Alex asked, “How’s Burt?”
“Burp is fine.”
“He’s so hunky. I wish he would look at me. He never looks at me.”
“He married a woman. Bi men are so gross. Be glad he doesn’t look at you. I’m horrified we ever looked at each other. And it wasn’t our eyes we were looking at.”
“You were so lucky. He’s so hot.”
Michael insisted, “He was. I was lucky once, so long ago. I was his first gay experience… or so he says. I didn’t know he was a bi mess. He was such a nasty man that I was sure he was an old pro.”
Alex asked, “Where did you meet Burt?”
“I Burped at the bar. So I had no idea I was his first. He was so brave.”
“You were so lucky.”
Michael argued, “Married men are no longer hot. He went on to get married. I haven’t touched him since. All the Swatches in the world can’t dress him up enough.”
Alex recommended, “Let’s go to the cemetery and walk around and pose like we did last fall. The leaves are probably so pretty now.”
“Already? Can’t we wait for the trees to get a little more gothic before I go there with you and pretend you’re dead?”
“Shut up. We’ll both pretend we’re dead, or looking for Dracula’s grave.”
Michael warned, “It’s not safe to go out anywhere. Did you hear those gunshots outside the bar last night?”
“Did you hear them?”
“No. But somebody said they heard shots outside the bar last night.”
Alex said, “Probably somebody setting firecrackers off in the park. Going out at night is always dangerous, I suppose. But it’s not night, now.”
Michael suggested, “Let’s wait a few weeks and go do that after all the orange falls off. Orange hurts my eyes… too happy. I like all the trees better after it looks like the bomb has dropped.”
“But by then it’ll be cold and rainy. I want to go today while it’s warm and sunny.”
“Whatever. Little sister always gets her friggin’ way. But first let’s wait for the day to start. It doesn’t start for a few hours. I haven’t decided yet if I’m too hung over. I’ll call you back after my SSS.”
“What’s that?”
“Shit, shower and shave. Oh, and a good douche just so I feel a little freshened up a bit around the edges. And of course I’m holding hydrogen peroxide in my mouth the entire time so I can have a celebrity smile.” Michael hung up.
He stood up and felt dizzy. He sat again and said into a hand mirror, “I’m either hung over or I need to eat something. I can’t decide how things work anymore.”
* * * * *
That afternoon, traipsing through the meandering road of West Park and then down Catfish Way, Lizzi whapped roadside weeds with a long stick, stirring up dusty clouds of yellow pollen and swarms of small black bugs. “If you were rad you’d have a car and we’d go to the apple orchard and have a blast. This is the time of year everybody goes to the apple orchard. Everybody who is anybody. We can find a place to kiss… after we’ve way stolen an apple and shared it. We can play Adam and Eve.” She wickedly smiled like a horny criminal.
Tony looked annoyed. “As if. We can get apples at the grocery store.”
“You are sooo romantic. Kiss me now!”
“I don’t want to.”
“You’ve never kissed me. Not like a horny bastard. Why is that?”
“Because you’re always wearing a ton of lipstick. I don’t want to kiss that. It’ll just rub off on me and then I’ll look like a drag queen… Duran Duran.”
Lizzi laughed and then pouted. “I bet there’s a drunk pool party going on right now at Dawkinson’s. If you had a car we could crash it.”
“Okay,” Tony said sarcastically. “You’re always so obsessed with what’s going on out in suburbia like you’re missing out on something.” He heard a chorus of determined honking and looked up at the sky spotting a V of flying geese.
“Dawkinson has drunk pool parties all the time! I bet they play strip poker. You don’t have to play long with swimming suits.”
He growled. “Take a chill pill. You’re just obsessed with some mythical party you think is always going on somewhere without you.”
“It’s not in my head,” she insisted. “I hear the guys at school talk about them all the time! They laugh. The damn suburban shits! I can’t believe I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere living right in dork-town… with only you!” Her expression changed to wickedness. “Oh, did you hear about Steve Hammer getting a total hard-on in the shower at school?”
“Who? What?”
“Steve. The guy who plays basketball. Steve Hammer! Everybody knows him. You know him. He’s so cute. Did you hear about him getting a boner? Everybody heard. It was practically written in ketchup in the cafeteria. Were you there? I wish I was there to see that!” She gave a holler.
“I’m not ever in the locker room after school. And who cares about him. I don’t care about basketball.”
Lizzi grinned big. “He’s got nice muscles. Why can’t you have nice muscles like Steve does?”
Tony scowled. “I don’t want to talk about him. You always act like you’re missing out on something. You’re not.”
“I am!” Then she put her hand up at him and paused. “What was that? Shhh! Was that dogs?”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Hush! Listen! Always keep your ears out for wild dogs. They say they roam these parts in packs and rip you to shreds.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. It was in the paper. A guy was treed all night long by a big pack of them.”
“Whatever.” Tony looked around into the woods and tried not to get scared. Then he remembered what Dad had said about ticks and AIDS and he ran his fingers through his hair.
“Let’s cut through Riverwood.” Lizzi pointed. “I love all the big statues and mausoleums.”
Tony nodded in agreement. Back in the time of the town’s pre-prohibition wealth and prosperity the rich established a grandiose cemetery overlooking the river.
“Look! A train!” Lizzi whistled as if she was one. “Just in time in case a big pack of rabid dogs come by.” Lizzi ran ahead and delinquently climbed aboard. It wasn’t moving.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Tony yelled after her. “We don’t need to escape any dogs.”
“Come on!”
“Okay.” With a groan, he climbed the narrow black ladder to the ribbed roof and looked around. He smiled. He was high enough to see several hills of the cemetery and the distant gray ribbon of the river. “I bet this train’s going all the way to New Orleans.”
“Wheeeee! Let’s go to Mardi Gras!”
“Wrong time of year.”
“I knew that.” Lizzi began to dance.
“You’re going to way kill yourself!”
“As if.” She bolted away, sailing right off the car.
“Lizzi!”
She landed gracefully on the car ahead and kept running.
Tony walked up to the edge of the car he was on and faintheartedly paused. When he looked down he realized a fall would be a major crack-up. He judged the distance to the next car, took a running start, and landed precariously on the edge with a loud bang. He fell safely on hands and knees.
Lizzi had already jumped again to the next car ahead, then turned and bellowed, “You can dance if you want to, you can leave your friends behind!”
Tony looked back to the Mississippi and thought about flying clear away from Milldam, past the steep bluffs and river, past everything.
* * * * *
Up the river’s bank, Michael and Alex were sharing a box of cheese crackers on an old wall of sandbags. The cemetery behind them wasn’t fit for picnicking. Though devastatingly beautiful this time of year it was now layered in bird poop from the thousands and thousands of migrating geese that seemed to think the cemetery was built just for them, with its handy river, showy ponds, and thick grass, to take
transient sanctuary in.
Kicking his feet over the wall in a tantrum, Michael wasn’t thinking about any of that. He put his face in his hands and screamed, “I hated the Oktoberfest! All those damn inbred Germans! They saw me and hated that they’d all left their guns at home!”
“Feeling persecuted does not give you a personality.”
“They were the KKK! All of them!”
“They were not. The KKK is long dead and gone.”
“Well they would all agree with the KKK if you asked them about it.”
Alex refused to sympathize. “You were a divine princess. You were the ultimate consummate glamour fag. You were a party favor. You were gourmet cheese crackers! Everybody looked at you. Everybody was shocked by you. You upset people. You are the only person they’ll remember from that day. You were a star! You topped your great Snake Girl performance. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Michael shook his head in despair. “I made all queers look all the more warped and trivial than usual. I’m worse!”
Alex grinned. “I looked normal. I am normal!”
Michael glanced him quickly up and down. “You never look normal.”
“I beg your Dolly Pardon?”
“No, you look like a fag,” Michael repeated. “And a nelly one at that. So nelly that old ladies come up to you in the supermarket and ask for jam recipes.”
“Well, I am a nell.” Alex tried not to giggle and failed.
Michael rubbed his back. “I love you.”
“You don’t love anything. You’re warped and damaged.”
“I know. But for not loving anything I love you anyway, just because.” Michael put his face in his hands again and moaned. “I was awful at the Nazi rally. I should have an abortion.”
“You raised money for the United Way. You’re a noble knight in disguise. A sheep in wolf’s clothing—if wolves wear taffeta.”
Michael looked at the accidental arty sculptures of driftwood along the river. “I wanted to be art. All Milldam saw was a sick faggity bitch on coke.”
Alex laughed. “Well, you didn’t have to come out in full drag on coke. And watch it, that stuff is really bad for you.”
“I really wasn’t on coke, for real. I just say that to sound rich. You think I can afford that stuff? Cheap beer is bankrupting me. But I didn’t know who else to be than to pretend to be some crazy thing on coke, just snorting dirty money with dirty money. I can pretend! So I was a real drag queen. Miss Snake Girl Haveashit.”
“You mean had a shit? And, having enough money for coke does not give you a personality.”
“No dummy… as in Miss Havisham! Snake Girl feels like life is leaving her behind. The parade is passing her by.” Michael gave a parade-style wave to the river, then sang a bit from Hello Dolly. “Before the parade passes by. Before it goes on and only I’m left…”
Alex smirked. “Oh Havisham. The old jilted lady with a chip on her shoulder. She suits you just fine. But she was rich. You’re really just Snake Girl at heart. A snake in a hot jungle swamp. A swamp full of old cheap rot.”
“Swamp? Me? Damn you. I was always dry and tidy. I was all pretty pose. I was Snake Girl of the carnival!” Michael put his nose up. “And being stuck in a stupid pose is good enough. And yeah that trailer could get damn hot.” Michael paused to try to condense his thoughts to say something profound. Nothing came to him. He kicked his feet against the sandbags again. “It’s just that I act so friggin’ retarded sometimes. I should have my head examined. You know any good gynecologists?”
“Why couldn’t you just be yourself at the dunk tank?”
Michael looked around. “Who’s that?”
Alex slapped his back. “Well, it’s over. No more beer in pails and sauerkraut spilled on the streets until next year. Get over it. I was myself and I met a lady who said she’d let me cut her hair. See? Things are looking up. I have another client. Maybe.”
“Has she called you yet?” Michael raised his eyebrows. “Will she be willing to pay with money?”
Alex frowned. “Ruin my mood. You’re just crabby now because you haven’t been a star in a few days and you miss it. Ever since your carnival days you’ve been used to being the star.”
Michael pouted. “I just don’t feel like myself unless I’m a star.”
“Yeah, right. Having delusions is not the same thing as having a personality.”
Michael held out his hand. “Should I paint my nails a creepy pale blue?”
“A drag queen is supposed to use press-ons. All the lady bits come off at the end of the show so you can look real blah and manly again. Hair, eyelashes, boobs, nails, heels... it all comes off after the show so you can go on to a real job in the real world.”
“I don’t want to be blah. I don’t want the show to end. You should’ve seen me the day after the Nazi rally! After a good day of beer and a young firm man who runs away really fast I’ve used up all my brain’s happy chemicals. The next day I’m a complete doom. That’s how PMS has been described to me: a complete chemical doom… no happy chemicals left in the brain. Do you ever have that?”
“Oh, sure, yeah, I guess. Who doesn’t have the zombie blahs sometimes?”
“The day after a good drunk I feel like a bus is going to crash into a crowd of people, or Milldam is going to catch fire, or the lock and dam is going to break and wash Ava Gardner away down the sewer drain with Charleston Heston washing after trying to save her wig for her because by now in the story he feels so guilty and it’s the only thing to do. Or the bomb is just going to drop and messes with Nancy Reagan’s hair too. Everybody knows that 1984 is the year the bomb is going to drop. I’ve been so tense about it all year. Why couldn’t it just happen at the beginning of the year and get it over with? Why wait until almost the end.” He looked up. “It’ll happen by the end of the day I know it.”
“You worry too much.”
“I want all new lipstick colors. I even hate all my old lipsticks and I haven’t even been a drag queen for that long. It’s really that bad!”
“Well, get over it.” Alex said to change the pity party, “Did you ever hear from that guy again… the firm young man who dunked you?”
“I knew your brain would stick on that detail!”
“Well, did you?”
“Hell no,” Michael laughed tragically, slowly laying his head down on a sandbag pillow. “I even scare the baby queers away. Do you think we’d look good together?”
“Send in the clowns.”
Michael insisted, “He is not a clown!”
“No, not him and you. The clowns are sent in to distract everybody from the disaster.”
“Oh… is that what that means?”
Alan nodded. “It’s showbiz. It’s a rodeo expression. The rodeo clowns distract the bull so the cowboy isn’t killed. Or in the circus if the trapeze lady falls to her death they send in the clowns to try and distract everybody until they can cart her body away. It’s a vaudeville expression, too. Send in the clowns when your act is so bad, for when you die out on stage, and everything needs interrupted so the rest of the show can move along. That’s what the song means. Send in the clowns is an expression for a disaster. The song is very cynical… and sinister, and urgent, using that phrase. You and that young man together sounds like a total send in the clowns.”
“Oh. Well they might have sent in the clowns at the rodeo, circus or vaudeville but we had nothing like that at the carnival. We had nothing to distract anybody with, so a disaster was just a disaster and we dealt with it head on.”
“Maybe that can be your theme song.”
“Oh shut up.”
Alan didn’t. “Are you sure he’s not too baby? That he’s not jail bait?”
Michael waved that off. “I don’t have a pot belly and bald head so it doesn’t apply to me.”
“Yes it does and it could put you in prison!”
Michael popped a cheese cracker into his mouth. “Putting a person like me in a place like that is theme
park holiday camp with a captive audience. They even provide the food! But I’m stuck here and I’m looking for love here and I can’t even nail an infatuation. I’m getting sooo old and I don’t even know how to do infatuation right. I’ll never know love. Not true love, like Cinderella. That’s the next step right? Love. First comes lust and then comes love and then if that lasts you have two old queens feeding squirrels together in the park crooning show tunes.”
“One step at a time.”
“I can’t do steps.”
“One step at a time.”
Michael glared at him. “I can’t even find the first step. Give me even one step and I fall on it. You should see me on a full flight of red-carpeted steps. I’m Scarlet O’Hara all over them. But I never look as good as her when I fall. If you’re going to fly down the stairs you really should do it in hoop skirts.”
Alex narrowed his eyes. “She had Rhett to push her. They were society. They were rich… so nobody cared about the big age difference between those two. When you’re poor and you’re after high school kids, at your age, you just look like an old creepy pervert… an old pervert having a midlife crises since you’ll be dead by sixty after getting your dick stuck in some household appliance, so you’re probably even past your midlife by now.”
Michael put his nose in the air. “I beg your pardon. Maybe… maybe I just have a fascination with high school… since I didn’t ever go. And I don’t usually look twice at kids that age. You know me. They usually don’t look sexy at all. They usually look so round and squishy when they’re too young. Like bugs. They have tiny little round bug faces when they’re kids… and bug voices. And all they can say is ‘Like, I’m so sure, you’re so totally way grodie and I’m so totally way tubular. Duh.’ But this one looks older. He has angles on him like he’s not really in a real high school but he’s in a movie about high school. Gag me with a spoon. Way gag me!”
“What?”
“Aren’t you glad they cast people my age to star in Grease? Can you imagine how icky that movie would look with real kids in it?”
Alex nodded. “You got a point. Nobody wants to think about high school looking like it’s full of kids. They want full-fledged stars.” He soundly patted the top of Michael’s leg, adding, “I wonder how you can attract men your own age.”
Snake Girl VS the KKK Page 5
