APRIL 1993
If you feel lost then love will find you.
--Paul Simon
To be perfectly honest, I was not looking forward to going to the 1993 Gay / Lesbian / Bisexual (& Transgender) March on Washington. The year of 1993 was hardly four months old and was already a whirlwind of trips out of state, relationships, and political activity.
I was burning out.
The way that I even got to go came several months previous when Drew called me up and said, "Hi, are you going to the March on Washington?" I told him that I thought I would. He asked if I had purchased tickets yet and I said that I had not and didn't have enough money for them. He said alright, hung up, and called back about 20 minutes later to announce that he had purchased a ticket for me and I could pay him back whenever.
Initial estimates were that 1.2 million people were going to show up. As the event neared the projections shot up to an astounding 2.5 million. I remembered what the Smithsonian Station of the METRO was with only 500,000 visiting the Quilt in a day and a half -- 2.5 million people was just too much to imagine. There were fears that the March would not happen because no one would be able to move for the throngs of Queer humanity smashed together like fundamentalists in a rickety southern church.
I did not want to go. I did not want to be smashed. I had visions of not being able to get out of my hotel lobby because of the bajillions of dykes, faggots, and fence sitters jamming the doors shut. They were all yelling.
This vision loomed.
Like almost any trip I take to the east coast, my flight left at 7:00 am. I awoke at 5:15 and walked to the bus tunnel to meet Drew and Rob, who showed up almost exactly when I did. They were really happy to be going and were giddily bouncing off each other. I fought hard to be chipper, but I don't think I was very convincing.
The fact was that I wasn't in a mood to have a six hour conversation. The thought of sitting on a plane and talking non-stop with my throat drying out from the parched airline air was excruciating. We rode to Sea-Tac and boarded our plane with no problems. I almost danced in the aisle when I noticed that our DC-10 had staggered seating which meant that my 16E was actually a row ahead of Rob and Drew's 16F and G.
After the plane change, we flew pleasantly on to Washington DC. After arriving at National Airport, we took the bus out to the METRO station, rode to Judiciary Square Station and walked to the Justice Department.
We met up with Rob's friend Peter, a young,
remarkably attractive, Justice Department staffer in some legal capacity or another. Peter
was very enthusiastic about his job and his place of work. He gave us a grand tour of the
Justice Department which has long, cavernous hallways of marble that are stately and
bureaucratic. I expected a huge pack of people and papers a'la Brazil to suddenly
run me over and continue on, unimpeded and unknowing.
Peter showed us three big murals, WPA masterpieces. One was of "Modern Justice and Man" and the other was "Modern Justice and Woman". The annoying sexist content of these drawings could only be surpassed by the fact that there is also a big picture of Jesus to the left of the entry hall. And this could only be surpassed by the fact that the two neo-greek statues in the great hall -- arguably the only actual non- architectural art in the building were routinely covered up during press conferences during the Bush administration.
There is a story to these statues. At the press conference after the completion of the big Pornography Report, Ed Meese stood at the podium reading the Commission's findings. The press all gathered to one side of the room to get shots of him reading in front of the statue of the goddess with her breasts bared. After that, the statues were covered up by the art / eroto-phobic administration. The statues have been in full display since the start of the Clinton Administration, I am somewhat pleased to say.
At five o'clock we started to head back to
Peter's office. The hallway suddenly filled with people, causing me to flash back to my
Brazil premonition. Once safely inside Peter's office, he made a few phone calls and we
listened to NPR. They told us about Nutriloaf, a sort of meat loaf nightmare that
prisons in the US serve prisoners who can't stop throwing food. This is supposed to be
nutritious, yet easy to clean off almost any surface.
Evidentally, the stuff doesn't taste very good and inmates in Vancouver, Washington, were taking the Penitentiary to court, claiming the Nutriloaf was cruel and unusual punishment. They had a newspaper guy on who had taken part in a panel that tried Nutriloaf to see exactly what it tasted like. He said it was "forgettable".
Peter said that when he was clerking for the 6th circuit that they had a Nutriloaf case come up from out of Milan, Michigan. When the judge was told of the case and the charge of cruel and unusual punishment he asked, "What are they doing, hitting them with it?"
We rode the red line out to Peter's place in Cleveland Park and he made us drinks. I said that I just wanted a tonic and lime. Peter said something about how I didn't put any poisons in my body, relating my lack of drinking to my lack of meat-eating. Actually, the two are really not all that related. While, after the fact, I can say that I try not to put any poisons in my body -- I just don't care much for the effects or expense of alcohol. Rob asked me what I wanted to do. I said, "Eat, immediately." I had said this about an hour before this at the Justice Department as well.
We left the house about three hours after I
had mentioned that I was starving. We walked into a shopping area, past the new Washington
DC Starbucks coffee shop, and to a Mexican place. I made sure that it was not called the
Acapulco Restaurant. It wasn't; it was called something really hideous like the Neat-o
Cantino or Massa Casa or something like that. The place was packed, despite its name. We
got a table and sat down.
There wasn't much vegetarian fare at the restaurant (maybe it was the Koo-koo Cucina...) so I had something, I can't remember what, and a green salad that consisted of a plate of shredded iceberg lettuce. The dinner I had was technically an appetizer and my comrades made comments about how I was so supposedly hungry and I was only eating an appetizer. I was polite and didn't say anything bitchy like, "There's no goddam vegetarian food here."
During the meal, Rob browbeat Peter about why Peter was single and wasn't seeing anyone. He mercilessly pointed out that Peter was bright, attractive, and quite a sweetheart. "What's the deal, Peter?" He asked. Peter didn't know. Drew wondered aloud why Rob was browbeating Peter.
We had a nice meal. There was a lot on my plate and I left fairly full. We left the place, which was across the street from the Giant Food. Again, I marvelled at the incredibly inane names of grocery stores across the country. Connecticut's Stop 'n' Shop was met with DC's Giant Food. What kind of a name is Giant Food? Sounds like a bulk place for what they ate in Repo Man.
I bought a box camera from the drug store
across the street and took a picture of Rob and Drew in front of the Starbucks. Now that
the airline industry and bad music are going down the toilet, the only export we have left
up here in the Pacific Northwest is coffee shops. Want one?
We parted with Peter and went to DuPont Circle. The area was filled with people, and it was only Thursday. The main office for the March on Washington was very crowded. We went in and I stayed a few minutes but didn't want to deal with the crowd and the constant cruising at 2 or 4 inches from your face. So I went outside where the cruising was a good three feet away. At least far enough away to avoid a stare.
Drew came out of the building. I asked where Rob was. "He has to talk to everyone in the store," Drew replied. I began to worry about finding Roger and getting to my hotel room the next night. I was going to have a hard time of it because we were staying in a room reserved by his friend Randy, and I had forgotten Randy's last name. After a few minutes, Rob came out and we walked around the circle. They wanted to go to a bar. I said, "Don't be foolish, you can't get your foot in a bar around here tonight."
They were insistent, so I took them to J.R.'s which was so crowded that we could get in the door and no further. "Well, this is a lot of fun," I crabbed as we stood wedged in the bar, unable to move. This was what I thought Washington was going to be. Finally, I just left. They followed me out.
We wandered around for a while and they
finally conceded that it was worthless to try to find a bar to sit in, so we hopped on the
red line and rode back out to Cleveland Park. After a drink in an Irish Pub, we went home
to bed. I slept on the floor in a sleeping bag.
Promptly at 7:00, workers showed up to pound on the windows and yell at each other. I was awoke and couldn't get back to sleep. I remained balled up cocoon-like for about three hours, feigning sleep.
A little before ten I got out of bed and showered. Rob and Drew asked me if I was hungry. I told them that I was starving. We left the house two and a half hours later and went to find a place to eat breakfast. We ended up in the all-meat-no-bagel deli and I didn't eat anything. While Drew and Rob ate, I went out to call the NAMES Project office. I got to the payphone and there was a street person there with a sign that said something like: "Homeless -- Please Help." He asked if I had any change. At that moment I realized that I didn't. I told him I didn't even have the change to make my phone call. He smiled at me and said, "Well, then you need one of these signs!"
I was fighting like hell not to just be totally crabby at this point. I was not being very successful, either. I returned to the restaurant and joined Drew and Rob, who were talking to a man with a blonde afro and a bright green jumpsuit. He sort of reminded me of a pencil, miraculously come to life. I rudely ignored the pencil, who did tell us where I could get a bagel.
After they were done, the three of us
walked to the bagel place and then to the Metro station. After bagel buying I had 20 cents
to make a phone call. I called the Project office and Mike Smith answered the phone. I
told him I was on my way down. He said there was plenty to do.
We rode down the red line. I told Rob that I'd meet him at 17:00 at the Smithsonian Station. I was yelling to him the time and the place as I jumped off at Farragut North Station. The walk to the Project office in the Nat'l Education Ass'n offices was about 6 blocks. It was lightly raining, but being on NAMES Project business put me in a better mood. I ate my bagel as I walked down the street.
When I arrived at the Project office, I didn't even get to the door. I fell in with three people going to RFK Stadium to unload the semi-trailer that had the walkways and other essentials for the display. We grabbed a cab and drove out to the stadium. The guy I was with asked the driver how long it would take to get there. The driver wouldn't answer the question -- I think he was afraid of giving a guarantee. He drove really slow for a cab driver. If he were in any other city he'd be drummed out straight away. I finally said that it would take about 12 minutes to get there. The guy asked if I was from DC, I said "no, but I know the city pretty well."
Twelve minutes later we arrived at RFK and
drove around in circles trying to find the Semi. It wasn't there. We searched and
searched. We finally stopped at a payphone to call David on his cellular phone and ask
where the hell the thing was. When the guy got out of the cab, his partner said icily, "This
is why I don't volunteer for anything -- this always happens." Which sounded like
a wonderful reason not to help people to me. I decided to keep my distance from that man
and his moiety of negative energy. I had my own to deal with.
David and Gert drove up in a few moments and shuttled us out to the trailer. We had to unload a portion of a whole Semi trailer into a 40' Ryder truck. The work wasn't too hard, but the necessary rush made it into a workout. When we were about seventy five percent done, some more people showed up to help. Most of these people were Handmaidens from San Francisco.
The Handmaidens of the Quilt are a group of people who basically care for the AIDS Memorial Quilt. They sew loose edges, make sure its stocked, send it out to displays and chapters -- it is a labor of love. They are very protective of the Quilt and take their responsibility very seriously.
After we were finished unloading the truck, we drove over to Congressional Cemetery to see the tomb of A Gay Viet Nam Veteran. It is a nice tomb, especially in the wake of the Gays in the Military Foolishness. That whole thing was a big problem for me anyway, since I don't agree with the whole concept of having a military. At worst they are elements of destruction that could be easily fixed with a UN peacekeeping force with a UN resolution behind it that says, "No Nation Will Take Up Arms."
I mean, look at it this way, if the best
use of an army is not to use it -- and that is an argument used -- then what does this
mean of the people in the army? What did you do all your life? Well, I was in the army.
Did you see any battles? No, I played a lot of war games, learned to kill, learned to
devalue human life if the people involved were temporarily classified as my enemy ... now
I'm retired. So, basically, your life was a waste of time. Yep, pretty much.
And if they do get used. Then they basically carry out orders to shoot bullets at people who are carrying out orders to shoot bullets and none of the people involved are the decision makers or the power brokers. Killing 200,000 Iraqis was totally pointless. In the end none of them were Saddam Hussein -- who was the only person that mattered as far as politics and decision-making were concerned. Rolling over a minuscule Cuban military post in Grenada because Ronald Reagan messed up doesn't seem like a way that I would like to be all I could be.
So why the fuck should I care if gays get the chance to go blow people up? I know, I know, it's an access issue. We want access to all of society -- including its ills. Yippee.
When we got to the Mall no one seemed to know what was going on. I laid in the grass and waited for people to make up their minds. Finally I just gave up and went to The National to see the Paul Cadmus display and take a gander at the Rauschenbergs. They had removed my favorite Rauschenberg and replaced it with one I wasn't too interested in. As in October, the Matisse Cut-Outs were hidden from view. I may never get to see them.
I went to the cafe between the two wings of
the National and had a mineral water and a few cookies and wrote in my journal. I wrote
about how angry I had been the preceding four days. I was worried that I might regress
into my high school state of being angry all the time. Just angry.
I wrote about how I hated being alone and wasn't adjusting to it very well. Even though it had been eight months since Ann moved out, being alone just wasn't something that I felt like I could sustain. The problem, I think, was that I was fixating on being alone as a constant state -- one that would never end. When I think about all that I've done over the last few months, I realize that it would have been very difficult to do it living with Ann. But I find I got awfully used to hugs and support -- having them around for six years and all...
After being morose, I went and looked at more art then went to the Smithsonian Station to meet Rob. When I arrived he wasn't there, so I went into the station to call Seattle and check my messages. There was a panicked message from a production manager of a benefit review in Olympia that was supposed to have Quilt at it, saying that the Quilt hadn't arrived. I called Milissa, the person who was going to get it to them, and she said that he left that message before the Quilt arrived that afternoon.
I went back above ground and looked for
Rob. I didn't see him but I heard someone crying my name and turned to find Drew. He told
me that Rob had some thing to go to and couldn't make it. Drew and I then went to Union
Station and ate dinner. We had a very nice meal and Drew was totally fascinated with the
Station. After we ate, I took him to the train store there and he went crazy buying books.
While we were there (for over 2 hours) a guy from Wisconsin asked us if we were there for
the march and told us that he worked for Amtrak in Chicago.
When we finally left it was 20:30 and we went to Peter's house. I tried to reach Roger at the hotel. As I said above, I didn't know Randy's last name. I asked if Roger was listed and he wasn't. Then I asked if they could find Randy, even though I didn't know what his last name was. The woman seemed skeptical and then, by gum, she looked in the computer for him alphabetically. Luckily Randy's last name started with an H so she didn't have to go too long. They rang the room, but there was no one home.
Drew and I then went to the Bi Erotic Reading at The American University, which was a comfortable walk from the house. When we arrived, we said Hello to ben who was out front talking to some people. We found our way upstairs and almost tripped over Erica who was sitting in the hallway. The auditorium was really hot and I couldn't take the heat, so I went out to sit with Erica for a while.
We talked. She told me how tired she was. I told her how I was fighting the anger. She asked why. I told her that I didn't like being alone very much. She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps scathing, then stopped and looked at her knees and nodded. Drew took our picture.
I went downstairs where a band was having a
concert. I asked a woman where I could find a pay phone and she pointed right behind me.
Roger answered the phone this time. I was so glad to hear his voice. That morning we had
to be at the Quilt at 3:00 and there was no way for me to get there from Cleveland Park. I
told Roger that I'd be there as soon as I could and ran upstairs to get Drew.
At about 23:30 I got on the red line. I had my luggage, so I decided to ride to Metro Center and transfer to another train to go to McPherson Station. I could have gotten off at Farragut North and walked an extra three blocks, but I didn't want to. The transfer at Metro Center was a long long wait and there were hundreds of people there waiting for the train. My mood started to improve, despite the crowd -- even because of the crowd. The cruising that was so annoying in DuPont Circle the night before felt more comfortable. I returned stares, flirted with the Korean leather dyke and her friend, smiled politely at the older queen who was looking me over, eavesdropped on conversations, and generally got into the whole scene.
The train didn't come until after midnight, when the system is theoretically supposed to be shut down. Everyone crowded in. They treated it like an adventure. Wishing that everyone would always be so happy about transit, I rode the one station to McPherson and got off. After leaving the station I got my bearings. I noticed an attractive man doing the same. I asked him where he was heading, he told me Scott Circle. I told him to follow me.
We walked up the road together. We talked
about why we were there and what we wanted out of the weekend. We parted ways at the
circle. When I arrived at the Ramada, everyone was asleep. I felt like I was intruding.
I tried to get ready for bed as quietly as I could. Roger and I had to be up in two hours anyway to go set up the Quilt. I felt like sleep was futile, but not sleeping was not an option. I laid awake for most of the two hours and woke Roger at 2:17. He showered. I didn't have time. After a lovely walk in the pre-pre-dawn Washington DC we arrived at the Quilt Site around 3:10. The grass on the mall was tall and heavy with dew.
Roger and I latched onto a crew and started to work setting up the walkway. At first everyone was working together. After the first reference walkway was down we split up into groups. My group was Roger, me, Carolyn, and Pete. While working, we learned that Carolyn was from Richmond, VA, and Pete was from Ann Arbor, MI -- just down the road from my old home of Lansing.
We got extremely cold as we worked . The dew coated our feet and hands. At about 7:30 we couldn't take much more and fled. Carolyn had a car and we all wanted to eat breakfast, but Pete decided that he really wanted to sleep. We drove Pete back to his hotel and stopped for gas.
When Carolyn got out of the car, Roger
reached forward and tapped my shoulder saying, "She likes you!" I said,
"Oh really? And how do you know this?" He replied that she was asking him what
his name was, and then what Pete's name was, and then she pointed at me and said,
"I'm not going to forget his name!" Roger said that he couldn't figure out how
she knew that I was bi and not attached to Roger. We looked pretty attached all
morning.
Carolyn got back in the car and we drove off to some other part of Virginia. We were on the look out for some cheap assed proletarian breakfast place like Denny's or White Spot or CJR Junction Restaurant or Village Inn or IHOP or something -- anything! So we drove by a Big Boy but didn't stop. We drove on -- deeper into Arlington, or wherever we were. I wasn't paying any attention. Carolyn could have been a homicidal maniac driving us into the bowels of Virginia to dispose of us in some crazy way -- but she wasn't.
She was, however, an inattentive driver and ran into a curb while rounding a corner.
After a while we decided to go back to the Big Boy. We had gone about 8 miles past it, so it was a long drive back. On the way back we passed a hitchhiker. Carolyn asked, "Should we go back and pick him up?" Roger said, "Hell no!" We stopped and picked up the hitch hiker.
The guy got in the car and thanked us for
picking him up. Carolyn said that it was no problem and that she used to hitchhike a lot
before she bought her motorcycle and that she tried to repay the favor whenever she got
the chance. We dropped him off before the U-turn to get to the Big Boy. He thanked us and
trudged off toward DC.
Soon we were sitting and looking at the menus. When the server came over I asked if one of the things on the menu could have the meat substituted with fresh fruit. Carolyn asked me if I was a vegetarian too. I said I was.
The three of us talked during our meal about meat and education and careers and Seattle and Virginia. I mentioned at one point how sore my shoulders and back were. After Carolyn finished eating, and while I finished my food, she gave me a back massage that felt absolutely wonderful. Roger just smiled at me. She commented on how tense my back was; I replied that it had been that way for years. When we left it was much more relaxed.
We drove back into DC and Carolyn and I made plans to meet on the Quilt later that afternoon and make plans for dinner. In case we didn't meet up, however, we exchanged addresses. She seemed like too interesting a person to risk not having any further contact with.
I briefly met our roommates Randy and Scott
before they left for the day. I sat down on the bed and was amazed at how great my back
felt. I waved my arms around in circles to demonstrate the incredible mobility I had
thanks to my restaurant massage.
Roger told me to go to sleep. I told him that I was tired but I didn't think I would be able to get any sleep. It was about ten in the morning and outside the window people and vehicles were making noise. Besides, I just can't take naps. After taking out my contacts I fell asleep immediately.
When I awoke at noon, I was alone. Extraneous sounds filtered in through the window. I could hear a bird. I sat up. It felt like I had been pushed up. I sat and looked out the window and wondered if I was just feeling the effects of sleep and food deprivation or if my muscles were usually so tense that I really had that much more mobility. I felt wonderful. I went into the bathroom and took a shower, then I sat down and let the water run over me. I was thinking about the day and the Quilt when it hit me that I really felt wonderful. In other words, I felt entirely unlike I did the day before. That entire fatalistic, morose tone I had in thought and speech was gone. I was delighted.
At about 13:30 I left for the Quilt. It was a beautiful sunny day. Queers were everywhere. I walked down 15th dressed in my NAMES Project dress whites. I attracted some attention, but it seemed like everyone knew where I was going. The queer community isn't very reverent about a lot of things -- but the Quilt is a big deal for the community. It is, more than anything else, The Monument -- something built largely by Queers for a disease that, so far, has had the greatest impact on Queers. The Quilt has unique beauty, meaning, and respectability. The Quilt is a living fabric of names and stories and personalities. It is unabashed, uncensored, and unrelenting. Being a part of presenting it is an honor shared by the volunteers that one can feel very strongly.
I arrived at the Quilt around 14:00 and
started my shift at Sales Booth 'A' which was in the Northeast corner of the Quilt. I
didn't do anything to assume a leadership position, but instantly people started asking me
what I wanted them to do. I soon gathered that the team leader hadn't shown up so I took
the responsibility for the tent. On Saturday sales were almost constant. I hardly got out
to see the Quilt. We had five people selling, one on the till and two folding shirts for
sales. The March On Washington Quilt Display Shirts kept selling out. I was calling back
to the trucks for more boxes of shirts every half hour; at one point we were selling them
as faster than we could fold them.
Roger stopped by periodically and looked like he was being run ragged. He was captaining a section of the Quilt and the volunteers kept mysteriously disappearing. He thought it was the Twilight Zone of the Quilt.
The day ended as quickly as it began. Suddenly it was 18:00 and time to close up shop. Carolyn was working New Panel Check-in which closed a bit earlier and she came over to help us out. When we were done, we decided to get a bite to eat in DuPont Circle. The walk was short.
The wait at the Sala Thai on DuPont Circle was about 25 minutes. I was expecting a much longer wait. The wait was mostly outside and it was fun to watch the people. The circle was a huge street party -- one that didn't end for the four days of the march. There were hundreds or thousands of people milling around.
We were seated and served very good, but
very mild Thai food. Thai in Seattle can send you through the roof -- Thai in DC simply
tasted good. The staff in the restaurant was remarkably attractive. So much so that we
both remarked about it. As we talked through dinner, I felt very comfortable with Carolyn.
As I've been travelling over the last few years, I have found that there is something more to relationships and interaction than the common concept of compatibility. Compatibility seems to be a mechanistic determination of whether or not someone will get along with someone else. Compatibility would be a standardized computer dating score. While we were eating dinner, I felt more concordant.
It felt like, at least for the moment, we were both moving in the same direction, at the same velocity, with no friction. That threw me. At more than one point, I went silent because I was trying to determine what it was that I was feeling. Love, or my own concept of love, was only a part of what it was. I have felt love towards many people, but this was different in some way. And, yes, love is always (or usually) different from person to person, but this was different in that it had several more facets than just love.
My brain at first wanted to interpret this as Super-Duper No-Holds Barred Neat-o Keen Hold-the-Presses Love -- the type of Love that you sell your furniture and move to Mechanicsville, Virginia, over. But then I noticed that it was something beyond that. It was this concordant, effortless, feeling.
As I acknowledged that feeling, it was a freeing feeling. As strange as it may sound, it was an almost instantly liberating sensation -- certain urgencies of past relationships were not there. This may sound like indifference, but that's the farthest thing from the case. The feeling put at ease the years of restlessness that I had felt. The years of impatience to get on with it.
I tried to explain this a few times to Carolyn, but it didn't come out very well. It kept sounding like something else.
So I had this enormous weight lifted from my shoulders. I was no longer trying to avoid being crabby, in fact it felt like being crabby was an impossibility.
We had coffee after dinner and then, at midnight, Carolyn took a cab to her motorcycle and I walked back to my hotel. On my way back, I ran into Roger and Randy who were on their way to separate parties. I was tired so I just greeted them and went up to the room.
Scott was just getting into bed when I got
there. Scott, a gay ministerial student, asked me about Carolyn and about being Bisexual.
He thought it was fascinating and that "the possibilities are endless." He had a
lot of questions that I worked to answer, then we discussed transit for a while. After
about two hours of talk, we fell asleep.
About 20 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I had my contacts out, so when the door opened and two apparitions came in, I fell asleep knowing that Roger and Randy had come home.
About 20 minutes after that there was a lot of commotion and yelling and light out the window. When I woke up, Scott was looking to see what it was. "What's going on?" I asked. "There's a car on fire and a building on fire and the fire department doesn't know which one to deal with first." "Is the buildings ours?" "No." "Good." "I think the car is going to explode." "It won't explode." "Yes it will, it's on fire." "What would explode?" "The gas tank." "Only on CHiPs. The fire department should have taken the gas cap off. It should only flame out." "Oh. Hmmm." "What?" "There's a guy with a stick going over to the car." "He's going to break the windows." "Why?" (By now I was really wishing I was asleep.) "Because safety glass will shatter if it overheats." "Oh."
I then rolled over to say something to Roger and he wasn't there. I looked over and Randy wasn't there either. I asked," Didn't Roger come home?" "No." "Where's Randy?" "He's in the bathroom with some guy." We had a really long bathroom with a dressing room, so they had plenty of space. I fell back to sleep.
About a half hour later, Roger came home.
He saw Randy lying in bed awake looking worried. "Randy?" he said, "What's
wrong?" "There's a naked man in the bathroom." Roger started to laugh.
"No really," Randy said, "He passed out and I can't wake him up."
Roger continued to laugh. Scott got up and took a picture of the naked unconscious man in
the bathroom.
The three of them talked and talked and talked until I finally looked at my watch and informed them that it was 5:15 and that I wanted to try sleeping for a change. Randy and Scott went right to sleep. Roger got into bed and ate a pint of ice cream. Then he went to sleep. I went to sleep again. Then Roger started snoring.
I felt like "What next?" Usually I can nudge Roger to stop snoring, but this time I couldn't get him to stop. So I finally decided to go into the bathroom and get some Kleenex (tm) and make some earplugs. In my sleepless stupor I forgot that there was a naked man on the floor and I smacked his head with the bathroom door and then walked all over him. My feet noticed that he had really great muscle tone as they walked up and down his back. I guess it's a good thing for him he was sleeping on his stomach.
I made the earplugs and went back to bed and managed to sleep all the way until about 8:45. The man in the bathroom was gone, Randy and Scott were just getting ready to leave, and Roger and I had to start getting ready for the march at noon. We showered, got dressed and walked to the Washington monument to meet up with the NAMES Project marching contingent. It was mighty hard to find them with the hundreds of thousands of people there. That and the fact that they were three blocks away.
We found them 15 minutes after the march
was supposed to start. We stood in the hot sun and burned ourselves for about a half hour
when the march started. Roger and I unfurled our NAMES Project -- Seattle banner and got
into line behind our friends from Hawaii. The NAMES Project was the 12th contingent which
meant that we got to walk the entire march. As the march progressed and more and more
people flooded the Mall, the route had to be diverted to dump people farther and farther
down. Therefore, the route was significantly shorter for the last few contingents. The
entire march took over six hours. The spectators were wonderful, cheering for their states
and often just cheering for everyone. Several times people ran out and thanked us for the
Quilt.
I think I have a soft spot for thank yous, but to be thanked for something as big, as important, as the Quilt always brings tears to my eyes. There, at the march on Washington, I got a welcome perspective on the political fights of Seattle. The movements across the country to get rid of or burn the Quilt were almost totally absent. If they were there, that they weren't the "general public" is certain. The love and respect for the Quilt was evident and gratifying.
There were a few hate groups having their own Jesus-couched phobia sessions at some of the cross streets. They were shouted down by the marchers. The phobes were remarkably inane and disorganized, like they had gathered as an afterthought. Drew took pictures of them so that he could look up their bible passages when he got home.
There was a die-in at 14:00 that I wanted
to take part in, but when the time for it rolled around we were about a half block from
the end of the route and it was a long march, everyone was parched. Stopping would have
meant being trampled. I was told by people on walkie-talkie that there was a lot of people
participating and the police didn't know what to do. Their radio communications went
something like: "What's going on?" "They're having a die-in." "A
die-in? Oh Shit!"
Overall, however, the DC police were models of restraint. The same as in October with the ACT-UP march on the White House -- the police didn't hassle anyone and only moved in when they were supposed to. During the march they kept the hate groups in cordoned off areas where they could only hurt themselves and not others.
After the march, we walked down to the Quilt to start our shifts. Roger and I both looked pretty red. I was hungry and tired and my back ached. We walked directly to the volunteer tent where there was water and refreshments and stocked up. We and sat under a tree to eat when Michael from Philadelphia came over to talk to us. When we felt like we could stand up we went back to work.
Roger stumbled toward his place on the Quilt and I teetered off to my sales tent sanctuary. We were preparing to shut the Quilt display down early, should the mobs on the mall get too large. There was a lot of confusion as to what we were going to do. When asked, people would only say that it was being discussed. I was glad I wasn't in on the discussions.
As I teetered to my tent, Drew and Rob
showed up and I got my picture taken looking tall, thin, exhausted, and sort of standing
at an angle -- much like many pictures of Bill Burroughs one sees. After mumbling
incoherently at Drew and Rob, I decided that my brain had dehydrated and I got some more
water. Soon I was back in the tent folding and selling.
Carolyn came over before her shift and saw the condition I was in. I think I may have said in a wretched, pathetic voice ... "Massage..." but I can't remember. I do remember her saying that I would have to repay the favor. I had no problem with that.
I was doing the cash register when she started rubbing my back. Rita noticed and said that I should move and take over. I got up and collapsed on and around a bunch of T- shirt. After a few minutes that seemed like seconds, Carolyn had to start her shift. I felt entirely rejuvenated -- as if I had been sleeping for eight hours. After she left I was flinging T-shirts to the sales staff right and left with no problem.
After the day was over, Roger, Rita, Carmen, some other people, and I were supposed to have a Northwest Regional Meeting / Dinner, but when they found out that I had "met someone" they instantly rescheduled it for a few weeks later in Seattle. What wonderful people they are. "Carmie," Rita said, "we can't have dinner tonight because Jim's met someone -- isn't that wonderful?" Isn't that wonderful?
We closed at seven o'clock with the goal of
being out of there by eight. We practically had to beat people away from the tent -- we
could have sold T-shirts for weeks without stopping. New panel check-in had closed up
before us again and Carolyn was helping us load the left over merchandise into boxes and
onto the trucks.
Carolyn and I decided to meet at my hotel so that we could shower before we went out to eat. The day had been long and hot and extremely dusty. I could snap my hair between my fingers because it was so dry and coated with dust.
When I got to my room, Randy was just getting ready to leave. He asked me where Carolyn was and I told him that I walked and she rode her motorcycle. He smiled and nodded and left. A few minutes later he came back with Carolyn and then left again.
Carolyn and I sat around exhausted for a few minutes a cuddled while we watched CNN's version of the march. The parks department said that there was 300,000 people there. If that were true, my tent sold every last attendee a T-shirt. Estimates ranged from 300,000 to 2 million. So figure around 1.25 million people.
While we were watching this, I started to
repay the favor of the earlier massage by massaging her legs. This seemed to be a fair
exchange until I got near her knees and she yelled, "WATCH OUT FOR MY KNEES!"
effectively scaring the shit out of me. She explained that she had bad knees, due to track
injuries, motorcycle mishaps, and other life events. I finished the massage, taking much
greater care around her knees.
I took a shower and washed the grime off of me and out of my hair. While Carolyn showered I checked my voice mail. Ann had called and requested some information, so I called her back. When she got on the phone she seemed to have about a year's worth of information to give me. Carolyn came out of the shower and sat down on the bed. She was able to tell that the phone call had a life of its own, so she started to rub my feet which felt incredibly good. At one point I said something to Carolyn and Ann asked if someone was there. I said to Ann that it was my friend Carolyn. Ann said, "Oh, is she a friend or a friend-friend?" I said, "Well, the latter I think." Ann said, "Well, I really don't know what I meant by that question." "That's okay," I replied, "I don't know what I meant by my response." Ann said goodbye and hung up.
Getting used to the reciprocity deal, I started to rub Carolyn's feet. We decided that we wanted to go eat dinner. I looked at my watch and it was 11:15! I was shocked.
We walked up to DuPont Circle and went to a
Japanese restaurant. I had a big bowl of soup. I kept musing about how comfortable I felt
and what a change in outlook this was. For the slightest moment I started to worry about
whether this was a sign of weakness. This happened when we were discussing relationships.
She said when she felt like she needed one it was a sign that something was wrong.
I don't know what need I have for a relationship or to have a series of relationships or whatever. I do know that I like people. I like to talk to them and find out what they think. I also like to be close to people.
But this spell of self-doubt dissipated with the simple acknowledgement of two things: first was that I had met more people over the last eight months than I perhaps had in the preceding ten years and didn't feel nearly this drawn to them and the second was there would be plenty of other times to worry about such things.
During dinner, and coffee afterwards, we talked about AIDS, burnout, emotions, motivation, and other rather weighty things. After coffee, Carolyn smiled into her coffee and asked me if I thought it would be strange if we went somewhere and were quiet for a while. After a quick definition of the word "quiet" we walked off to DuPont again to sit in the grass, watch people, be together, and just not talk for a while.
We sat quietly for about an hour, I think.
Once we left the coffee place I lost all track of time. Everything became very fluid.
Carolyn was watching the people bounce around in the circle, I laid back in the grass and
looked up at the clear night sky -- stars through the trees. It was warm but not muggy. I
felt so rested, so at ease.
I truly did not expect to come to the largest queer event in history and have such an incredibly romantic weekend with a woman. In a way it sort of felt like this made me even more bisexual than normal -- as if I was beating the odds in some devious way.
I sat up and watched her -- she was either meditating or just listening to the sounds of the crowd intently. Or both. The crowd was dancing and laughing. The crowd was ambient. The crowd increasingly became the world as my concentration focused increasingly on my friend. I studied her face and the way she breathed.
Ordinarily, my mind is always active with doubts, commands, random thoughts, stuff, just stuff. I get echoes of what I'm thinking and doing. That night my mind was focused, it was clear. My vision was clear. Sound was clear. The night was clear. The stars were clear. Everything was just plain clear! It was like after one has had the flu for several weeks and then, one day, the ears clear up and just hearing is a treat.
She knew I was there and that I was
watching her. After a while, she smiled and opened her eyes. While I would hesitate to say
that I was being tested, I felt very much like I had indeed passed a test. Later, she told
me that she appreciated the fact that I "didn't push things" which seemed like a
confirmation of this test.
In the past, with other people, I did push things. Often in fact. But there was no urgency in this situation. I just always felt like things had a flow. And that flow was a very comfortable, natural, romantic one.
We started to cuddle in the grass of DuPont Circle -- the 24 hour street party going on around us. Holding her close, kissing, being together, was all done with such focus. The same focus as when I was watching her earlier, but that focus was returned. The ambient noise of the street party was like a blanket, covering us, protecting us, keeping us warm. It was incredible to hold that focus and then open your eyes to the movement and bustle of the party and then close back in on the focus again.
One of the most rewarding things about that night was being around family and being accepted. The March on Washington was, more than anything, a gigantic queer family reunion and having our bisexuality -- or sexuality at all -- not questioned or criticized was a very liberating experience.
At one point, I was lying on my back in the
grass with Carolyn on top of me. We had been kissing for some time and were very involved
in it. At some point, from out of the spinning noises of the street party, we could hear
"Hello? Hello? Hello?" I heard someone sit down next to my head. It could have
been anyone.
I opened my eyes to find an old greek man sitting next to me, his huge surreal head looming where the tree used to peacefully be. "Yesss. heh heh heh. Hello." "Hello," I replied. He looked at Carolyn. She said, "Hello." "I give you one rose," he said. We just sort of smiled. We were totally dumbfounded. It was as if we were suddenly awakened from a sound sleep. Words did not come easily.
I could feel Carolyn rubbing my chin, but couldn't see below my head because I was lying with my back on the ground and staring straight up. All of the sudden I noticed that Carolyn's hands had become very rough. Not being totally stupid I put two and two together and figured out that, for whatever reason, the greek guy was rubbing my chin! Articulately, I said, "Uh..." Carolyn moved his hand from my chin. He laughed and said, "Okay, okay, I stop." "Yeah," we said.
"I give you two roses." He said. Now, it was about 4:30 in the morning and we weren't really in the mindset to translate flower vendor speak. It finally dawned on us that he really didn't want to give us any number of roses but wanted us to buy them. One of us finally said, "No." "No?" he said. "No." we said. "Okay," he said, "I come back later. I go now." It took him a while to stand up. I remember he tried to have a conversation with us, but I can't remember what it was.
We laughed and cuddled for another hour or
so. Time leapt and skidded and started. At times it seemed to speed by at others it seemed
it had stopped. At one point I was looking up at the trees again, listening to the crowds
and feeling Carolyn's warmth. I looked up at her and watched her look at something. Her
head was quickly moving right to left and back again.
"What are you watching?" I asked. "I'm trying to figure out what those rodents are," she replied. "Excuse me." I rolled over. There were rats everywhere. Big ones. And they were playing! Like kittens these rats were jumping on each other, chasing each other around, everything but playing with string.
"I think maybe I want to sit up," I said. Carolyn laughed at me. We watched the rats play for a while and then went off to look for a restroom. We ended up walking all the way back to my hotel. From there we went to Scott Circle which was deserted. It was about 5:30 by that point. The first thing we saw when we got there was a rat.
There is a big bench / statue / monument thing there and we sat there for an hour or so. We talked and rested and started to get a bit sleepy. About 20 minutes before sunrise, we decided to go up and go to sleep. Carolyn was skeptical of my plans to get Roger to move from our bed to the bed with Randy. I told her not to worry about it.
We went up to the room and I nudged Roger.
"Roger, sweetie, could you please move over and sleep with Randy? Carolyn and I want
to get some rest." Randy heard this and made room for Roger. Roger said,
"Okay," and fell back to sleep. I smiled at Carolyn who looked worried.
"Roger?" "No." "Roger, wake up. Move over and sleep with
Randy." Roger got up and went to the bathroom. I took out my contacts. Roger came out
of the bathroom and said, "I want you to know that I really don't approve of
this."
Carolyn really felt bad. I tried to allay her fears, but she went to sleep worried. Sleeping felt very comfortable and cozy. Later in the night the room got hot and we had to move apart, but it was very nice waking up later with her there. It felt like a complete cycle.
Roger and Randy left to have breakfast and discuss some things. Carolyn and I moved her bike from the spot it was in to an all-day spot. We went to the 7-11, got some orange juice and took it back up to the room. It looked like it was going to be another nice day. I packed my bags and we said a drawn out goodbye. Finally Roger came back to the room and told me to get going or I'd miss my flight. I nodded and went with Carolyn to the lobby. When we got downstairs it was pouring rain. We laughed - - there really isn't anything else one can do. Roger appeared behind us, equally aghast.
I finally decided to take the cab that was
sitting there and go. I gave Carolyn a hug and a kiss goodbye and got into the cab. I
watched her walk to her bike as I rode off for the airport. The cab driver asked me if I
marched. I told him that I did. He was fumbling to ask if I was gay. I told him about
Carolyn and that I was bisexual. He then said that he was wondering if bi people were
discriminated against by gays and lesbians. I was floored! I told him that sometimes we
were, but it was quickly getting better. He was from somewhere in Africa, but only
referred to his home as "my country." He told me all about how queers are
treated in his country and how he thought that the march was the best march he had seen
since moving to DC because it asked for Queers and their supporters. He said that most
marches only want the minority and don't seem to specifically ask for supporters. He
really appreciated that. It was a very interesting cab ride.
I got to the airport on time, but got home seven hours late because of airline delays. I tried to call Carolyn from National, but it is a horridly designed airport with a domed ceiling that channels all of the sound directly on the phone booths. I felt tired and I missed her already, but that same comfortable feeling stayed with me. I just knew that I'd see her again and felt very secure with that. Again, the urgency of other relationships I've had wasn't there.
I went to Washington expecting to get trampled. I went in a bad mood. I ended up having my moodiness cured and experiencing a unique freedom. The best people seem to come into your life when you least expect them. This eloquently showed me once again that your life can change at any moment.
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