In the late afternoon, DJ arrived at my door and we headed to a chi-chi
cocktail party opening the 12th Annual InsideOut Lesbian Gay Film Festival
at the condo of one of the supporters.
It is the last hurrah for my company of nine years which has closed
now. We were/are a platinum sponsor. The Toronto Web Services logo is
splashed and acknowledged in program guides, handouts, banners, promos on
screen. The festival team at encounters throughout the evening thanked me
for my support. They noted I did not bring my wife this year. They are
confused too, I am sure.
On the way, we stopped at Cosmetics World to pick up some glitter hair
spray. I applied some to the new highlights on the way; I wore hemp
coloured jeans, a charcoal gray top from Ralph Lauren and my usual glass
rainbow beads on one wrist and a rainbow necklace set against the gray
high collar. I felt comfortable; I felt I belonged. I felt I was easily,
naturally just me tonight. It was good to allow myself to show up as is.
Too much of my life I have censored me, cutting myself off at the knees.
Glitter suits me: so glitter was applied today.
It felt good.
Met some nice folks at the party. Chatted with one man about the UK tv
series Bob and Rose, written by Russell T Davies, the originator of Queer
as Folk. The premise of Bob and Rose is an openly gay man having a
relationship with a str8 woman and marrying her. It just ended it's run
here on national tv. I mentioned a silly article in Xtra!, the local gay
paper, which criticized the premise as complete fiction. Yet Bob and Rose
could easily be Alexander and Eleanor. No sooner did I state my opinion
about the article as being close-minded, but the man I was talking to
introduced his lover, Paul, who had written the article.
Did I mention today was my birthday?
Searching desperately for some face-saving measure, I scanned the room.
My jaw dropped to the floor. Could it be? He walked inches past me in one
direction and then back the other way. I overheard his voice and a slight
laugh. O M G. Andrew will be 50 this year; I last saw him in 1979 when I
moved out after living with him for 2.5 years. I walked up behind him and,
putting my arm on his shoulder, said into his ear: "Andrew A.... this is
YOUR life."
Memories flooded fast and furious; he knew my voice instantly and
squealed out: "Alexander!" turning on his heal and offering me a handshake
and then a hug. We exited to the balcony. It was still light out, but
raining hard. We chatted, catching up, for 20 minutes, leaving DJ to fend
for himself. Andrew had become a born again Christian after I left; the
church he joined was directly in view across the street! He later joined
the Franciscan order of the Catholic Church and spent some time in
California.
In twenty-three years, he and I have lived. Apart. Differently. He gave
up men. I got married. He was there because, last December, while my wife
was filing divorce papers in Ontario courts, he was being thrown out of
his religious order. We both returned to things we knew: I to men, he to
making films. He has an offering at the film festival next weekend. His
first film since we broke up.
Two men being reborn again. The past returning, yet twisted anew,
creating a future.
We returned to the party and I introduced Andrew to DJ. Andrew has aged
a little since 1979. He no longer has the waxed moustache, an eccentric
signature of a 20's-something budding film-maker, interrupted. He is
somewhat heavier and white haired. Still youthful, *and* clearly 50. And
there I was at his side again, still playful, looking ... playful and
boyish still. I have never forgotten his rapid fire laugh; he still has
it. His eyes light up with astonishment and his smile takes over his face.
I'd forgotten how light and piercing his blue eyes are.
It was getting late and DJ and I headed off to the film showing part
way across town -- Gaudi Afternoon, at the Paramount, perhaps the city's
jewel in movie theatres. Judy Davis stars in a film about family,
motherhood, gender bending, parenting gone awry and set right eventually.
With echoes of the power of words, in English and in translation; and the
uncomplicated joie de vivre of Dean Martin recreated in a bi-sexual,
doff-of-the-hat to the ever ambiguous Marlene Dietrich. All set in
Barcelona. Part detective story; part love story, twisted twice, and
thrice. All characters simply being, as is, without judgment. And some
relearning the power of connection to family. And the need to call mom.
An after-party followed and several buses left the theatre taking us to
Revival for drinks, flamenco, chat and disco. Curiously, no one danced.
One man was in jeans and a striking white raw cotton gown with much hand
embroidery and lots of smooth chest showing. His hair was spiky, like
mine; he wore 2-1/2 inch hoops in his ears and a delicious smile. He wore
his masculinity with confidence, ease.
Enza, one of the city's best known drag queens, was also on hand as she
is at so many fundraising, community functions, enjoying herself mingling
and handing out flyers asking for volunteers to Pride Toronto. Enza is no
more "convincing" in drag than the man/woman in Gaudi Afternoon; and she
is jewel of a man/woman/person. A year or two ago I helped her with an
issue with her landlord. In the last election, she ran against the current
mayor of Toronto and came in third. I have never known her to say an
unkind word about anyone. She lives alone. Her parents, of Italian stock,
incredibly, have no idea that she lives this other life.
At the after-party, the handsome man in the gown danced on stage with
the flamenco woman and the crowd went wild. Too many people were crammed
into the hall; dancing was impossible. The music was too loud and in front
of DJ and me, two young men, late 20s, clearly in love, chatted with
friends coming and going. They touched with such easy affection; the
darker haired man with small hands, caressing his partner's shoulders; the
other, in a white shirt, his arm around his lover. From time to time their
conversation punctuated by a casual, and potent, kiss.
So much in the evening! Connecting with Andrew after 23 years. Being
with DJ, a man who loves me with enormous respect, affection and
intensity. A very very well done, unusual film about gender, love, family,
seeing the light and doing the right thing: reconnecting, taking risks.
And this cotton gowned man free to simply express his masculinity in an
unusual and very strong way. And two boys, in love, affectionate without
condition.
It was overwhelming and I asked DJ to take me home. I might have cried
openly on my own. We took a cab back to my apartment where DJ had parked
and this dear man gave me a birthday present, hugged me, and drove off
into the night. The cat greeted me at the door and I was again overwhelmed
by a sense of grief, loss, alone-ness. I headed back out to a local dance
club, just to taste the air and stayed an hour. The walk home, the rain
having stopped, was cooling, calming.
A birthday of ghosts; things past; things present; things implied in
the future. About family lived and lost and out-of-reach; and family
expressed in the tribal primal sweat of men at dance; and friends who have
become family, like DJ. Blessings all around. So why am I *still* in
sorrow tonight?
And finally off to bed -- feeling cool sheets against my skin, not
warm, comforting flesh; caressed by a plush toy teddy, not the arms of a
man whose heart beats with passion; naked, naked, and alone.
I know I must die alone. I do not wish to live alone.
Alexander Inglis (May 17, 2002)
In Toronto
-- 30 --