The Guy at the Museum

After my roommate graduated college I went on a road trip with her to celebrate her graduation. Her name was Celesta. We went up and down the CA coastline  and I have many many stories from that trip but here is one I remembered a few days ago. My grandfather was recently moved to an assisted living care facility and my aunt asked me to put some photos together or my family to send to him. I stumbled across this one of him, my grandmother, my roommate and myself standing on the balcony of the MOMA. The incident came rushing back to my mind. (As an aside I totally remembr that wrap skirt from Limited...I loved it so much!!)

On the road trip we stopped and spent a day or two with my grandparents in San Fransisco. One of the days we went to the MOMA (where we took the photo). As we were leaving the Museum we stopped to get a treat in the cafe. It was very crowded and after we had gotten our food there were no open tables. A kind gentleman who was by himself at a large table asked if we would like to join him, as he was working and didn't need th e extra seats. We thanked him kindly and sat to chat and eat.

Sidebar: In college I went through a brief phase of calling everything "gay," good things, bad things, everything. I don't need a lecture on how wrong it was, I am quite clear on that.

Return to the cafe. I have no idea what we were talking about but in th middle of my conversation with my family I called something "gay." As soon as the words came out if my mouth I thought I was going to die. I knew I had blown it. My family was mortified and just stared at me. The kind gentleman who gave us a place to sit quietly packed up his things from the table and left. I felt about as big as a bug. I wasn't trying to be offensive. But clearly I wasn't trying to be sensitive either. I was in my own world where I didn't pay attention to what I said because it was all about me.

I had gay friends. I don't know why or where I picked up the phrase used in that way. I can tell you though, I never used it that way again. The quickest way to kick a bad habit is to do it in front of someone and watch them be hurt by it. This man didn't lash out at me, didn't call me a bigot, didn't throw his coffee on me. He stood up and silently expressed he wasn't going to take it.

I wish I could go back and apologize. I was seventeen. I was stupid. I was embarassed. I was sorry. Am sorry.

So thank you, man in the MOMA coffee shop, for teaching me the power of words and the power of silence.

That Guy on the Train

I graduated high school a year early. I had the credits, so why not. I enjoyed high school, but I didn't thrive in the environment I was living in. I moved across the country to live with my dad and stepmom and go to commnity college until I figured out a plan. To get across the country I wanted to travel by train so my mom bought me a ticket and off I went.

My "boyfriend" at the time of graduation moved to Chicago, so I planned a stop there for a couple of days to hang out with him and his mom. (What a mess, and an entirely different story.)

The ride from VA to IL was long enough that when I got my seat I knew I had to settle in and make nice with the man sitting next to me. Looking back, I was such a fool, but nonetheless...

When I went to introduce myself I made up a fake name and an entire back story about who I was, where I was going, and why I was going there. I crafted an amazing story, I flirted, I lied threw my teeth. My sixteen year old self may have graduated high school, but clearly was not ready to jump into the world.

The elaborate lie lasted hours, the entire trip in fact. It was exhausting! It was fun at first, but then it became tiresome, keeping up with my story. I didn't cave, but I wanted to just confess everything. I was too embaraassed so I kept on.

It was the first time I was truly on my own and my story was mine alone to tell. No one was there to fact check, to verify my story, and deny my falsehoods. It was fun. Then it wasn't. I learned that even when no one is watching, the allure of Escape is just that, a lure. I also learned that what I had suspected to be true, was indeed true: If desired, I could lie quite effectively.

So thanks, Man on the Train, for teaching me two lessons. One lesson was the first in series of moments that really set me on a path to change my life from the way I had been living, to the way I wanted to be living and one that reminded me of the person I didn't want to become.the photo is of me and my friends right before I left town. Yikes, floral explosion! I blame 1993. And that hat? Although not sure which is worse, my hat or the choker? Aye!