Blackouts and Breakdowns. Mark Brennan Rosenberg

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СКАЧАТЬ that I let Valerie’s mother know what a huge vagina enthusiast she is.” We walked down the street and spoke about what our first days of college were like. Jason and I had been friends for a while in D.C., where we grew up and then moved to New York at the same time. I admired Jason because he was who he was and made no apologies for it. He was outed at a chain restaurant in Bethesda, Maryland, in front of a group of his peers and took it in stride. Nothing ever fazed him, but things were different in New York. I knew it was only a matter of time, before I joined Jason as an out homosexual, but I figured day four was a bit too early to come out and I was nervous about what the repercussions might be. Pretty much everyone in New York seemed gay, so I knew I would fit in immediately. I had moved to New York to go to school, but I also moved there to be myself. I was tired of D.C. and the way everyone always pretended to be something that they were not. I knew in New York, I could be whoever I wanted to be and would be accepted. As Jason and I discussed dorm life and how much we loved going to school in New York, he convinced me to go to a gay bar in the West Village where one of his friends from school was working.

      “I don’t know if I want to go to a gay bar,” I said.

      “Oh, whatever Mark. You are queerer than a three dollar bill,” Jason replied. “Just come. It does not mean that you are gay if you hang out in a gay bar. It will be fun.”

      Jason and I made our way down to the piano bar in the West Village. On the way, we passed a Ruby Tuesdays and although I was hungry, we did not stop to eat, as I was afraid Jason would out me. Once at the piano bar, I realized it was like nothing I had ever seen in my life. The bar was in the basement of a building and was pretty dingy looking. Inside the bar, gay men of every age, stood around a piano singing show-tunes and having a gay old time. Everyone seemed so comfortable with themselves and everyone looked like they were having a great time. Jason and I walked in and Jason went directly to the bar.

      “I’ll have a Jack and Coke,” he said. Jason, just barely out of high school and not old enough to legally buy cigarettes at this point, was given his drink as I watched in awe. “What do you want?” he asked me.

      “Uh,” I was trying to think of something exotic to drink. I was playing with the grown ups now and needed to order something a little fancy. “I’ll have a whisky sour, with lots of cherries.”

      The bartender winked at me and gave me my drink and bypassed looking at my fake ID. I was so excited to be in a gay bar, drinking and singing show-tunes. This was pretty much what I had imagined gay life in New York to be and I was thrilled to know that my dreams had actually come true. I loved how sophisticated everyone looked with cocktails in their hands and now I looked high-class too. I had only drank in secret before, hiding it from my parents at parties, and now, I felt like a true grown up. The glamour of it all amazed me and the allure of finally being who I knew I always wanted to be was right at my fingertips. But there was no way I was coming out tonight. Jason and I had a wonderful night, singing show-tunes and making new friends. Jason told me that the following night he was going to meet up with a guy named Chris for a date. Jason met Chris a few weeks before when he was looking for housing. I was happy for Jason but a little jealous that it seemed so easy for him to get a date. Considering I had not even come out of the closet at this point, a date seemed out of the question, but I was hoping that some day I would be lucky enough to go on a same-sex date. I was out of D.C. and living in a city that was dripping with decadence where everyone had the savior faire of an aristocrat. I thought that I totally fit in; that is, until I returned to my college dorm room that night. How could I fit in with all of my glamorous new friends if I was stuck in my tiny college dorm room with my crazy drug-dealing roommate? I figured I would just ride it out until senior year of college, when I would graduate and become an amazing Broadway superstar. Even though I could not sing, dance or act, I determined a career in the theatre was just what my future held.

      After a few short weeks, Jason and I quickly became the hottest things to hit the West Village piano bar circuit since the sheet music for Hair became available to the public. Men our fathers age, or older, would buy us drinks by the dozens and Jason and I sang our hearts out for anyone who would listen. It was a fabulous way to usher in our new lifestyle. However, after weeks of singing show-tunes in piano bars in the West Village with men over twice my age, I had still not come out of the closet, as if at this point, I really needed to.

      One night, after a few cocktails, Jason approached me:

      “Are you gay now?” he asked.

      “Soon,” I replied.

      “Well, my friend Greg from school thinks you are cute,” he whispered in my ear, “go over and talk to him.”

      From across the room, I began to size Greg up. He was pretty cute from what I could tell. He had red hair and a dorky smile and was just about perfect for what I was looking for. Before I had even come out of the closet, I already had a type: dorks. I love dorks so much. They are so cute with their little glasses and stubby little hands and are usually freaks in bed. They also really come in handy if you need tech support for just about anything. I looked at Greg from across the bar and gave him a smile. He winked back at me and I walked over to talk to him.

      “Hey,” I said as I put out my hand to shake his, “I’m Mark.”

      “Like Mark from Rent?” he replied.

      This was already the gayest conversation I had ever had up until this point and he had only said four words to me, but we were in a piano bar, so what was I to expect?

      “Yes,” I replied, “like Mark from Rent.”

      “I loved Rent,” he said. We looked at each other with blank faces for about twelve seconds. Was this as far as our conversation was going to go?

      “Oh,” he then replied, “I’m Greg”

      “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Greg.”

      “Where are you from?” he asked

      “D.C.” I said nervously. “Well…actually, I am from Maryland, like right outside of D.C., but, I think it’s easier to tell people that I am from D.C. because no one has ever heard of where I am really from. It’s just like two minutes outside of D.C., totally not far, but no one has ever heard of it.” Had I gone completely retarded? I was so nervous about my first potential gay hook-up that I was standing there giving him a verbal tour of the D.C. Metropolitan Area. “Where are you from?”

      “Michigan, a small town no one has ever heard of,” Greg replied.

      “Oh,” I said as I stood there and stared at the floor. I had no idea what gay guys spoke about upon first meeting, so we just kind of stared at each other. Across the room, a big forty-year old hairy queen was belting out “Some People” and Greg and I shifted our attention to him.

      As the queen was reaching the bridge, Greg looked over at me and smiled. He was adorable. If I were to hook up with him tonight, I could get some action from a guy and have him fix my computer in the morning. It was win-win.

      “But, not ROOOOOSSSSSEEEEE!” the queen belted. Everyone cheered as the gayest man on earth finished singing one of the gayest songs on earth. After the clapping subsided, Greg turned to me:

      “I was Tulsa in the Kalamazoo production of Gypsy a few years back.”

      “Nice,” I replied, “I was the Mayor in the Bethesda, Maryland production of The Music Man.”

      Then, nothing. Conversation stopped again. Greg and I were both fresh out of the closet and neither one of us knew the proper etiquette of the hook-up. Apparently, СКАЧАТЬ