OREGON S LESBIAN/GAY/BIARANS/QUEER NEWSMAGAZINE
JANUARY 7 2011
39JW
VOICES
Love and UFOs
Cellar Door Coffee is abuzz with caffeine
junkies this Tuesday morning. A1 Green sings
through the speakers about how tired he is of
being alone while couples lean over tables to
ward each other, whispering conspiratorially. A
hipster kid scowls down at the comic strip he
is inking, not noticing that the f ringe o f his
green keffiyeh has dipped into his India ink. I
am standing in line, next to a display of fancy
French press coffeemakers, when a conversa
tion catches my ear.
“It was a UFO!” the man says.
The woman knits her brow. “Seriously?” she
asks. “You’re seriously claiming you saw aliens?
W hen the hell was this?”
“Not aliens,” he says, playing with his mous
tache self-consciously, “but something weird in
the sky, certainly. Just a few nights ago.”
“Was it the night of the eclipse?” the woman
asks, amused but slightly incredulous. She runs
a slender finger along the rim of her latte, crosses
her legs at the ankle. “I mean, it’s not out o f the
question to think the light of an eclipse could
have changed what was visible in the night sky.”
“This was something that was brightly lit
and moving,” he replies. “Frankly, it shook me
down to my core.”
“W hy’s that?”
The man holds his coffee mug in both hands,
looks down into his drink. “I guess it shook me
because it’s not at all something I would have
REMEMBER
TO
BREATHE
b y Nick Mottos
We 90 about leading normal
lives until the world changes—
an unidentified light appears
in the sky. the heart inside our
ribs races, there is a shudder
in the fabric of the ordinary—
and we are left blinking and
rubbing our eyes in view of a
life we never thought existed.
wanted to see. I didn’t even believe in UFOs
before I saw one!”
“Dude!” the barista barks at me, interrupting
my eavesdropping. “W hat do you want?”
“Two Americanos, please. To go.” I pay and
position myself so that I can keep hearing the
couple’s conversation as I pretend to examine a
painting, waiting for my caffeine fix.
“I’ve never been the sort of guy to believe in
UFOs,” the man continues as he awkwardly
plays with his facial hair, “mostly because be
lieving in them seems like a step down a rabbit
hole of illogical thinking. I didn’t believe that
people actually saw UFOs— until, suddenly
and shockingly, I did.”
The woman does not look impressed. “So,
when’s the first meeting o f your contactee cult?”
she laughs.
The man shakes his head, his face downcast.
“I don’t know if that’ll help the knot in my
stomach untie, really.”
“Americanos!” the barista shouts; I grab each
in a fist, trying to overhear the last of the cou
ple’s conversation as I make my way out the
door.
I step into my apartment, the two coffee
cups in hand. In my bed, lying in a beam of
morning light, my boyfriend is asleep— I set
his Americano down on the nightstand, look
at his red hair bright against the white pillow.
In my chest my heart races with affection as I
climb into bed behind him, drape my arm over
his waist as he hums in sleepy acknowledge
ment of my touch. I wasn't sure I believed that
this was how life could be, I think to myself, that
my heart could race like this fo r someone until,
suddenly and shockingly, it did.
We do our best at going about our lives as
rational people, the man in the coffeeshop and
I do. We go from day to day, knowing where
the house keys are, remembering to balance
the checkbook and water the houseplants. We
go about leading normal lives until the world
changes— an unidentified light appears in the
sky, the heart inside our ribs races, there is a
shudder in the fabric o f the ordinary— and we
are left blinking and rubbing our eyes in view
of a life we never thought existed. It’s almost as
though the racing heart, the UFO, the shud
dering fabric is the world’s way of changing
our inner landscape, an uneasy awe flooding in
and eroding away whatever keeps us from
opening our eyes wide, sick with gratitude that
we, o f all lucky fuckers, get to live this life.
We lie, my chest against my boyfriend’s
back, as my bedroom fills with the scent o f cof
fee and the morning streams boldly through
the windowpanes. I close my eyes and rest my
head against his, the tip o f my nose touching
the ridge of his ear, a knot o f awe and thank
fulness tied warmly in my gut. He and I lie
here, silent and half asleep, two men being
shown ample evidence o f the unbelievable-
but-true fact that love does in fact exist. We lie
still, eyes closed, with each o f our mouths curl
ing into a smile.
N ick M attos has never seen a UFO, nor any
compelling evidence o f extraterrestrial contact—
but would be totally psyched i f you sent him some
such proof at nickmattos@justout.com.
What made the man a master?
0E LORCA
JANUARY 13-22
Don't miss the world premiere
of this original, bilingual story
of Federico García Lorca as a
young, gay artist!
f I
V,
Written by Danel Malan
Directed by Matthew B. Zrebski
Sponsored by Juan Young Trust
Featuring Rory Stitt as
Federico García Lorca
Quick I Easy I No physical exam
Call for an appointment for our
Monday & Friday "JUST CHICKING” sorvlco
STD ! HIV i P |C Pragram
503.988.3700
Milagro Theatre • 525 SE Stark St. • Portland
Tickets: www.milagro.org • 503-236-7253
J ^
j l S R* ca TKATO GROUP
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Council
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