The 4th of July is one of those days (in Lexington, anyway) in which gay people seem to come out of the woodwork for a little celebration. People you haven't seen in years come out for the parade and an afternoon cocktail at the downtown bar in droves. One minute you're speaking to an old friend, and then you quickly turn around to see another as a hug comes your way along with another cocktail from you old friend working behind the counter. The event is almost famous amongst the gays of Lexington and widely known as one of he two must-attend events of the year (along with the decadent costumes and tinge of mischief of Halloween night), with even out-of-towners coming back for the festivities.
That being said, I must say that this past month marked my first time in attendance on the birthday of our nation, and I found it to be a little less than the most exciting day of my year. As I've relayed in previous entries, I had a wonderful time walking along with the parade and enjoying the company of some of my dearest friends. After those festivities, I headed indoors for a respite form the heat. I converged with the usual acquaintances near the top of the stairs sipping the usual vodka and cranberry. As I stood commentating on the crowd feeding up and down the stairs with my usual partner in crime best friend, I noticed the back of a gentleman that looked quite familiar. I wasn't 100% sure as he was somewhat muddled in the crowd and wore rather large black sunglasses that clouded the view of his face, but it looked like a gentleman I had been involved with many years before and had subsequently moved away to a far distant state. My heart skipped a beat or two as I moved to get a better angle and a close look. Yes, indeed it was him! I quickly considered the notion of going and speaking to hi. I imagined a big, boisterous hug and shout of glee, but quickly the possibility of him not recognizing me or remembering crept into my brain. I did look completely different than I did all those years ago. Oh, and some of the naive choices I made back then! I quickly nixed that idea. Then I struggled to think of what we would have to talk about or even have in common anymore, and how possibly awkward the exchange might be.
By the time I'd wrestled through all that in my brain, he had disappeared into the crowd, but then I began to notice others around me that I had once had some sort of social or romantic involvement with. Suddenly one was on the dance floor ahead of me, swaying his arms to the beat of the DJ above. Another was down at the other end of the bar engrossed in conversation. They were everywhere. I was trapped! What would if he came up to me? Then a list of things I had done or said to these people came rushing through my consciousness, embarrassing moments of vulnerability, cruelty, or shame. Or all three. Suddenly I was claustrophobic. I found it hard to keep my breath. Think of all those bridges I had burned, those people I had alienated, whether purposefully or incidentally through my actions. I couldn't take anymore!....
After an anxious drive home and a much needed nap that afternoon, it occurred to me that perhaps our pasts never really leave us. Always, it is there in the background, it makes up who we are: each lesson, each event, each romantic disaster. No matter how clean a break we attempt to make or how completely we burn those bridges, that emotional stamp is always there like a shadow, forever. I suppose I already knew this, or perhaps I had chosen to forget. How quickly that knowledge comes back when faced with so many demons at once.
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