“ On my better days, I'm a fairy"
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F M F R ( î F ISC F I n te r n a tio n a l
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Write: Emergence. P O. Box 581
Kentfield. CA 94914
Call: (415) 485-1881
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ju>t out • 10 • ( Vloher IVXX
236-7976
In the employment office in San Francisco a
tall, thin, young man wearing a leather jacket
comes in and asks an old man wearing a tweed
cap if the seat next to him is taken. The old man
stands and says loudly, “ There are five empty
chairs in here, why don’tcha sit in one of those
— I don’t wantcha next to me."
The young man looks a little stunned. “ What
are you so afraid of?’ ’
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time. “ Once you know,” he says. “ You’re
married to it. You can’t run away from it any
longer ” He turns to another man and asks,
“ Have you been tested?”
The man’s boyish face looks startled. “ Yes,”
he replies, “ I’m positive.”
Glasses pause on their journey to lips. There
is a painful, awkward silence as this group of
friends assimilates this information. Our host
asks, “ How long have you known?”
“ About a month. I had the test done twice to
make sure.”
We are all silent. Too many, too much, it
never ends.
• • •
“ Trouble, oh trouble
Move from me
I have paid my debt
Now won’t you leave me
In my misery.”
— Cat Stevens
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• • •
10:30-6:00
ju s t out
4
-
andles flicker on the table in the ancient
San Franciscan dining room. Our
shadows twitch and shudder against the walls.
The antique buffet and china cabinet gleam in
the hazy light. Wine has been flowing,
cigarettes are being smoked; ashes twirled away
in ashtrays during thoughtful pauses. The
conversation has danced over politics and the
amusing antics of friends. There has been much
“ Queers,” the old man spits out. Another
laughter, a warm and glowing camaraderie.
man
titters in the back row.
The subject turns to AIDS testing and the
A look of pained amusement crosses the
pros and cons involved therein. One man at the
young
man’s face. He nods and takes one of the
table has been HIV antibody positive for some
five empty chairs. Softly he says “ Queers,”
pauses a moment and looks at the old man, then
says “ Asshole.”
Say you saw it in
O ----------
—
R E E D
H rs. M on-Sat
5 0 3 -2 2 4 -5 5 0 !
o
no
—
C
Washington, D.C.
Oct. 7 & 8, 1988
o
-
E. Ann Hinds
The 5th annual conference sponsored by
Christian Scientists supporting lesbians
and gay men will address the ever present
power of divine Love to fill our lives with
jov and eliminate AIDS, discrimination,
and unhappiness from our experience.
e
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Perhaps their fascination reveals their own inclination
toward each other
YOU ARE MOT ALONE!
¿ q
-
248-9748
803 S.W . M orrison
M o rriso n A Park
Lower level. Blnyon Eye World Bldg
Dusty and I are walking home from the bars
on Stark Street in Portland. We pass two teen
age boys who sneer “ Queers” at us.
“ What’s it to you?’’ I reply.
They mutter something unintelligible, then,
“ I bet you’re gonna go home and suck each
other’s dicks,” one of them incorrectly assumes.
Dusty and I comment on their peculiar in
terest in this activity and wonder, quite loudly,
if perhaps their fascination reveals their own
inclinations toward each other.
One of the boys eloquently raises his middle
finger at me. He glares malevolently at me. I
glare even more malevolently back. Neither of
us moves. I am waiting for him to come to me.
If he wants to fight, I’m willing to wipe his face
on the sidewalk.
Dusty tugs at my arm, “ Come on, Michael,
let’s go. They’re not worth it.”
I wait a moment, considering this.
Not worth what? I am fed up with this bull
shit. I have been called queer many times
before: what difference do these walking
rectums make? None. Dusty is right. They’re
not worth it. I walk away with him.
We wonder if they will pursue us, come
around the block and jump us. “ Let ’em,” Isay,
“ They’re more scared of us than I am of them.
Sometimes you have to fight back.”
• • •
His voice dims over the telephone wire. He
tells me he wants to make a quilt panel for his
best friend, Cleo, who died a few years ago.
He’s not sure what to put on it, though. He
speaks of the dusty Texas town Cleo returned to
when he became too sick to live alone in New
York City.
His voice is edged with sadness as he recalls
how three priests had told Cleo that God
wouldn’t want him because he was a homo
sexual.
• • •
In San Francisco, the Bay Area Reporter has
a full page of obituaries. Small snapshots of
smiling faces checker the text each week.
Obituaries have become a new art form.
Those who have died have “ ascended this life,
surrounded by loving friends.” The obituaries
celebrate the lives of the men.
I am struck by our creativity. I am moved by
our ability to face our troubles with optimism
and hope. I am strengthened by our refusal —
no matter what the tragedy — to stop loving
each other.
• • •
“ Trouble, oh trouble
Please be kind
I don’t want no fight
And I haven’t got a lot of time.”
— Cat Stevens
Walking downtown, someone calls
Christopher a queer.
He stops, looks them in the eye and says.
That ’s right, sweetie, and on my better days.
I’m a fairy.”
•