I can't remember when I had such a good time, oh yeah I do, in Boston last September.
Lynne, Ellemeno and myself had been planning to meet for lunch for about three weeks, with Lynne making the heroic road trip from the central time zone o' Tennessee. I invited her to come by my place and she did! I hope she suffers no long term ill effects of my bony futon.
Meanwhile Ellemeno went on line and found us a nice smoke free environment to have lunch roughly half way betwixt my house and her mothers, in Lynchburg, Virginia, right across the street from Jerry Falwell's Liberty University. If you are one of the few people on earth that don't know about this place, check out the link:
http://www.equalityride.com/libertyIt was a nice day for a trip, partly cloudy and warmish. I wore my Jack Nasty cap and we took off up Rt 57 to Chatham, them up Rt 29 to Lynchburg, the four lane turning into Wards Ferry Road, we found our destination with plenty of time to spare. Plenty of time for mischeif.
There is surely more than one entrance to Falwell's encampment, a sprawling place with winding narrow roads crawling aside hills. The entrance we saw was accessed thru a Sonic Drive In parking lot, up a hill, across railroad tracks, and on this day, past the carcas of a smashed rabbit, before entering the gates. We both felt strange being there, paranoid even though my car has no stickers on it to id me as a sodomite. We located the student center and parked by a car that advertized it was protected by the second amendment.
It was the perfect cover, male and female, just like on the bumperstickers that tell us what marriage should be, I got a young man is shorts to take our picture, with the sign in the background, wished him happy hollidaze.
Lynne has the sweetest mischevious grinn, opening the doors and steping inside, the hours of operation stating when they would be closed for church. What could they do to us? We weren't doing anything. Most of the students had already left for Xmess, but a kind young lady at the counter, like, directed us, like, to where the vending machines were, as we were getting hungry.
That was when we say the cameras. Those mirror semi-ball things attached to the ceiling usually, these dangeled down to get a better view and we could soon see why. On the unfinshed sheetrock of the hallway of this prefab metal building , some one, perhaps more than one, had written, GRAFFITTI!
I mean it was nothing offensive, something like someone had a flea market booth set up there once. I looked at Lynne, I looked at the camera, we were going to have to be quick. I whipped out my pen (never leave home without one), what to write, "Jack Twist died for your sins?" nah, this is about love, this needs to be a message of love. I drew a heart, I put an arrow thru it, "Jack -n- Ennis". I should have wrote "loves" I was in too big a hurry.
We walked at an excellerated rate toward the front door, giddy with excitement. We had had been to the cave of the beast, and left our mark. Now come and get us.
Lynne suggested we go ahead an head to Crackerbarrell to get a table since it was getting near lunch time. I told her from memory about the time back in the early 90's when a Crackerbarrell down south had fired all its gay employees, and the local gay community had staged a quiet sit in. On sundays they would go in, sit and only order tea. Tea has free refills. They would sit there all afternoon, tipping with waitstaff handsomely so as not to cause them financial hardship, until the powers that be gave in. We ended up doing much the same thing.
I told the young hostess lady we needed a table for three.
"Your last name?"
"Delmar"
Ellemeno strode into the establishment like she owned the place. Neither of us had ever seen her before, suddenly she was made real. Here was a person who was not a client, not a professional acquaintence, but someone I would be getting to know and hopefully become friends with. Improbable meeting of three people who a year ago were in different worlds, and now were in Lynchburg, Virginia, to speak our truths to one another, and anyone else listening. Our table sat under an old MovieTone advertizement of Max Factor restoring dignity to some post war wife whose husband had shorn her hair to keep men from looking at her. Poor old Rosalie, what if she were an 85 year old woman come in to eat her green beans and cornbread and looked up to see her long ago dark humiliation?
We spent FOUR HOURS at that table. Burning the ears of our friends, acquaintences, people remembered, threads remembered, toasting Jake Gyllenhaal's 26th Natal Anniversary, proudly and boldly, as generations of diners about us sometimes hazard a glance when they head us say "gay' or "fuck" or "Brokeback". We remembered and entoned Geoffrey Chapman, Matthew Sheppard, Geraldine Peroni, shared and got to know one another like late night dorm mates. Decks of card sailing across shag carpet. Spoke to wulfar and Dee on the phone, where are those paper plates?
The sweetest moment I think was Ellemeno telling us how she had switched on the TV the night before and there was Brokeback Mountain, just coming on, the title just comming up. She watched it of course, and later on when her daughter came in on Cassie dragging Ennis to the dance floor, she point out what a careful dancer she was being. "She's looking both ways".
When we gather, and share our knowledge, it is amazing the extent this thing has been carried. The rhyming meter that was found in some of the dialogue for one. Jack's tugging of Ennis's ear and Ennis's tugging of Jenny's ear. The last hour or so, no one brought us any tea, which was fine, we were floating.
I hated to say good bye. We hugged and hugged mightily. It was time to go down from the mountain, back to our seperate and unqual lives. Bless you, Friend.
Driving back down Rt. 29 me and Lynne listened to Cambell Scott's recording of the story, she'd not heard it. Ennis tells Jack: "Earl and Rich, they were purdy tough old birds" and ahead of us, a wild turkey flew across the four lane.
"Why do we do this to ourselves?" Lynne asked me when the CD was done. I don't know why really, but as much sadness as it sometimes brings up in my, it also brings release, thru tears, and like any other addiction, I am unwilling to give it up.
The security guard, clip board in hand, makes a mental note from the survalience tapes, yes the man was Jack, it was on the hat he wore. The woman must have been Ennis. "Strange name for a woman, must be Irish."
Topic: Shakesthegrounds Rumblings (Read 2580933 times)