Feels Like Starting Over

Here, in no particular order, is a list of the best parties I've ever attended:

- Orlando's 30th birthday (can I list this if I helped organize it? Who cares, it's probably the best party I've been to.)

- A frat party my freshman year (the name of the frat escapes me) where I received my first... Where I was pleasured orally for the first time. Funny how something that's over so quickly can leave such a lasting impression. I remember nothing else about that girl but bubblegum pink lipstick.

- My 14th birthday. Dad was out of town and Mom let me have Pete over to spend the night. All we did was listen to music, watch TV (Mom rented us a VCR and some movies) and eat a lot of junk food, but it was awesome. It might not technically count as a party since it was only my best friend, me and Mom, but it was definitely one of my better birthday celebrations.

And now for the worst:

- My wedding reception. I don't have enough time to list the reasons why this rates as one of the worst, but I'm sure you can figure them out.

- Every Christmas party I ever had to attend for work. As much fun as it sounds to be trapped under the mistletoe by drunken female colleagues or the drunken wives of colleagues, it was mainly awkward and did nothing to raise my level of Christmas cheer.

- Every fundraiser/benefit/begging for dollars type thing I attended as a representative of Hamilton-Fairhaven.

- Another frat party later in my freshman year where my shoes were mistaken for a toilet and some poor girl yakked all over them.

The phone rang just as Will was finishing up the editing on one of his short stories. He answered it before the second ring and pushed back from the desk so he could pick up Blade and put him on his lap.

"Hello?" he said, reaching down for Wendell and putting the smaller dog on his desk. They'd both been clamoring for his attention all morning.

"Will Porter, please," said a pleasant female voice on the other end of the line.

"Speaking," Will said, scratching Wendell behind his ears.

"Hi, Will, this is Gayle Brighton."

"Ms. Brighton," Will smiled. It was the assistant editor for the magazine that had hired him. "How are you?"

"To be honest, I'd be doing better if we had an article from you."

That made him pause, and he put the dogs back on the ground. "I'm sorry?"

"You were hired in November," she said, "with the understanding that you would submit an article once a month for publication. So far, we've received nothing. Now, we understand that--"

"Wait a minute," Will said, cutting her off. "I was told I would be working as a freelance writer and I would be paid by the article. I didn't sign a contract with you stating anything about a deadline."

"So, you thought that we would hire you and you could just write something whenever you felt like it?"

"I--"

"Will, making you freelance meant we wouldn't have to pay you the salary of a staff writer. But... Who talked to you about it?"

"I got a letter from Steve Waterman and he's the one I called."

"Great," Gayle sighed. "Steve was fired last week, but he assured us that he'd explained the terms to you. I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to terminate our association with you, Will. Sorry."

Will blinked and sat back in his chair. "Wait a minute. He didn't tell me, Ms. Brighton. I don't care what he said he told you."

"Did you read the letter of intent we sent you? Or any of the inquiries? What exactly were you waiting for? An engraved invitation to submit your work?"

"I..." Will started rifling through the papers on the desk. He was sure that he'd put away the letters they'd sent him. The letters he hadn't opened because he'd been told by Steve Waterman that they would be sending him paperwork to fill out when he was ready to submit his first article. Will should have known better than to assume he wouldn't have to open them and see for himself what they contained. "Ms. Brighton," he said softly, knowing he had no one to blame for this but himself, "I've been a little distracted. I've recently moved, proposed to my boyfriend, found out that I have a long lost sister and helped impregnate one of my lesbian friends so she and her girlfriend can have a baby."

There was a lengthy pause, then a sigh. "Usually, writers only pull out one excuse from their bag of tricks to explain why they fucked up. But you've got a handful there, don't you, Will?"

"Okay, Gayle, there's no need to be rude," Will said, doing his best to hold his tongue but failing. "They're not excuses. It's my life."

"Is that right? Sounds like maybe you've got too much of a life to work for this magazine."

"Oh, really? Well, maybe I'm better off not working for some no name magazine that will probably go belly up this year."

"Mr. Porter, you are not making a good--"

"And, you know what? If you were running any kind of real publication, someone there would have picked up a fucking phone and called me or sent me an email. Or, even better, not hired some moron who can't do his fucking job right."

"Well, I'm making sure not to make that mistake twice, Mr. Porter," Gayle spat. "Consider yourself fired."

Will slammed the phone down before she could hang up on him. He stared at the unopened envelopes on the desk, then grabbed them and ripped them up before throwing them on the floor. Blade whimpered and hit Will's leg with his paw, his eyes wide as he stared up at his master. Wendell had run to hide under the small sofa in the room when the yelling had started.

Sighing, Will leaned down to pick up the papillon. "I need a job," he said softly, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He kissed Blade's head. "Got any leads?"

Christmas 1997

Will had only been working at Hamilton-Fairhaven for a little over two months when the annual office Christmas party rolled around in all its brandy-laced glory. As the newest member of the staff, Will found it difficult to settle in and enjoy himself, though. Since day one, there had been some resentment from his co-workers due to the fact that he had been guaranteed a job straight out of grad school simply because his father was very good friends with the Hamilton of Hamilton-Fairhaven. No one seemed to care that Will was under even more pressure to prove himself because his father was his direct superior and held higher standards for him than any other employee at the bank. Still, Will had come to the party, Talia at his side, out of duty to his dad and his employer. As expected, he'd been snubbed by everyone he'd seen so far, while his father was treated like a conquering hero. Granted, Tobias Porter had the power to fire any one of them if they pissed him off, so much of it could have been ass kissing. Will just wondered why no one was even interested in his ass, let alone willing to kiss it. He blinked at that thought, then shook his head, just happy he hadn't said it out loud.
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My current relationship has been so intense and wonderful, I find that most everything I talk or think about is related to it in some way. With that said, this is going to be a very obvious response because I'm feeling a bit obvious today.

My feelings for Orlando run much deeper than I think anyone outside of our relationship realizes. I resent the hell out of the fact that "society" won't acknowledge that we can love one another just as passionately and with as much devotion as a man and a woman. Yes, there are certain places where we're accepted, but if you go to Anyplace, Middle America and ask Joe Schmo his opinion on gay couples, that opinion will be negative. The proof is in the fact that so many in this country have gone out of their way to be actively anti-gay when they vote. Why are our futures being legislated by strangers who believe we're evil and belong in Hell? Why are we the last group left where it's okay to hate us and deny us basic rights? It's disheartening and sometimes makes it difficult to focus on the victories and strides that have been made. It's easy for some to brush it off as simply "ignorant opinions" or think that it's just "their problem" if they don't like how we live. But it isn't just their problem. If a man is denied access to his hospitalized lover because he's not "family," it's my problem. If a man is beaten to death because he's gay and society perpetuates the hatred that could lead to something so vicious, it's my problem. For all the self-congratulatory discussions we've had about not believing in sexual labels and finding them pointless and oh-so-gauche, the truth of the matter is they exist, whether we like it or not. The society around us, the world outside of the happy little bubble we live in, slaps the labels on us and we can pretend it doesn't happen until we're blue in the face. It doesn't change the fact that it's the truth.

This is why the one thing I'd change about society would be to make someone's sexuality completely and blessedly moot.

Inez Porter's birthday was coming up in three days. The plans for her birthday party had been made, his friends Ann and Helene leading the charge. The party would be on the Saturday following the actual day, and as originally thought, it was going to be a day spent with her female friends. Will wanted his mom to have a good time with her friends and not worry about being "mom" if he was hanging out getting his cheeks pinched by all the ladies.

For her actual birthday, Will had decided that instead of taking her out for a dinner with Orlando and Peter, the two of them would go out on a date so she could have him all to herself. She hadn't said anything to him, but he could tell that there were times when she missed him having more time for her. This year, he wanted to do whatever he could to show her just how much she meant to him.

Their plans would include a lovely dinner at one of her favorite restaurants, a little shopping, and tickets to see The Nutcracker in New York. Ever since Will could remember, his mother had adored that ballet. Some of his fondest childhood memories were of curling up on the couch with her and watching the annual public television broadcast. He would watch her face, taken with how enchanted she looked, and then settle in to enjoy the rest of the program because it made his mom so happy.

The years Inez was married to Tobias Porter were difficult ones. Her husband never saw any point in treating her with respect, never mind taking her out for things as trivial as the ballet. Will had grown up watching his mother sacrifice so much for both her son and her husband, asking for nothing in return except the chance to see something she loved so much in person. Every year, she received the same answer from Tobias: "It's on TV. Can't you just watch it there?"

Will had married young, and because his wife didn't want to spend the holidays with his family, he had never been able to do everything he had wanted with his mother around that time of year. But all of that would change this year. This year would be the first time in a long time that he would be able to sit next to his mom and watch her face as dancers brought a much beloved story to life. Instead of it being a grainy picture on the television set in their living room, though, it would be the vibrant wonder of sitting in an audience, seeing it the way she had wanted for so long. Thanks to Peter making a few calls, Inez would even have the opportunity for a meet and greet with the dancers after the show. Will hoped that everything would make it a birthday memory his mother would treasure. More than that, he hoped that it would be the start of a new holiday tradition for them both.

I've taken a lot of road trips in my time. There were the obligatory trips when I was a kid to see friends of the parents all over New England, and the occasional trip to major theme parks when Dad was feeling on top of his game and left enough vacation time for something more than those horrendous camping trips. In college, Pete and I took a road trip when he convinced me to drive up to Hartford with him for spring break. It was a lot of fun, it was annoying, it was too short, too long in parts, but ended up being the second best road trip of my life.

The best one? It hasn't happened yet.

When I was little, I used to sit down with my dad's atlas and look at the maps of each state in America. I don't know why I was so obsessed with that book, but I loved those maps. I loved the shapes of the states and the red stars that marked each capital. I loved tracing the major freeways from one point to another, seeing which states each would cross and vowing that one day I would see every state I could by car. Maybe all of Dad's rants about how the people of the nation needed to embrace their country rubbed off on me and gave me this desire to see every bit of it that I could.

I haven't done it yet. I don't know if I ever will. My life's going to get pretty busy soon once I start my new job, but I'm hoping that before I die, I can jump in a car with my sweetie and see the entire country. I even want to drive up to Alaska. As for Hawaii, well, besides the fact that it can't officially be part of a road trip, I'm not sure I'd want to go there for reasons a little too personal to mention here.

I'm a white male who was born in the 20th century to a middle class family. I think my predetermined role in soceity was pretty much to grow up and be one of the faceless masses. Dad was a banker who worked for one company all his life. Mom was a housewife, though I guess the preferred term is homemaker or domestic engineer. Personally, I like thinking of Mom as the Captain of our family ship. Dad may have brought home the paycheck, but Mom kept us afloat.

I followed in Dad's footsteps, became a banker, got married, bought a house, and did everything else I was expected to do. (I probably would have had three kids if Talia had been able to get pregnant after her miscarriage.) I was in danger of fulfilling my destiny of being nothing more than a boring old cog with a boring old life. I think I would have been extremely disappointed if that's the way my life ended. I'd have been on my death bed wishing that I'd done something more, or lived my life for myself.

Thankfully, I'm getting to do that now. There's nothing like being free to be myself to make me think that just maybe my predetermined role in society was simply to be one of the happy people. I know we're annoying, but without us the people born to look down on others wouldn't have anything to do!

I don't know very much about my ancestors, other than the fact that some of them on my Mom's side are from Scotland. Mom told me that when I was little, and ever since then I've had this dream of moving out there, getting a little cottage somewhere and writing stories about... Well, about whatever I'd be inspired by. Mind you, all of this planning was made without me ever actually going there. The only things I knew about Scotland were what I'd seen in travel and history books. (I did finally get a chance to go at the end of August, and while I never looked up any family, I did make the discovery of a lifetime.)

My ancestors on Dad's side are a little more mysterious to me. Frankly, if they were anything like him, I'm perfectly fine with letting them stay a mystery. My guess, though? Huns.

Growing up, I always thought of summer as something to be endured. That was the time of year my father got it into his head that we were going to be a good family and go on vacation together. This would serve two purposes: A change of scenery and a chance to "bond" with me. What usually ended up happening, though, was the huge road trip got cancelled or drastically scaled back and we'd end up going camping. Mom would usually go with us, but occasionally I'd be alone with the old man. Those weren't good trips. It got to the point where I dreaded the last day of school the way every other kid dreaded the first. Summers meant anxiously waiting for that damn camping trip to be sprung on me.
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