We are talking of Oscar Wilde when Brown Beard, probably a history major, lists major historical figures who were homosexual. Big, Round Glasses, probably an engineer, perks up on the mention of Alan Turing. He wants to say something but before he can get a word in, Beak Nose, probably a law student, says how this central issue of gay rights is like history repeating itself over again as it did with other rights issues like slavery. You hear these injustices over and over and you get numb to them, says Red Dress, probably a heart breaker. An echo, I say. You hear it again and again but it’s fainter each time. Other than compartmentalizing people I am also a hypocrite because I dislike metaphors.
Everyone has spoken all there is to say about the topic and how not homophobic each one of them is. That’s when there is an awkward pause. A gap in conversation always makes me nervous. It’s as if I am personally responsible to keep the conversation going and everyone is looking at me rather accusingly for allowing this silence to creep in. It’s as if my wit is at stake here. If I don’t come up with something smart to say then I have failed all these fine people gathered here. In particular Red Dress, with that infectious smile. The smile she flashed at me when I said being gay is not a choice but being an asshole is.
I am still racking my brain when she walks away with Manicured Nails, probably an envious homemaker. She’s already getting haughty with all the attention. And it’s not even a Red Dress if I am being honest. It’s the bourbon’s doing. Over the evening it transformed her to the hypothetical Red Dress. And yet I am nearly kicking myself for not having told her of my awkward experience in a queer Parisian nightclub.
Oh, were you here all the time? You are giving me the evil eye like I did something wrong. Red Dress? Sure, I want her to like me. I want everyone to like me. That does not mean I want to jump in bed with her. It does not mean I don’t want to either. Of course I am kidding. I am just being me, all charming … and tongue tied at the same time. Sigh. Despite all my protestations, I know I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight instead of by your side. At least I have the sweet taste of bourbon on my lips.