beyond buffalo

September 10, 1979 – July 23rd, 2010

As many of you know… I work in air cargo. When I see a story like this (click on photo for story), where a plane catches on fire mid-air and crashes, I know most likely there was some dangerous goods cargo on board that wasn’t handled properly. I instantly run through my mind in an attempt to recall if I have any customer’s cargo on that flight.

Luckily… so far… (knock on wood) I’ve never had this happen to any of my customer’s cargo. Other than the truck that caught fire and burst into flames after being sideswiped by a drunk driver many years ago, nothing like this has happened on my watch. That truck… an artist’s entire exhibit was enroute to a new gallery. I’m still waiting on that claim to be paid out…

They’re a terror. Really they are. Between the piercing screams of the infant and the continuous thumps of stuff landing on the floor above my head, I’m done. I’m ready to move. I love my little apartment with the HUGE patio and the view of the water, but I’m just done. I’ve been complaining to management for over 6 months now and not a thing has been done.

Tonight, instead of getting all worked up again, like last night and the night before, I decided to take a walk and grabbed Stella, the most amazing dog in the world, and together we headed out into the night. We walked to the opposite side of the lagoon where earlier in the day I saw the rides from a travelling carnival parked in the lot. It brought memories of my earlier days, back in that area south of Buffalo when every summer, the travelling carnival would visit town and set up in the parking lot behind the shops on main street. It seemed so foreign to me. So exciting. The idea of living in a camper and travelling the country roads, entertaining the young and old alike really caught my imagination. I dreamt of running away with them as Cher did in her blockbuster song “Carousel Man”. I envisioned myself taken by the scruffy dark-haired muscular man running the tilt-a-whirl, made into his lover and happily forced to follow him from town to town.

As I said, it really captured my imagination, and my imagination since the age of about 13 was all rather sex focused so I won’t go into the sordid details, though perhaps I should.

I’ll hold the memories of the carnivals and the dangerous men that worked them. I was awash in those memories as Stella and I wandered through the night. Out of the apartment, avoiding the noise.

Wednesday afternoon I received the strangest text message from the BF telling me to be in the city, dressed nice (button down shirt and slacks) and on the corner of Church and Market. I texted back wondering what was going on, but he was silent about it. “just be there” was the response I received.

The rest of the afternoon was unusual for me. Was he going to take me to a nice fancy meal at a fancy restaurant? Was he going to pimp me out to someone that liked slightly doughy, pasty white guys in button down shirts and dress slacks? Was he going to propose to me?

I settled on the latter and was convinced I would be a blushing fiancé by the end of the evening and proceeded to contemplate my upcoming married life. Would I say, “Yes”? Would he get down on one knee? Would he slip a ring into my wine? Not sure what to expect or even how I felt about the whole thing… I decided that my answer would be a resounding “No”. I would be steadfast in my denial of his requests. “You haven’t earned it yet,” I’d declare, while feigning sorrow, like a mid-century Hollywood starlet.

I would eventually give in and we would hug, perhaps kiss and definitely fuck once we returned home. The morning after we would talk about it, make plans, set a date, only to realize that thanks to the hateful, bigots in the small towns of California, and the huge amounts of money flooded into the state by religious organizations that preach love but act on hate, we could not be married and would have to settle for that second class status of “domestic partnership”. We’d make the appointments with the lawyers and draw up all the paperwork needed to protect each other should something happen. You know, all those things that come simply by saying “I do” and signing the civil marriage certificate denied to us.

My head was reeling at all of these thoughts and I was about to slip into the post prop 8 depression again, looking around the office wondering who voted yes and who voted no and how their beliefs have affected my life and the life of the man that I love.

As it turns out… he had tickets to Wicked. Wonderful tickets to Wicked. Row J, center tickets to Wicked. I’d never thought that I would ever see that musical. When I lived in Chicago, Tom teased me about seeing it but he and I never settled on a date to commit. In 5 years, we never found a date that fit. Fast forward to last spring, when the BF had tickets. Good tickets. We were supposed to go. I was excited, but didn’t show it since I was afraid of jinxing it. Well… it so happened that those tickets were for a date about 2 months after he and I broke things off, for a variety of reasons.

I was convinced that Wicked was one of those things that I would never experience, like visiting Abu Dhabi, climbing Mt Kilimanjaro, or heterosexual intercourse.

So yes, I was surprised. I was swept away by his sweetness and I thoroughly enjoyed the production. It was a wonderful date night and an unexpected date night. And it was totally worth it to be dead tired the next day.

Click on image for slideshow.

just remember… my birthday is coming up…