_________ My straight friend
We were by now like family to one another, but Who was a
mess the first time we enticed her to a gay bar
BY
LEE
L Y N C H
giving me household hints, coaching me on
’ve just moved back to the country again,
to a high-ceilinged house heated by wood
and recently blessed, on Thanksgiving Day,
by a gathering of friends who, like magicians,
added the final touches that made the
transformation of house to home. Times like
these bring my old friend Who to mind.
“Who did this?” I ’d ask when there was a
mess or a mistake at work.
I
T H E
AMAZON
TRAIL
“There you go again,” she’d reply, "always
blaming me.”
In packing for the move, I came across the
conch shell and brain coral Who had lugged
back from St. Thomas. Who and her husband,
that is. She hadn’t dared tell him the heavy
coral was for me. I was still persona non
grata to Mr. Who.
This was in the m id-’70s. I was managing
convenience markets and was transferred to
the store where Who worked, in a small
Connecticut city.
“Ruth told me you were queer,”confided
Who later about my predecessor. “I was
scared to death.” Then she laughed her hoarse
rich laugh. “Until I found out you were a
pussycat.”
Who, at 35, was a native of that city,
which was not any more accustomed to gays
than she was. Winning her approval meant
everything to the success of the store. She
knew everyone and everything in town. She
could wring a smile out the most dour
customers, and defuse the nastiest situations
with the neighborhood delinquents who,
before my arrival, had used the store as base
camp.
I’ll never know what turned the tide for
me. I just ran the store, lived my life and
never made a pass at Who.
She was, of course, a civilian, as they used
to say on the street. She and Mr. Who had
four little whos. Precious, her name for her
eldest son, was the apple of her eye. I hired
three of the four kids before I was done. As
was his habit, Mr. Who came in every
morning for his pack o f Winstons, and never
said a word to me. No smile, no eye contact,
just a silent grump. He didn’t approve of
queers and his fear of us felt menacing to me.
But Who, as the weeks, then months, went
by, warmed to our partnership. I think the job
came at just the right time in her life. I wasn’t
the only one Mr. Who grumped at and the
kids were marching quickly through
adolescence and out of her life. At the store
Who was finding a whole world of people and
places she’d never dreamed of knowing.
The first breakthrough came with the
company Christmas party. Wide-eyed, Who
found herself year after year socializing with a
predominantly gay crowd. She even came to
the company barbecues. Where none of us
made passes at her.
It didn’t hurt that we genuinely liked each
other. She taught me how to make a home,
marriage. As much as she learned about gay
people, I learned about straights. She was the
first woman friend whom I loved without
feeling compelled to express myself sexually.
She liked my lover and we went to women’s
softball games together. She thrived around
the gay male employees and could out-queen
them any day. Beyond that, she was a warm
and concerned woman, got involved in our
relationship rifts, was all ears for the gay
grapevine — and continued to be scared o f us
lesbians.
I know this because, although we were by
now like family to one another. Who was a
mess the first time we enticed her to a gay bar.
She had never seen so many of us all at
once. She didn’t take her coat off that first
time, and her smile was almost as hard to
unearth as her husband’s. She was
courageous in her defiance of Mr. Who, of
everything she’d been taught about people
different from herself, and it worried her to
sneak out to a gay bar. But what worried her
more immediately was etiquette.
“What do I say if one of them asks me to
dance?”
“How about yes'? Or no thank you?"
The night reminded me how far I ’d come
from my first out days when I saw myself as
some kind of stomping, lust-breathing
monster because that’s how lesbians were
portrayed. Who, my friend, my mainstay at
work, even trusting me with her kids —
underneath it all still saw us as monsters.
We went to the bars a time or two after
that, but more often settled for my condo. We
made banana bread to send to my mother
every Christmas. When I was transferred to
another store in the same city, and then
another, Who transferred with me. I went
through the tortures of the damned when I had
to leave the job because I knew I ’d lose her
eventually.
Mr. Who came in my last day and said,
“Thanks for all you’ve done for my family.”
He even smiled.
Then he accepted a job in southern
California, site of his happy-go-lucky Marine
days. Though Who loved her home town and
had always keep her sanity through her roots,
Mr. Who didn’t give her a choice. She
packed up the kids and followed her man.
They bought a house. She sent pictures of
herself, drink in hand, by the pool. The oldest
daughter got married and gave Who a
grandchild. She came east as often as she
could. Each time she showed up on our
doorstep unannounced, she’d be more hoarse,
more lined, and would drink more, smoke
more. When Mr. Who began seeing other
women the kids threw him out. There was my
beloved straight friend abandoned on the other
side of the country far from everything that
held meaning for her except her kids. She
found a bookkeeping job on the strength of
her store experience. She dated.
One night she called, talked about a man
she’d gone out with. “And guess where he
took me! A gay bar! I can’t get away from
it,” she said with a sad laugh. All her laughter
was sad by then.
I moved west too. I ’d grown far enough
apart from Who that I didn’t call her as I
passed through California, excited about my
new life. A day or two after I reached my
own western home the call came from one of
the old crowd.
“Who’s dead. She killed herself.”
This week, I brought my more precious
possessions to my new home before the
movers came. I placed Who’s pink conch
shell and the heavy coral, as always, outside
my front door, giving thanks for my straight
friend.
▼
l\fe w
directions J o r 1990?
DIGNITY/PORTLAND IS A CATHOLIC
SUPPORT GROUP FOR LESBIANS & GAYS.
THEIR FAMILIES & FRIENDS
P.0. BOX 6708. PORTLAND. OR 97228
(503) 295-4868
just out ▼ 2 7 y January 1990