June 2002
The old lady and her grandchild
who live upstairs move out. I'm overjoyed--quiet at last. My recurring dreams
of trying to care for a baby who never stops crying disappear. A few days
later, a young Pakistani family moves in. Now there is not only another crying
baby but also a screaming toddler. The husband is overly friendly to me, while
the wife clearly wishes me dead because I'm a shameless harlot out to seduce
her husband. Every day she gets up at 7 am to make breakfast, clopping about in
heels, banging cabinet doors and rattling pots directly above my bed. This
conflicts with my graduate student lifestyle of staying up until 2 am and
sleeping until 10, but I can't exactly tell her not to make breakfast for her
family. I stock up on earplugs and do my best to avoid all of them.
Now that things are really, truly
over between me and Rollerboy, I can move onto my new, adult healthy
relationship with Kevin, the baritone from the Lester State Adult Chorus. He
asks me out to dinner at a pho restaurant, and not one that caters to
Americans, either, a real authentic place in the Asian mall. Rollerboy would
never in a million years to eat there.
My enthusiasm is somewhat dampened
as I peruse the very short menu and realize my only options are pho with tripe
or pho with beef tendon. This is a little too authentic for me.
"Uhhhh... isn't there one
with chicken?"
Kevin laughs at me. "What are
you talking about? Come on, this is the good stuff." There's a long line
of people behind us so I order tendon and he orders tripe. The bowls appear a
minute later, and we squeeze into a tiny corner table together.
He slurps up the tripe with gusto
and teases me some more about my whitebread, bourgeois, meat averse taste, as I
attempt to eat only the noodles and avoid the animal parts.
I stare at his hands, wrapped around
his giant pho bowl. I notice for the first time that his hands are tiny. He's a
tall, solidly built dude but he has tiny little girl hands. It's weird. I
immediately shove that thought away. What kind of superficial judgmental BS is
that anyway?
We move on to chatting about the
next concert with the chorus, which is a repeat of the 1940s show in a new
venue. I'm looking forward to wearing my vintage costume again.
"It's a nice dress,"
Kevin agrees. "It looks good on you."
"Thanks. The GI uniform looks
great on you, too. What made you pick that as your costume?"
"I didn't. The director told
me to wear it."
"Really? I wanted to be a
movie star type but he wouldn't let me."
"Why not?"
"Don't you remember? You were
there at that first rehearsal when he was asking for volunteers for character
types. He asked who wanted to be a diva, so I raised my hand. He looked right
at me and said, 'No, I want someone attractive to be the diva.'"
"What?!"
"Yeah, I know, right?" I
laugh. "I couldn't believe he just came right out and said that."
"Well, anyway he's wrong
about you not being attractive enough to be a diva."
"Aw, thank you. Whatever,
he's a gay guy, so what does he know about women? I've been in this chorus for
almost two years and I think he still doesn't even know my name."
Kevin shakes his head in
disbelief. "What a jerk."
"I know. But I've sung with a
lot of choruses and I've never met a chorus director who wasn't a jerk."
I say it mostly as a joke, but
Kevin takes this very seriously. He tells me at great length about another
chorus he is also in, a group of ten men who sing Gregorian chants and other
all-male a cappella pieces.
From there the conversation
wanders on to other topics, and eventually to past relationships. I've been
waiting for an opportunity to tell him about Rollerboy. I'm not ready to tell Kevin
that I'm a devotee, but somehow it feels really important to let him know that
my last boyfriend was in a wheelchair. It's not the kind of thing he would ever
guess, and if I don't say anything, it's like that fact about me is hidden.
"My last boyfriend was in a
wheelchair," I blurt out, awkwardly shoehorning this fact into the
conversation in a very unnatural yet vaguely self-congratulatory way. "He
had a spinal cord injury from a car accident."
Kevin stares at me, his eyes wide.
"Wow." He pauses, then repeats, "Wow. That's, just, wow."
I'm not sure what kind of reaction
I was hoping for, but this is not it. "It's not that big a deal."
"Yes, it is. You're like,
some kind of angel."
Ugh, this is really not what I
want to hear. "No, I'm not. It's not like that at all."
"Yes, you're an angel,"
he insists. "How can I compete with that?"
We go on some more dates, and it's
the same uncomfortable mix of bonding over music and awkward moments.
I've decided to audition for the
Raser City Lyric Opera, but it's hard to practice because it's been twelve
years since I had a lesson, and I don't have a piano. I ask Kevin to help me,
because he has a piano, but it doesn't go so well. He can tell me where I don't
sound so good but not how to make it sound better. Actually it just seems like
he enjoys criticizing my voice, but he won't play the accompaniment they way I
want him to. We both end up a little frustrated. I switch to just singing for
fun--it would be so nice to just sit at the piano and sing together.
I launch into one of my favorite
tunes from when I used to get dressed up in Ren Faire costumes with Ewan and
Cyril. Kevin cuts me off after the first verse.
"What is that?" he asks
in a derisive tone. "The lyrics and tune are totally mismatched. Was this
translated from some other language?"
"No, it's just an Elizabethan
folk tune," I reply, feeling rather hurt. I give up on the idea of singing
together.
At Kevin's suggestion, we go
together to a lindy hop class. I'm excited, because I always wanted to learn
lindy hop and I love big band music. I flash back to the moment I first noticed
him, when he spun me around while we were both wearing 1940s clothes, and I
felt like I was in an old movie.
The class is rather tedious,
though, and I find it hard to concentrate because the instructors are so weird.
The head instructor is a dapper older man, impeccably dressed with white hair
slicked back in elegant waves and a smooth, shiny face. His assistant is a much
younger, slightly less glamorous woman, but they are clearly a couple. There
are about ten heterosexual couples in the class, and the head instructor takes
turns dancing with each of the women while his partner dances with each of the
men, to teach us our parts. When he dances with me, I notice that his face
smells distinctly, strongly like pussy. I glance over at his partner, oblivious
on the other side of the room. The instructor comes around to me a second and
third time, and it's unmistakable. What the hell? Was she sitting on his face
right before class or what? I stare at his shiny face in revulsion.
But it's not just that. I find
myself eying the other men in the class, wishing that I were dancing with any
of them. We all trade partners several times, and I'm a tiny bit disappointed
each time I end up back with Kevin.
Word gets around the Lester State
Adult Chorus that Kevin and I are an item. The alto who encouraged me to go out
with him is delighted. I even hear back from Dorie, the former member who I
visited once because she lives near Rollerboy. She's delighted too, and tells
me what a great guy Kevin is.
But except for those two, everyone
else is much more wary.
"What are you doing?"
asks Brenno, another baritone. "Kevin is gay."
This is news to me. "He's not
gay. He's the one who asked me out." Brenno just shrugs.
I'm not sure what to do with this
information. I don't feel like I'm forcing myself on him. Just the opposite,
Kevin seems very intent on having a serious relationship with me. He keeps
talking about how he's thirty-five years old and it's time to settle down. He's
only interested in someone if he sees a future together. I'm about to turn thirty
in a few weeks, and I definitely want to settle down too, but this mercenary,
utilitarian approach to dating seems alarming and depressing.
It feels rude to confront him
about these rumors. I try to ignore it but I can't help tallying up evidence
against his professed heterosexuality. I turn for advice to my fellow grad
student Stephanie, my go-to expert on gayness. Her buzzcut is dyed black now
instead of hot pink, she has a few more tattoos and she has cheated on then
dumped her girlfriend who looked exactly like her. Now she's with a femme
Italian exchange student.
Over coffee, I offer up the
evidence for her evaluation.
"The first time he came over
to my apartment, he ran his finger over my bedside table and showed me the dust
with a very judgy look."
Stephanie purses her lips.
"Inconclusive."
"Yeah, well he's in no
position to judge. His house is clean but the inside of his car is a disgusting
mess, and it smells like a gym sock."
"Gross. What else?"
"He showed me a sketch he did
in an art class that was supposed to be of a nude woman but it totally looked
like a dude. You know, like those nudes done by Renaissance artists who had
clearly never seen a naked lady in their lives."
"Ha! Funny, but still
inconclusive."
"He's in an all male a
cappella group."
"Oh yeah, he's totally
fucking all those guys."
"What? How do you know?"
She rolls her eyes. "I just
do. Definitely gay."
"So why doesn't he come out?
He's living in one of the most gay friendly cities in the world. He's surrounded
by gay people at work and in all his leisure activities. Why even bother asking
me out? Just be gay already."
"He already is, with those a
cappella guys."
I still don't see how she can be
so sure of that, but I have a hunch why he might not have come out yet. "I
think it's his mother. She's like a WASP bitch queen."
"You met her already? How is
it you dated Rollerboy for two years and never met a single person in his
family, whereas Kevin is introducing you to his mother within a few
weeks?"
"I dunno man, life is
strange. Anyway it was just because she came to our second concert. I saw her
for like a minute after the show."
"Oh yeah, how did the concert
go?"
"Pff. Dennis fell off the
back of the riser just as I was about to do my solo. Then they announced the
title of my song, 'My Heart Belongs to Daddy' and the audience was like awwww. I forgot the concert was on Father's
Day! Everyone thought it was a Father's Day song, and I'm like, no it's about a
sugar daddy."
"Did they even get it?"
"Who knows, the average age
in the audience was over seventy. Anyway, after the concert we were all milling
around outside and his mother was there so he introduced us. She gave me one of
those little half handshakes with just the fingers, barely said hello then
turned and started talking to him. I swear, she looked at me like something she
scraped off the bottom of her shoe. I just get the feeling that she's very
conservative and demanding, and he's very close with her."
"Whatever, dude. Just ask
him."
So I do, the next time I go over
to his house. Actually, it takes me a while to work around to it. He makes me a
delicious dinner of chicken in a red wine sauce, which I help him prepare and
clean up, as we drink some more of the wine.
After dinner, we have sex for the
first time. I mean, so far all we've done is some mutual masturbation but this
is the first time we have intercourse. It's terrible, but I can't exactly
pinpoint why. Something just feels off in a way I have never experienced
before, like he's not really there in the moment.
As we're laying in the bed
afterwards, I finally come out and ask. "Have you ever done it with a
guy?"
"Women are so much more
attractive," he deflects.
"Yeah, but there's different
kinds of attraction. Actually, I'm bisexual. It's ok with me if you are too. I
won't judge."
"No." He gets up and
puts his clothes back on. It's clear he's not going to budge and harassing him
about it feels mean, so I let it go. I have class the next morning so I don't
sleep over.
I start having that recurring
nightmare again that I've lost my wallet. A week before my thirtieth birthday,
Kevin invites me over to his house to break up with me.
I've complained in the past about
guys who broke up with me by email or over the phone but in person is really
not much better.
"This isn't working
out," he says the minute I walk in the door. "You said that you don't
plan on living in Raser City long term."
"Yes, that's true, I'll
probably have to move once my career gets going. But that's still like three or
four years away. How do you know what will happen in the meantime? Shouldn't we
at least see how it goes?"
"No, I told you I'm looking
for a serious commitment and if you're not staying here, there's no
point."
It's crazy how Kevin has found the
one thing that would upset me the most to break up over. If he had said we need
to break up because he's really gay and he's been living a lie to please his
mother but no more, I would have stood up and cheered. And I have to admit I
had a lot of doubts about him too. But this really hurts. I hate that I'm
almost thirty and still in limbo, that it will be years before I can truly
settle down somewhere. I want a man who will commit for real and move with me
because he loves me so much. Like Buttboy said, but didn't actually mean.
The next day, I have an
appointment with my grad advisor to talk about future plans now that I've passed
my exam. To my shame, I break down crying in his office over Kevin.
"He t-t-told me that he can't
take me seriously because I might have to move in four years!" I blubber.
My advisor, a scruffy fiftyish
dude, looks like he'd prefer to stick his fingers in his ears and say lalalala I can't hear you rather than
listen to one second of my personal problems, and I can't really blame him. But
to his credit, he only says, "That sounds like bullshit to me. Just live
your life and don't worry about that jackass. He clearly has other issues."
I know he's right. I wipe my
snotty, tear stained face on my sleeve and try to pull myself together, to
concentrate on my work.
I have to tell my friends in the
chorus, though, because we have yet another concert this weekend. This time I
don't have a solo; it's just the stand in the back and sing your part with a
bunch of other people type concert. We're singing the Missa Criolla, which is really not my thing, so it's hard to work
up any enthusiasm. At least it's pretty easy to avoid Kevin, since the sopranos
and the basses sit far away from each other.
"Wow, you always get dumped
right before a concert," the mean girl alto comments when I tell her.
"Sucks for you, haha."
"I told you he's gay,"
says Brenno.
Not long after the concert, Dorie
invites a group of us to spend a weekend at her parent's beach house, a two
hour drive south of Raser City. There are about ten of us, including Dorie's
nebbishy boyfriend Adam, the mean girl alto and the rest of her mean girl
clique and their boyfriends/husbands. Dorie also invited Kevin, but thank god
he can't go because he has a concert with his a cappella group.
I gather from oblique comments by
others and by Dorie herself that she has nurtured a long term crush on Kevin,
and was horribly jealous of me for dating him. This despite the fact that she
has a boyfriend, and that she knows Kevin is most likely gay. I find this
profoundly irritating. She's jealous of me? What for? If she wants the
experience of being strung along then dumped on a technicality, she's welcome
to it. Besides, I'm the one who's jealous of her for dating not one but two
paras, and clearly not appreciating their overpowering sexiness.
Adam, Dorie's current and
definitely not SCI boyfriend, is a short, chubby Jewish nerd. Adam and I end up
sitting around the house together most of the first day while Dorie and other
more adventurous types go out hiking. We were all instructed to bring board
games, so I brought a Simpsons trivia game. It's immediately apparent that he
and I are the only ones in the group who have committed every season to memory.
We play for hours, reciting entire scenes verbatim and cracking each other up. Dorie
comes back from her hike to find us laughing together and her jealousy flames
up even higher. I quickly put the game away. This is such stupid bullshit. I
have no interest in her schlubby boyfriend. It's not my fault he has more in
common with me than with her.
The rest of the evening and the
next morning I try to avoid both of them, which is not easy since we're all
staying in the same house. At lunchtime, we pack a picnic and all head out to
the beach together. We're all sitting in a loose circle in the sand, chatting
about nothing much, when someone asks why Kevin isn't coming.
"He probably wanted to avoid
any more drama," the mean girl alto says, staring pointedly at me.
"I think he's just having a
really hard time right now," I hear Dorie say in a syrupy tone from the far
end of the circle.
"What? What about me?" I
burst out. "I'm the one he dumped."
"Sometimes these things just
don't work out," Dorie replies in the same patronizing tone.
I dig my hands in to the sand. "It
didn't work out because he's gay and can't admit it."
"You don't know how hard it
is come out," she says defensively. Now everyone else has fallen silent
and is just staring at both of us.
"I know exactly how hard it
is," I reply through gritted teeth, plunging my hands into the sand over
and over. "But he's thirty-five years old. That's plenty old enough to
figure your shit out and not go jerking other people around."
"You don't know," she
repeats stubbornly, looking daggers at me, like I'm the bad guy in this
breakup. I just roll my eyes, and thankfully someone changes the subject. The
end of this beach weekend torture can't come soon enough.
After all this, I've had it with
not just Kevin but this entire chorus--the mean girls clique, the asshole
director, the boring program, all of it. Just as classes are ending for the
summer, I have my audition with the Raser City Lyric Opera, and to my
astonishment, I get in. Not only that, but the upcoming opera is The Marriage of Figaro, my most favorite
opera that I already know almost by heart. Brenno gets in also, so I'll have a
friend there as well. I quit the old chorus, and say good riddance to Kevin.
But I have to admit, if it weren't for Kevin, I would definitely have gotten
back together with Rollerboy when he asked me to. So at the very least, I am
grateful to Kevin for helping me get over Rollerboy.
Lovely installment. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteDevogirl. Thank you so much for sharing. I personally thought your experiences were less traumatic.
ReplyDeletePlease continue posting.