About Birthdays And Ghosts

I turned one more year closer to claiming an AARP membership card today. It rained most of the day. And I had time enough to get a haircut and some new highlights. Added splashes of red.

In the late afternoon, DJ arrived at my door and we headed to a chi-chi cocktail party opening the 12th Annual InsideOut Lesbian Gay Film Festival at the condo of one of the supporters.

It is the last hurrah for my company of nine years which has closed now. We were/are a platinum sponsor. The Toronto Web Services logo is splashed and acknowledged in program guides, handouts, banners, promos on screen. The festival team at encounters throughout the evening thanked me for my support. They noted I did not bring my wife this year. They are confused too, I am sure.

On the way, we stopped at Cosmetics World to pick up some glitter hair spray. I applied some to the new highlights on the way; I wore hemp coloured jeans, a charcoal gray top from Ralph Lauren and my usual glass rainbow beads on one wrist and a rainbow necklace set against the gray high collar. I felt comfortable; I felt I belonged. I felt I was easily, naturally just me tonight. It was good to allow myself to show up as is. Too much of my life I have censored me, cutting myself off at the knees. Glitter suits me: so glitter was applied today.

It felt good.

Met some nice folks at the party. Chatted with one man about the UK tv series Bob and Rose, written by Russell T Davies, the originator of Queer as Folk. The premise of Bob and Rose is an openly gay man having a relationship with a str8 woman and marrying her. It just ended it's run here on national tv. I mentioned a silly article in Xtra!, the local gay paper, which criticized the premise as complete fiction. Yet Bob and Rose could easily be Alexander and Eleanor. No sooner did I state my opinion about the article as being close-minded, but the man I was talking to introduced his lover, Paul, who had written the article.

Did I mention today was my birthday?

Searching desperately for some face-saving measure, I scanned the room. My jaw dropped to the floor. Could it be? He walked inches past me in one direction and then back the other way. I overheard his voice and a slight laugh. O M G. Andrew will be 50 this year; I last saw him in 1979 when I moved out after living with him for 2.5 years. I walked up behind him and, putting my arm on his shoulder, said into his ear: "Andrew A.... this is YOUR life."

Memories flooded fast and furious; he knew my voice instantly and squealed out: "Alexander!" turning on his heal and offering me a handshake and then a hug. We exited to the balcony. It was still light out, but raining hard. We chatted, catching up, for 20 minutes, leaving DJ to fend for himself. Andrew had become a born again Christian after I left; the church he joined was directly in view across the street! He later joined the Franciscan order of the Catholic Church and spent some time in California.

In twenty-three years, he and I have lived. Apart. Differently. He gave up men. I got married. He was there because, last December, while my wife was filing divorce papers in Ontario courts, he was being thrown out of his religious order. We both returned to things we knew: I to men, he to making films. He has an offering at the film festival next weekend. His first film since we broke up.

Two men being reborn again. The past returning, yet twisted anew, creating a future.

We returned to the party and I introduced Andrew to DJ. Andrew has aged a little since 1979. He no longer has the waxed moustache, an eccentric signature of a 20's-something budding film-maker, interrupted. He is somewhat heavier and white haired. Still youthful, *and* clearly 50. And there I was at his side again, still playful, looking ... playful and boyish still. I have never forgotten his rapid fire laugh; he still has it. His eyes light up with astonishment and his smile takes over his face. I'd forgotten how light and piercing his blue eyes are.

It was getting late and DJ and I headed off to the film showing part way across town -- Gaudi Afternoon, at the Paramount, perhaps the city's jewel in movie theatres. Judy Davis stars in a film about family, motherhood, gender bending, parenting gone awry and set right eventually. With echoes of the power of words, in English and in translation; and the uncomplicated joie de vivre of Dean Martin recreated in a bi-sexual, doff-of-the-hat to the ever ambiguous Marlene Dietrich. All set in Barcelona. Part detective story; part love story, twisted twice, and thrice. All characters simply being, as is, without judgment. And some relearning the power of connection to family. And the need to call mom.

An after-party followed and several buses left the theatre taking us to Revival for drinks, flamenco, chat and disco. Curiously, no one danced. One man was in jeans and a striking white raw cotton gown with much hand embroidery and lots of smooth chest showing. His hair was spiky, like mine; he wore 2-1/2 inch hoops in his ears and a delicious smile. He wore his masculinity with confidence, ease.

Enza, one of the city's best known drag queens, was also on hand as she is at so many fundraising, community functions, enjoying herself mingling and handing out flyers asking for volunteers to Pride Toronto. Enza is no more "convincing" in drag than the man/woman in Gaudi Afternoon; and she is jewel of a man/woman/person. A year or two ago I helped her with an issue with her landlord. In the last election, she ran against the current mayor of Toronto and came in third. I have never known her to say an unkind word about anyone. She lives alone. Her parents, of Italian stock, incredibly, have no idea that she lives this other life.

At the after-party, the handsome man in the gown danced on stage with the flamenco woman and the crowd went wild. Too many people were crammed into the hall; dancing was impossible. The music was too loud and in front of DJ and me, two young men, late 20s, clearly in love, chatted with friends coming and going. They touched with such easy affection; the darker haired man with small hands, caressing his partner's shoulders; the other, in a white shirt, his arm around his lover. From time to time their conversation punctuated by a casual, and potent, kiss.

So much in the evening! Connecting with Andrew after 23 years. Being with DJ, a man who loves me with enormous respect, affection and intensity. A very very well done, unusual film about gender, love, family, seeing the light and doing the right thing: reconnecting, taking risks. And this cotton gowned man free to simply express his masculinity in an unusual and very strong way. And two boys, in love, affectionate without condition.

It was overwhelming and I asked DJ to take me home. I might have cried openly on my own. We took a cab back to my apartment where DJ had parked and this dear man gave me a birthday present, hugged me, and drove off into the night. The cat greeted me at the door and I was again overwhelmed by a sense of grief, loss, alone-ness. I headed back out to a local dance club, just to taste the air and stayed an hour. The walk home, the rain having stopped, was cooling, calming.

A birthday of ghosts; things past; things present; things implied in the future. About family lived and lost and out-of-reach; and family expressed in the tribal primal sweat of men at dance; and friends who have become family, like DJ. Blessings all around. So why am I *still* in sorrow tonight?

And finally off to bed -- feeling cool sheets against my skin, not warm, comforting flesh; caressed by a plush toy teddy, not the arms of a man whose heart beats with passion; naked, naked, and alone.

I know I must die alone. I do not wish to live alone.

Alexander Inglis (May 17, 2002)
In Toronto

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