My Aunt Sylvia Had a Secret Letter in her Wallet
She swore I stole her wallet to read it
My Aunt Sylvia was such a legend in our family. We all thought she was gay, not that we cared. Seriously, no one minds these days, but back in the early ’70s during the sexual post revolution years, being gay was tantamount to total sin and degradation — unless you were gay.
Then it was a private thing that you kept hidden from everyone but other gay people. And how did you know who identified as gay or bi or whatever?
You went to Ember’s! It was a safe place for anyone who was gay or had gay friends. And if you kind of thought you were gay, you ended up at that dark hole of a giant dance club, with its little cubicle bathrooms both sexes used, its drag show in the front — a total kick! And its long, long bar.
We danced at Ember’s, my girlfriend and I, whiffing from little bottles called RUSH and watching the guys on the little elevated stages wearing black leather and big silver chains. We thought we were all so illicit — innocent, sweaty kids jumping up and down!
The dance floor was so sweaty with packed-in bodies. We all jumped up and down and moved and watched each other, and laughed. It was a kick! Not to mention the black lights and swirling lights through the dance floor. They made it so…
