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| An AI rendering of one of my outfits though my hair was different. |
I thought I would share a chapter from the original draft of my book. I hope you enjoy a peek into the story of my life 32 years ago which has progressively been written and rewritten over the years. This chapter is drawn from my favorite version of my book.
OCTOBER 1992
The month of October was pretty much a blur. I remember being excited to be back in Pace, but in hindsight, my excitement was clouded but I needed to heal from my encounter with Richard Rogers and I knew I needed to conceal my wound so no one would freak out. When I arrived at the Pensacola airport after a flight from La Guardia with a layover in Nashville, I was thrilled to see my mom, sister, and dad, even though my dad had only driven over from Mobile to stay a few minutes, just to make sure I got home safe. It was hot and my mock turtleneck t-shirt was causing me to sweat. One would have expected we go to a restaurant to catch up as a family but once we all said our hellos, I was in my mom's car on the way to her house.
Mama hadn't made any haste in getting my 11th-grade enrollment sorted out, despite me already missing over a month of school. I arrived in Pace on a Monday, and by the next Monday, with just the clothes I brought with me, a bunch of mock turtleneck shirts from the Gap, my friend Todd's blazer I wore when I met Tom a few nights before, Hugo Boss and Gap jeans and my black Nike Airs, I looked totally out of place, especially with my long hair that I pulled back from the sides into a tight ponytail, she dropped me off at Pace High School. Spending a week in mama's little cottage-style apartment, sleeping on her couch, wasn't at all a vacation or a good space to heal. By midweek, I was already bored. I looked forward to being the out-of-the-closet GBF to every girl in school and hoped to reconnect with some old tricks and friends, especially TK.
I was given a locker, but before I could get my class schedule, I had to meet a guidance counselor, one of the deans, the resource officer, and the principal, all at different times. In hindsight, I realize this was a scare tactic to make me leave. The dean, Miss Holland, basically told me to cut my hair, blend in, and butch it up. Ironically, she was more butch than most of the men on staff. The resource officer, Mike something, seemed more interested in a situation from the year before involving my best friend Charlie and a missing walkie-talkie than in helping me get back in the groove. I knew where the walkie was but snitches get stitches. The guidance counselor wasn't even my grade's counselor but knew me from previous years and was known for handling "problems" like pregnancies and drug addiction, often suggesting students quit Pace and get a GED over at Vo-Tech. It all seemed a set up but low key to what was to come.
Finally, I met with the principal, Frank Lay, who was known for his religious sermons disguised as motivational talks. While he spoke at me (not to me), I was more focused on the long nose hair that blended into his mustache. His talk was a recap of what I'd already heard but with less tact. He stuttered over the words "ho-ho-homo-homosexual behavior will not be tolerated," while I couldn't help but think about his own daughter who seemed like she may be batting for the same team in spite of her carrying around a huge designer purse.
By the end of the morning, I had my class schedule and realized I was back with some of the same teachers who tormented me during my previous years, including Coach Kent Smith. They also put me in Mrs. Parker's Chorus class, which I knew would be miserable since I hadn't been into choir since 5th grade. I was not an ensemble singer and I expected solos and maybe an orchestra to make this work. I spent most of the day bouncing around, showing up in random classes and avoiding Kent Smith's class by hiding in the restroom and also trying to clean up a bit of the fluid oozing from my neck so it didn't get on or show through my shirt.
I completely disregarded the administration's warnings about my behavior and what I couldn't talk about. When Matt Gaff tried to mock me in one of the few classes I did attend, insinuating I lied about my summer, I blurted out details of my adventures in Atlanta and NYC. I ended up being sent to cool down, in the office for attempting to stand up for myself but what the teacher pegged me with was the fact I was speaking of inappropriate and offensive subjects. It was my truth, I was not ashamed and I survived doing what I did. After getting stabbed by a random weirdo, a tongue lashing from low level high school coaches turned dean and principal seemed pointless to me. I didn't go to the office, I just walked out the door that was closest to the path leading to my mom's house and went home instead, stopping off at the corner store to buy a pack of cigarettes and a Mountain Dew then smoked all the way home. Over the course of the month, I attended school a total of three days, refusing to ride the bus I walked a mile and a half and clashed with everyone in the chorus class because they were either singing too loud, not at all or attempting to sing with fake vibrato. I also hated the music we were singing. I think Mrs. Parker was kind of happy that I didn't stick around because I was in total "diva" mode.
During the month, the only activity my family did to get me out of the house was attend the Pensacola Interstate Fair. After spending the previous months going to Six Flags Over Georgia, Six Flags Great Adventure, and Coney Island, a fair seemed like lowbrow entertainment but it was the first year the new carnival company, Reithoffer Shows, played the fair after the old carnival I grew up seeing at the fair lost their contract. My sister, brother-in-law, mom, dad and I had a blast but the moment we left the fair, we were all split up again and I was laying on my mom's couch, missing my life in New York. I wondered what the other hustlers, bartenders, tricks and my friends were up to and if anyone noticed I was gone.
Halloween made me realize it was time to leave. I missed the hustle and bustle of NYC, Broadway, my freedom, the money and the ability to easily score cocaine. My injury had healed enough to be mostly unnoticeable and my excitement about being back in Pace had faded so there was no sense in sticking around where I felt unwelcome. To the other kids in school, I was still the weird kid that no one took seriously, a freak. On Tuesday, November 3, 1992, the resource officer came to take me to school but I was not having it, he had no grounds to arrest me and his bully tactics were irrelevant. My bag was packed and I had already called a cab. With my return ticket in hand, I walked out of my mom's house and headed to the cab. I was prepared the night before and spent a half hour on the payphone in front of the Piggly Wiggly convincing American Airlines to reinstate my return ticket after using a sob story. With my mom's ATM card in hand, without her knowledge, I was on my way, back to New York City, rested, stronger and more determined to succeed on my own.
