this article mentions my team:
Parade-goers included a gay and lesbian gospel choir; the Brazilian Rainbow Group, which included a boldly bareskinned man wrapped in the green and yellow Brazilian flag bearing the words "Order and Progress"; a group of lesbian and gay judges; a gay rodeo group; a gay rugby team; and the Imperial Float of New York, filled with would-be queens in tiaras, waving in slow motion to the crowd.
we had quite a blast. i was kicking the rugby ball on an empty section of broadway in front of the flatiron building, thinking when is this ever going to happen again? and crossing the street was some sunshine and some more. i jumped into her arms and gave them both big wet smooches. and condoms. it was a good day.
happy pride from nyc!
as i was doing so, my heart was beating.
i closed my eyes, and it was beating hard. it was if the air itself was thumping in time with my heart. i began to breathe heavily, like i do on an eight and one half minute mile. the heat on my shoulders and thighs, ankles tired from running.
i was running through the woods. the air was beating. the heat on my shoulders and thighs. ankles tired. it was twilight, a hare's breath from night.
the air thumped like my heart, like the machine hovering over it, following us.
aaron was ahead, yelling very loudly. CMON.
i was breathing hard, but was not tired. i was breathing because i was worried about my man, ahead, running faster than me, for once.
OKAY i yelled.
i know they're trying to pick us up, the people in the chopper. take us out. off the map.
we are in a cluster of trees. it flies past. we continue running, toward a clearing. it slows, comes back, to the clearing, for a landing.
and he tells me, in that voice he uses to protect me, the life-or-death voice, the one that he uses everywhere for almost everything, like crossing the street (HOLD UP), or in a crowded restaurant (I'LL GET A TABLE) or bar (DRINK): STAY HERE.
i'm going to take them off the grid. he need not say what i will think.
this time, it's for real. it's life-or-death. his face is sweating, beads dripping over his shaven head, his eyes reddish and fixed on me. it's the same voice, and face, the one that says i know what you need, and i will always give it to you. you can stay still if you want. i will even withdraw from your life if you like. and this time, like every other time, i am struck dumb, the same way i always am, frozen by his intensity, momentarily unable to match it, unable to make decisions he is able to make without first or second thought. god, what was he doing on september 11?
OKAY i say. he doesn't need to hear it, he knows i've said it because he's looking away. he knows i'll listen to him, for a few moments anyway, even as he pulls a flare gun from his pack where is his other gun? and runs toward the landing chopper, two hands on it, arms forward, running flat out sprint into the clearing, aiming at the blades, or just below, the bird settling down, ready to take him, a spot light haloing my baby, my eyes shuttering from the light. the red flash makes a sparking line from his hands to the engine, there is a hit and smoke, and the machine tilts and catches fire, as the blades chop trees and weeds.
aaron jumps away, face down. i start running at him as the thing crashes into the woods. i start yelling at him, his spell broken, or completed, because this is always what happens after he decides: i decide. MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO?
but he knows i'm just following him. after all, he has set it all in motion. it's a screwy path, but he knows i'll never try to escape.
i don't mind if you think it was reticence that kept me from dancing, and kept me watching the young guy dance. you would be correct.
but it would be unfair to flatten my action to a single motive. it is the most common of human errors to attempt to explain actions with singular truths. it is the most powerful of human abilities to do things for multiple reasons, without ever having words for them.
i was also marveling at several doubles, or loops; how there is an entire decade of homos younger than me, many of whom have been out as long as i, and that i suddenly stand in two places at once: the older mature hottie, and the younger boyish hottie; how i am usually the one to initiate action, yet that night could only stay neutral, sexless, and immobile; how permanent is the recurrence of transient events.
and i was thinking of aaron. it was the middle loop that set me off. the promise of escape from this trashy music, the way he stole me out of starlight a year ago, while i was stuck to the ottoman, grinningly drunk. and another hope, one that i've not spoken about yet, that of sexlessness, and being comfortable with that, even as others are showing you where the game of release can occur.
sometimes, it's impossible to tell where the ground ends and our little constructions begin. so i waited.
ps all work in this domain is copyright chad the minx.