I have the most wonderful cousins in the world. One of them is named Drew who I have talked
about a bit before. Drew and I were
tight. Right after Drew got his first
truck, a real piece of crap that he paid $300 for and pulled out a creek, he
started picking me up from school. The
truck was originally this orange yellow color, and then he spray painted it
dark blue. It took him a while, but he
did it. It had rusted floorboards, and a
door seal that leaked, so when it rained and even if the window was up the seat
often got wet. I remember many mornings
riding to school in a wet seat. Oh
well.
Drew and I had the best time in that old truck. Sometimes we would pick up one of his
friends. Sometimes he would just pick me
up and we would go riding. We would
listen to music on his tape deck. Gods
we had the best time in that old truck.
We had the best conversations. We
dreamed and planned for the future.
I had known Drew was gay almost since the day I met
him. He always wanted to play with my hair
and play with my Barbies. In my mind I
thought, oh cool he is a girl and guys body.
I was 6 and he was 7. But let me
be clear here. Drew identifies as a gay
man and not as transgendered. That was
just what made since in my little girl heart and head. Drew did not officially come out to me until I
was 19 or so. He brought me back into
his room one day, when I was visiting and told me. I told him I had known our whole lives, how I
had suspected it, that I loved him, accepted him as who he was, and it was a
non issue with me.
In those days of riding around in the truck we made plans,
that if we were not both married by the time we were 25 we would get
married. You know by then we felt we
would be ancient. That he could live his
life and be with fellers, and I could do my thing on the side. That way there would be no questions asked,
by the family as to why he was not married yet.
My dad had already said, “Why don’t you and Drew get married? You know keep it in the family, since y’all
are not biologically related.” I think
he was pretty drunk when he said that. I
think that is the spark that got us talking about that.
So why talk about Drew being gay, because I want to say
this. At no time in my life did I ever
decide to sit down and like men, neither did Drew. As one of my oldest gay friends once told me,
“Why on Earth would we chose this life?
Where we could be hated, ostracized and possible killed.” I have had the joy and privilege to love
someone who was gay from an early age.
It has helped define me. For most
of my life I have been an outspoken advocate for my gay brothers and
sisters. I want them to have the same
rights and abilities that I have. Why? because
I love Drew. I want him to have every
happiness that I can be afforded. I want
him to find a good man and have a fabulous wedding, I want them to be able to
have babies, and go to the grocery store and hold the hand of the man he loves,
openly and in public, with no fear of being hurt, or someone saying something
nasty to him. Being gay is only a small
part of who he is. He is wonderful and
loving and kind.
Although Drew still identifies as Christian, I could not
stand by and be part of a faith that in large part, condemns my beloved cousin
for being true to himself, so I left the church. I believe when Jesus made Drew, he made him
gay. Just as when Holda stirred me in
the cauldron of life, she made me an Animal Communicator. It is simply the way our brain is wired. It is in Drew’s DNA, just as is his crazy
curly hair, and blue eyes. If we
demonized gay people, we miss the chance to love some truly awesome
people. My life is better for knowing
and loving Drew. He has forever
transformed who I am, just by being himself.
I wish him every joy that this life can give him. Blessings my brother.
Drew and I rode around in that old blue truck for a long
time. Just talking, some of the best
memories of my life. I road with Drew on
and off until he graduated, the year before I did. Drew and I would go to the Opera together. It was the truck we drove the first time Drew
took me out bar hopping when I was 18, cause you could drink when you turned 18
back then. I know I drove my car my
senior year to school some, but I also still rode the bus a lot. Because I remember falling off that bitch a
lot!
I was the last one on the bus and it was such a short ride
from my house to the school, that by the time I walked all the way to the back
and fought for a seat, we would be there, so I just stood, or sat on the steps. We would pull up to the elementary side of
the school and I would step off to let the little ones off. I would give hugs, tie shoes, make sure they
had jackets on and stuff, and wipe noses.
Then I would get back on the bus, ride 40 feet to the High School
side. I would take one step out the door
to get on the concrete, inevitable miss, and fall flat on my face. Everybody would just laugh and laugh their
heads off. Most people didn’t bother to
come over and help me up, but many did ask if I was okay. That’s about the time I started learning to
say out loud, “I’m good,” when I fall, because so many people asked. I still think I fall so much because my tits
are so huge, I feel they make me unbalanced.
My first car, which was never titled in my name, but that I
got to drive to school, was this beautiful 1973 Gold Mercury Comet that my
mother had driven to high school. She
was a 4 door, automatic, 8 cylinder, 302 cc, with and engine built for drag
racing in her. My mother used to drag in
her and would occasionally win. The car
had originally been built for drag racing, but when the original owner went to
pick it up, he decided he didn’t like it and never bought it. She
had a solid metal body and these horrid vinyl seats with a western motif pattern
on them. So in the summer when you wore
your shorts, and you got out of the car, you had this print on the back of your
thigh! Ha! Ha!
Gods I loved that car.
We had a new windshield put in it and must have been done improperly,
because it started leaking under the gas pedal every time it rained. So I had to keep a pan under it. Eventually it started to rust out the
floorboards.
She could do 90 like she was sitting still! PAWYA! And done the road I went. Boy could she fly. I tore the roads up in that car. I think Me and Mom and Grandpa, put a tape
deck in her and I would make these great mix tapes, give them awesome names,
and I would put them on and just drive around listening to my music. That car was freedom to me.
I would put Texas, my dog, in the car, and down the road we
would go. Gods I loved him so! I think he was the first dog I ever really
communicated with. My dad had brought
him home years before. This skinny
little thing, that had been sleeping under dozers at my Dad’s pipeline
location. He was giving him his sandwich
everyday. Finally Dad brought him
home. He said, “I had to bring him home,
or I was going to starve to death!” My
Daddy has always had the biggest heart.
Texas was covered in oil, and mud, and gas. It took us 2, if not 3 baths to get him
clean, and that water was just black. He
was the best dog. We believe he was part
Border Collie and part Lab.
Texas and I would go get gas together, I could fill that
huge tank up for $20 back then and drive around for almost two weeks on
it. I would go in the gas station and
get candy for me, and Famous Amos Chocolate Chip cookies for him. He loved them!
Back before we knew not to give dogs chocolate. One cookie for me, and 2 or 3 for Texas, then
we’d drive a bit, and then one for me and more for him. He was so heavy that when he road in the
front seat, and it bounced the seatbelt light would come on for him. He loved to go ridding with me. I knew if he was in the car with me, nobody
was going to mess with me, so I went anywhere I pleased. I really liked to go riding when the flowers
bloomed. I would watch the land over the
years, and knew where the flowers bloomed in spring, and I would just go down
some lonely road and pick flowers, Texas in tow.
Texas was my best buddy.
When I had no body to talk to, I talked to him. He was a great friend. He never told anybody my secrets. He just wanted his belly rubbed. I have this great picture, that Mom took of
us, sitting on the porch, a book by my side, and his head in my lap. I had no idea she had taken it. It’s one of my favorites. Here I am holding court with my dogs, in my
favorite blue dress. He died 6 weeks
after I went to college. The vet said he
had Hepatitis C, that he got from eating something dead. I think he died from a broken heart of me not
being there. I still miss him. I have his picture on my ancestor altar. I think of him often.
Ilsa
No comments:
Post a Comment