After our night at the Cougar bar, Jo and I decided to give ourselves a treat and go Gay. We searched the area and found a gay bar within driving distance. It was Rose’s last night in town and she was very supportive of our Sapphic desires. We called our puppy sitter, packed the car, and piled in for a little road trip.
Determined to cancel out the previous night with Buzz cut, Jo and I dressed to the nines in our favorite gay gear. I ditched my dress for one of Jo’s sexy vests. With jitters in my belly, one would think it was my first time. I felt eighteen all over again as I entered a gay bar after being strictly closeted for the past six months. Getting stamped by the sexually ambiguous bouncer offered a breath of fresh air. The emotions from our previous night’s debacle washed away.
As we made way to the bartender, my smile grew larger from ear to ear. Sitting on an open bar stool, Rose leaned over to tell me how comfortable my body language had become. I was home. Although I didn’t know a single person in this foreign place, I was home.
We joined the masses on the dance floor and Jo came in behind me. The love of my life was dancing close to me in a place where we could be ourselves. Yet, so much time had passed since we had been affectionate in public, it felt oddly unnatural. I grabbed her hand, determined to overcome this out-of-body experience I was having. As a Madonna classic came overhead, we broke for a bathroom break. I asked Jo how she felt about our long awaited night OUT. Sadly, it was odd for both of us. Although we sleep intertwined on a nightly basis and kiss endlessly in our home, we were officially that awkward gay couple who were unsure how to behave outside our closet walls. How could this possibly have happened in such a short time? I was once the girl who planned group trips to Provincetown. Who is this person I have become?
And then as quickly as the homecoming came, it was gone. I noticed that there were an unusual amount of (what seemed to be) straight men. Hmmm? Certainly nothing I had experienced before but if they were intrigued or curious, good for them for coming out. Unfortunately, as I watched more closely, it appeared that these men were checking out the lesbians.
Another beer in hand, I calmed myself, We deserve this night; I will not let my uneasy feeling and these sleazebags bother me. Jo and I just need to relax.
And then my typically calm and collected girlfriend gasped and ducked behind Rose. The dreaded words that I prayed would not be spoken during our gay getaway came out of Jo’s mouth in a sad and defeated whisper, “I work with that man across the bar.”
At first, Rose and I were relaxed, despite my internal horror. If he was here, far from base, then he must be gay too. But as Jo hid behind us, we studied him. He appeared to be enjoying the women much more than the men. Who knows if our interpretation of his behavior was accurate? I do know we cannot risk Jo’s career. What if he was straight? And what if he has seen us touch or kiss? Defeated, we got back in the car after only three dances and two beers. After our first attempt at girls’ night out, I had no tears left to shed.
My grandmother, very Catholic until her last breath, must have been in the car with us on that trip home. Suddenly a prayer came to me that I heard for years growing up. Ironically, for the first time in my gay life, my Catholicism offered some peace.
God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and wisdom to know the difference.
