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October 1, 2002

heaven

The other day I met up with a buddy who said he's been HIV+ since 1984. I was fourteen then. They were still calling it a 'gay cancer' at that time, and didn't know how the disease spread. He found out he got it after visiting a couple of friends of his on the West Coast. Six months later one of the friends died, and six months later the other one was dead. That's how things happened before treatments improved.

At age fourteen, I think I was in the eighth grade. I remember getting invited to a dance held in Jason Frederick's barn. Jason was a jock and was popular, and his parents were very cool. It was the small-town Wisconsin equivalent of being invited to an after-hours party DJed by Julian Marsh on Fire Island. Farm Fabulous.

Even back then I loved to dance, which was probably why I was invited. I was always fun to be with at the dances. I would dance myself into a sweaty, sopping sore frenzy by the end of each event. Long before Exstacy, I was the veritable tenderfoot circuit boy.

I certainly couldn't have been invited because I was interested in anybody at the time. I never dated anyone, and looked down on those who did. Or perhaps I was invited because somebody was interested in me. Girls manipulate things like that.

"Baby you're all that I want, when I'm lyin' here in your arms. Findin' it hard to beleive we're in heaven..." God how I hated sappy ballads, and I hated Bryan Adams. Mostly because I knew I had to put up a pretense of actually being interested in a girl when she asked me to dance. I certainly never asked any girl to dance. I didn't know I was interested in men, but I knew I wasn't interested in girls. Ballads were for resting between "Dancing With Myself" and "Walking on Sunshine".

Purple Rain was the bomb that year, and it was easy enough at the dance to just run the cassette in its entirety from the boombox. Except for the dreadful title track of the same name, whose album version was significantly longer than the radio edit.

Oh no, here comes Mia Edwards. She wants to dance again. And this song is so damn long, especially that piano part at the end. Jeez...she's so nice, but...OK, here goes. Smile to her, be nice. She is nice, but...must be sure to put the hands in the right places, not positioned to give the wrong idea, but put hands in just the right places so someone could suspect I might. I'm glad my head is over her shoulder, I'm sure Lia could guess how bored I am.

Hmm...there's Becky Larson dancing with that new guy Greg Reynolds from the wrestling team. 'sigh.' Greg must be older, or maybe he dropped a few grades. He can already grow a beard. He grows it out every fall for deer hunting season. Maybe I should join the wrestling team. Maybe I could convince him to join the track team. He's such a nice guy. I bet Becky's having a good time.

Eighteen years later...
"Baby you're all that I want, when I'm lyin' here in your arms. Findin' it hard to beleive we're in heaven..." This time some woman is singing it, and I like it much better. 132 beats per minute or something like that, the oh so familiar house rhythm of 'nn-tzz-nn-tzz-nn-tzz' that thrumms through Nation every Saturday night.

I'm in the shirtless section of the dance floor, just to the left of the front stage area. Smile as wide as my face, I still enjoy dancing. This time I'm surrounded by possibility, this time I won't be bored with who I'm dancing with. Oh there's Mark. 'sigh.' He's always scruffy or has a beard. Mmm...red beard, furry chest. I wonder if he was on the wrestling team? I bet his date is having a good time.

Posted by jimbo at October 1, 2002 4:04 PM

Comments

Posted by: tim at October 1, 2002 10:29 PM

Posted by: Bubba at October 2, 2002 11:00 AM