The Cross in the Closet (5 page)

One song bleeds into two without my realizing it, and something weird begins to happen. It’s as if I’ve mentally snapped, unable to fight the situation or even just the overly aggressive man behind me. The music draws me in hypnotically and I got lost in it, like everyone else.

The song ends, and I feel violated, slimy, used. I cannot blame anyone but myself that I let it happen or lost control. I walk away from my suitor without saying a word. “Bitch!” he says, just loud enough for me to hear. Maybe I am being a bitch, but I do not care. I feel like washing my hands, washing the baby oil and glitter off of me…which is probably more easily said than done.

As I leave the dance floor, I look back and my eyes meet his again. He looks rejected and upset, like he was having fun and I ruined it. It is not the look of a predator or a pervert. It is a vulnerable expression, and I feel as though I have deeply misunderstood him, allowed my discomfort to exaggerate my perceptions of his intent. I feel a pang of disappointment in myself. The Bible says that man looks at the outward appearance but God looks at the heart. Have I judged this man’s heart because of how he danced with me? Have I fallen so quickly back into my ways that I frivolously presumed him to be a predator?

Once more I am startled by his eyes. He looks
into
me, instead of at me, like he is searching out the truth of who I am and why I am here. Finally he looks down, and I take the brief moment to run from the club. I am overcome with regret, and as I walk to my car I resolve to change. If I am going to do this, to
really
do this, I cannot merely mask the judgment inside of me—I will have to leave it at the door. I will save the judgment for myself, and try from now on to meet these people on their turf, with an open mind and heart.

Minutes later I’m standing in front of Josh’s house, still rushing from the adrenaline and still depressed by my own behavior. I knock and the door opens.

“So? What happened?” he asks before I can even walk inside.

“You had to ask…!” I sit on his couch and light a clove. “I spilled my beer trying to spin like a guy next to me, got dance-raped by a shirtless guy covered in baby oil and glitter, and to top it all off, I made a fool of myself by acting homophobic in a gay bar!” The frustration on my face is apparently too much for Josh to handle and he laughs hysterically.

“I would have paid to see that,” Josh says, trying to breathe. He isn’t laughing with me, he’s laughing
at
me.

“No! It was awful. It was like I was a piece of meat.”

“You
are
like a piece of meat—an especially big piece of meat with ‘bottom’ tattooed on your forehead!” He’s still laughing.

“I would not be the bottom!”

“I think you would be.” Sandra, Josh’s wife, wanders in, apparently just as amused.

“That’s right, honey, you tell ‘im!” he says to her, grinning.

“I think I need a boyfriend,” I say. “I need someone who can take the target off my back and teach me how to act in those types of situations.” I hope Josh will agree.

“Actually, that’s a really good idea. But who? And would they be in on things?” He stops laughing, momentarily thoughtful.

“Well, Shawn from karaoke is a great guy, and he’s gay. I think he’d be perfect.”

“Like a gay Yoda?” he asks.

“Like a gay Yoda.”

“Protect your ass, you must!” Again, Josh bursts into laughter and I get up to leave. As I close the door behind me I hear Josh and Sandra laughing raucously.

“
Bitches!”
I say under my breath.

I have always loved women, always been fascinated by their mystique and beauty. My mom will tell you that when I was a little kid, I used to run up to women and wrap my arms around their legs, saying, “I like your chubby legs!” Most of the time their legs weren’t chubby, but because my mom used to pinch my legs and say the same thing, I thought chubby legs were what everyone had.

As I got older, my mom hoped I’d learn how to conceal my pleasure with the opposite gender more readily, but to her dismay, it only got worse. At six years old I had my first girlfriend, but unlike most childhood romances, mine had passion. My mom always tells people about the night the family was driving to Uncle Bud’s—a seafood joint in the South that I remember fondly—and about the 167 kisses that took place in the back seat of the minivan while we drove. Timmy and Kimmy, we were a match made in heaven.

Several months later we were on a summer vacation with my “girlfriend’s” family, and Kimmy’s parents told us we had to break up because we were getting too old to date and kiss…But I wasn’t going to let her parents salt my game. Five minutes later I went over to Kimmy’s older sister, Bethany—who happened to be my brother’s “girlfriend” at the time—and I asked her out. She said yes, and my brother was devastated, but Bethany was a foxy nine-year-old, and I wasn’t going back to the single life, no matter what.

Because of this project and because I’m in the closet as a straight man, I can’t be who I’ve been since I was a kid. But being cut off from women this year isn’t yet as much a problem as I had thought it might be. I’m too distracted and off balance to even notice, really—but tonight that will change. Tonight I’m asking Shawn to go out with me, and I’m going to ask him to be my boyfriend. I’ve also got to tell him about my project and see if he is willing to help me on this journey.

It has been two days since my first club experience, and I am nervous about venturing into another gay bar. I don’t like being nervous. I don’t like being afraid of where I’m going and who I might meet along the way, but I don’t have the option of turning back. Shawn has graciously agreed to meet me at Tribe to talk, and I try not to fixate on the purpose of our meeting. This is my first time asking a man to be my boyfriend, and if he agrees, it will also be the last. Oddly enough, my nerves have less to do with Shawn and more to do with the environment I’m meeting him in. After my first experience the other night, I feel as though my homophobia has gotten worse, and I am not sure why. I was the one at fault there, but I can’t stop thinking about how violated I felt being touched the way I had been on the dance floor. But Shawn is different, and his style of interaction has always been respectable. I have always seen him as just as another friend. Springwater karaoke will do that to you, or at least it did that to me. It is a place where labels don’t survive very long.

The more I think about Shawn since that night, the more I know he will be the perfect boyfriend for me. I’ve known Shawn for a little over a year and always enjoy our talks. But even more than our talks, I enjoy listening to Shawn sing. He has a beautiful voice, the type that grabs you and places you in the very lyrics of whichever song he’s chosen to sing. His voice sounds like velvet feels. It is smooth, soulful, and deeply moving. Growing up in Nashville, I am not a stranger to listening to undiscovered talent, but Shawn isn’t just talented. He sings with every fiber of his being, with every cell in his body. It is magic. I have never been more impressed by an artist than I was the first time I heard him, and that was how our friendship began.

Shawn is adored by everyone who frequents karaoke. He has a personality that puts anyone at ease—and he’s the first openly gay man that I’ve ever felt such a connection with. I remember the first time we talked. He was walking off the stage, barely a step above the ground, and I grabbed his hand and told him how impressed I was by his voice. He hugged me. He hugged me like a lifelong friend would hug, deep and meaningfully, and he thanked me for the encouragement. His vulnerable nature and appreciation for a simple compliment was very moving, and I was suddenly faced with a gay man I was incapable of disliking or writing off. And now I can only hope that he won’t be offended by my project or write me off for asking him to help.

Club Play and Tribe, the gay bar where I’m meeting Shawn, are attached. Also attached to Tribe is a restaurant called Red. I don’t know how a restaurant can be gay, exactly, but it is. Everything from the food and the drinks to the employees are gay or gay-themed; the result is a line of three gay establishments, encompassing a small city block.

I walk into Tribe and marvel at the bar most straight people wouldn’t dare enter. The bar doesn’t fit my preconceived stereotypes. It’s classy, well-lit, and clean—an upscale place to grab a drink after work. I’ve been told all gay bars were dens of iniquity, places where men gathered by the hundreds to pair up and have the fleeting one night stands indicative of those that are sexually promiscuous. At first glance, a few of the men seem to have those stereotypical motives or are at least dressed that way, but most aren’t. This isn’t Play. Most of the crowd gathered tonight look like normal people, business men meeting friends for a beer after work, wearing suits or business casual. Even the drinks look more traditional. If I were to attempt to paint a visual, I’d say that Tribe looks like a cross between an Applebee’s and a P.F. Chang’s, with better lighting. I am much more comfortable here and feel less pressure from the environment itself. I could get used to this place.

I make my way to the bar and order a pint, and the bartender is very friendly. Unlike Play, he’s not shirtless. He’s wearing a nice collared button-up shirt and dark pants. His hair is spiked and he has several piercings in each ear, but for all intents and purposes he looks like a normal bartender.

Inside Tribe one finds two separate rooms, both with bars, and a third in the adjoining restaurant. After taking a sip of beer I walk into the second room and see Shawn waiting for me at a table. He’s wearing a black, vertically striped button-up and nice jeans. When he sees me, he smiles. Shawn is a handsome African-American man, bigger but well built. I know it is going to be an interesting dynamic. Black, gay, and we live in the South. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, I think. Shawn is also several inches taller than me, and as he stands up and hugs me, I feel like I’d imagine a girl would feel hugging me. There’s a sense of safety in his embrace, a sense of comfort that says everything is and will be okay…and I hope that proves to be true. Shawn’s demeanor is calm as I explain my experiment to him. He appears to be waiting to react. I wait for his response the way I waited for my brother’s when I came out. This is the first time I’m telling a gay man about what I’m doing, and I nervously hope he won’t be offended. Shawn takes a few deep breaths, and I take a few deep gulps of my beer.

“Wow…I don’t really know what to say.” His words are slow and deliberate: “First, I want to say that I think it’s an incredible idea and I’m happy you are doing it.” I exhale a sigh of relief and wait for him to finish. “And I’m really happy you told me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re in it deep right now and I’m glad I know, so I can be here for you.” Shawn puts his hand on mine and his expression is reassuring.

“Well, it’s funny you should say that,” I laugh nervously.

“Why?”

“Because I need to ask you a huge favor.”

“Uh huh…” he says.

“I was in the club a few days ago, and I don’t exactly know what happened, but I was pretty aggressively forced into an uncomfortable situation by a guy. I didn’t know how to react, and I think I was as offensive as I felt offended. I don’t know how to act in gay bars and clubs, and I need to learn,” I say in a rush. Shawn looks at me thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really need someone to teach me. Shawn, I want you to be my boyfriend.” I down the rest of my beer.

Shawn waves to the bartender and he comes over. “I’d like to buy my friend another beer,” he says.

“Sure, babe. What kind?” the bartender asks.

“Blue Moon, please,” I answer.

“I think that is a really good idea, Tim,” Shawn says to me. “It’ll at least give you an excuse to turn down the guys who will ask you out, which minimizes the damage you could potentially do to their feelings. You need to make sure you don’t take advantage of them. Just observe and interact, and pay attention to what you see.”

“I would never want to hurt anyone or take advantage of their feelings. Besides, no guy is going to ask me out!” I laugh.

“Sure they will! I would, if you were really gay,” he says.

“So you’ll be my boyfriend?” I ask again.

“Let me get this straight. You aren’t gay
so
you want me to be your boyfriend?”

“That’s pretty much the gist of it.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Shawn half giggles to himself and takes a sip of his drink.

“Really? Are you sure?” I ask.

“Of course I’m sure,” he says. “This is going to be an interesting year!”

“It already is.”

“I can’t begin to imagine.”

The bartender brings my Blue Moon and I drop the orange slice into the beer.

Shawn and I make small talk, letting the gravity of our new relationship sink in. His tone is reassuring. I tell him about what it was like coming out, and that I’ve emailed and texted a few people but haven’t heard anything back. I feel rejected, like I have a disease or something, and they won’t come near me. I am in the South, so I guess I do have a disease, albeit a social one. I would probably be ignoring me, too, and that fact shames me. But Shawn understands, and it is nice to talk with someone who understands. I tell him more about my first time at the club and how uncomfortable I was. Like Josh and Sandra, he laughs at me and agrees that I acted like a big piece of meat, and for the first time during my year, I actually forget where I am and what I’m doing. For the first time, I’m just another guy in a bar, sitting with a friend and enjoying a beer.

“Okay, boyfriend, teach me,” I say.

“First things first,” he says. “See that guy over there at the bar? He’s been eyeing you since I got here.”

“What? Gross!” My reaction is subconscious and instantly I see that I’ve offended my friend.

“Gross? Tim, it’s not gross. It’s not even remotely a bad thing.” Shawn thinks for a minute. “It’s as natural as you being attracted to any woman you see.”

“He’s probably not even looking at me. He’s probably looking at you!” I feel like an idiot.

“Seriously, he is! You’re going to need to learn that men and women look for different things. And you’re hot.”

I don’t know if I should take Shawn’s words as a compliment or an insult.

“You’re going to get a lot of attention, and the attention you’re going to get is a lot different from the kind you’re used to. You can’t act put off by it, or even uncomfortable. You have to learn how to embrace it. Just think about it this way: If a guy gives you attention, even if it’s unwanted, it’s a compliment. He’s saying he thinks you’re attractive and worth his putting himself out there, just for the chance of getting your number. If you think of it that way, you won’t feel nearly as uncomfortable.”

“So how do I turn them down without giving myself away?”

“Use your common sense. If a guy has just put himself out there, realize and appreciate that fact. Be gentle and gracious and tell him you have a boyfriend, but thank him and flirt a little bit.”

“
Flirt
?”

“Yes, Tim, flirt. If you think you’ll be able to last an entire year, night after night at places like this, without pinching a butt or two, you’re not going to make it!”

“Me pinch a guy’s butt?” I feel sick at the thought. It’s hard enough for me to be touched by a gay man, much less flirt with one.

“The rules of flirting are virtually the same here as they are at a straight bar. Be suggestive without being too aggressive, and be playful. Flirting between gay men is almost more about validating that other person than it is about hooking up with them. Think of flirting as the ultimate encouragement.”

“But what happens if they are
too
encouraged by it…?” I ask.

“Tim, you aren’t going to get raped! Is this really what you think about gay men?”

“No, but you’ve gotta try to understand how hard this is for me.”

“Stop thinking about everything in terms of
you
, and think about it in terms of others. You aren’t in church. You’re on different turf, and it’s not your place to be put off by an advance, no matter how unwanted it is. When a guy comes up to you, realize that he’s doing so because he sees something in you that he likes, and that’s never a bad thing. Take it as a damn compliment!”

“Okay, I’ll try. And I do understand.” An awkward pause follows and I can’t help but stare at two men a few tables away making out. The sight turns my stomach.

Shawn sighs, seeing my discomfort. “And if you’re worried about it going too far, don’t be. Just remember that no means no. It’s a genderless word. If you’re courteous about it, you’ll most likely get a free drink, even if you say no.”

“So what do I do about that guy at the bar? Is he still staring?”

“Not for long.” Shawn smirks. “If I’m your boyfriend, then let me do my thing.”

Shawn looks intently at the man staring at me. It’s not a mean look, but it’s possessive, and it’s not long before the stranger turns away, apparently having gotten the hint.

“Now he knows we’re together.” Shawn seems happy with himself, confident and playful.

“You really are a gay Yoda!” I’m amazed at how subtle Shawn’s body language was. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?” Shawn laughs and I know I’ve made the right decision. Not only do I get at least a small measure of protection and an awesome excuse to avoid potential suitors; I also get to spend time with someone who defies my Pharisee, someone I actually trust.

“So how’s this relationship going to work?” Shawn’s voice brings me back to the moment, and I’m at a loss.