a little fearful. I tried to listen politely but he looked mean and aggressive and, quite frankly, a little crazy. I imagined Gay as something sweet and tender, sacred and even a little magical. When I imagined kissing girls, they weren't wearing leather or holding whips. They were soft, their muscles tendered under my touch, they were excited but scared as they reached for me; wanting but a little unsure of themselves. They were more or less the tomboy version of me. Now I was more confused then ever. I wanted so much to find where I belonged. Me, with my ruffled skirt and tight sweater and ribbon in my hair, me who gladly kissed the boys but passionately dreamt about the girls, me who liked the attention she got from the captain of the football team but whose heart bounded at the sight of the captain of the girls volleyball team. I didn't play sports, I wasn't a tough girl. I curled my hair and did my nails but I was different; I wasn't like other girls. I wasn't one of them. I didn't know what I was.
I returned to the over exuberant muscled man in front of me, he no longer scared me, I was just disappointed. I hoped he couldn't see the smile fade from my face nor the look of utter despair that replaced it, it wasn't because of him it was because one thing suddenly seemed abundantly clear. If this was Gay, then I, most certainly, was not.
But then how was I to explain Carmen? She was the captain of the volleyball team and the basketball team and a cheerleader... I went to a very small school so there was lots of extra-curricular overlap. She had short dark hair, green eyes and freckles AND she was utterly fearless. I joined volleyball my freshman year, even though team sports give me the hives. I told myself it was to get in shape, but looking back I realize I may have had anterior motives. When I told coach I wouldn't be playing my sophomore year due to speech and debate he actually said "Oh thank god", and then realizing that he had said that out loud added "...that you found something you're good at..."
Anyway my sophomore year Carmen was a senior and she was named homecoming queen. She wore a three-piece suit to the dance and displayed a dandy swagger that no one could hold a candle to. When she smiled at me I became liquid "We'll miss you on the team this year kid." She winked and walked past. For a moment I forgot how to breathe.
Experiential Education was a weeklong out of the classroom excursion, which all students were expected to participate in. Trips would range from rafting the Grand Canyon to exploring the Louvre, from biking through Arizona to learning to scuba dive in Maui. The more extravagant trip were out of my budget but I was always perfectly happy to spend a week in nature, learning from the wind and sky, escaping the confines of brick walls and hard covered textbooks. My sophomore year I choose a trip hiking through Canyonlands National Park and, as luck would have it, so did Carmen.
The first day out I try to stay close as we hiked along, listening contently as she entertained everyone with stories and jokes. During a midday break she climbed atop a tall rock to rest I came scrambling up after. As I crest the rock there she was, a true goddess, strewn topless and unapologetically exposed. She was the coolest! "Would you like some water I offered?". She was my Peppermint Patty I her Marcy. I would serve her dutifully; cater to her every request, though hopefully I would anticipate her desires before the request was even made. My reward would be her gratitude. I needed nothing more. As she took a swallow from my canteen I made quick business of removing my top and procuring a spot by her side. Close but not too close. She lay back down "What a beautiful day" she claimed "Doesn't that breeze feel wonderful." My nipples came alive at every wisp of wind; wonderful indeed.
That night there was poker with a hand pick group selected by Carmen herself. She smoked cigars, which I lit for her, and drank whisky from a shot glass, which I made sure stayed filled. We fell into these roles naturally, there was an understanding between us, no need for discussion, I needed a teacher she an apprentice, wax on wax off (though that movie would not come out for two more years).
But it wasn't until the third night that I knew I was truly in the presence of greatness. She woke me in the middle of the night and I followed her dutifully to a small pond that had formed among the rocks. She removed her cloths and walked like silk into the violet water. The moon shown boldly that night and cast a perfect staircase of light upon the water. Her silhouette graced the darkness with a heart breaking slender. For a moment all I could do was watch as she disappeared beautiful into the dark. Then I quickly removed my clothes and tiptoed in the water after her. I moved with silent vigor hoping my body would not register the cold dessert night and cause me to squeal like a girl. We swam for a moment in silence, taking in the air and the water and the moonlight and the rocks and the tranquil wonder that only a cathedral of canyons can invoke. Then she disappeared under the water and the next thing I knew she was rising beneath me, the back of her neck between my thighs, she rose into the air with me perched precariously upon her shoulders and now I did squeal with the rush of ubiquitous delight that arises from the unexpected and yet hoped for. Our quiet wonder turned to riotous play as we chased and dunked and twirled and tickled and topped and toppled and splashed and laughed - breathless and alive. " Try and touch the moon" she said and dove under me again and as I arose from the water this time I reached up with all my might "I've almost got it..." I started to say when suddenly what seemed like hundreds of tiny lights held by hundreds of tiny hands attached to hundreds of tiny boys giggling with hundreds of tiny mouths, illuminated the night simultaneously. It seemed there was a Cub Scout troop camping near by that had heard our playful banter and had come to investigate. I fell back and crouched down so the water would cover me but Carmen did not miss a beat, she was neither shocked nor dismayed nor put off nor concerned in any way. She turned ostentatiously towards the light and marched brazenly out of the water. Once in clear view, resplendent in her dripping glistening nakedness, she jutted out her hip, placed a stern hand upon it and exclaimed "What the hell are you boys lookin at?" And just like that, a hundred tiny lights gasped and scattered. I was in awe, I was infatuated, I was falling in love.
Still it would take me another 15 years to actually come out. Recently, Carmen Facebook friended me. I nearly fell over when I got the request but my excitement soon faded as I perused the pictures of her and her husband and their handsome athletic children. I don't know what I was expecting. But they say you never forget your first and to this day I can't help but swoon over girls with green eyes and freckles, nor can I resist smiling to myself when I see a Girl Scout. So it seems I wasn't a very good anthropologist after all. And thank god - thank god you didn't have to have super powers to be gay and as it turns out we actually do like Girl Scout cookies.
