We have a friend who used to live on the Boston Commons and reportedly had an amazing view of the 4th of July fireworks synchronized to the Boston Pops. After several years of effective sales pitching, Rob and I decided to experience it for ourselves. It was exactly as advertised.
Our friend’s apartment was small, so we elected to stay in a nearby hotel. Finding affordable lodging, on the Commons, on a holiday weekend proved challenging. But I made determined use of the newly burgeoning Internet and found a perfect hotel that oozed old Boston charm on its web page.
The hotel was indeed old. It was made of brick and we felt like bubbling pizzas in the record heat. Our window AC unit puddled all over the creaky wooden floor. But what added the charm was the clientele. Somehow I had missed the fine print on the website. We started cluing in, though, as our taxi approached the hotel festooned in rainbow flags. Upon entering the lobby, and the elevator, and the hallways, it became very obvious that we were staying in a gay hotel. Aside from a couple of employees, I seemed to be the only female on premises the entire weekend. And regardless how cute my carefully chosen outfits were, all eyes were on Rob. I was proud; he was nonplussed.
I was reminded of that weekend recently when we visited a two-and-a-half-decades-and-counting friend for a few days. Zeke and his boyfriend live in a beautifully treed urban neighborhood with stunning views of water and landmarks. Because of my “I’m working on it” fear of dogs, Rob and I decided to stay in a hotel about a mile away. Having now met their sweet puppy, we are hoping to make use of their guest room next time we visit.
We had a fabulous time. The weather was gorgeous so we walked everywhere. My pedometer averaged about 5 miles per day. We ate delicious food (including stuffed dates wrapped in lardo! Yeah, it’s freaky good.). We shopped. We played tourist. We just enjoyed being together.
I flashed back to Boston when I realized Zeke and Jay live in predominantly gay neighborhood. No surprise really. In fact, I’m pretty sure Zeke mentioned it when they bought the place not long ago. The neighborhood demographics didn’t bother me. It was just an interesting change from my very heterosexual, moderately conservative, rural surrounds of Woodhaven.
Once again, as in our Boston hotel, I was largely invisible. As we walked down the street or went into bars or restaurants, people mostly looked past me. They were not rude, just disinterested. It was actually rather freeing. I also appreciated the fashions. It made my day to see one guy dressed just like the singer Howard Jones circa 1984, complete with Boy George hat and pegged and rolled jeans. Oh, how I wanted to approximate that look back in high school! I was also in awe of a drag queen who ran across the street in stilettos; stable, sturdy, and confident. Never on my best day.
Perhaps the most interesting experience, however, involved PDAs. And by that I mean Public Displays of Affection, not gadgetry. Much to my surprise, I didn’t hold Rob’s hand or arm as we walked. He and I are typically in very close proximity to each other. So it was very unusual for me not to be touching him in some way as we wandered around. I spent some time mulling this over and the best explanation I have come up with was I was trying to be respectful. Let me explain.
It was heartwarming to see same-sex couples walking down the street in the same way Rob and I usually do. Holding hands, touching, totally natural, without any thought or fear or desire to offend. I have been in places and have seen instances where such relationship behavior is a political statement, whether that’s the intent or not. When I hold Rob’s hand, the only statement I am making is to him. That I love him and love being with him. It rarely occurs to me that anyone notices or cares. And so on their turf, in their neighborhood, although I doubt anyone would have cared, I wanted to be respectful and not make a statement or a judgment where none was intended.
Love really shouldn’t be this complicated…and yet it almost always is.
No comments:
Post a Comment