Ivan and I are sitting on his bed shooting zombies on his TV. I’m not a fan of first-person shooter games. I’m only doing this to make up for the all the time with him I’ve missed, rehearsing and organizing the show. I’m hoping that doing things Ivan enjoys will soften the blow when I tell him about Siri Alexa and the
drag show.
The show is all I can think about, even while shooting zombies. We open in less than a week. Kara, Chris and I have been promoting the hell out of it. We’ve received some pretty nasty messages online from religious wingnuts accusing us of being child molesters. I know that they’re only trolls, but it hurts all the same.
Kara and I have been working on our duet with Miss Bill in our spare time. Miss Bill has been helping me write jokes to use as witty banter while I emcee the show. I’m exhausted. I’m also the happiest I’ve ever been. This is all I ever wanted.
“So, what have you been up to lately?” Ivan asks. “I feel like we never see each other anymore.”
I could tell Ivan the truth. Just pour my soul out to him. I could even perform “Rehab” for him. But it feels so cozy here in his room, even if it takes shooting zombies. This is exactly what I imagined having a boyfriend would be like. But never with someone who looked like Ivan. He pauses the game and puts down his controller.
“If I ask you something, do you promise to give me an honest answer?” he says.
This is it. He found out I do drag. Ed must have told him. Or maybe he saw one of the posters for the show.
“Are you cheating on me?” he asks.
I laugh out loud. Maybe too loud.
“Of course not,” I say. “What makes you
think that?”
“You’ve been so unavailable lately,” he says.
“I have school and homework. Plus, I’m trying to earn some extra cash with delivery. And I’ve been spending a little more time with Miss Bill lately.”
“If you like Miss Bill so much, why don’t you marry him?”
“That’s mature.”
“I still don’t get what you see in that old queen. What does he have to offer that I don’t?”
“He tells stories about being gay in the sixties and seventies. He’s exposed me to movies and music I never would have found on my own. And he makes me appreciate what I have as a gay guy.”
“But he’s so over the top,” Ivan moans. “The clothes, the limp wrist. Acting like a queen. It’s so outdated.”
“That’s who he is.”
“Guys like him make it hard for rest of us. It’s no wonder those right-wing nuts in the government think we’re coming for their children.”
“Don’t blame homophobia on drag queens. Drag queens are responsible for the rights we enjoy today.”
“I know, I know . . . Drag queens were the first ones to fight back at Stonewall.”
“Not just Stonewall. Drag queens like Bill raised thousands of dollars for the AIDS research that gave us PReP. We owe people like Bill our lives.”
“Can we agree to disagree about this?”
“We need to talk about this,” I say. “I’m not that much different from Bill. Do I embarrass you?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why are you holding Bill to a
higher standard?”
Ivan rolls his eyes like he wishes he hadn’t opened his big mouth. The feeling is mutual.
“I think it’s offensive, okay?” he says. “No one needs to act that gay in this day and age.”
Wow. As much as I was afraid to tell Ivan that I do drag, deep down I always thought he would be cool with it. I should tell him now. But what difference does it make? I don’t know if I want to date someone who would say Miss Bill offends him. I’m not even sure I could be friends with him. This can’t be how he really feels. And I don’t want to discuss it in the state I’m in right now. I might say something I regret.
“I should go,” I say.
“Come on, Josh. You can’t keep leaving every time we have a disagreement.”
“That’s not why I’m leaving.”
“Miss Bill isn’t my cup of tea, that’s all. Just like my friends from work aren’t yours.”
“But in some circles, your friends’ behaviour is acceptable. It’s even encouraged. Whereas Miss Bill is ridiculed for who he is, even by other gay people.”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“This may come as a surprise, but I actually butch it up for you when we hang out. Sometimes to the point I worry I’m sacrificing a piece of myself. And I’m not sure you notice.”
“I notice.”
“You don’t act like it,” I say. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I say a quick hello to my mom when I come home from Ivan’s. The lights are off in our room except for the glow of Ed’s laptop coming from the bottom bunk.
“Please tell me you’re not watching porn,” I say, climbing up to my bed.
“It’s the 2010 Olympic gold medal hockey game,” Ed says. “What’s wrong? Did you break a heel?”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I say. I hang my head over the side of my mattress and ask Ed, “Why are guys such jerks?”
“You’re a guy. Don’t you know?”
“Why are we so hung up on being one of the guys? Why can’t we be vulnerable once in a while?”
“It’s a sign of weakness.”
“Have you told Ivan I do drag?”
“You asked me not to, so I didn’t,” he says. “Ivan still doesn’t know?”
“I’m afraid he’ll break up with me if I tell him.”
“Dude, he’ll break up with you if you don’t.”
It’s the first piece of sound advice my brother has ever given me. And it might already be too late.