To my mother I said, “I asked you, told you more than twice, please Mom, no ‘welcome home’ party, please,” but she stared at me and smiled and said, “This isn’t a party. It’s a barbecue.” Then she stepped away, to tell someone else what had happened at the library.
And so it came to pass that thirty people, some I love and some I like and some I don’t and some complete strangers, spent hours eating hamburgers and hot dogs in my brother Clay’s back yard and living room and cul-de-sac.
The food was fine (and I’ll admit, I had some bratwurst cuz it smelled soo good) but the conversation was almost inescapable and always about nothing, and how many times could I explain my odd employment to how many people?
Zero. I lied, and told everyone I was still working at Macy’s, keying price changes in an eighth floor office I haven’t set foot in for months.
Hazel talked, but nobody could quite make out what she was saying, Katrina and Dave talked about Kimberly, Kimberly and Sheila whispered sweet somethings in each other’s ears, George and Ralph talked about AA, Dick talked about his new girlfriend who’s surprisingly young, Clay talked about the church, Karen talked about Sunday School, Ralph talked about prison, Mom talked about Dad’s cancer and death and funeral, mystery guests talked about whatever they talked about, and I briefly hid in a walk-in closet.
George, Dick, and I had a bizarre, unpleasant conversation about my sex life that doesn’t exist, and they (jokingly?) theorized that since I live in San Francisco I must be gay. It’s required by city law, don’t you know. It’s not the first time it’s been whispered in the family, but the barbecue was the first time I’d heard the theory spoken aloud in ‘polite’ conversation.
Mom was eavesdropping nearby, and I suspected she’d asked George and Dick to ask about it, and decided to have some fun. “Enough already,” I said, “I can’t keep up this pretense any longer.” Mom’s eyeballs got bigger, and I got hammier. “You’re my family, you have a right to know,” and I paused, trying to make it a soap opera scene. Half the barbecue crowd seemed to be watching, and the room was so quiet you could head a cliché drop.
“It’s true,” I announced. “I’m a— I’m— (pausing and making a pained face for effect) “— I’m a lesbian. I have always been attracted to women.”
To this, a smattering of nervous giggles from the family, and I’m sure half the crowd still thinks I’m gay. Hell, I’m almost 37 years old, never married, no girlfriend, I don’t agree with the Christians that gays should be crucified, and clinching it, I moved to San Francisco, the international city of sin, so of course I’m gay. The fact of the matter is moot; the family has decided.
Be First to Comment