Odd Man Out
Conversations with myself.
“Is it easy being gay?”
“What?”
“Being gay. Being a gay man. Is it easy?”
“In what sense?”
“Day-to-day, I guess.”
“Well, I mean, I don’t have anything else to compare it to, do I?”
“You used to be in the closet.”
“Yes.”
“For a very long time.”
“A very, very long time.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Fear, mostly.”
“Fear of what?”
“Everything, I guess. When you’re living inside a closet, that aspect of your life starts to color every other aspect. You start to wonder if people can tell, because you’re trying so hard to hide it. To deny it.”
“Why?”
“Well, because it’s bad. It’s a bad thing to be.”
“According to…?”
“You know, it’s weird. I knew…I suspected that none of my friends or family would object. I suspected that they all thought I was gay, anyway. Or that something was wrong with me and the most obvious and sort of the most hopeful answer was that I was gay.”
“Because you weren’t dating people.”
“I wasn’t dating. I wasn’t having sex. I avoided all relationships. I was careful about what I said, how I spoke, how I gestured, how I walked, what I wore, how my face was.”
“How your face was?”
“Like, if there was a man that I was attracted to, I kept my eyes from him and tried to keep my features neutral.”
“Whatever that means.”
“I tried not to show any emotions, in case I gave myself away. I didn’t want to smile. I didn’t want anything about me taken that way.”
“The gay way.”
“Right.”
“You said it’s bad. That being gay is bad.”
“It’s just…to people who are homophobic, those people don’t tend to keep that in their own closet. They make it known how they feel, that they’re justified in feeling that way. They parade it around like something to be proud of.”
“Bigot pride.”
“Sort of.”
“Good thing they don’t have parades.”
“They do, sometimes. They just wear hoods and swastikas.”
“You were afraid of them.”
“I was afraid of everything. Just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“Just in case someone I didn’t know — someone I encountered on the street, some stranger — decided that they hated me and wanted to harm me.”
“Because you’re gay.”
“Or just look gay or something.”
“Even though you weren’t doing anything.”
“Well, they don’t need an excuse do they? If they want to beat you up because you’re gay, they’re going to do it.”
“That never happened to you.”
“No, nothing physical. I was called a faggot a couple of times on the street, but only here in San Francisco. I guess that if you really need to get your hatred for homosexuals out in the open, you’re going to find more targets here.”
“What were you doing when they called you a faggot?”
“One time I was riding my bike.”
“In a particularly gay way, one assumes.”
“I guess? Another time I was walking along Market Street in the Castro.”
“And you looked gay.”
“I was alone. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and probably a hoodie.”
“Maybe it was your shoes.”
“Maybe they just yelled it at everyone in the Castro.”
“How did it make you feel?”
“Embarrassed. Ashamed. Afraid. I remember the physical sensation of it, too. That chilling feeling, as if someone had doused my whole body in ice water. My scalp got tight.”
“Just from that one word.”
“I didn’t even see who yelled it. They were in cars both times. Drive-by bigots.”
“What did you want to do?”
“Hide. Run. Protect myself.”
“But not hit them? Not punch them?”
“No. I wanted….”
“To get back inside the closet.”
“Where it’s safe.”
“Do you think your reaction is more about you than it is about them?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you’re reacting exactly as one assumes they want you to. Shame and fear. They’re not yelling it to make you feel better.”
“So I’m supposed to ignore it?”
“No, but…like…confront it?”
“How so? Yell back, ‘No, I’m not!’ when I am.”
“You’re not a faggot.”
“I pretty much am. They mean it to be degrading, of course. But the essential meaning of it is true. I’m a faggot. I like men. I like having sex with other men. I like looking at naked men. I’m gay.”
“But faggot doesn’t mean….”
“It means that. Just like ‘gay’ means that. They’re said derogatorily. If someone tries to redefine them to mean something else, the essential meaning — the implication if you will — remains. Saying something is ‘gay’ meaning that it’s bad, or calling someone a ‘faggot’ because they’re behaving in a manner you find uncomfortable but then trying to pivot your use of those words to make them somehow acceptable…doesn’t. And generally speaking it’s not the gay faggots who are trying to change the definitions of those words so others feel more comfortable regarding their use.”
“They’re just words.”
“But they’re not, are they? They’re intentions. Their use is intended to offend and subjugate.”
“But if you’re taking offense, that’s your choice to take is like….”
“That’s a lie. They’re said with the intention to offend. Everyone knows ‘faggot’ and ‘fag’ are offensive words. To say ‘I didn’t mean to offend,’ is a lie.”
“But you can reclaim the word and make it….”
“Faggot is not a term of endearment, as far as I’m concerned. I wouldn’t want to be called a faggot.”
“So…um….”
“I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I?”
“A bit.”
“Good.”
