Family Dancing Read Free Page B

the hard, green seat. The train was almost entirely empty; the only other passenger was a dark-skinned man wearing bluejeans and a leather jacket. He sat directly across the aisle from Neil, next to the window. He had rough skin and a thick mustache. Neil discovered that by pretending to look out the window he could study the man’s reflection in the lemon-lime glass. It was only slightly hazy—the quality of a bad photograph. Neil felt his mouth open, felt sleep closing in on him. Hazy red and gold flashes through the glass pulsed in the face of the man in the window, giving the curious impression of muscle spasms. It took Neil a few minutes to realize that the man was staring at him, or, rather, staring at the back of his head—staring at his staring. The man smiled as though to say, I know exactly what you’re staring at, and Neil felt the sickening sensation of desire rise in his throat.
    Right before they reached the city, the man stood up and sat down in the seat next to Neil’s. The man’s thigh brushed deliberately against his own. Neil’s eyes were watering; he felt sick to his stomach. Taking Neil’s hand, the man said, “Why so nervous, honey? Relax.”
    Neil woke up the next morning with the taste of ashes in his mouth. He was lying on the floor, without blankets or sheets or pillows. Instinctively, he reached for his pants, and as he pulled them on came face to face with the man from the train. His name was Luis; he turned out to be a dog groomer. His apartment smelled of dog.
    “Why such a hurry?” Luis said.
    “The parade. The Gay Pride Parade. I’m meeting some friends to march.”
    “I’ll come with you,” Luis said. “I think I’m too old for these things, but why not?”
    Neil did not want Luis to come with him, but he found it impossible to say so. Luis looked older by day, more likely to carry diseases. He dressed again in a torn T-shirt, leather jacket, bluejeans. “It’s my everyday apparel,” he said, and laughed. Neil buttoned his pants, aware that they had been washed by his mother the day before. Luis possessed the peculiar combination of hypermasculinity and effeminacy which exemplifies faggotry. Neil wanted to be rid of him, but Luis’s mark was on him, he could see that much. They would become lovers whether Neil liked it or not.
    They joined the parade midway. Neil hoped he wouldn’t meet anyone he knew; he did not want to have to explain Luis, who clung to him. The parade was full of shirtless men with oiled, muscular shoulders. Neil’s back ached. There were floats carrying garishly dressed prom queens and cheerleaders, some with beards, some actually looking like women. Luis said, “It makes me proud, makes me glad to be what I am.” Neil supposed that by darting into the crowd ahead of him he might be able to lose Luis forever, but he found it difficult to let him go; the prospect of being alone seemed unbearable.
    Neil was startled to see his mother watching the parade, holding up a sign. She was with the Coalition of Parents of Lesbians and Gays; they had posted a huge banner on the wall behind them proclaiming: our sons and daughters, we are proud of you . She spotted him; she waved, and jumped up and down.
    “Who’s that woman?” Luis asked.
    “My mother. I should go say hello to her.”
    “O.K.,” Luis said. He followed Neil to the side of the parade. Neil kissed his mother. Luis took off his shirt, wiped his face with it, smiled.
    “I’m glad you came,” Neil said.
    “I wouldn’t have missed it, Neil. I wanted to show you I cared.”
    He smiled, and kissed her again. He showed no intention of introducing Luis, so Luis introduced himself.
    “Hello, Luis,” Mrs. Campbell said. Neil looked away. Luis shook her hand, and Neil wanted to warn his mother to wash it, warned himself to check with a V.D. clinic first thing Monday.
    “Neil, this is Carmen Bologna, another one of the mothers,” Mrs. Campbell said. She introduced him to a fat Italian woman