Memories

My father parked as close as he could to the house, on the crowded block in an old section of the city. Inside, we went through that awful ritual of greeting the great aunts and uncles. What if I forgot a name? Saying a few words to Great-Grandma in her easy chair, her Scottish accent so thick that you had to listen very carefully. Sitting stiffly on the big sofa until Aunt Jess called us out to the kitchen, where Diane was always cutting up, sending us into stifled giggles.
After dinner (and a few Whiskey Sours) the adults loosened up. “Clear the table!” ordered Great-Grandma “Bring out the cards!” And the Poker started. Aunt Kay flirting, Dad wisecracking and winning, Grandpa retelling the family stories, Aunt Mae gossiping with Bill Frisbee, Uncle Andrew looking nervous, all of them roaring with laughter as the game danced in spirals around the table.

Oh! to be part of that magic circle again, so sophisticated and amusing, so complete and happy and safe! Who imagined how much it would all change? Aunts and uncles die, cousins and siblings marry and move, parents become fragile. The circle becomes smaller, and the magic refuses to kindle. And if you happen to be queer, your stories have no place. “Inappropriate.” “Not something I want the kids to hear.” “You live in a big city. That sort of thing isn’t discussed here.”

The car bounces over a rutted field to park next to a van covered in rainbow stickers. As Sky and Trixie and I pile out and stretch, I recognize some familiar Faeries. “Oh, you’re ‘Fritillary’ now? Weren’t you ‘Glory Hole’ last year?” As we pitch our tents, we stop frequently for hugs and news from Faeries we haven’t seen in 3 months, in 3 years. There’s always that frisson of tension: What is his name? Where does he live? Who is his lover? Then we hear a falsetto “Yooooo-Hooooo!!!” and head off for dinner.
After a meal served by guys dressed as prison matrons, we all sit under the stars, singing along, laughing, applauding the antics of an impromptu No-Talent Show. I find tears welling as I laugh, touched that these men have shared their talents and sadness and silliness with each other, with me. Then someone suggests we join hands and a snake dance begins, romping over the meadow, drums and feet pounding, sequins flashing, the dance spiraling round and round, shooting off magic into the moonlight.