Posted by: facetothewind | May 23, 2003

Return to SF

May 23, 2003
Letter to friends
Subject: Return to San Francisco

I was walking, walking around SF last night on a mission to find a friend’s book. It was a cool, breezy, lightly foggy afternoon. I was walking past a park where people were lying in the last bits of the sun before the fog rolled over them. I walked past the sidewalk where it is etched: “Simon loves Andy,” past the car that has the bumper sticker that says, “empty the jail and make room for Congress.” I walked past the hospital where my friend played his last few notes on the piano a few weeks before he died of AIDS.

I had lunch with an Uzbekistani boy who jumped ship from a cruise line and is seeking asylum here b/c he’s gay. He’s never seen men holding hands. He feels free here in the promised land. I thought about how many people have seen San Francisco as their last hope – a chance to be themselves and be free. And I thought about how many people, once they got here, realized that freedom was more elusive than they had hoped and that here, at the edge of the continent, hope itself was not to be found and took a leap off the Golden Gate bridge.

Each day is a peak experience for me here.

I had dinner with my new love interest, Jeff at a sushi restaurant. Next to us was a gay couple that appeared to be on a first date. They dined in a delicately lusty glow…that glow that before I lived in San Francisco, I had only seen on heterosexual teenagers having a burger together at the A&W on any street, USA. The boys sat with arms around each other as if they were on their first date at the sushi boats. I fantasized about the lovemaking they would go home to. I tried not to think about how their relationship will likely only last a few months before it ends in the bitchy spat of two young men whose emotional development as gay men was probably arrested at about age 12.

Jeff and I walked home, arm in arm with that same lustful glow. We knew we were heading straight to bed. And we did. And it was good. It was love made without the negative fettering of someone in a truck yelling faggot at us. Our love is good. It is real. It is valid. It was love made at the end of a day of being treated with respect and visibility.

God, have I been away that long?

Then, in the middle of the night we heard a drive by shooting, so I felt a little better about Tucson.




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