So I was driving my car here and there, and as I sometimes do, I took a few detours down old familiar roads, into old familiar neighborhoods.  I was looking for shades I just knew would be there:  A few kids happily enjoying each other’s company.  I would find them hanging out on a corner, or down a driveway, or walking around the neighborhood streets, chatting idly, laughing, getting ripped, living on small budget, but loving life.  One of them would be a slight young gay guy with my face, probably bearing a smile, or at least a grin.  Happy.  Content in their company.  Completely oblivious to the disaster somewhere over the horizon, that began on election day 2000, in the state of Florida.  I’m torn between wanting to grab him by the shoulders and scream a warning in his face, or just let him go and be happy while he can.

I need a door.  Something I can walk though every now and then when I need it, and it takes me somewhere else.  Back to a place before George Bush and Karl Rove and

…and the Federal Marriage Amendment and Rush Limbaugh and Fox News and gay teens being dragged into ex-gay therapy and the sight of so many Americans willing, eager even, to live in a totalitarian state so long as it promises to keep them safe from every bogymen the republican noise machine waves in their faces.  When I was still certain that somewhere, someday, I would find the love of my life.  When I still believed I could find him without having to immerse myself in the urban gay scene.  When I could still trust most of my straight friends.  When we could all just hang out together, get ripped, go for a walk around the neighborhood together laughing, chatting, and getting more ripped, and I didn’t have to wonder what they’d do if they had to choose between me, and politicians who promise them tax cuts, while vowing to keep gay Americans second class citizens.  Some bright, happy time please, before the day that I found out what I was to them, was the "some", in "some of my best friends are…" 

It wasn’t real.  I know that.  But there was a time when I thought it was.  And I was happy then.  It was a a false security in their company, but I’m 54 years old now, and it gets harder and harder as time goes on, to just kick back, let down and toss your hair and enjoy yourself like you don’t have a care in the world with friends you’ve known since grade school.  I can’t even remember most of those moments now without knowing what I know now…that it wasn’t what I thought it was. 

I wish I could go back and forget that I know what was coming…for just a while.  Christ Almighty I would so much love to have that door to walk through…just every now and then.  Kahlua just isn’t doing it.