Go West Young Man Read online

  “We’d have to dance?” I complained.

  “Well, it is a dance that you’ve agreed to go to. So yes, you’d need to dance.”

  “But I don’t know how to dance!”

  “Neither do I. Neither do 99 percent of the people who are going to be attending the prom. They’re all gonna do the same thing—ask their moms to teach them something simple or drape their arms around their date’s shoulders and move very slowly, hoping to God that no one looks too closely at what they’re doing.”

  While I was still digesting the last little bit of information, Bill was already on to another subject. “Now, I was thinking that we should go to the tux shop in the mall tomorrow after school and get measured so that our tuxes will be ready when we need them. So don’t plan anything for tomorrow afternoon right after school.”

  The following two weeks passed in a bit of a blur. Everyone at school was becoming very wrapped up in the prom preparations. I lost track of the number of times people asked me if I was going. Everyone almost seemed to assume that I wasn’t. When I told people that I was going, they asked me who my date was. I wasn’t prepared for that question, so I simply told the first person that it was no one they knew, and then I just kept repeating that answer for the next two weeks. I had been tempted to say that it was a surprise, but I’m glad I didn’t. The “no one you know” answer came out of nowhere but seemed to work pretty well.

  I kept thinking that the whole thing was still off in the distance and that I could worry about it tomorrow—I know, Scarlett O’Hara would have been so proud of me. But suddenly tomorrow was today, and it was real. The day we picked up the tuxes was the day it all started to wash over me like waves at a beach. Holy crap! This was real. I was about to go to my senior prom as Bill’s date, and he as my date! We were about to open ourselves to a whole fresh boatload of crap, potentially more serious than anything we’d ever even thought of previously.

  Oh, I really hoped that we were not making some serious mistake with this. The thought of running away was momentarily considered and then rejected, but I supposed I could run away and stay away for only twenty-four hours and then suddenly reappear. No, that wouldn’t work—Bill would just be pissed with me, and that wouldn’t be good.

  That night I didn’t sleep very well. Bill, damn him, seemed to sleep like a baby. While I was really worked up and anxious beyond belief, Bill seemed to be increasingly calm and relaxed. While he seemed to treat the whole thing as a burden that was being lifted from his shoulders, I felt like the burden on mine was increasing proportionally. I was tempted to wake him and demand that he take some of the crap back so that I could get some sleep, but I didn’t. I simply lay in bed beside him and tried to let some of his calm seep over onto me. If only it worked that way.

  The next day was our day to work at the farm supply store. We went to work and put in a half day. A few weeks ago, Bill had asked if we could have a half day off to get ready for the prom. The manager had given us the time with no argument, seeming to recall his own prom wistfully.

  At four o’clock we started to get dressed in our tuxedos. I had never worn one of the things before, and to the best of my knowledge neither had Bill. With consultation from my mom about what one did with some parts of the wardrobe, we succeeded in getting dressed. And I have to say that we looked pretty goddamned good! It was remarkable how beautiful the suits fit us and how well we wore them, if I may say so myself. (And since I’m telling this story, I can.)

  When my Mom saw us all duded up, she started taking pictures, telling us that we looked so handsome. Maybe I could do this. Just maybe we could pull this off. She produced two beautiful, perfect white roses, which she had ordered from the local flower shop. They were carefully prepared to slip into the pockets on our jackets, providing a beautiful accent to the black of the tuxes.

  Our limo arrived. More photos. Enough already. We finally got in and directed the driver to pick up Jeremy at his house, which was only a few miles away, so we picked him up first. He was done up in a tux as well, and while he looked good, I thought ours looked better. It didn’t matter that it was the same tux from the same shop as ours. Maybe it was the fact that there were two of us and we hadn’t picked up Jeremy’s date yet.

  Jeremy’s date lived in the city, which was fortunate, because our prom was being held in the city. “The City” was only twenty miles away, but in many ways it was another world for people in our valley. Jeremy’s date was a college student so he lived on campus at the local state university. Our next stop was the campus, where Jeremy got out to greet his date. I must admit that I was quite curious to see what kind of man Jeremy was dating.

  The man was hot! And it wasn’t just the tux he had on. The man looked like a jock, just like Jeremy, and Bill for that matter. It looked like, in our little foursome, I was the only nonjock in the crowd. No problem. I could handle that.

  Introductions were made all around. And then it suddenly became real for me. No, this wasn’t just a fairytale, even though there were four fairies. This was real. What made it real? Jeremy kissed his date, right there on the sidewalk. Holy shit! This was real. We were really gonna do this. Oh crap! This wasn’t just a dream. We were really about to walk into our prom as two same-sex couples.

  All four of us got into the car, and entirely too quickly we were there. There were lots of cars, including several limos, pulling in all at the same time. While we waited for the cars ahead of us to disgorge their passengers, Bill gave us a pep talk. Like a huddle among football players before the big play—or so I guessed, since I’d never been in such a thing—Bill said, “Okay, guys. This is it. We’re gonna do this thing. We’re gonna go out there and make history. We’re gonna give them all something to talk about for years to come. And damn, but we’re gonna look hot while doing it too! Let’s do this thing!”

  When we got to the door of the hotel that was the site of the prom, our driver opened the door, and one by one we stepped out of the car. We all stood somewhat stiffly, each making sure not to touch one another. We all took a big breath and then stepped forward and through the door. Inside the lobby, of course, we immediately began to see people we knew. Several of Bill and Jeremy’s jock buddies greeted them.

  “Where are your dates?” someone asked.

  “They’re already here,” Bill said, which earned him some stares of confusion.

  Going with the crowd of well-dressed teenagers, we made our way to the entrance to the ballroom. A photographer was set up near the door to take photos of the couples as they arrived. As we waited in line, several other people asked why we were in line without our dates. Bill and Jeremy just looked at each other and smiled.

  Entirely too quickly, it was our turn. Jeremy and his date went first. Jeremy stood in front, with his date standing behind him with his arms around Jeremy’s torso (his date was bigger than Jeremy). The photographer said nothing—if he was any good, he had seen it all before and was only interested in getting a good shot.

  The crowd that waited in line was carefully watching everything. When Jeremy had stepped forward with another man, and then posed with that man—with that man touching him!—they became absolutely silent. When they stepped away, the crowd started to murmur, to whisper to one another.

  We stepped forward to take the last couple’s place. Since Bill and I were about the same height, the photographer had us pose differently. He tried to pose us standing apart, but Bill insisted that we needed to be touching, so we ended up standing side by side with our arms around one another. Bill was smiling the biggest smile I had ever seen on his face. He really was taking this as a liberating move. Maybe he was right, and I should get over being so freaked out. This was our senior prom, after all, and I was attending the prom with my dream date. It suddenly occurred to me that I was attending the prom on my own terms, not someone else’s, and that I really did have a lot to be excited about. So Bill’s positive attitude spread, and encompassed me as well. I smiled. My arm was around my man in fro
nt of our peers. We were finally doing what I had wanted to do all along.

  The photographer got several shots and then dismissed us so that the next couple could move forward—yes, we were a couple! Taking Bill’s hand in mine, as Jeremy had taken his date’s hand, we walked forward into the ballroom and into a new phase of our lives. Bill and Jeremy had signed us up for a table for the evening. The room was filled with round tables, each set for eight people. I didn’t know who our other tablemates were going to be, but I was sure we would find out shortly.

  Since we were the first of our table to arrive, we had our choice of seats. Given the constant stream of people coming in, it didn’t take long for the room to fill up, including the other seats at our table. The other four seats were taken by two more of Bill and Jeremy’s jock buddies and their dates, in their cases opposite-sex couples. Needless to say, the four others at our table were somewhat at a loss for what to say about the situation. Bill and Jeremy talked with them as they would in any other conversation, which seemed to work—at least for a time.

  One of the straight jocks interrupted Bill at one point and said, “Dude! What the hell?”

  Bill wanted to make the guy work for it, so he said, “What do you mean?”

  “Where are your dates?”

  Bill took my hand, held it up, and said, “Right here.”

  Jeremy and his date did the same.

  “Dude! You’re not gay!”

  “Yes, I am,” Bill answered.

  “Me, too,” Jeremy said.

  “Me, too,” Jeremy’s date added, so I was forced to say the same words as well.

  “No, you’re not!” one of the jocks protested. “You play sports. Faggots don’t play sports.”

  “First, ‘faggot’ is a pejorative term that we find offensive. And I know you don’t want to offend a teammate. We are ‘gay’ or ‘same-sex’. Okay?”

  “Okay,” the poor guy said, not entirely sure what was happening.

  One of the two females at the table asked, “How long have you been gay?”

  “All my life,” Bill answered.

  “No way!” one of the jocks objected.

  “Yes, way. I’ve known from the very beginning that I was attracted to men.”

  “But you never came on to anybody in the locker room!”

  “Of course not. None of you are gay. Contrary to one of the myths that circulate, gay men do not attack random straight guys in locker rooms. Gay men are attracted to men, yes. We admire the male physique. We want to have sex with men. But we want to have sex with someone who wants to be with us, someone who is like us, someone who is gay. I’m personally not interested in blowing some straight guy in the locker room. That would be entirely one sided and would make me nothing better than a whore servicing some guy on the sly. I want love, reciprocation, two-way making out.”

  “So you’re saying….”

  “Yes, Mark and I are in love and are a couple. We have been for a long time, and plan to be for the long haul.”

  Jeremy decided to join in the discussion, trying to lighten the moment a little bit. “Personally, I’m just using him for sex,” he said, pointing to his date.

  “Dude!” the guy said, punching Jeremy’s arm playfully.

  “Hey, it’s really good sex!”

  They leaned in for a quick kiss.

  The two jocks and one of their dates were all silent. The other woman, however, was less restrained in her comments. “I think it’s beautiful!”

  “Thank you,” Bill said.

  By this time the room had filled, and the band started to play. We were going to have dinner, but before the dinner service started, Bill suggested we should have one dance. Walking hand in hand, Bill and I and Jeremy and his date made our way to the dance floor and danced a slow dance with our arms wrapped around one another, moving gently with the music. The room was silent except for the music, and given that there were several hundred people now in the room, that was quite a feat. Had some of Bill’s positive outlook not rubbed off on me, I would have been quaking in my shoes.

  But not only did I have Bill’s projection of calm confidence to draw upon, I also had him whispering into my ear that he loved me and was so proud to be there in that room with me on his arm for all the world to see. And while we were in public, we were also having a very personal and private moment that only we could share. Damn, but the man was good. Do I know how to pick ’em or what?

  We had only been dancing in the silence of the room for about a minute when our quiet moment was interrupted. “Gentlemen!” a voice demanded our attention. “Come with me, please.”

  It was the faculty chaperone for the prom event.

  “No,” Bill simply replied.

  “Excuse me?” he asked, not entirely believing that someone would so blatantly disregard his command.

  “I said, ‘no’,” Bill repeated. “We’re dancing. If you have something to say, what’s wrong with right where we are?”

  “This conversation would be better held in private.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  The faculty member was close to sputtering by that point. “All right. You want to do this here, then we’ll do this here. I demand that you immediately cease and desist from your reprehensible behavior. Same-sex couples are not permitted at this prom. Period.”

  “Oh? Where does it say that? I didn’t see it on the tickets that I purchased. I didn’t see it in the contract I signed when I bought the tickets. I didn’t see it on the sign outside the door when we arrived. In fact, I don’t recall seeing it anywhere, and trust me, I read every word very carefully.”

  “I will not allow you to make a mockery of this event.”

  “I can assure you, sir, that there is no mocking intended or provided. We are here for the same reason as everyone else. For the same celebration, the same transition, that everyone else is here to celebrate. The fact that we are gay and have same gender partners as our dates is the only difference, and is of no concern to you or anyone else. Now, if you will excuse us, we have a dance.”

  The man was outraged at Bill’s disregard for his orders and for Bill’s audacity in arguing with his orders. He reached his hand out and placed it on Bill’s shoulder and pulled him away from me and back toward him.

  “I would be very careful if I were you,” Bill warned immediately. “You might want to look around the room and notice that we are being recorded. See that video camera over there,” he said, pointing to one about fifty feet away. “And that one over there.” The person recording on that camera raised his hand and waved. “And that one over there,” he said, pointing to a third camera. “We are 100 percent within our rights, and you need to back off and go away. A fight you pick on this issue here tonight will not go well for you. Do you understand me?” Bill asked in his most earnest, quasi-menacing voice.

  “The days of us hiding in the shadows are finished. We will not go quietly into the dark of night to allow you to pretend you live in a happy 1950s sitcom world that simply doesn’t exist. We are real. We are here. We are equal. And we will be treated with respect, or you will buy yourself one hell of a lot of trouble. Now, go away and let us dance.”

  Jeremy and his date moved immediately to stand on either side of the man, their arms crossed across their chests, looking as menacing as possible. “And if you are intending to cut in, I’m not interested in dancing with you,” Bill said as a final jab at the man.

  With his face as red as fire he pushed his way past Jeremy and exited the dance floor. Bill walked over to the band and asked that, since our dance had been interrupted, they replay their last number. The band agreed with no argument, so we started our dance once again. We got through the dance that time, ending with a kiss.

  We exited the dance floor and returned to our table to a scattering of applause from around the room. It was certainly not 100 percent encouragement, not 50 percent—far from it—but it was a start.

  Our table
, like most of those around us, was silent as we sat back down. The one ally that we seemed to have at our table smiled and welcomed us back. “You all looked so adorable out there!”

  “Thank you!” I said, truly appreciating her words.

  One of the jocks at our table asked Bill a question. “What did the old dickhead want out there?”

  “He wanted to throw us out. Said that we didn’t belong there and what we were doing was wrong.”

  “No,” I clarified. “Not wrong—reprehensible.”

  “Why?” the jock asked. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t understand it. This is all a surprise to me. But at the same time I don’t see that it’s wrong. So what if you want to dance with a guy? Doesn’t impact me or him in any way that I can see. I don’t know why people get so bent out of shape about it.”

  Bill smiled at the unexpected encouragement. “Thanks, man! I appreciate hearing you say that.”

  “No problem.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” the other straight man at the table said. “I don’t like it. I don’t understand it. And I don’t want to understand it. And I don’t want to be around it.” And the man got up and left the table, leaving his date sitting there. Interestingly enough, his date was the woman who had encouraged us so openly. Go figure.

  The first guy—I really should learn the names of these guys if they were gonna surprise me and be supportive of us—asked Bill, “Do you think he’s gonna make any more trouble for you tonight?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Bill answered very honestly. “He doesn’t like to be seen as losing his standing, especially to some ‘kid’ like me, and even more so because I’m gay.”

  “Okay. So I’ve got to ask,” the guy said. “How did you keep that big a secret from all of us for all these years? Why? How?”

  “Gay folks have had to blend in for thousands of years simply in order to survive. A lot of guys get all bent out of shape over us just being around. We hide simply to stay alive and survive. Otherwise a lot of folks would make our lives a living hell. And in terms of how—well, we’re not all that different from everybody else, and we learn to be very, very good at blending in. Everybody’s got secrets. Everybody has got things that they hide from everyone else, things that they think will cost them standing, will cost them respect of others, things that others would make a snap decision about. If everyone’s secrets were to be laid on the table, I think the world would be a far richer place.”