Men Who Love Men (34 page)

I cannot speak.

“It’s okay, Henry. I didn’t expect you to respond any differently.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

Gale walks back over to the sink, staring out the window at the harbor beyond. “I’ll say it again, Henry. I’ll accept your apology only if you’ll accept mine as well.”

I’m too stunned to move. I just stand there looking at the back of his head for several seconds. But then I force myself over to him, and place my my hand on his shoulder. His muscles are still hard, still solid.

“If I had known all along…” I say.

Gale turns to look at me. “Oh, so if when I asked you out the first time, I’d added, ‘By the way, Henry, I’m a female-to-male transsexual without a penis,’ you’d still have gone out with me?”

“I…I’d like to think so.”

Gale smiles. “I’d like to think so, too. And well you might have. You’re a good man, Henry. But that’s a lot to spring on a person.”

I look past him out the window. How can I lie? How can I be so sure that I would have gone out with him? Even if I had, would I have been so eager to make love? So urgent to press for a relationship?

How can I pretend that, had Gale been truthful with me from the start, I would even be standing here at this moment? The truth is, I probably would not be. It would have ended way before this point. I’m not proud of myself. In fact, at this very moment, I despise my pettiness, my small-mindedness. But I can’t lie and pretend otherwise.

Gale lets out a breath and continues his story. “I finally came to the conclusion in my relationship with Cathy that I was uncomfortable with being a woman. But that’s not all I realized, Henry. I came to understand that I wasn’t meant to be
with
women either.” He laughs ironically. “It might have been easier if I’d really been a lesbian right from the beginning. Women don’t seem to have the same hang-ups around genitalia that men do. But I can’t deny my orientation any more than I can deny my gender identity.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

Gale sighs. “Stop saying that. In the end, there’s nothing to be sorry for. It will take a while to find a man for whom genitalia doesn’t matter. Do you see now why I’m so picky, so cautious—so
controlling
?”

I grip him by the shoulders. “But by
being
so controlling, Gale, you’re going to push people away from you before you even know what’s possible with them.”

He laughs, and the bitterness isn’t completely disguised. “Oh? Given
your
reaction, Henry, I’m certainly not encouraged that openness would be a better strategy.”

“Point taken.” I take a deep breath. “But your softness isn’t something you should be ashamed of. It’s not something you should try to hide. In fact, I suspect there’s some parts of the old Gale you really shouldn’t toss.”

He smiles wryly. “All I really remember about her is that she spelled her name with a ‘y.’”

I’m not sure what he means.

“Gayle,” he tells me. “She spelled it with a ‘y.’”

I look down at him. “Just because you changed the spelling—just because you’ve changed the body—doesn’t mean the same soul isn’t inside.”

Gale says nothing, just holds my gaze.

“I’ve been going through my own little awakening lately,” I tell him. “And there are two things that stand out really clearly. First, I’ve got to like what I see in my mirror if Mr. Right is going to like me back.” I pull him close to me, looking into those soulful eyes of his. “And second, whoever turns out to
be
Mr. Right must like what he sees in
his
mirror as well.” I press my forehead against his. “Does that honestly describe you, my friend?”

Gale closes his eyes and does a remarkable thing. He cries.

“There,” I say. “I knew somewhere under all that hard muscle shell was a real human being.”

“I never look at myself in the mirror,” Gale says, gently moving out of my arms to wipe his eyes with a paper towel. “At least, not without something to hide the last vestiges of Gayle.” He smiles wanly. “With a ‘y’.”

“Well, maybe you ought to
start
looking,” I advise him. “Today I looked at myself and saw a few other things beside my love handles, which usually dominate the whole picture. It was quite a revelation.”

Gale looks at me severely. “You are a gorgeous man, Henry Weiner. How could you ever think otherwise?”

“It was easy,” I tell him. “As easy as it’s been for you to look in your mirror and see only what you didn’t want to see.” I take his hand in mine. “You’re a gorgeous, sexy man as well, Gale.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.” I smile. “Maybe someday things might be different for us. And maybe not. I can’t stand here right now and honestly say how I might feel. But the truth is, right now, I don’t think either one of us is ready for a relationship.”

Gale looks away. “I thought if I found the perfect man…”

“You already are the perfect man,” I tell him.

He looks back at me. “Thank you, Henry.”

“Once we each believe that about ourselves, well, then maybe we can start looking for Mr. Right.”

Gale laughs. “You know, this isn’t how I expected this would go. I thought you’d run out of here in horror.” He looks at me with real happiness on his face, maybe the first time I’ve ever seen it in his eyes. “It’s been a very pleasant surprise.”

“For me, too, actually,” I say. “Hey, how about taking a walk with me? It looks like the sky is getting dark. It might rain.” I smile. “And I love walking on the beach in the rain.”

And so we walk. We break the pattern of my leaving Gale’s apartment alone once things reach an emotional peak. This time, he comes with me.

It does indeed rain, the raindrops stirring up a rich fragrance of salt and sand on the beach. We don’t talk a lot, just point out crabs moving slowly in the surf and watch fishermen tying up their boats. At one point I slip and nearly fall into the water, but Gale catches me. By the time we reach the pier we’re soaked, but we’re laughing. It feels good to laugh.

Climbing up onto the pier, we spot an adorable sight. On the same bench where Luke and I sat earlier, a little boy is sitting with a girl, holding an umbrella over both their heads. “Isn’t that sweet?” Gale asks, grabbing my coat.

I nod. In that moment, I think about Luke—I think about how different my two meetings today have turned out, the one with him and the one Gale. Luke remains a mask for me, with no real evidence that anything at all exists behind it. But where Gale, too, has lived behind a façade, his whole journey has been about reaching the real person inside—a glimpse of which he allowed me to see today. I feel terribly sad for Luke, but my sadness is counteracted by the sense of honest friendship I’ve discovered with Gale.

As we approach, we’re considering the children ahead of us on the bench. “If only things could stay that simple,” I observe. “Why are adults so good at making things difficult?”

“Let them always be as happy as they are right now,” Gale says, as if breathing a little prayer.

The children are sitting rather far apart, as if they’re on a date but too nervous to come to close. They’re quite young, nine or ten maybe. It’s hard to make out much at this distance and in the rain. But it’s clear they aren’t saying anything to each other. They’re just sitting there, the boy shakily holding the umbrella over the two of them as the rain grows heavier.

That’s when I recognize him.

“Hey, that’s Jeff’s nephew.” I take a few steps forward. “J. R.! Hey, dude!”

The boy looks up at me with some degree of surprise, even panic.

I’ve reached the bench, Gale following quickly behind. “What are you doing, sitting here in the rain?” I ask.

“Nothing!” J. R. shouts, standing up and, in the process, moving the umbrella away from the little girl, a pretty brunette in a yellow raincoat.

“Hey,” I tell him. “Now your friend’s getting wet.”

“It’s okay,” the girl says. “I don’t mind.”

“I know you,” Gale says, looking at her. “You’re Tony Silva’s daughter, aren’t you? I’ve been over at your house with Martin, building some cabinets.”

“Yes,” the girl says, smiling. “I’m Lynette.”

I look from her over to J. R. “So I’ll ask again, buddy. What are you guys doing out here on the pier in the middle of a rainstorm?”

“Nothing!” J. R. yells. “I told you,
nothing
!”

I look at him oddly. “Easy, buddy. It’s okay. What’s up with you?”

“I gotta go,” he tells Lynette. “See you later.”

“Okay, bye, J. R.,” she says.

“Wait a minute, kiddo,” I say, nabbing J. R.’s shoulder as he tries to pass. “What’s gotten you so riled up?”

“I gotta go home,” he tells me.

“Actually, I think we should all get moving,” Gale says. “It’s really starting to pour.” His eyes find me. “Thanks for everything, Henry.”

I smile. “Thanks for the walk.”

“I hope we have more of them,” he says.

“I do, too,” I reply.

Gale turns to looking down at J. R.’s friend. “Now I’ll walk you home, Lynette.”

The little girl turns once more to J. R. “I’ll see you at school,” she tells him. The boy just grunts.

We watch as Gale and Lynette hurry off the pier. Once Gale was a little girl like Lynette. Except not really. He was always different, always living behind a mask. Now, finally, he’s free. I’m not sure how I feel about all that I’ve just learned about him. I don’t know where another walk with him might possibly lead. But I’m glad he didn’t throw me out once again. I’m glad we at least moved past that point. I’m glad we’re friends.

Then I turn to J. R.

“So,” I say, looking down at him. “You going tell me what’s gotten you so anxious?”

“Can we just go home?”

I sigh. “Okay, buddy. Whatever you say.”

We head off down Commercial Street. J. R. tries to offer me some of his umbrella but he can’t reach that high. “Doesn’t matter, buddy,” I tell him. “I like the rain.”

We walk a few yards in silence. On the horizon I hear a rumble of thunder.

“So, J. R.,” I say.

“What?”

“There’s really no need to be embarrassed about sitting with a girl.”

He stops walking, two big blue eyes glaring up at me from under his umbrella. “Just don’t tell Uncle Jeff.”

“Why? You weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Just don’t tell him!”

I’m mystified. “J. R., talk to me. What’s gotten you so upset?”

“I don’t want Uncle Jeff to know I like Lynette.”

We’ve resumed walking. “Are you afraid that Lynette’s going to think you’re gay or something? Is that what this is all about?”

“No,” he says decisively.

“Then what is it?”

“Just don’t tell Uncle Jeff,
okay
?”

“Fine.” I stop walking. I stoop down and grip the boy by the shoulders, finding, for a moment, a little shelter from the rain under his umbrella. I look him in the eyes. “But listen to me for a minute, dude. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. I’ve been thinking about how sometimes I try to be something that I’m not. How sometimes I don’t tell the truth about how I feel, even to myself. Do you think sometimes you do that too, buddy?”

“I don’t know,” J. R. says.

“I think maybe you do. And it’s okay. We all do it. But once in a while, it’s a good thing to check in with yourself and see what’s going on.”

The boy is silent as we hold each other’s gaze.

“When I’ve been the most confused about myself,” I tell him, “do you know who have always been my best friends? Who’ve always been able to help me figure stuff out? Your Uncle Jeff and Uncle Lloyd. I think if you tried talking to them, they could help you out, too.”

He shakes his head. “They wouldn’t like what I told them.”

“Listen to me, buddy. No matter
what
you told them, they will
always
like you. They
love
you, dude. You’ve got to trust that.”

His eyes flicker away as the first crackle of lightning cuts through the gray sky.

“Come on,” I say, standing up. “Let’s go home.”

We hurry through the street as it fills up with rain.

S
o here we are. Jeff and Lloyd’s wedding day. The rains lasted nearly all week, only to have the clouds suddenly clear out this morning, to everyone’s relief and surprise. The sun seems to be burning away any lingering haze. For the first time in several days, we can all see more clearly.

Actually, for me, it’s the first time in more than a
year
.

Straightening my tie at the mirror, I like how I look. Not in a very long time have I been able to say that. Staring back at me, Henry Weiner looks pretty dapper—pretty
stylin’
—in his blue suit and checkered bowtie. That studly escort Hank, I tell myself, has nothing on Henry.

Out at the beach, I help Lloyd’s mother from her car. She arrived on Thursday with two of Lloyd’s brothers, and has been staying at the guesthouse. She’s a delightful woman, small and white haired. Completely no-nonsense, she’s thrilled that her son is “finally settling down,” as she put it, and it doesn’t matter if it’s “with a man or a woman or a goldfish.” She’s just happy, she told me, that her baby has a “home.”

That he does. And I’m part of that home, I realize, as he’s part of mine. I take Mrs. Griffith’s arm and help her onto the wooden ramp we’ve installed from the parking lot onto the beach. She walks with a cane, but she’s pretty agile on her own. I can see where Lloyd’s resiliency comes from.

The next car to arrive is Ann Marie’s. She’s got J. R. and her mother with her. Far more tightly coiled than Lloyd’s mother, Mrs. O’Brien, I’ve been quick to learn, is not one to smile without great cause. She seems overly solicitous of J. R., and frequently leans down to talk to him. He’s her talisman, I realize, her steady compass through a world she doesn’t know very well. With her dyed red hair and too bright lipstick, she wears her fear quite plainly on her face. Jeff being gay has always been difficult for her to accept. But she’s here. That’s what matters. She’s here.

“Now don’t leave Grandma alone,” she’s saying to J. R., who takes her arm. “Stay with Grandma now, Jeffy.”

“Don’t call me Jeffy,” the boy says, looking distinctly uncomfortable in his gray suit, his collar open without a tie.

“Hey, buddy,” I say as he passes. “How are things back at the house?”

He just shrugs. Sad to say, my little pep talk to him last week didn’t produce much in the way of tangible results. He’s remained just as distant as before, and when Jeff and Lloyd asked him one last time if he’d be their ring bearer, he again said no.

“Are Jeff and Lloyd on their way?” I ask Ann Marie, who looks fabulous in a bright yellow dress.

“I think so,” she tells me. “They were tying each other’s ties last I saw them. Is the singer here yet?”

At the last minute, Jeff had canceled the divas. Or maybe they backed out, I don’t know. All I know is, earlier in the week, one of them, I’m not sure which, was balking about flying in on Cape Air, and wanted to be picked up at the airport in Boston. There was also the question of somebody’s fee being higher than what Jeff had originally been quoted—and all of a sudden, instead of Connie Francis and Kimberley Locke, we’ve got some local singer, a waitress from the Mews, one of our favorite restaurants. “Who was I trying to impress by bringing in divas?” Jeff asked rhetorically, shaking his head. Like the Botox, I suppose, a high-profile wedding suddenly seemed unnecessary.

“Yes, the singer is here,” I tell Ann Marie, nodding out toward the beach, where the waitress has begun to tune her guitar. “I think everybody’s here but the grooms.”

I glance around at the gathering crowd. Over there, old friends Melissa and Rose are chatting with Jeff’s brother and his daughters. Closer to the water stand our buddies from our days on the circuit, Billy and Oscar and Elliot, as well as Elliot’s hunky new boyfriend Cesar. Elliot confided to me that he’s giving Cesar an engagement ring tonight. Seems everybody’s getting married.

Except me. Yet I can honestly say that, standing here watching the guests arrive, everybody kissing each other and exclaiming over the glorious day, I feel quite content with my own single-hood. I think about Luke—Frank Hall or whatever his name is—sitting on the pier, all alone. I think about Gale, who was once Gayle, trying to find a new way to be in the world, not knowing whom he can trust. In so many ways, I’m no different than they are. But I have something they don’t.

I have a family.

“All right, everyone,” comes the voice of the officiator, Lloyd’s old friend Naomi. A tall, dark-haired woman, she wears a flowing flower-print muumuu and a wreath of daisies around her head. “Gather around me, please,” she says, waving to the guests to come together. “Our ceremony is about to begin.”

That’s when I hear the car door behind me. I turn. Jeff and Lloyd have arrived, both of them looking magnificent in their tuxedos with red roses pinned to satin lapels. As they approach me, they’re holding hands and beaming.

“What a day, huh?” I ask them.

Jeff can’t contain his exhuberance. “It’s like a dream.”

“Henry,” Lloyd says, reaching inside his jacket and withdrawing a small box, “you’ll have to bring these over when Naomi gives the signal.” I take the box from him. Opening its lid, I see two shining titanium rings inside.

Jeff’s smile turns tight as I look over at him. “You’ll have to be our ring bearer as well as our best man,” he tells me, “since J. R. won’t do it.”

“Yes, I will.”

We turn. The boy must have been watching for his uncles to arrive. He’s left his grandmother’s side and now stands before us in his too-big suit, pulling at his shirt collar with his finger. “I’ll be your ring bearer,” he announces.

Jeff’s face turns into a beacon of light. “J. R.—you mean it?”

The kid nods.

Jeff reaches down to embrace him. “J. R., thank you, so much!”

Lloyd places his hand on the boy’s shoulders. “You have made us very, very happy.”

I hand the ring box to J. R. “Guard these carefully, buddy,” I tell him.

J. R. nods, accepting the box.

Out on the beach, Shirl, the singer, begins her song.

When I fall in love, it will be forever…

I smile. Gale once said that those sentiments were worth singing about. Indeed they are, I think, walking behind Jeff and Lloyd onto the beach. Will it ever be me in their place? Will these people who have gathered here ever come to a ceremony for me?

In a restless world like this is, love is ended before it’s begun…

I look around. Jeff’s mother is crying. He stops as he passes her, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. I note that Ann Marie’s mascara is running as she sheds her own tears.

And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too…

I watch as Jeff and Lloyd take their place in front of Naomi, their hands still linked, their eyes only on each other.

…
is when I fall in love with you.

Shirl finishes her song. Naomi steps forward.

“We are here today,” she says, “to witness the joining together of two souls, Jeff and Lloyd.”

The group murmurs appreciatively. Beyond, the surf crashes on the beach, and a gathering of gulls chitters loudly.

My mind flashes back to a night in Boston, many years ago. It was during that period where Jeff and Lloyd were living apart, neither of them sure of what lay ahead for the two of them. Jeff was stretched out on his couch, staring at the ceiling. I knew he was scared, depressed, worried. I asked him if he could imagine a life without Lloyd.

“Of course I can,” he replied. “Life would go on. I suppose I might even find someone else, someday. But there would always be a chunk missing, like one of those mosaics you see where a couple of tiles have fallen out. It’s still beautiful, but not complete.” I remember smiling then. The writer in Jeff was coming out. I appreciated the image.

Yet today, the mosaic around us is complete. The sun, the waves, the sand, the people. I admit that I’m in my own world as Naomi speaks, offering her blessing on Jeff and Lloyd. There’s a poem from Rumi, a Native American prayer, a parable about the Buddha. I can tell Lloyd wrote most of the ceremony. It’s the spirit of the event I absorb more than any of the actual words. I’m kind of hovering above the ceremony, in fact, and I discover that, right beside me, is a man that I can’t quite see, a man whose face is unknown to me but whose presence is very, very familiar. With him beside me, I, too, feel complete.

Jack, is that you?

He doesn’t answer, but I feel quite certain it’s him. The man from my childhood bed, with whom I’d fall asleep every night during my teenage years. The man I’d named for a childhood hero, and who I believed so strongly I’d one day find.

And now he’s here.

Not in physical form. Not yet. But if I’m real, he’s real. I once called him Mr. Right, or the One—but that’s reductive. That describes him only from my perspective. He’s so much more than that. He’s full of life and contradictions, flaws as well as virtues, and he will not be enough, on his own, to meet every single one of my needs. Nor will I meet all of his. But he will make me complete, just as I complete him.

“And now,” Naomi is saying, “a word from our best man.”

I look up. I’m on. I clear my throat, and turn to face the gathered crowd.

For a moment I can’t speak. I have no idea what I should say. Then the words find their way.

“When Lloyd and Jeff asked me to say something,” I tell the crowd, “I was at a loss. ‘Give a good speech!’ they instructed.” I laugh. “Talk about pressure.”

The crowd laughs in return.

“I tried writing down a few things. I’d get two or three sentences down, then crumble up the paper. It all sounded too earnest, too trite. Jeff would probably say earnest and trite describes me to a T”—more laughter from the crowd—“but I just couldn’t subject you all to that. Besides, I wanted to say something that no one else would say.”

I look at my two friends.

“So I decided to wing it. I decided I wouldn’t write anything, that when the time came, I’d just speak from the heart. I decided I would just tell you what I was thinking at the moment, how I felt standing here as your best man. And how I feel right now is…
inspired.”

Overhead a very loud gull sweeps through the sky, as if punctuating my words. We all look up briefly at it, then I begin to speak once more.

“I am inspired by you, Jeff and Lloyd,” I tell them. “I haven’t always understood your relationship. I have often envied you it. But you have taught me something very special about men who love men. You have taught me that there is no way to contain that love. It spills out, big enough to encompass everyone here. Certainly you have included me in your love, and for that I am grateful. I am a different person for having known you, for having been loved by you, for having loved you.”

“Here, here,” someone calls out from the crowd.

“You give us hope,” I continue. “You give us hope that the kind of love you have found with each other—and cultivated so beautifully—might be possible for us. Might, in fact, be possible for everyone. You have taught me so much about love and commitment. Each time I think I have the answer, you challenge me to think again. Indeed, you inspire us
all
to defy definition, to upend our expectations. You challenge us to live creatively, mindfully, and most of all, authentically. Thank you for that.”

I realize I’ve made them both cry. I can’t help but smile.

“Earnest enough for you?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, tears in his eyes. “But definitely not trite.”

Everyone laughs.

Naomi is opening her arms to the crowd. “May we now take a moment to summon to our hearts those who are not here today,” Naomi says. “Jeff’s father and Lloyd’s father.”

The crowd falls silent, bowing their heads. I look over at the mothers of the groom. Mrs. Griffith is holding her chin high, her eyes staring off at the water, a solemn memory of her husband surely coming to her mind. Mrs. O’Brien, by contrast, is smiling—the first smile I’ve seen on her all week. Her lips move in a silent greeting to the beloved husband who now fills her vision. Jeff and Lloyd have their mothers in their sight, and no doubt their fathers in their hearts.

“And also,” Naomi intones, “let us remember our wonderful friend, David Javitz, who you know is looking down on these two right now and saying, ‘What the hell took you so long?’”

Laughter once again from the crowd.

Naomi looks over at J. R. “The rings?”

The boy steps forward. His small hand is trembling as he hands the box to her. She smiles, taking the box and opening it for Jeff and Lloyd. The two rings sparkle in the sunlight.

Lloyd takes the first ring and slips it onto Jeff’s finger. “With this ring,” he says, “I thee wed.” He steps back and looks at the man he loves. “With you, Jeff, I have found home. This is the great promise of life. That we find our soulmate, that we come together and find our sense of wholeness. Thank you for making me whole. Thank you for loving me. To you, I pledge my love and my life.”

Jeff takes the second ring from the box and slips it on Lloyd’s finger. “With this ring,” he echoes, “I thee wed.” He smiles, his eyes sparkling in the sun. “When I was a little boy,” he tells Lloyd, “I used to talk to you. I knew you were out there waiting for me. I didn’t know your name, I wasn’t sure exactly how you’d look, but I knew you were there. Thank you for making me complete. Thank you for loving me. To you, I pledge my love and my life.”

They stand there their hands clasped between them.

“And now,” Naomi says, raising her arms, “with the authority vested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts—”

Cheers ring out.

“—and by God,” Naomi continues, “I now pronounce you legally and spiritually married.”

Such a simple, yet radically profound statement. I shed my own tears of joy for my friends.

I’m the first one they embrace after their own kiss. “I love you, buddy,” Jeff says.

“And I love you,” I tell this man who changed my life.