A Fluid State

by Rob Browatzke

“Does that bother you? That he comes to StoryTime?”

  “I just don’t get it, I guess. Like, couldn’t you just read to them like this?”

  “Normal, you mean?”

  “Yeah. I mean, not that it’s not normal, but-”

  “Nothing you say is going to offend me, Patrick. Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”

  “That’s what worries me. I don’t want him getting bullied. Kids are cruel, and all.”

  “And adults are just bigger kids.”

  “Do you think he’s gay?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think he’s gay?”

  “Why would he be dressing like a girl if he wasn’t?”

  “He’s not dressing like a girl. He’s dressing like himself.”

  “But he wears girl clothes.”

  “Clothes don’t have a gender, Patrick.”

  “Sure they do. Guys don’t wear dresses or bras or...”

  “I do.”

  “But you’re a drag queen.”

  “I’m still a guy.”

  “Yah for now, but...”

  “For now? Is that what you think? That gay guys that do drag are what? Working up the guts to become women?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t it? I mean, sorry, I’ve never really thought about any of this before. Christy made me watch a movie with drag queens once, and I didn’t get it.”

  “Listen. I am a man. I’m a gay man, yes, but I am all man. When I do drag, it is for financial and entertainment purposes only. I do not want to be a woman. I do not feel I should have been born a woman.”

  “Why then?”

  Andrew opened his mouth to answer and then paused. Patrick watched as he sipped his beer, ate some salad.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  Andrew took another sip of his beer. “When I was a kid,” he finally said, “I knew I was different than the other boys. I didn’t like sports. I didn’t like girls. Not the way they liked girls. Not the way I was supposed to like girls. Don’t get me wrong. I liked girls. I liked spending time with girls. All my best friends were girls. When the other boys picked on me, those girls defended me. They were stronger than me. They were my heroes. Later, when I realized I was gay, I found more strong women in pop stars. Their songs resonated with me. They knew what I was going through. They knew me.

  ‘The first time I did drag, I was just doing it for fun, as a way to honor those women. But something changed the first time I performed. It’s weird. It was like I left my body and I was seeing myself in a different way, and I liked what I saw. For the first time ever, I knew who I was, and who I was supposed to be.” He sipped his beer. “Being on stage as a woman made me a stronger man.”

  They ate in silence for a minute, as Patrick tried to digest that. “It’s like everything you said is the exact opposite of me. I liked sports. I liked girls. I still like girls. My friends were all boys and all we talked about were girls.

  ‘But I think I understand. My dad was in the army, and I loved my dad. I wanted to be my dad. That’s why I signed up. The first time I saw myself in uniform, I knew I’d made the right decision.”

  “I bet he was proud?”

  “He didn’t get to see it,” Patrick said. “He died when I was sixteen.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “All good. It was a long time ago. What about your dad? What does he think of...” Patrick waved his hand in the air.

  “My dad left when I was eight. My mom raised me on her own. And she was in the front row the first time I performed, cheering me on.”

  “That’s awesome. About your mom.’

  “He might not be gay, you know, Patrick.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Peter. He’s experimenting. He’s finding himself. That doesn’t mean he’ll be gay.”

  “I know.”

  Patrick watched Andrew pop a piece of steak in his mouth and chew it, his eyes on Patrick the whole time. “What?” Patrick asked.

  Andrew swallowed. “Would you love him any less if he were?”

  “No. Not at all. Absolutely not.”

  “Then does it matter?”

  Patrick thought about that for a second. “Sorry, but yes, it does.” He felt himself flush. “I want him to be happy, and it’s got to be so much harder with so much opposition.”

  “Opposition like a dad who doesn’t want you to be gay.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s exactly what you said.” Andrew stood up. “Look, Patrick, thanks for the steaks, but I think I should go.”

  “Don’t!” Patrick stood up and grabbed Andrew by the arm. “Look, stay. Finish eating, at least. I’ll get us another beer. Let me try to make myself clearer.”

  Andrew looked at him, and Patrick once again found himself drawn into those green eyes. There was hurt there now, and Patrick hated that he’d put it there. “Please.”

  Andrew pulled away. “Okay, but only because this steak is so damn good.” He smiled. Well, a half-smile anyway. “I’m just going to use the rest room.” Andrew excused himself, and Patrick grabbed two more beer before sitting down, wondering why he was suddenly so grateful for a second chance.

  ANDREW

  He should have left.

  He knew where this was headed, and it was nowhere good

  Patrick was a nice guy, and he was trying, he really was. Andrew could tell. But it wasn’t enough. Patrick was not the kind of man who could understand what a feminine boy went through, much less a gay one. If Peter did end up being gay, Patrick would attempt to be supportive but end up putting his foot in his mouth more often than not.

  (And such a cute mouth too)

  There was that, too. Andrew couldn’t deny he was insanely attracted to Patrick, and standing there in the man’s bathroom looking at his reflection in the mirror, it was all he could do not to smack himself. He’d been there before, falling for a straight guy. It was almost cliché really, the gay man pining after the unattainable.

  It was just dinner, he reminded himself.

  The man was just concerned about his son, he added.

  There was nothing to indicate that this was anything more than that. Earlier, when their fingers brushed, that spark had been only in Andrew’s head. Patrick was such a man, and Andrew, well, wasn’t. Sure, there were far more feminine guys, but no one was surprised when Andrew came out to them.

  “Finish your dinner,” Andrew said aloud, “have a beer, reassure the guy his kid will lead a happy life, and then get out of here and forget all about him.”

  He splashed some water on his face, dried off, and went back out to the dining room. Patrick was sitting there at the table, his shirt stretched tight over his chest. He smiled, and kicked out Andrew’s chair for him. Andrew sat back down, and Patrick raised his bottle.

  “Thanks for staying.”

  Andrew raised his, and they clinked. That’s what straight guys did right? Cheers, bro, and all that masc shit. “Gay guys can still be happy, Patrick,” he said, picking up where they’d left off.

  “But it’s gotta be harder.”

  “Make it easier then. Be there for him, as he is. Don’t have expectations. Don’t make demands.”

  “I guess.”

  “It’s not that hard, Patrick. Just forget all that toxic jock syndrome you’ve probably been surrounded by your entire life.”

  “Hey, that’s not entirely fair.”

  “Poor white straight cis jock got his feelings hurt?”

  “What the fuck is cis?”

  “It means not trans.”

  “So normal, then.”

  Andrew flared up. “No, not normal. We are all normal. It just means you identify with the gender you were assigned at birth.” There was a lost expression on Patrick’s face. “Look, we can save that for another time. I just meant, you’re the kind of guy who has never had to face discrimination of any kind. You don’t need to worry about what’s fair and what’s not because for you, everything has
always been more than fair.”

  “You’re generalizing.”

  “Am I? Name one time, just one time in your entire life, where someone has put you down or stopped you from getting something you want, just because of your race, or your gender, or your sexual orientation.”

  Patrick opened his mouth, closed it again.

  “My point exactly,” Andrew said, raising his beer, only to put it down again as he saw Patrick’s eyes suddenly tear up.

  “I just don’t want to see him get hurt,” Patrick said. “It’s already hard enough for him probably, being mixed-race. I heard stuff even my buddies said, in Afghanistan. Racism is crazy, and even if Peter is only ¼ Indian, he’s still going to have people looking at him differently just because his skin is browner. Why give them more ammunition by dressing like he does?”

  “I’m sorry,” Andrew said. “I didn’t mean to make you-”

  “I’m not crying,” Patrick said, wiping his eyes with his wrists, and then laughing. “Shut up. I need another beer.” He stood up. “You ready?”

  Andrew looked at his half-full bottle. “Sure,” he said. Something had shifted in the room. The energy was suddenly very different, and Andrew was feeling a panic welling up inside him. Everything he had thought he knew about Patrick had fallen away the second those tears came out. He really was a good man, and Andrew had to lay his own politics and issues aside and try to see Peter from the point of view of his father.

  “Look, I’m done eating,” Patrick said. “Wanna take this to the yard? I could start a fire. We could just kick back and have a couple beers? You’re easy to talk to.”

  “Sure,” Andrew replied, getting up and helping Patrick clear the table in a sudden silence.

  §

  They didn’t talk again until they were outside, sitting on lawn chairs, with a fire blazing in the bricked pit in front of them. Patrick had his legs stretched out, his feet resting on a stump. Between their chairs sat a cooler that Patrick had tossed a six pack into. Andrew leaned over to get a new beer, and couldn’t help but let his eyes travel up Patrick’s legs. The jeans Patrick wore clung to his calves, to his massive thighs.

  (Massive everything)

  Andrew cracked the beer and gulped some down. He suddenly felt a lot more constricted in his own pants, and was super grateful he had changed out of those sweats.

  (Imagine Patrick in sweats)

  “So how long have you been doing drag?” Patrick asked suddenly.

  “Almost a decade,” he said.

  “Wow.”

  A moment passed. “Want to see some pics? I wasn’t always the glamorous librarian woman you saw yesterday.”

  Patrick chuckled. “Sure.”

  Andrew pulled out his phone and flipped through to some drag shots. He passed the phone to Patrick, and again, felt that sizzle when their fingers touched. He watched Patrick as he swiped right through the images.

  “This is you?” He turned the phone back.

  Andrew blushed. “Yes.” It was a picture of Ann in a one piece bathing suit. It had been Pride. The tuck had been challenging but totally worth it.

  “No way that’s you,” Patrick said. “Wow.”

  “What? Why don’t you think that’s me?”

  “I just can’t even believe that’s a guy. I mean...” He trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Ask.”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Just ask.”

  “Where does it go?”

  “The $69 question. Do you really want the technical details?”

  “Ha. Maybe not.”

  “I didn’t think so. You can ask me anything, just so you know, but I won’t hold back the answer for your comfort.”

  “Good.” He flipped through more pics. “She’s hot,” he said, showing Andrew another.

  “That’s me,” Andrew said again.

  “What? No way. How is that even the same person?”

  “Trust me.”

  “Now you’re just fucking with me.”

  (I’d love to be)

  “No really,” Andrew said, “it’s me.”

  “You make a really good woman.”

  “Thanks, I guess?”

  “Like, I bet I could send this to my buddies and they’d be all over that.”

  Andrew snatched his phone back. “That would be cruel,” he said, “not to mention homophobic and transphobic.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant...” He trailed off again.

  “What? How did you mean it?”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  That sent off another kind of warning signal.

  Andrew had been around long enough to know that there was another kind of straight guy, and one that Patrick’s last comment had resembled. The kind of straight guy who got off on getting off with a drag queen. They weren’t gay if they could convince themselves they were with a woman, or at least the next best thing.

  “Look, she is me. Drag is a costume, that’s all. I’m a man.”

  “I know. I didn’t say you weren’t.”

  “Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

  “We are. But look, before, you referred to yourself as a woman.”

  “Not seriously.”

  “So when you do it, it’s okay, but when I do it, it’s a problem?”

  “Exactly,” Andrew said, even as he realized he was once again projecting his own issues onto Patrick. “I may have over reacted.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “I know.”

  “And I really did mean she’s beautiful. You are, I mean. I mean, in that picture, you were.” He was blushing.

  “I’ll take the compliment then,” Andrew said.

  (And take whatever else you want to give)

  “Another beer?” Patrick said.

  “Sure, I’ll grab them.”

  They both reached down and into the cooler at the same time, and even in the ice, Andrew felt the heat when their hands met. Andrew looked up and Patrick was looking at him. The heat intensified. Andrew pulled his hand out.

  “You forgot your beer,” Patrick said, handing him one.

  “Can you blame me? You were staring at me like some serial killer.” He tried to cover up his reaction. Nothing would make a straight guy bolt like thinking a gay guy was attracted to him. He probably already thought it. He had to know how hot he was. Besides, didn’t all guys like him think all gays were nothing more than sexual predators anyway?

  “Just trying to figure out how you can look like that.”

  “A lot of make-up,” he said. “And the pictures are highly edited.” Andrew winked.

  “That must be it.” He grinned, in a way Andrew would have said was flirtatious had it come from anyone else. “Shame though. If she was real, I’d be all over that.”

  She is real, Andrew wanted to say. She’s just a he.

  “I don’t imagine it’s hard for you to find gorgeous women,” he said, diverting his eyes back to the fire. The sun had gone down, somehow, and the stars were coming out above. Cheaper rent was one draw to suburb living, but that sky blanketed with stars was another. No one in the gayborhood got that, for sure.

  “Who has time?” Patrick said, leaning back in his chair. “Between the divorce, and then my tour, and then there’s Peter.”

  “You and Christy get along great still though?” Andrew knew the answer, of course, but wanted to hear Patrick’s side.

  “Yah. We have to, for Peter, of course, but it just didn’t work out. We both knew that. There weren’t any hard feelings.”

  “Is she seeing anyone?”

  “I don’t think so. We both are just focussed on Peter.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “We still talk lots. I miss the sex, maybe. We had great chemistry in bed. There was just something missing, you know?”

  Andrew didn’t know. He couldn’t even focus his thoughts, thinking about Patrick and chemistry in bed.
He nodded though, because some response was needed.

  “What about you?” Patrick asked. “Anyone in your life?”

  Andrew laughed. “No. Farthest thing from it. This is the first date I’ve had in years.”

  He had meant it as a joke, but the second the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Patrick bolted to his feet. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said. “This isn’t a date, dude. I’m straight.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean that. I just meant...”

  “Look, this wasn’t a good idea. You should probably go.”

  “Patrick, I...” He reached out and put his hand on Patrick’s arm. Patrick jumped away.

  “Fuck off! Look, just go.” He pointed towards the road.

  Andrew nodded. “Yeah, I’m gone.” He set his beer down on the ground. “I’m sorry.”

  Patrick wasn’t even looking at him. Andrew headed across the yard. When he got to the fence, he paused with his hand on the gate, and looked back. Patrick was facing away from him. All Andrew could really see was a silhouette, and he drank it in, knowing he’d fucked it up and probably wouldn’t ever see him again.

  (Way to go)

  PATRICK

  Sunlight streaming through the living room blinds woke him up. The groan that followed felt like it echoed through his body. The hangover was bad. He reached blindly for his phone, and squinted through the pain. It was eleven am. What time had he passed out? How much had he had to drink? It was all blurry after Andrew left.

  He had probably overreacted. It was pretty obvious Andrew had been joking, but Patrick had just seen red. He wasn't gay. He didn't want Andrew getting the wrong idea. Just because he thought Andrew made a pretty girl didn't make him gay. It was the girl that was attractive.

  It shouldn't have been complicated. Patrick really wasn't sure why it felt like it had gotten that way. Certainly though, drinking himself senseless hadn't helped.

  Andrew was a good guy. Talking to him had certainly helped Patrick make some sense of what was going on with Peter. Patrick still didn't like it. He didn't want Peter to put himself out there in a way that would just cause him problems and pain.

  One thing was certain though, and that was that Patrick owed Andrew an apology. He just had no idea how to find him. It's not like they'd exchanged numbers or anything. Still, Patrick knew where he'd be on Saturday. Peter would want to go back to Drag Queen Storytime, or whatever it was called, and Patrick would take him.