The neighbors in the apartment next door to me were a lovely Latino couple, quite and unassuming. I said good luck to them when they moved to their new house. Within a few days a new couple was moving into the empty apartment. I watched from my sliding glass patio doors as two athletic looking men carried white furniture and framed dance posters up the stairs. Gaydar from three counties went off that day.
David and Tim were good neighbors, inviting me over for wine and cheese parties regularly. I'd stop in and chat frequently. Eventually they began to introduce me to some of their other friends. Then they took me to one of the many gay bars in downtown Portland. I had no idea there were such things in Oregon; I naively thought they only existed in San Francisco or Provincetown. I was a very naive gay boy back then. Completely amazed by the hot bodies around me and entranced by the outrageously strong dance beat, I stood along the wall of the club. I hadn't really known what to expect. I thought the bar would be seedy, full of overweight, balding men with large handlebar mustaches and bottomless chaps. Of course I discovered much later where one could actually find such men, but at this time I marveled at the young, fit and beautiful. However, I could never muster enough courage to ask anyone to dance. I disappeared along the periphery, sipping my coca cola, wishing the bartender hadn't put so much ice in it. Later I had a few exciting encounters, some short flings, and some erstwhile trysts, but nothing dramatic, nothing heart stopping or starting.
On Saturday, February 29th, 1992 I was looking forward to the evening's television line-up. It was going to be a special cross-over event for the leap-year. There was a hurricane hitting Florida in TV-land so poor Rose from the Golden Girls was going to get blown over to Empty Nest, while one of the Nurses got sent over to another show and so on. I cleaned house and waited for the evening, wasting time until the television hours. I watched the first show in the line-up and realized how incredibly bored I was. I could hear the dance beat calling me. I decided to put my jacket on and make the half-hour drive from Wilsonville to downtown. I told my brain I was simply going to visit the largest bookstore in the world, Powell's, one of my favorite haunts. They would be open late on Saturday nights, and was coincidentally located in the midst of several gay venues.
I parked and went into the bookstore, browsing but not really interested in what I was seeing. I finally worked up the nerve to leave, walk down the street and enter one of the most popular bars. I told myself that if I didn't see David or Tim, or one of their friends within ten minutes, I would leave. I stepped into the music and strobing lights and began my half-hearted search. They were nowhere to be found. I was about to leave when someone tapped my shoulder. It was a beautiful young man with unbelievably blue eyes. He asked my name and then laughed when I told him. He said he and his friends were playing a game; guessing what people's names were as they entered the bar. He had decided my name was "Brad" and was laughing because my name was so close to the mark.
I joined his table where I met his roommate Sofia and another man I can't remember. We talked (loudly of course due to the music) and laughed a lot. He ordered me a drink, a gin and tonic, and I pretended to drink it, having never really drunk an alcoholic beverage before. I sipped a little and hated the bitterness. Robert walked me to my car and we exchanged phone numbers. I drove back to Wilsonville with a very strange feeling in my stomach.
I spent Sunday cleaning my already spotless apartment. I rearranged things that didn't really need rearranging. The entire time I fought against the urge to call Robert. Calling him the very next day after meeting him would seem desperate, I told myself. Just when I couldn't take it anymore and had pulled the tiny scrap of paper with his number from my pocket, the phone rang. It was Robert calling to make sure I'd gotten home alright. He said he'd been worried since I had told him I didn't drink, yet had evidently drank the entire gin and tonic. That would explain some of the strange feelings in my stomach I'd had the night before. He asked if I'd like to see him again and I eagerly said yes. In fact, I wanted to take him to this wonderful Italian restaurant this very night. He hesitantly agreed and gave me his address.
There were a few hours before I really had to get ready and drive to Portland, and I was beside myself with angst and anticipation. I almost psyched myself out a dozen times. I decided to leave it up to God, even though I've never been very religious. I left myself a good 40 minutes to get there and so hopped in my car and tried not to speed. The center of Wilsonville has an ill-planned railroad crossing. Just as I approached, a very long train decided to come through (at 6:40 pm on a Sunday night?) and then it stopped and had to back up, then lurched forward, backward, and then stopped. I waited and waited. Maybe God was sending me a sign? Finally it pulled across the road and the barriers lifted. I sped a little in order to make up for lost time.
I pulled into the unfamiliar NorthEastern quadrant of Portland and began looking for the address. When I found the number I was sitting in front of an empty, vacant lot. I checked and double-checked the address. For some reason Robert had misled me. Perhaps he really didn't want to go out and so played a cruel joke on me. It didn't seem right. Also, I had left his number back at the apartment and this was before the days of cell phones. I had to drive all the way back to Wilsonville in order to call him.
When he picked up the phone he told me that his friends were trying to convince him I wasn't going to show up. He was unfamiliar with Portland, so he didn't know each quadrant had the same addresses, so you had to add NE, NW, SE & SW for the address to make sense. He promised he'd wait for me while his friends all went out. I drove like crazy and picked him up.
The Italian restaurant was closed for some reason so I quickly thought of some other options. We ended up going to La Casa Real in Lake Oswego and had a wonderful meal. We talked and talked until the cleaning crew had finished vacuuming and were wanting to put our chairs on the table and shut off the lights. That night we sat in my car and held each other. There was no making out, nothing "naughty".
I had another feeling in my stomach, painful but terrific. This time I recognized the feeling even though I'd never felt it so intensely before. This was the night I fell in love.
That is SO beautiful!
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