Homophobe
George works with Tim. Tim’s just a kid with a face that looks like it’s made from leftover parts, sweeping a floor, but I get a feeling about him. My guts say he’d be fun, a good guy to know and a good friend. George and I invite the young man to Denny’s. Soon, he becomes part of a growing posse I’m unwittingly putting together.
At the time, only I drive. George, Dan and Tim are all without licenses, or cars, or both, and when there’s a get together or outing, I am ringleader and chauffeur. I go around and pick everyone up.
The third time I pick Tim up he steps onto a cluttered porch and a tall, thin boy — considerably younger than Tim — steps out behind him. Watching Tim approach the car, I wonder why the boy on the porch looks angry.
The kid bends at the waist. “GET OFF MY PROPERTY FAGGOT!” he screams. “I MEAN IT!”
Tim hurries toward the car.
“FAGGOT! FUCKING QUEER! LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!”
Tim opens the passenger side door of my car, quickly slides in and shuts it. “Let’s go!” he says.
I calmly light a cigarette. “Who’s the little purple-faced homo-hater?” I ask.
“That’s my brother, Sam,” Tim says. “Let’s just go.”
I don’t just go. I look back at Sam. He’s pacing, rock star style, up and down the porch and shooting me double birds. “Get out of the car Tim!” he orders. “Don’t leave with that COCKSUUCCCKKERRR!” he screams, blood quickly returning to his face. “FUCKING FAGGOT! YOU’LL GET YOUR ASS KICKED IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD!”
I drop my car into reverse and slowly back out of Tim’s drive.
“Sam hates gay people,” Tim says.
“COCKSUCKER! FAGGOT! QUEER!”
“Yeah,” I nod. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
As I back out onto the street, I watch the young homophobe. His nasty snarling and all that unhappy pacing reminds me of a caged animal.
I straighten the car up and drive off. “How old is your brother, Tim?”
“Sixteen,” Tim mumbles.
When I pick Tim up at his house the next night, I endure a repeat performance from young Sam. There’s more shouting and name-calling. Amazed so much hate can pile up in a heart so young I again back out of their drive.
I continue to pick Tim up and Sam continues his tirades. I pull into Tim’s drive on Muller Avenue and young Sam literally explodes from his morose-looking home, as though he’s been waiting for me. He continues to scream some serious ugliness at me but as time goes by, he’ll get more creative. In addition to the standard and overused cocksucker, queer and faggot, he’ll add degenerate, freak, butt-pirate, fudge-packer, ass bandit, pillow biter, rump ranger and the ever-popular fucking fruit. I’m even a colon cowboy, an ass jockey, a bone smuggler and a booty bandit.
Yep. Sammy runs the gamut. There’s also concern on his part that I’ve somehow got brainwashing powers and plans to convert his brother to the evils of homosexuality. And there are tiresome accusations that any interest in small children I might have isn’t entirely wholesome.
It’s all annoying and offensive, but friendship is friendship, so I keep picking Tim up and exposing myself to this kid’s venomous outbursts.
I get a little concerned on the first occasion when Sam uses a shotgun to emphasize some of his points. But only a little.
“Who’s fucking gun is that, Tim?” I wonder.
“It’s Sam’s.” Tim tells me. “He’s got about ten guns.”
I nod thoughtfully. “Of course he does,” I say.
Backing out of the drive and looking at Sammy looking down the barrel of the shotgun he has aimed at me, I have no idea he will one day be the most significant significant other I’ll ever have.
Sam’s efforts to rescue his brother and terrorize me ebb and eventually stop.
Two years go by. During that time Tim and I and the rest of the posse see about a hundred movies. We do open mike poetry night at Twice Told books every Wednesday evening. We hang at Denny’s until the wee hours of the morning. We talk and dream and argue and whatever else it is that good friends do and one day after I pull into my friend’s drive and he opens the passenger side door of my car and slides in, I just sit there.
I watch a now 18-year-old Sam Drake dribble and shoot a basketball in a weedy back yard.
An impatient Tim says, “Let’s go!”
But I don’t go.
While an August sun thinks about a good night’s sleep. I watch Sam. Playing basketball all alone, his dribbling and shooting seems to me, a kind of monotonous dance.
“Tim?”
“What?”
“How many gay people has Sammy ever met?”
“None.”
I snub a cigarette out in the car’s ashtray and look at my friend. “Go ask him if he’s hungry Tim. See if he wants to go with us.”
Tim can’t believe his ears.
Still watching Sam, I say. “Do it Tim.”
Tim gets out of the car and a couple of minutes later he slides back into the front seat beside me and a skinny, miserable-looking Sam climbs in and settles into my back seat.
George is driving now and he and Dan are already at Denny’s when we arrive. Drake brothers and I locate and sit with them. Introductions are made.
I’m surprised by how much the guys and I enjoy Sam’s company. He’s surprised by how much he enjoys ours. In spite of a really bad, parted-in-the-middle haircut and some cheap high-water jeans, Sam’s pretty cute. His brown eyes are chocolate-y and alive. I assess him as a somewhat shy but honest boy and he’s bright and charming as we talk.
I ask Sammy a question.
“What was my life like growing up?” Sam repeats the question and looks around as though he fears being overheard. He leans in and tells me, “I wore corduroy pants, even in summer, and buttoned my shirt all the way to my throat. I got my ass kicked everyday.”
This response speaks volumes to me. I nod. “So you learned to fight?”
“No. I learned to run like the wind.”
I grill Sam for several hours, because that’s what writers do, they grill people. But it’s okay. Sam seems pleased someone – anyone — is remotely interested in him.
Across from me and beside Sam, George and Dan argue sports. Beside me, Tim has his head back and his eyes closed.
Sam smiles. “Um… Tim says you saw ‘Interview with a Vampire’ last night. How was that?”
I peer into an empty coffee cup. “Okay.” I say. “It wasn’t a fiasco.”
Sam bows his head. “Fiasco is a fag word,” he says so softly I’m not sure I hear him correctly.
“What was that?”
Sam looks up and takes a deep breath. “Fiasco. It’s a fag word.”
I shake my head. “Words don’t have a sexual orientation or belong to a particular group.”
Sammy nods. “Yes they do.” He argues quietly. “Different groups own different words. I mean you can give yourself away with them. Like a bisexual would have used the word ‘catastrophe.’ A straight guy would’ve said ‘It wasn’t a disaster.’”
I laugh, thinking Sam might be on to something. “So -what’s another fag word?” I ask those brown-eyes.
Sam shrugs. “Enthralled.”
I laugh again. “Okay. What would a bisexual say instead of enthralled’?”
“A bisexual would say ‘riveted,’” Sam says seriously.
“And a straight guy?”
He’d say, like, “I was fuckin’ on the edge of my seat.”
Though I’m enjoying my friend’s bigoted little brother, I see Tim’s nearly asleep and George and Dan have decided they’re ready to go. We call it a night.
There’s a chill in the air a couple of nights later when I pick Tim up at his house. Sam again steps out behind his brother, but this time he simply stands by their front door and watches Tim as he hurries toward the car. Sam and I lock eyes.
I roll down my window. “Come on!” I yell, and Sam’s off the porch like a shot. He’s in my car before Tim is.
I pick Dan up and a low on gasoline George and point my car toward the Cinemas. I want to see “Four Weddings and a Funeral” but George and Dan want to see “Dumb and Dumber.” Being a firm believer in “good in means good eventually out and shit in means shit eventually out” I stand firm. Dan suggests a vote and when I diplomatically agree, Tim steps beside me. George and Dan stand opposite of me and everyone looks at Sammy. “Looks like you’re the tie-breaker.” Dan tells him. George, a good size guy, gives Sam a menacing look.
Sam looks at George and then at me.
“My advice is always side with Bill.” Tim says.
Dan nods. “It’s good advice.” He tells Sam.
Sam moves and stands between George and Dan.
It turns out okay. I don’t mind losing a vote here and there and I’m glad Jim Carey and Jeff Daniels have put these boys in such a good mood. We go to Denny’s after the movie and have a wonderful time.
The restaurant isn’t busy so Jenetta has lots of time to flirt with Dan. We all tease him about being such a stud.
We wrap things up and I drop George and Dan off at their places and then take Tim and Sammy home. Tim says “See ya!” and opens his door. Sam taps my shoulder. “Hey thanks. I had a good time.” He says.
Sam starts to get out of the car. “Wait.” I tell him. The kid sits back. I turn and look at him. “Sam I want you to come to my apartment tomorrow night.”
Sam’s eyes go a little wide.
I nod. “Yes. Be there at six p.m., sharp. That’s an order Sam. But feel free to bring one or more bodyguards with you if you have concerns your precious penis might be in jeopardy. Protection isn’t necessary though. You’re actually quite safe. I already have a rediculously gorgeous boyfriend and though he’s not faithful in a relationship, I am. And I might add, you are one of the most resistible young men I’ve ever met. But bring Tim, or an army of Tim’s if you want. Really. I don’t care. Just be at my place no later than six.”
Sam nods. “Can I ask why?”
“No. Just show up.”
The next night at exactly 5:59, there’s a knock on my door. I unlock locks and open the door to find Sam standing in the hallway. He looks nervous but he’s alone.
I invite him in. “Sit on the couch,” I tell him. “Yeah, that’s fine there. Do you want something to drink?”
Sam shakes his head.
I walk to the TV and slide a movie into the VCR. “You’re here Sam to watch a movie. It’s called “Torch Song Trilogy” and I want you to watch every minute of it. Do NOT drift off. Pay it close attention. There’ll be a test at the end.” I push a button.
Sam settles back. “Are you going to watch the movie with me?”
“No. I’ve seen it Sam. A dozen times. So I’m going to wash some dishes and clean my kitchen, but I’ll be finished with all that and back in here about the same time the movie ends. And may the Lord help you Sam Drake if I test you and learn you didn’t pay attention.”
While Sam watches the movie, I wash and put away dishes. I scrub the top of my stove. I take laundry out of the dryer, fold it and put it away. I stop now and again to listen to the movie, gauge where it is Sam’s at in the experience. I’m putting away a broom and dust pan just as the movie ends.
I hurry into my living room, turn off the VCR and television and still carrying a dishtowel, I sit in a chair across from Sam.
“So, Sam, tell me. Did you learn anything?”
Sam levels saucer-sized brown eyes at me and nods.
“What did you learn?”
Water fills Sammy’s eyes and when he says. “Gay people are just like everybody else.” I also want to cry.
And I want to send Harvey Fierstein a thank you note. “Torch Song Trilogy” is an amazing movie that each and every time I’ve forced a straight boy to watch it, has taught them what it’d just taught Sammy. On many occasions I’ve seen it’s ability to wipe out years and years of taught hate… and replace that hate with a simple realization that gay people are just like everybody else.
Fierstein has been one of my heroes for as long as I can remember and how he and his movie can unteach in 121 minutes, what an intolerant and hateful world has taught a boy such as Sam for years, baffles me. But it can and it does and I have been, and I am sure I will again be, grateful to him for creating it.
“Okay Sam. You pass the test with an A-plus. I was hoping this movie would teach you gay people ARE just like everyone else and being called names and shouted at, and/or often, experiencing even worse, from little shits like you is confusing and hurtful to them.”
“Thanks for making me watch that.” Sam says quietly.
“Thank you for watching it.” I tell him.
I sit up. “I’m in the mood for Steak and Shake. Are you hungry?” I ask Sam.
Sam also sits up. “I could eat.” He says. “Hey Bill… um… will it be just you and me?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I could call the guys, if you want, and ask what everyone’s up to?”
Sam shakes his head. “If it’s okay with you… I think it’d be great if it was just me and you.”
I nod. “Okay… it’ll just be us then.”
Sam and I immediately set about becoming best friends. For eight years, we will be near inseparable. Two years after the night Sam watches “Torch Song Trilogy” he and I will progress to lovers.
If you read “Hiss and Slither” you know how mine and Sammy Drake’s extraordinary relationship and friendship ended. This is how it began. But this piece hopefully wasn’t really about any of that.
I meant it to be about a movie. And an admiration I have for its writer and star. And though it’s not necessary with most of you… I wrote it for the occasional Sam that enters into my life or stumbles onto my pages. I wanted to do with this piece, and with every thing I write and post, what Harvey Fierstein did and does so beautifully with his little movie. Not say, but actually “show” someone, who needs the lesson or reminder… gay people are just like everybody else.
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