This is Part 1 of Chapter 122 -- The Finale of the "Queer Theories" series.
Go back to "Pale Blue Eyes -- Part 3", the previous section.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Jennifer Taylor, Debbie Novotny, Michael Novotny, Vic Grassi, Molly Taylor, Others.
Summary: Justin is home for Christmas -- and miserable. Pittsburgh, December 2003.
"I know it's over.
You know it's over.
We're just going through the motions,
But we're sailing separate oceans worlds apart,
And you know it's breaking my heart.
I was a dreamer.
You were a dreamer.
But perfection is consuming
And it seems we're only human after all.
And we've both been taking the fall.
We'll run a little bit faster.
We're gonna find what we're after at last,
Feelings that we left in the past.
There's romance in the sunset,
We're boats against the current to the end...."
Flight attendants must see everything. Babies screaming. Couples fucking in the bathrooms. People on business. People on vacation. People puking into those little paper bags.
So the sight of a 20 year old man -- or is it boy? I'm still not sure which I feel like -- weeping all the way across the North American continent on Christmas Eve must not seem all that strange. Or maybe it does....
After the first hour one of the Trans-Con Airways flight attendants, a lady in her 40's with soft, curly brown hair like a poodle's, becomes concerned about me. I'm sitting by myself -- of course, the person who has the ticket for the seat next to mine is still in L.A. -- so she sits down and holds my hand, trying to understand what is wrong. One of the male attendants brings a damp washcloth and the woman wipes my face gently, telling me that she has a son who is just 17. Her compassion and caring makes me cry even harder. And I guess that answers my question about man or boy, since a boy is obviously how everyone else sees me. A sad, pathetic boy.
In Chicago I have to change over to Liberty Air to get to Pittsburgh. I'm the last one off the plane. The worried attendants bundle me into my thin jacket and practically carry me to the Liberty Air counter. I just want to get on my flight, but it's delayed. There's bad weather in the East -- snow and sleet and high winds. I can tell that the Trans-Con attendants have discussed me with the Liberty Air people, because one of them brings me some lukewarm tea and another one asks if I want to lie down in the back. But I shake my head. I just want to be left alone. I just want to get home.
Finally, the plane arrives and we board. The snow is driving down and all I can think of is how fucking sorry everyone will be when we crash. How Brian will be so sorry! Then he'll have another good reason to drink and drug and fuck himself into a goddamn stupor! I lean my head against the cold window and fall asleep, exhausted.
I wake up to the Liberty Air attendant tapping me gently. My tears have frozen stuck to the cold glass and it feels like my cheek is ripping as I pull my face away. But we've landed safely in the Pitts. Sometimes you just can't catch a break. I unbuckle my seatbelt and collect my jacket and leather carry-on. My eyes are so swollen I can hardly see where I'm going. I stumble up the aisle, out the door of the plane, and down the long tunnel into the airport. The lights in the terminal hit me with a shock. They seem too bright. The waiting areas are crowded with people, sleeping on the chairs and on the floor, victims of canceled flights. I trail after the other passengers from my plane to the Baggage Claim and find my two suitcases. Then I go out into the snow to find a taxi.
When the driver asks me where I want to go, I hesitate. I can't face the loft. Not yet. So I give him the address of my mom's condo. I've forgotten how late it is. All the lights are off and everyone is sleep. My mother has hung a huge wreath on the door and I can see the big Christmas tree through the window as I lean on the doorbell.
"Justin!" cries Mom as she opens the door, clutching her quilted bathrobe around herself. "What are you doing here tonight? I didn't expect you boys until tomorrow!" She pulls me in out of the swirling snow and hugs me tightly.
"A little change of plans, Mom," I sniff. I'm shivering in the jacket that was perfect for Los Angeles, but is worthless for Pittsburgh in December.
"Justin -- where's Brian?" Then she sees my face clearly in the light of the foyer and gets a stricken look. "Oh, Justin -- no!" she says. And that starts me off again. As the tears flow I sit down at the bottom of the staircase and put my head in my hands. I think right then that I will never stop crying again for as long as I live.
I wake up the next morning around 9:00 a.m. when I hear Molly's voice outside my old room. She's laughing excitedly. And why not? It's Christmas, after all. I look around this room. I haven't slept here since just after I got out of the hospital. When I remember this room I think of nightmares and hideous headaches and going into rages I couldn't control. I try to recall what that felt like. All that anger. All that fury. I try to really feel that anger, that fury. I try to feel anything at all. But all I can feel now is a dull, empty aching that fills me up inside.
It takes me a long time to get myself together before I can come downstairs. When I finally walk into the living room and see the tree and Molly ripping the paper off her packages and my mom with her camera, smiling, I just lose it again and have to go into the kitchen to weep in peace.
I'm sitting at the table drinking a glass of juice when Mom comes in, sits next to me, and puts her arm around me. "Justin, I won't ask you what happened. I know that when you're ready, you'll tell me. I only want you to enjoy Christmas this year. You were so miserable last year and... and I'd hoped that was all in the past."
"I'm sorry, Mom," I answer, setting down my glass. "I hate to throw a damper on the holidays. I guess I'm still a drama princess. I don't want to ruin things for you and Molly."
"Honey, you could never do that!" she says. "But I missed you so much at Thanksgiving. I'm glad you're here at home, where you belong."
"Where I belong, Mom?" I reply. "You mean NOT with Brian, don't you?" I say, sniffing in spite of myself. "That I don't belong with him -- and never did. That's what you mean, isn't it?"
"I never said that, Justin!" she tells me. But I know that is what she's thinking.
"You're happy we're not together," I snap at her. "I know you are! It's what you've wanted for a long, long time."
She sighs. "It's only that I hate to see you so unhappy! Like you are now. And Brian makes you unhappy, honey!"
That's it, really. What everyone thinks. That Brian makes me unhappy. You would think that they would all just get a fucking clue! That they would know I wouldn't be with Brian if he only made me miserable all the time. But they don't. Because they always seem to see me in the middle of some crisis or scandal or big blow-up. For every promise that Brian has kept, all they see is poor little Justin's broken heart! For every time that Brian announced in public that I was his boyfriend, they can only see Brian ignoring Justin's wishes! Instead of Brian picking me up, tossing me over his shoulder, and carrying me out of the Austin Gallery, all they see is Brian fucking everything that moves! Instead of the kiss he gave me on the Red Carpet, all they see is that Brian leaves Justin behind once again.
So they think that's what Brian and I are -- a fucking car wreck of a relationship 24/7! My mom does, I know. And Deb. Emmett and Ted. All of fucking Liberty Avenue, it seems! But that's not the reality of things. Most of the time when I'm with Brian I'm so happy I can't stand it. I really am. Doing little, unimportant things that make up the day. Wrestling Brian's tee shirt off of him so I can wash it -- not that he fights that hard to be undressed! Pouring all that sugar into his coffee every morning before I hand him his cup. Brian suggesting that we take the PT Cruiser so that I can drive. Drying his back with his favorite big, fluffy towel while he dries my hair with a smaller one. Brian waking me up in the middle of the night by blowing on the fuzz around my dick. Brian staying in the bathroom and pretending to be conditioning his hair while I try to 'secretly' wrap his Christmas present before I put it into my suitcase. Driving up the Pacific Coast Highway, scouting for scenic places to stop for a quickie. Brian looking at some new drawing or idea I've had for a project and always saying, "That's the best one yet!"
But no one sees that stuff but me. No one. Not my mom, or Michael, or Debbie, or even Diane. So they can't know. They can't understand. And they definitely can't understand how devastated Brian is by everything that's happened recently. But he is devastated, which is why he needs ME to help him. Or he did need me. Before he decided to fuck up both of our lives once again by throwing me off the goddamn cliff. And the worst part is that I understand totally why he did it. Why he wanted me gone. Why he can't face letting me see him fall apart. That he's so afraid that he'll take me down with him. But he's so wrong about that. It's Brian who is going down. With me. Because throwing ME off the fucking cliff is also throwing himself off, too.
And finally I begin to feel some of that anger. That fury. Not for myself, but for both of us. Because for all of Brian's talk about not taking me for granted anymore, about taking my opinions into consideration, about me being his equal, his real partner -- then he goes and does this without even consulting me! He makes a huge fucking decision about OUR relationship without even talking TO me about it -- only talking AT me. One partner doesn't just decide to throw the other partner off the fucking cliff! Brian says I'm his equal, but he still sees me as a child. He still treats me like a fucking child! And I'm NOT a child. Not a boy. I'm the most mature person Brian knows. I've told him that before and it's still true.
"I don't want to talk about this right now, Mom," I say. "We're missing Molly opening her presents." So I stand up and we go into the living room and watch my sister's delighted face as she opens her Christmas gifts.
Around 3:00 p.m. on Christmas Day Debbie and Vic arrive at the condo. My mother invited them all over to have dinner and open presents with me and Brian, but now Brian is out of the fucking picture. Mom must have called Deb and warned her, because they don't ask where Brian is or even mention him. Brian has been completely erased from the conversation, even though his presence hangs over everything like a big, beautiful storm cloud. A little while later Michael shows up. He's alone. From what Emmett has told me in his phone calls and e-mails, Michael and Ben haven't even spoken to each other since they both came back to Pittsburgh. And I want to yell at Michael. I want to tell him to go to Ben this very minute and make it up with him. It's so obvious that Michael is miserable and I'm sure Ben is, too. I want to remind both of those guys that Ron is dead and anything he may have done to them is dead, too. That Michael and Ben should just fucking forget all the shit that happened between them and just be happy. But I can't bring myself to say it. Yeah, look at me talking! Mr. Relationship!
"So, where's your friend Tim today, Vic?" asks my mom politely.
"He's working the dinner at the AIDS Hospice," says Vic, smiling broadly. "I was over there with him this morning. Tomorrow they're having a party and I'm going over for that, too. I've been baking! I made a Texas Sheet Cake -- it's part brownie, part fudge, and ALL chocolate!"
"Yeah, I told Vic that he better make something good for us, too!" Deb chimes in. "He's always baking for everybody but ME!" Vic looks at Deb and makes a face. "And no comments about my weight, either! I was down a half a pound at Weight Watchers last week!"
"And you want me to ruin your fabulous achievement by stuffing you full of chocolate cake?" snarks Vic. "I made an old fashioned Red Velvet Cake for our Christmas dinner. I thought it would fit the Holiday Season!"
"I love that cake, Uncle Vic!" says Michael. "It's one of my favorites!"
"What is it?" I ask. "I've never heard of that kind."
"Just a big old Angel Food cake with lots of red food coloring. But it looks great!" Vic replies.
"It sounds simply wonderful," my mother says. She has a turkey cooking and she and Deb go into the kitchen to take it out of the oven and get everything ready for dinner.
"So, what are Emmett and Ted up to this year?" I ask, mainly to fill the pregnant silence.
"Ted is going to his mother's and he invited Em to go with him," says Michael. "Ever since Ted's coma, Mrs. Schmidt has been bugging Ted about having a steady boyfriend, so he figures that if he brings Em, then at least his mother will quit asking him if he's seeing anyone."
"Why doesn't Ted take Wade over there for dinner?" I suggest. "Seeing the 17 year old kid that Ted is fucking would do the trick just as well, I'm sure." I mean it to be funny, but the way it comes out sounds really mean.
"Um, yes," says Uncle Vic. "I guess it would at that." He sits for another minute and then stands up. "I think I'll see if I can help out in the kitchen." And Vic hurries out.
"I certainly know how to clear a room, don't I?" I comment to Michael.
"Justin, you're just making it harder for yourself," says Michael, sighing.
"Am I? Is that what I'm doing?" I reply.
"Vic isn't the one you're angry at. And neither is Ted," Michael says.
I feel my face getting red. "And how the fuck would you know how angry I am or who I'm angry with, Michael? How would you know how hard it is for me? I'm separated from the guy that I... I love. That should be something you're familiar with. And if you weren't such a fucking wimp you'd call up Ben and tell him that what happened doesn't matter to you! If both of you guys weren't so fucking stubborn you could work things out! I'm sure he's sitting around thinking about how rotten he feels and how he wishes that you two were still together. So why not make the first move, Michael? Remember last year when I didn't know what the fuck to do about Brian? You told me that I had to go and get what I wanted or else it would be too late. And I did it. I think you should do the same thing -- before it's too late."
"Right, I should take advice from you!" Michael grouses.
But I figured he'd react that way. "Yes, you should," I answer. "Don't give up, Michael. I'm not giving up. I'm not here -- alone -- because I gave up! I'm not here because I want to be here. Brian threw me off the cliff, just like he did to you on your 30th birthday. He threw me off because he thought for some stupid, Brian-like reason that it was the best thing for me. Just like he thought it was the best thing for you. But I'm still alive! I haven't hit the bottom yet -- and I don't plan to."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael asks, frowning.
"Just what I said. That it isn't over. Brian and I will never be over!" I say. The words seem strange to me, but so true. It's almost like someone else is saying them through me. I sit back in my chair and grip the arms. I really want a drink right now. A double Jim Beam or an Absolut. Or a scotch. So I get up and go to the bar. My mother doesn't keep a lot of liquor around the way they did in the old house when my dad was at home, but I find a bottle of scotch and some soda and I fix myself a drink. A double.
Michael watches me. "And until Brian comes crawling back to you, you're going to drown your sorrows in booze? You've learned the Master's lessons well, Boy Wonder."
"Fuck you, Michael," I say. "And cheers!" I drink the whole thing down. I wait to feel it hit me. It feels good, that little woozy jolt. Then I set the glass back down on the drinks cart. That's all I need for now to get me through dinner. But I definitely need it now.
After we eat up my mom's turkey and stuffing and Deb's sweet potatoes and Vic's Red Velvet Cake, I bring down the gifts that I wrapped at Ron's house the other night. Deb oohs and ahhs over the brocade paper. "Diane Rhys' personal assistant, Angie, got it for me. They helped me with the wrapping." Then I realize how weird that sounds here in Pittsburgh -- personal assistant. It sounds so pretentious, but in L.A. it's just a fact of life.
"It IS beautiful paper, Justin," says my mom proudly. She opens her gift first. It's a bottle of Givenchy cologne in an Art Deco style bottle. Mom loves Art Deco, so I knew she'd like this. She smiles and kisses me. Then she hands the bottle around and everyone takes a sniff.
Molly opens her present. It's a charm bracelet. I got charms for all kinds of things in Hollywood. There's a little Oscar statue, a palm tree, tiny sunglasses, a silver surfboard, and a movie camera. I thought it was a very girly kind of gift, just like Brian said to get. Molly seems to like it. I think of my sister as this little kid, but she's growing up. Molly is only a couple of years younger than Annie Hardy and Annie is already a teenager. Annie was even asking me for some advice on boyfriends when we went riding the last time. Not that I'm a big fucking expert on that subject.
"Now you, Deb," I say. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to finish my shopping, so I don't have anything for you, Vic. Or for Michael."
Vic laughs. "Don't worry about it, honey! Maybe you can come down to the Hospice and help Tim and I with some activities for the guys. That would be the best present you could give me."
"It's a deal, then," I say. "Maybe I could bring some paper and watercolors and we could paint or something."
"That sounds wonderful," says Vic, gently.
"And I wasn't expecting anything, Justin," says Michael. "Really."
Then I remember something. "I do have something for you, Michael. Just a second." I run up to my old bedroom and pull my sketchbook out of my carry-on bag.
"I almost forgot," I say as I come back into the room. "These are some of the sketches I worked on for the comic book. It's not exactly a real present, but it means that I haven't forgotten about our project. I really haven't."
"These are awesome, Justin!" says Michael, flipping through the pages. "I figured that you were too busy and stuff...." Michael loses himself in looking at my sketches for our new superhero -- all of which look exactly like Brian. Of course. Who else?
"Can I open MY package now?" says Deb, impatiently.
"Go right ahead," I tell her.
She carefully pulls off the rich red and green paper and opens the velvet box. It's a necklace that spells out "Deb" in diamonds. Well, not exactly diamonds, but the finest cubic ziconium. I had it special ordered for her. I could just picture her wearing it at the diner. Initial and name jewelry is very trendy right now -- at least with the guys in WeHo, so I guess that's good enough for Debbie on Liberty Avenue.
"Sunshine! This is SO perfect!" She hugs me until I feel my body going numb. Or that could be the effect of the scotch and soda I drank earlier. "I'm gonna wear it every day -- and I mean that!"
I smile. "I knew you'd like it, Deb. Brian said...." I stop because everyone turns and stares at me, like I just said "fuck" in church. "Brian suggested it." Which is simply the truth.
"Well, I like it anyway," says Deb. I feel a little twist in my stomach. It's like fucking deja vu from last year. Everyone judging Brian and me without knowing the whole story. Feeling sorry for me. Infantalizing me. And I don't think I can stand to go through that again.
But I'm a different person now than I was last year. I know I am. I'm stronger. I'm older. I've seen a lot and survived a lot in the past year that I never would have imagined before. And I'm not finished yet. We're not finished yet. I said it to Michael before I even had thought it through myself, but it's true -- Brian and I will never, ever be over. Not while we're both still alive. I meant what I told Brian about being his fucking stalker even into Hell. He'll never be rid of me! I'm all cried out now. That stage of grief is finished. Now I need to get my head together and decide what the fuck my next step is going to be.
Maybe I should make Brian come to me. Yes. Once he sobers up and realizes what a dick he's been, then... Well, IF he sobers up. That's the problem. And I remember what Carmel told me -- that Ron died because no one cared enough. No one was there to stop his long slide into oblivion.
But I also know something that Carmel doesn't know. Something only Jimmy and I know. I have Ron's letter. I know how he really died -- and why. I know that Ron's downward spiral stopped and that at the end he did know where he was going. Where Ron wanted to be. And he came to that realization because of Brian's kindness. Which is my role in Brian's life -- to stop Brian's own downward spiral. Not to let him slide into oblivion. To make Brian realize what he should be doing, where he should be heading. But Brian has to allow me to do that. Which I can't do if I'm not there! And that letter, which is sitting upstairs in my suitcase right now. Ron's letter, which I never showed to Brian....
Because Brian can push me away, but he can't get rid of me! I know he won't be able to stay away from me! I know that for a fact. He's never been able to stay away. If he had really wanted to be completely done with me he had the perfect opportunity last year when he went to L.A. He never had to contact me again. He could have sold his loft and the Jeep and cut off my tuition and that would have been that. A clean break.
But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, he started calling the loft. Calling me. And he kept calling. He couldn't NOT call -- he told me so. Which makes me believe that... And that's when I know what I have to do.
I sit and bide my time. Mom brings out coffee and Deb and Michael each have another piece of Vic's cake. Molly goes into the other room and turns on the 'Christmas Story' marathon they are showing on cable. Michael finally stands up, stretches, and says his goodbyes. He's got to open the store tomorrow morning and get ready for end-of-the-year inventory. Michael gives my mom a kiss and thanks her for having him over. He even hugs me. He hands back my sketchbook.
"Bring these over to the store and we'll have a brainstorming session, okay?"
"I will," I reply. "I actually have some more sketches that I left at the loft. We'll see exactly what we have and maybe outline a few story ideas. If that's all right with you, Michael?"
He nods. "It's great. You know, I've been talking to a couple of sale reps from the smaller comic book companies and they think there might be a lot of interest in a comic for the gay market. I think they are finally beginning to realize that they have a lot of gay readers who want to see themselves represented. And I don't just mean that stupid way they killed off Captain Astro, either!"
"Maybe we're jumping onto a hot new trend, huh, Michael?" I say.
He smiles. "You never know, Boy Wonder. I'll see you later this week."
After Michael leaves I just wait until I see that Vic and Deb are also getting ready to leave. Debbie follows my mom into the kitchen to get some food to take home and that's my cue to head up to my room.
I come downstairs with a suitcase in each hand and my carry-on slung over my shoulder. Vic is just putting on his coat.
"Vic, I was wondering if you could give me a lift? With you and Deb?" I say, dropping my luggage down by the front door.
"Sure, honey," Vic says, getting out his keys. "If you really want me to."
Debbie and my mother walk out of the kitchen and see my bags. "Justin, where do you think you're going?" my mother asks, looking exasperated.
"I'm getting a ride over to the loft, Mom," I tell her firmly. "That's where I live and I want to go back there."
"But Sunshine, why do you want to go over there tonight?" Deb asks with concern. "It's probably cold up there. And there's definitely no food in the fridge. Why don't you stay here at your mom's for now? You can go over to the loft any time and pick up some of your stuff."
I take a deep breath. "But I don't want to go over and just pick up some stuff, Deb. I LIVE there. At the loft. And I'm planning to keep on living there. I want to get over there now -- tonight. Because...." I hesitate. Because I know how it's going to sound to them. But I don't care. I don't really give a fuck what anyone else thinks. I don't want to be in my mother's condo. I want to be in the loft. "In case Brian tries to call me there. And I don't want to miss him if he does."
I see the look on my mom's face. Like I must be completely crazy. Well, maybe I am.
And Debbie just throws up her hands. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" she cries. "Here we go again!"
But Brian never calls. Every night I lie in the big bed in the loft and wait for the phone to ring. I long to hear his voice or even just his uneven breathing. Simply to know that he's thinking about me. That he hasn't given up on me, on us -- or on himself.
But... nothing. I sink into the depressing realization that maybe this phase of my life really is over. Really, truly over. I don't know what the fuck to think anymore! But that idea leaves me numb. Fucking numb!
I feel like I'm not actually living. Instead, I'm going through the motions of my life. The day after Christmas I invite Emmett over and we order a pizza and lounge around the loft, eating and gossiping about everyone. I eat dinner at my mom's condo on Friday night and take my sister Molly to the mall on Saturday. Sunday evening I go over to Daphne's and watch a DVD with her. On Monday morning I stop by the comic book store with my sketches and Michael and I go over some ideas. Then we walk over to the diner and have lunch. I even call up Wade and we go to see 'The Two Towers' together on Monday night.
Yes, everything is normal. Everything. Except me. I'm not really here at all. It's someone who looks just like me and talks like me, but inside I'm all empty. Like in that old movie where the aliens come from space and begin to replace all the people with empty pods that look and talk and act just like the real person -- except inside there's nothing. That's exactly how it feels. Like I'm nothing.
"Justin," says my mom while I'm helping her clear up the dinner dishes on New Year's Eve. I came over to eat with her and Molly and then I'm going out later with the guys. "I have been so afraid that you would fall into a major depression over this Holiday, especially considering the way you were that first night when you came in from the airport and you couldn't stop crying. I was so worried about you, honey! But you seem to be dealing with things so well. I'm so proud of you, Justin! I know it's hard to let go of... of someone who has been as important to you as Brian has been, but it's good to see you moving on with your life." And then she gives me a big hug.
Which only proves that people are fucking clueless. They see what they want to see -- or what you want to show them. And I show them a perfect facade of what I've become -- 'Justin Fucking Taylor.' Yes, I'm becoming just like Brian. I'm putting a smooth and perfect face on my pain and shutting off all the emotion. Locking it upstairs in that hidden room where no one can see the portrait of a Justin who is nothing but a fucking desolate ruin. Because if I showed them what I really feel, I'd be a fall down fucking mess! I can see so clearly how Brian became the way he is, with his touch-me-not rules and his asinine 'philosophy' and all of his ludicrous catch phrases. Yes, no apologies, no excuses, no regrets. Or nothing but apologies, excuses, regrets. That's the true reality.
On New Year's Eve I go out with Emmett, Michael, Ted, and Wade to Babylon. Everyone is dancing and blowing on noisemakers and silver confetti is falling down all over us. I'm wearing a shirt that I got in New York -- a beautiful blue silk Versace that Brian bought for me because it matches my eyes. I also have on my black leather pants that fit so tightly I have to take a deep breath to zip them up. I know that I look hot. I dance with Emmett and Wade and also with a couple of guys who are putting heavy moves on me. One of them grinds against me, telling me that I have the best ass he's ever seen. Telling me what he'd like to do to my ass.
I sigh and walk off the dance floor. I have no desire for this guy. I have no desire to be here at all anymore. For me it was never about Babylon. I never would have even come here that first time if I hadn't been searching for Brian. Trying to get Brian's attention. I'm not interested in fucking pain management through sex or drugs. I tried that a year ago and it didn't work. Brian's been doing it for years and years and it still doesn't work. Even he knows that now. I hope that he knows it -- somewhere. Wherever he is.
And still I wait for the phone to ring. Either the call from Brian telling me that he's coming home -- or the call from someone else that tells me it's too late. That he's never going anywhere ever again. Too late -- forever.
"Maybe we're older.
Maybe we're colder.
So we disregard solutions,
While we cling to our illusions once again.
And we keep remembering when.
Seasons are changing.
Reasons are changing.
But the story isn't ending,
So we find ourselves pretending one more day,
While the years keep slipping away...."
From "Boats Against the Current" by Eric Carmen.
Continue on to "Boats Against the Current -- Part 2", the final section of "Queer Theories."
©Gaedhal, November 2003.
Updated November 7, 2003.