Granpa had his last stroke while they were in Phoenix to visit one of his best friends from his time in the Army. He was behind the wheel of their RV, and they both died instantly in the resulting crash. The only good thing was no one else was hurt.
I was alone. Aunt Lindsey had Sarah and one of the original three yappy dogs, who was now half blind and peed on the carpet at least once a week. Uncle George had his beer and giant-screen TV. All I had were old photos of my drug-dealing hippy mom and memories of fumbling around with Jimmy and throwing up at my aunt’s fortieth birthday party. The only ones who gave a shit if I kissed a guy or wore a tutu had been my grandparents, and they were gone. Aunt Lindsey had the attitude that I had wasted many good years when I could have been boning boys instead of whining about how lonely I was, and Uncle George only noticed me when the Jazz scored and I needed to join in for a victory yell.
I pulled up the website I relied upon for all my LGBT news, QSaltLake, and wondered what it would be like to—well, to not be me, but to be more than me. I didn’t understand how I could be so good at so many things but be such a loser when it came to being gay. I sipped at my Dr Pepper, sucking on an ice cube. No one was really left to judge me. Among my coworkers, Iris’s oldest daughter turned out to be a lesbian. Barbara’s son was straight, but he was in rehab for the third time because of meth. Everyone around me at work would be shattering their own glass houses if they started throwing stones at my lavender one. No one had batted an eye when Iris’s daughter came out. What seemed so important when I was younger and trying to please my grandparents just didn’t seem to matter anymore now that they were gone.
One day I got a thick envelope containing a letter on very impressive stationery in the mail. Aunt Lindsey had been named executor of the estate. I hadn’t paid much attention. She was always good at being in charge of things. She had apparently done whatever it was she was supposed to do. The letter was from their attorney and let me know I had a small inheritance. I looked at the enclosed cashier’s check. I wondered what I should do with it. I could put it toward a new car, but my salary at Intermountain didn’t leave me longing for much. I had already paid off my own big-screen TV. I laughed. If I were older, I might consider using it for a face-lift. Maybe I should save it for when I needed it. I looked at the framed wedding picture of my grandparents. They were smiling at their future. I realized I’d like to smile at mine.
My aunt had another opening night coming up. I placed the cashier’s check by my grandparents’ wedding picture. I made a decision to ask for advice from Eddie, even though I knew it would involve getting laid. Maybe I should use the money to hire a cute gay sex worker. As if that would ever happen.
Chapter Three
THE SHOW was an original musical. It involved gay Mormons. I figured it was a sign from God. After the success of the Book of Mormon, a local playwright decided to spice his own version up with tap-dancing Sister Wives. I don’t remember polygamy playing much of a part in the Broadway production. At Aunt Lindsey’s place when the show was over, I asked Eddie if I could talk to him. “What’s up, cubcake?” He had a slow drawl and a crooked smile. I realized he was starting to look, well, not old, exactly. But definitely older.
He followed me into the backyard. It was early, and we were the only ones out there. Sarah worked for a plant nursery, and the area looked like Tarzan would be swinging by at any moment. The night air was heavy with a fragrance I didn’t recognize. It was almost as sweet as the cologne Eddie wore. I sat down on the bench by the fire pit, and he sat down, but not too close. “God,” he muttered and knocked back half the drink in his hand. “You so need to get laid. Christ, Benjie, if you’re old enough to flirt, you’re old enough to squirt.”
I looked away. “I wanted to ask for some advice, and you’re the only one I know to ask.”
He swirled the ice around in his drink. “You’re always so serious,” he said to the ice. “What is it you want to know?”
“You were my mother’s best friend. You’ve known me all my life. You’re gay. I’m….” My voice gave out.
“You can’t even say it, huh?”
“My grandparents left me a little money. I’ve been trying to think how to best spend it. I’ve been thinking maybe if I got away from Utah, then maybe in a new place I might be better able to find out who I am.”
He put the glass beside him on the bench. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you eventually learn the location doesn’t matter if the thing you’re trying to run from is yourself. Jesus, Benjie, how many men does it take to change a lightbulb?”
I shrugged my shoulders, pulling my shirt uncomfortably tight. I needed to go up another size. This wasn’t helping.
“Only one. He holds the lightbulb and expects the room to revolve around him. You’ve had your finger up your ass ever since you were a little kid, Benjie. You’ve always been afraid you’ll make a fool of yourself. Here’s the thing. No matter how hard you try, you’ll always end up making a fool out of yourself at some point. Isn’t it better to choose when?”
I looked up at him. “Maybe. Maybe it’s time I tried. Attempting to be perfect hasn’t worked out.”
He finished the rest of his drink. “Growing up ass-deep in Mormons isn’t easy. I had to get away to decide I was strong enough to come back and make this really my home. I had to get strong enough not to care about what people thought of me. Drag helped.” He looked over at me, studying me as if he had never seen me before. “Nah, you’re just not drag material. You don’t seem to be able to laugh at yourself.” He looked up at the sky. The moon was emerging, wearing a filmy cloud like Eddie would wear a feather boa. “Maybe you need a different path than the one I took. Look, I have friends who run spiritual retreats for gay men.” He looked back over at me. “Okay—if you’re not yet ready for the label, the retreats are for gay, bisexual, and questioning men. Baby steps. You don’t have to tattoo the big G on your forehead just yet. They do one for Labor Day out in the sticks of Massachusetts. Ever been to the Bay State, Benjie? It’s nothing like here. It feels different. The people are different. They talk funny. They sound like they’re trying to cough up a hairball most of the time. Here people are friendly right away, but it’s all superficial. People from Massachusetts are distant at first, but if you make friends, then they’ll be your friends for life.”
He stood up. “Think about it. I’ll e-mail you the information. Think about being around strangers where you don’t have to worry about straight people judging you. You’ve been surviving shade from me all your life. I’ve toughened you up enough to survive an attack of drag queens, so you’ll be safe. If you’re questioning, so are a lot of them. If you’re looking for gay mentors, they’ll be running the retreat. We all remember your Aunt Fishsticks’ fortieth birthday. You’re such a lightweight, it’s best you go to a spiritual retreat where you won’t need to crutch yourself up with alcohol and use it as an excuse to not get laid.”
“Is it like yoga?” I asked.
He stared at me for a moment. “Yeah. It’s like yoga. With men. They’ll do some fun things with you. You’ll be in a safe place where you can bond with guys like you, only a lot of them will be more experienced. Relax. It’s not an orgy. It’s about finding your center, and you’ve never really seemed to find yours. You’ve spent most of your life moping around like some wannabe poet. Christ, Benjie. Your mother may have had her faults, but knowing how to live was never one of them.” He started to walk back inside but turned around and added, “You’re a decent guy. But you can be more than that. You owe it to yourself to be more than that.”
I looked back at the moon. I wondered what the moon looked like in Massachusetts. I wondered how to spell Massachusetts. Utah was so easy to deal with in certain ways. Utah was safe. Utah was predictable. I wondered if Massachusetts would have bears. I smiled. Maybe there’d be well-fed hairy men at the retreat.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT morning, I pulled up the e-mail Eddie had sent. Th
e pictures of the surrounding area were gorgeous. They looked like postcards my grandparents would have sent me, not counting the ones that had the weird stuff. I still had the one showing a graveyard full of Ben and Jerry flavors that hadn’t made it. The list of workshops included Drag 101, Erotic Body Massage, and Body Painting. I sat back. I had managed to build a body that would look decent when painted. I wouldn’t go for nude, though. That’s something my mother probably would have done.
I read the biographies of the group leaders. One was a psychotherapist. There were photos from previous retreats. People looked at ease. They looked happy. I wondered if I could look like that. I pulled out my credit card and booked my reservation. It wasn’t that expensive. I was raised Mormon. I had consistently added to my savings account. The cashier’s check—my share of my inheritance—had been properly deposited the day after I received it. I logged on to a different site to look up my flight options. I was now high enough in the food chain at Intermountain to approve my own vacation schedule. I had plenty of unused days. I never went anywhere. I sat back. I was going to Massachusetts. I was going to look for myself. I wondered what I would find. My granma used to say, “Every pot has its lid.”
I started counting down the days. I ordered a couple of the books one of the group leaders had written. He was like a gay Dr. Phil. He was down-to-earth. He had common sense. He was gay. His writing lacked the snarky bitchiness I was used to from Eddie.
The weather got warmer as spring eased into summer. Aunt Lindsey and Sarah celebrated by throwing a BBQ party and invited me. Uncle George looked like he was going to audition for Santa Claus. He really put away the ribs and beer.
Aunt Lindsey handed me another Dr Pepper. I remember how I used to think it was such a sin to drink anything other than water or decaffeinated tea. For a long time, even after we started distancing ourselves from the Church, I thought I was living life on the edge with my can of soda.
“Eddie says you’ve booked yourself into some kind of retreat,” Aunt Lindsey said. “Why Massachusetts? That’s like the other side of the continent. Jesus, Benjie. There might be bears or something else out there. Maybe a yeti. Maybe wolves. You be careful. He says it’s out in the wilderness. You never even wanted to go camping.”
“Granpa told me I couldn’t use a hair dryer.”
She grinned. “See? You are gay.”
I sipped at my Dr Pepper and didn’t respond.
“You’re a grown man, Benjie. You celebrated your twenty-seventh birthday a few months ago. If you need to put Utah in your rearview mirror, then I’ll support you in whatever you decide. Just remember you’ll always have a home here.”
“It’s a long holiday weekend,” I laughed. “It’s not like I’m going away for a two-year Mission or packing up a U-Haul to start all over again.” I smiled. “Do you know they have a talent show night? They offer a workshop they call Drag 101.”
She studied me the way Eddie had the last time I was in her backyard. “You’re a handsome man, Benjie, but I swear you’d make an ugly woman.”
I decided not to tell her about the workshop in Erotic Massage. Eddie waved at me from the doorway. In his other hand, he was carrying a six-pack of pale ale. I noticed that had gotten Uncle George’s attention.
Labor Day kept approaching. I continued making patients happy with my approvals. I stopped by the mall and picked up some new clothes. The retreat center was less than one hundred fifty miles from Boston. That distance was nothing for someone who grew up in Utah. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” Granma used to say. I had plenty of saved vacation time, so I had decided not to rush back home. I had booked a room in Boston for a week after the retreat would finish. I had my rental car reservation. I picked up a pair of new shoes that seemed comfortable enough to navigate what several websites told me would be cobblestone streets in Beantown. I had a hard time deciding on a new swimsuit. I didn’t want to look too slutty, but I didn’t want to look like I was wearing something designed to complement a burqa. I was pretty sure that would be a no-no in the Drag 101 workshop. I ended up with something that showcased my butt and all the time I had spent at the gym working on my glutes. I chose a green T-shirt that had some stretch to it. It really showed off my biceps and pecs. I looked around to make sure no one was noticing me. I grabbed another one in blue and one in gray. I was both excited and a little embarrassed. I wasn’t used to thinking about dressing to be noticed.
I was raised Mormon. I felt a need to plan. I made lists of things I might do after the retreat. In the back of my head, I kept hearing Eddie say, “Christ, you so need to get laid.”
Chapter Five
IT WAS finally time. I checked in my luggage at the Salt Lake City International Airport. It was a zoo. But this was Salt Lake, so it was a very well-behaved zoo. I finally got through security and what seemed to be an overly enthusiastic TSA agent. Then it occurred to me the guy might be checking me out, and not in a “he could be a terrorist” way. I smiled to myself and headed to my gate. I hadn’t flown many places. Mostly to a few trainings for Intermountain. I settled into my window seat and spent my time enjoying the other side of clouds. A flight attendant wearing a name tag declaring he was Marcus apologized and told me they were out of Dr Pepper, and I felt wicked and almost ordered a ginger ale.
“What the hell,” I told him, “I’m on vacation. I’d like a cocktail.” I told myself I’d limit myself to just the one so I wouldn’t be reminded of Aunt Lindsey’s party.
“You know what I like?” Marcus smiled at me. “Sin and tonic.”
The man sitting next to me laughed. Marcus leaned over and said to me, “You wait right here, honey, and I’ll bring you something more festive than a cocktail.” He came back a moment later from the first-class cabin and handed me a glass of champagne. A fresh cherry was floating in it. “Something to celebrate your vacation.”
“Well,” the man said as Marcus moved on with his cart, “you seem to have made a real fan.”
“I’ve never had something like that happen before.”
The man looked like he was in his early forties. He had an easy smile with little lines around the corners of his eyes, as if he smiled a lot.
“That’s hard to believe,” he said, adding vodka into his Bloody Mary mix. “You from Salt Lake?”
“Just outside of it. Born and raised in Utah.”
He looked at the champagne in my hand. “Jack Mormon?”
I froze. No one had ever called me that before. A lot of people called Aunt Lindsey that behind her back. It meant a Mormon who would smoke, drink, and enjoyed sex. She would always laugh it off. “Relax,” he said. “Notice I’m not holding up my pinkie while I sip water. I’m not one to judge.” He held out his hand. “My name is Zach.”
“Brett,” I said. His handshake was warm and firm. “Is Boston your final destination?”
“Yes.” He took a drink from his plastic cup. I wondered what a Bloody Mary tasted like. “My niece just graduated from the University of Massachusetts. I wasn’t able to make it out in time for her commencement, so I promised I’d take her out and spend some time with her now that I’ve had a chance to tie up some loose ends. How about you? Ever been to Boston before?”
“It’s my first time. But when I get in, I’m driving to a retreat center for the Labor Day weekend.”
He looked at me and then at my champagne. “In Rowe?”
I wondered if I really did have a big G tattooed on my forehead the way Eddie had mentioned that night in Aunt Lindsey’s backyard. Maybe everybody had always assumed I was gay. I thought again of Eddie and him telling me since I couldn’t control feeling like a fool at some point, I might as well choose the time. “It’s a gay, bisexual, and questioning men’s retreat,” I said so fast I thought my tongue would fall out. I took a drink of the champagne to cover up my awkwardness. The champagne tasted a lot better than the scotch.
“I was there two years ago. I’ve wanted to go back, but business kept interfering.”
/> “What’s your business?” I really wanted to get back to asking if he was gay, bisexual, or questioning. It felt different to meet someone when Aunt Lindsey or Eddie wasn’t watching my every move.
“Patent attorney.” He had a little more of his thick red drink. “And you?”
“I head up a department at Intermountain Healthcare. I get to tell patients who have been denied a medical procedure they can have it done. I enjoy being able to tell strangers yes.” The moment I said that, my eyes widened, and I felt like the world’s biggest slut.
He laughed again. “I like being told”—and he hesitated in a way that seemed remarkably seductive—“yes.”
I nervously took another swallow from my glass. The cherry touched my lips like a light kiss. I felt like I was in a movie. My life wasn’t at all like this. I remembered Eddie telling me, “If you’re old enough to flirt, you’re old enough to squirt.”
Zach was easy to talk to. I relaxed. I didn’t think it was just the champagne. He talked about his niece and how she was working in something he called the STEM fields. I obviously looked blank, and he explained it stood for science, technology, engineering, and math. The subject had never come up at Intermountain. His niece Katy was working to recruit more women and ethnic minorities into those fields of study.
I told him about Aunt Lindsey and her new Mormon musical. It had gotten excellent reviews, and there was talk about it getting a tryout in California with a possibility of it eventually going off-Broadway. If the Book of Mormon could be a hit, then hers might be the next one. The world was big enough for two musicals that featured gay Mormons. Not bad for a bull dyke from Murray, Utah. I realized how proud I was of her.
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