Granny Boop's Big House: Growing up Gay White Trash and Liking It

FORWARD

M y name is Bobby Lee Curtis and many people have said I should write a book so I have. This is my story, about my path, the people, the moments, the shit that happens, and my pursuit of happiness. I have included pages straight from my journals, post cards, and letters I have received as well as stories I just like to tell. I want to share my rich life with you. This is the way I saw it. Things I can’t forget. Things I don’t want to forget.

I like to think of myself as a typical southerner, polite, charming sometimes, loyal and generous to a fault; a regular Blanche Devereaux. Oh those Golden Girls! I was born in late January, 1963. Being White Trash was not easy when I was growing up. Add an alcoholic widowed mother and seven kids. Now imagine us, in a small two bedroom wooden rundown house, all competing for one tiny bathroom with no shower. We did have a tub. Our dining room never was, until decades later when we did the transformation. It did duty as storage or an extra bedroom, really just one more room to throw beds in and piles of stuff. Our house was in Southern Maryland. We lived in a town called Woodland, about 15 miles south of Washington DC, the capitol.

Back then, people didn’t think too kindly about white trash. They still don’t, thanks to The Jerry Springer Show and my people strutting around on his stage showing off the few teeth they have left in their heads. For me, my childhood was fun, not all good of course and sometimes downright sad, but it was fun. We only had six blocks in our part of the woods. That was the extent of Woodland back then. Memories of my sister Cynthia Margaret ever having lived at the house are just not in my mind. To tell the truth, my brother Thomas Gene was just not there that much either. I filed him away in the back of my mind long ago.

Tommy had had something ticking in him for years. He was just horrible to us kids sometimes when he was there. He would always sleep late and when we woke him, he would line us up to bang our toes with a hammer to scare us into obeying. Shut the fuck up! he would scream. How in the world do you keep a house full of kids quiet when all we wanted was Captain Crunch and cartoons in the morning? My brother Stanley Douglas went into the Marine Corps early. It’s strange to look at Stanley’s picture, side by side with my Daddy’s. The likeness is amazing. They looked like brothers. That had to be wild for Mom. He is so much our father in my mind.

For nearly twenty five years, my mother’s house was the place where I learned about life. It was the center of it all for me and I was safe. That time of my life remains on the top of my list of Good Places, that and Crescent Rock on Skyline Drive in Virginia. To sit there and look out over the world with the wind riding straight up the granite wall is something I will always crave. All of us kids and Momma grew up together in that little house. Even if I don’t somehow remember them all being there, I know they were. We were all happy. Well, almost always.

Some of the ways that shape the lives of white trash are so redneck. Throw in racism, and stupid ideas just seem to take over. Being Gay in that house called for me to be very resourceful. I know my baby sister Lorna Sue watched Kid and me through the key hole when I had my first bedroom alone. From early on in my life it was a secret. I always had to hide it. I now know I was aware, certainly, by twelve or thirteen years old in Junior High, around 7th grade.

This tale is about the strange things we did to have fun. It’s about the times when we had no money, about being hungry, about eating bologna and cheese with mustard for dinner all the time. It’s hearing that damn gate screech every night of my life! Run! Mom’s home… Some parts aren’t happy and many are downright melancholy and frightening, but hey, it was our life.

White Trash is what we were. Where I grew up the people we knew were mostly Rednecks. Both of us were holdovers from what was once thought of as the Great South. We are the descendants of what were surely well known families somewhere, sometime. They are everywhere in our neck of the woods, old families.

Now don’t confuse Poor White Trash with Country folks. That’s different. White trash is a particular type, real lazy you see. They aren’t Hillbillies either. Those people live in the foothills of West Virginia, Virginia and PA. All poor people aren’t white trash and all white trash ain’t poor. As with every group, there are good ones and those not so good. Then there is Trailer Trash, which as everyone knows, sits right at the bottom of every list. I knew I had seen it all in DC. RCWT Get it? There sat a beautiful old stone Victorian home, near the Zoo, on a hilltop over looking Rock Creek Parkway. Damn if those people weren’t just Rich City White Trash with cars and shit all over that yard. Their mighty home was falling apart around them just like ours. Silly isn’t it? Maybe so, but it’s a large part of America I think. The best thing out of all this for me was I could see the lights of the city shining in the distance, waiting for me.

No doubt my siblings will have much to say about this story. I encourage them all to tell it like they saw it, good and sad moments. The poison of alcohol had a hold on all my family for too long, well over thirty five years. The older kids were lucky. By the time they were gone, our situation had gotten really bad. The younger ones had to live through it. It was tough. You had to stay away from Mom always, and I was gay. I might as well have been black in her eyes if she had known. How could I ever tell her?

Momma would not have liked knowing I knew I was a sissy at such a young age. When she thinks hard she’ll remember. I was a gay child that she was trying to raise up in a straight redneck world. Like all mothers do, she knew that I was, and would years later, admit it to me. I knew boy. You were just like your Uncle Charlie when he was little. I knew.

Hell, she and her boyfriend Clifton once forced me into his car to take me to Woodland’s Boys Club baseball game that I was suppose to play in. The team was called the Cardinals. Standing in the field, hoping a ball wouldn’t come my way, I actually peed in my pants. Not wanting to be there, I just turned and walked off the field through the woods. I went down the path along the creek, behind the VFW. This, right after a ball was hit so close to me that I had, in that very moment, prayed it wouldn’t come my way. I didn’t move. The ball thudded hard in the thick green grass just feet away. I heard laughter. The two of them didn’t come home till after the VFW closed that night. Like always, Mom was dropped off at the gate. They hadn’t missed me and it didn’t bother me. That day was never brought up. Sometimes I was very glad she was a drunk.

My hope is you will see the love we shared, that someone will read this and relate to it in ways that make the light shine in. That would be a good thing. We were never allowed to lift the window shades on the sides of the house. Now I leave my blinds wide open. If you’re white trash deep inside, don’t think you’re stuck. You’re just a part of something bigger than you realize. Love your people always and enjoy the ride. You will make it, and maybe you’ll learn to see all the good in your family, before you find Badlands. Get out if you feel trapped. You are always allowed to look back and like all good Mothers say, with fingers crossed behind their backs, You can always move back home honey, when you need to.

Family is hard to keep and you’re lucky when you have a good one. Always stay close to them if you can. The distance from my family is now so long, it is insurmountable. Maybe it’s a southern thing. The family and the front porch are strangely tied together. When most people didn’t have A/C, porches were the way to keep cool. We hung out there together. My next house will have a large front porch.

Now ya’ll be sure to keep up with the dates and events. Some of this may not be as accurate as I remember, but that won’t always be important. You never know when I’m feeling really good and many times I wrote under the Influence. It’s fun to remember good things.

When I would tell her about the house I grew up in or stories about the family, my British lady friend Claire liked to point out, Ya Lying! She just couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Like there ain’t white trash in England. Whatever!

Claire. I’m not lying, I’m telling a story.

Bobby Lee

PART 1

In The Beginning

CHAPTER 1

Florida

HOUSE COUNT: LORNA SUE, BO, MIKE, STACEY MAY,

CARLTON LEE, PUMBA THE BEAST AND MOM

APRIL 13, 1998

H ere I sit, in my very small one room Dupont Circle apartment in Washington DC, right on 17 th Street only blocks from the White House, all by myself with so many thoughts running through my mind. Why should I try to remember, why should I tell these stories? Others I know think they should not be told. I wonder how my words might affect my family for years to come. What their children and their children will think of Uncle Bobby? I love all my family, and that’s a lot of love. It’s very important for me however to understand how I got here.

Almost a man, now I see my life changing. I don’t mind a slower pace. I had my days in and out of the club at sunrise. Cruising the Wailing Wall at the Dupont Circle metro entrance made me understand there might be something wrong with this picture. Was I hooked on this thrill because I’m a faggot or just a man? It’s like a drug; some guys are always there and some never go. Sex in the alley behind the Frat House where I went to drink often, was fun. I wasn’t afraid to get caught naked right out there in the open. We did it often. What’s up? Sex with three or four in one weekend was normal. Packing an overnight bag was routine for me. The music in Badlands, my favorite of all dance clubs in DC, will always play in my head with the flashing beams of light from the disco ball cutting the smoke of the bar across the dance floor. If I close my eyes I can still smell that place. Thick fog from the mix of pot, cigarettes and dry ice made this place lustful and exciting. It wrapped around everything, dancing in the mirrors, caressing half naked men and boys.

I’m on the edge of a great change, and I wonder what life will be like in Florida, that wonderful, tropical world. OK then. Duran and I want so much to start a life and yet we are trapped it seems in our world here. Not believing, I still think we can’t make it. What can I be afraid of? Am I really a coward inside? Too afraid to pick up and move to a place people call Paradise?

After Duran and I went to Mexico with RSVP gay tours in 1997, we came up with this idea. This man I’m with now, I thought, is absolutely the man of my life, yet little did I know what was coming. I wonder how my path would have gone if we hadn’t met. But that could be another story, right? In Mexico, Duran and I met a couple and instantly hit it off. One of the things that intrigued me was that they were an interracial couple like us. Sounds fun doesn’t it? Well Duran and I liked it just fine. On our vacation, at first they seemed to be so much like us.

That week went by too fast. We received many offers for group sex and were invited to several parties. I know I wanted Duran to say yes to some group action. Now I’m glad to say he was not ready for that at all. I think so much more about this man everyday. His photo is on my desk in the halls of Congress where I work. Anything he wanted I gave him. Ours was a honeymoon that lasted years.

Our journey away could not have been better. We are still so in love and that trip just added more cement to the bond. One day he might decide to leave. We don’t always get good things that last forever. You see, I have a little white trash in me still, and I tend to doubt the bright future. To this day I hate to use paper plates in my house. It’s a hard thing to leave behind. People come and go like the seasons, sometimes late sometimes not, but they always come and go. Good dishes can last forever if you don’t break’em.

MAGNOLIAS IN BLOOM

I was thirty five years old this past January, and it feels so strange. It’s as if my life is coming full circle. I measure my health and my life in moments of time. There were those wonderful white trash days as a boy. The times when you don’t really know what it means to be poor. My family might see this differently than me but that is okay. I know the girls don’t approve, but white trash is white trash. There ain’t no way around it!

Then came that complex time for all kids, the teen years. Growing up white trash in Southern Maryland was not always fun. This was a place where we played in the streets because there was nowhere else but the woods. There was a magical place for me, our Forest. My imagination could run wild, surrounded by lush acres and acres of wooded wonderland. Nothing could have been better. We didn’t live in the woods but on the edge. I cling to a southern past because I grew up on the border and I like the smell of Magnolias in bloom. We are in the northern edge of the south, just below the Mason-Dixon Line. How I ever made it is still a surprise to me for sure. I must have jerked off with nearly all the boys in the neighborhood. We always did it, except with Shelby. Until the girls grew breasts there were lots of little boys jacking off together in the dark.

Now, the wild years of my gay freedom are here. This I believe is what saved me from a life of white trash today, being saddled with some kids and a labor job I don’t want. To this day I have good Tupperware because Mom didn’t. I would have hated my life if I had not finally come out of the closet. Oh my, I can just get sick and throw up thinking of the number of girls I had unprotected sex with.

It’s funny how now I’m called Daddy, even though I am still young and I’m ready for the next half of my life. With gay people these days, thirty five, in DC anyway, is old. In Florida, I’m still the young one in the old crowd. I don’t really care about that but I’m aware. I mean really I could be out right now sucking down some beers and chasing down some cock right? Anyway…

MAKE THE ROUNDS

Duran and I met February 12, 1995 at Badlands, my home sweet home. It was the first gay club I had ever been to. Amazed, I was struck dumb when I walked in with my first love Alexander. I wasn’t even scared. That first night making out with him straddled up on the ledge; rock hard, with gin running in my veins, is still so clear to me years later.

That February night, dancing by myself, I saw Duran in the mirror, also dancing alone. I knew I had either booty or at least a phone number for the night. He worked me good for hours on that dance floor acting like he didn’t even see me. That is until I reached back to touch his ass and watched him as he watched me in the mirror.

I spent thousands of dollars and hours in that place. It was then the only gay social hub. In the eighties, gay bars still didn’t have any windows for the outside to look in. I knew many people. Always, and right after you dropped your coat off, you had to make the rounds. My drink then was Tangueray and I passed around many kisses.

Finally after two or three drinks I would start working the dance floor. I dance by myself all the time. We all did. If you didn’t take your disco nap, you wouldn’t make it until the am hours. By three in the morning it got good as the boys started to peak and reach a drunken, frenzied, mosh, pit. We all took off our shirts. Some took off more. It was just plain sex, hot, wet, smoky and crowded. I loved it.

In March, the following spring, we went to Florida to visit with Jaime and Fred, the couple from Mexico. We fell in love with South Florida instantly. It’s hard to see why all people on the east coast who have ever been to Florida don’t move there. At first Duran loved South Beach, that erotic town on the ocean. Miami is incredible with so many people from so far away. To roam the streets of this hot muggy place, to watch the men in white linen strolling Lincoln Road in the unsure shadows of our new beginning was exotic for me. The streets are alive at night, worlds showing it all off on the same avenue. Beautiful women with flowing hair and golden colors were everywhere. I wanted them all and their men too.

There must be something in the water because you can lose your mind and soul so fast in Miami. The city is filled with Latinos and people from everywhere: Cuba, South American, Puerto Rico and Europe. Is this how close I can get to Mexico without leaving the country? I learned quickly that my ideas were so limited. How could I previously have been so stupid to always relate Spanish only to Mexico? Even after visiting Mexico several times and studying Spanish for years, I guess I had that Ricky Ricardo syndrome from the 60s. All Hispanics are Cuban like Ricky or from Mexico. How ignorant of us Americans.

Jaime and Fred lived in Coconut Creek. Because of their kindness we got to see lots of South Florida. The names in this place are so vivid: Royal Palms, Bougainvillea Village, Citrus Way, Coral Ridge, and Sunrise Blvd. How nice they all sound. Our tour guides knew what to show us. They knew where the boys lived. A little island town called Wilton Manors was our destination. This was it for me. I had found my next home.

After that trip south, we made several more and twice I even went alone. This area will be a great place one day I know. The entire neighborhood is an up and coming gay area. Most guys own their own homes here. Wilton Manors, once a part of Fort Lauderdale, is a little island wedged in-between Oakland Park and Fort Lauderdale. I’m sure there must be lesbians here as well. However, if my knowledge of the ladies is up to date, they probably live out west near the Everglades, or in the countryside here, an area called Davie. All Duran and I had to do was to convince ourselves to make this move.

Well that was the easy part. You see Duran has done this before. It had been on his mind as he tells me. He was ready for a change. He is from San Francisco. I can’t believe he had to come all the way to DC in order to come out. With the option he has at work to transfer to a new location, it was decided we were going to Fort Lauderdale. That was March 1998.

MY ISLAND BOY

All that summer we talked about Florida. I had some big problems with the move. The biggest was my very own boyfriend. Let me tell you about Duran. He is a sexy blend of good old American pie and a nice big piece of Flip. Born in the Philippines, his parents came here when he was very young. They became naturalized citizens as did their kids. Dark skinned and exotic, Duran is a mix of the island people from the other side of the world and the Spanish who ruled that nation for so many years. The Philippines is a place I know nothing about, other than what I learned on the Discovery Channel and what I can remember from history class.

Alluring and sexy, I say Duran was for sure the pretty one of this couple. Someone has to be the pretty one. As much as gay men fight about it, one always is. He is pretty in face and small in height only 5’7" yet he has big muscles and larger then normal sexy dark nipples. His job demands a lot from him physically, and adds to his size everyday. Lips so large and brownish red, you want to kiss him whether you are straight or gay. Eyes so dark they look black in the park near sunset, never mind in a bar.

The eyes are what make white men go crazy for these people. They glimmer like dark burnt teak wood in the light. We gaze in those eyes and see the centuries of men who might have climbed the very pyramids that so amaze me in Central America. Men who climb trees with their bare feet and to pick fresh fruit, who glow like dark copper with a deep hint of red in the sun of tropical islands are there. I want to see what I have never seen. Duran is already thirty, yet I see such youth and innocence in his eyes, in his face. He is the type all men seem to want.

Latinos are pretty popular right now. They seem to be everywhere. We are the opposite. Pale with no color, we don’t bring our kids to parties. Latinos are opposite. Dark, full of color, their kids run around all their parties. It’s wonderful, you are drawn in, and Life is a carnival! This affected me then, and it still does. I never knew anyone from anywhere except Woodland until I was in the 10th grade. I didn’t even realize there were other worlds. The first time I traveled to Mexico with the Spanish Club, I was just thirteen. I finally realized there was so much more to the world and my love for all things Spanish started. Yo hablo español ahora y cada día quiero aprender mas. I speak Spanish now, and everyday I want to learn more.

Where did my desire for these dark men come from? I don’t know but perhaps from Woodland? I have an old picture of my brother where I see that young John Stamos look that I love so much today. Like a little girl who admires her Daddy and then marries someone just like him, guys who look like my brother is what I want now. It makes sense because I looked up to him. Wanting something so much more then Woodland, I had never met people from any other part of the world, so when I had the chance, I ate it up. Mom never told me about stuff like that and we didn’t have the Discovery Channel back then.

The thought of all the men in Florida eyeing my island boy, is driving me crazy. Now that gay men own half of South Florida, they are everywhere. I look into Duran’s eyes and watch him grow hot and curious. Despite our being a couple, many times gay men will be bold enough to walk right up and say something to him with me standing right by his side. So, do I want to deal with this in Florida? Go I must! There is no turning back now. Beside, Duran is so confident. How can we fail? Mom was so scared for us. She said it. What happens when you two break up? I snapped back defensively at her, Did you ask all the kids that when they moved out? It’s like they say however. Mothers always know.

I was afraid and added reasons to my list of, reasons not to move. You see by now, the obsessive what ifs I went through. Why have I always struggled with the big decisions? The pros and cons list was important for me. I make lists you see. Too much pot I guess because I can’t recall shit. Where did I get such indecisiveness? It makes me breathe harder. Duran made the move seem so simple, and I looked for reasons not to go. I know I would enjoy this hot tropical place with so many beautiful Latinos. Drawn to these people and to this life, I started to dream about it.

Duran is the one for me and I don’t want to think about him going anywhere without me. I realize he will stay with me no matter what. I feel I have found someone to spend the rest of my life with, someone to travel and see the world with. Someone who loves me. When I close my eyes I see us under a palm tree at the beach.

The conflicting thoughts never stop. Hurricanes, mountains, snow, family. All the things I love and hate. Things that frighten me. Duran and I decide that whenever we’re ready, we’ll leave. The important thing in my mind is not to be stale. I make very good money now working at the House of Representatives, but I’m bored. Why I don’t realize it for the life of me, I could go crazy. Asking the wrong questions, I was afraid to do this for the wrong reasons. My happiness is what’s most important. Why I don’t get depressed I can’t understand.

Now let’s look at this. Hurricanes… big storms that force you to move out of the way when they come barreling by. What if you lose your home? Okay! I can’t stay here any longer. It burns in me now, and I am growing so fast. I mustn’t be afraid to make the move. These storms are not going to stop us. Nature can affect your life in so many ways. It is part of the tropics and no place is perfect Bobby Lee. Here in DC you have the blizzards and the rare tornados.

Mountains I have loved for so long. They are where I go to experience the real thing. I’ll miss them. Being amongst the trees has a special effect on me; I can let myself go and drift into them. If you listen, they whisper deep and slow. When you go camping your eyes start to get heavy gazing into the fire and trees. Even the last orange glowing can take you there. Your mind is not your own. You see the fire but can’t remember what you’re thinking about. It’s like that when you look out over the valleys of the Shenandoah. The mist protects the hillsides in the morning and you can see that amazing road, Skyline Drive that clings to the back of these old mountains. If you walk in the midst of the trees and listen, you can feel it. The mountains are ancient but definitely alive. They were mighty peaks once, a long time ago.

Hiking the mountains, you can still see the giants still. There’s a big one. Look at that. How old do you think that one is Marlowe? We always liked to play in the creek. My best friend Marlowe had this bond with the woods also. Perhaps it’s that way with all little white trash boys. White trash usually lives way out there in the boonies. Always near the woods.

Behind the house in Rockville where John died, Marlowe and I played in the creek for hours. Lifting rocks, creating waterfalls and landscaping the area in our minds, was endless fulfillment for him and I. A small creek connecting to Rock Creek Park down the road a bit and passing close to our home was a blessing. There was a spot up our creek a ways. We called it Queens Island. It was our place to hang. We cleaned the tiny island of debris and big rocks, planted native ferns in the middle and smoked joints. Our domain was maybe 30 feet by 5 feet. It was just a cool sandy place to hang out, in the shade in the middle of the water.

One of our excursions included that crazy queen, and I mean crazy like asylum crazy, Blake. He was just wildly creative to the edge of extravagance. Well our secret hideaway got flooded out. With drops falling down through the canopy above us, the water started to rise almost instantly. Our flimsy aqueducts directing the water away from our land were not designed for such a deluge. The entire island was quickly underwater. How cool is that? we thought as we watched it disappear. So we moved on in the rain with our wet jeans and put on dry shoes we had left on the bank of the creek.

REASONS

Snow… how neat is that. I haven’t seen many big snows in my life but that is not my favorite part. I love when it is undisturbed, a white layer of snow, over everything. It’s like a warm blanket, some kind of childhood dream. That is when snow is at its best, just floating down from the sky. Falling snow, like the bonfire, is good for getting lost in time. It’s how I feel in the garden. I become part of it, one with it. Floating down from the sky, the gentle sting you feel of each frozen snowflake as it touches your face is a magical feeling.

The front porch at my Mom’s house was a great place for me as a kid. The way the front porch light landed on each snow flake as it drifted down to rest; one on top another until there were so many you could see only white or yellow depending on the color of the bulb in the porch light. Then it’s really a dream. All that you know is so changed and clean. Your mind at first takes flight. I think so much about snow.

Watching the trees grow was a cool thing for me that I will miss when I move south. I used to watch them for years and still do. My green thumb instills in me a desire to notice all plants. I grew up as did the trees around me, they became my friends. I went to them to escape. The trees out front eventually grew to cover the entire front entrance. Rain still ran through the worn out muddy yard. It was as if I had my own river. Yes, I played in the mud like normal boys do.

My trees, my river, most of these places and things I dread missing are so far from Florida. But how I navigate the next phase of life is driving me crazy. I feel sometimes like a lost child. I was never sure of my destination as I made my way to puberty. Even as a man I followed what my gay people were doing. I seem to be reviewing my journey over and over, searching for my place. I guess I am going to Florida or I will go nuts thinking why I shouldn’t. There are just too many pros and cons.

Leaving family is the hardest of all for me right now. There is so much love between us. I have so many times tried to break free of the bind that holds me there but I can’t and I’m so glad I didn’t. I am me because of them and Mom. Somehow my leaving makes me want to ask only more questions. What more could Mom have done? Why didn’t she do it? Does she not care if she lives? Her solution seemed so easy to me. Just stop drinking Mom.

I have Mom, two brothers, four sisters, their mates, and thirteen nieces and nephews; family is a big thing for me. Like it or not, I am a part of this group. I can’t spend another weekend at Mom’s House however. All summer I have been at her side. It’s like my time with her is done. I have paid my dues the best I could.

JOURNAL ENTRY

OCTOBER 21, 1998

The breeze is blowing so strong that the mist from the crashing waves is now flying drops of ocean water, wildly searching out spots other than the sea. It would seem the urge to break free is so strong and natural here. I never in all my dreams thought I would end up here. Florida is so alive everywhere you look. The clouds, the sea, the shadows are performing their own unique dance like nymphs in the forest. The shade of the palm trees mark the beach and give you the comforting feeling that the sand is alive and inviting. Come lay on me, I will hold you. Maybe I’m just a little buzzed. That could be it.

These coconut palms that line the beach are so strong and standing tight in only sand, wonderful. The leaves by perfect design cut the winds that can be strong and forceful during the summer season. The wind slicing through the leaves usually only gets a small reactionary twitch, and then it’s back to business for these hardy fronds, fulfilling its greedy appetite for the strong sun here. I call the sun the fireball because sometimes it just holds you completely. From down here, it looks like fire. It certainly feels like it. The heat is all around you. The Sun is gigantic in the morning. The roots of these coastal trees reach so far down the sand. Dark, durable and long, they remind me of some type of electric cable. Under the trees I feel safe from the fireball. I love to see the shadows moving over me. With every gust from the ocean, they swirl and ride my skin. Linda Sue asked me if I love it here. There are things that make it so enchanting but wherever I am, I need to work. So you see, you only move to paradise to work there.

I don’t miss DC yet but I am sure I will get homesick one day. I do dream about the cliffs of Skyline Drive and the mountain vistas. I do see you must pay for everything here such as the parks and museums. In DC that was all free. The beach is free but you pay a princely sum to park. This is why I have come here right? I know that Duran and I will buy a home soon. That is part of the plan. So many nice houses are for sale. We don’t want much, but we do need enough so that both our large families can come and visit.

Florida would be a perfect place for Mom to finish out her life; I wish she were here. She just won’t even consider leaving the girls behind. She tells me always, They need me Bobby Lee, you know that. I want her here. If she is to die soon, why not let her be happy on the beach, cocktail in hand? She is not going to change to save herself. It just won’t happen despite what my sisters, Cynthia Margaret or Mabel Jean wants.

I love Duran for bringing me here. As nasty as I want to be with other men, I will give myself to him completely and make our life a good one. Its hard for me to think of life without him now, we are so connected. We dream together. Duran works so hard and I appreciate that. I will be sure to kiss him so he will know.

The rollerblades don’t work well here. It is not a skater friendly town. That is my first major disappointment about this place. No place to skate. Oh well! No place is perfect, no place has everything? This time of year it’s too cold to swim so I won’t. It’s still a nice ride, six miles round trip at least, so I take my bike instead.

I finally start work on Tuesday with this big hotel in the Caribbean. Two months hanging out was enough.

Bobby Lee

I found this while snooping.

Beautiful I think.

I want

I want strength. I want courage.

I want to look at the world with the eyes of a child,

make it beautiful and wondrous again.

I want feelings. I want hope.

I want to walk in a crowded room and be touched

by a thousand hands but feel only one.

I want laughter. I want pain.

I want to look into your eyes and see you,

not my reflection starting back at me.

I want passion. I want fun.

I want to walk out the door without looking back at sad eyes.

I want vision. I want to be free.

I want to be glad your home from work and hold you.

I want truth. I want to lie.

I want to be able to say I love you again.

I want to talk. I want to listen.

I want you to feel the words you long to hear.

I want you.

Duran,

August 30, 2000

CHAPTER 2

Momma

HOUSE COUNT: EMPTY

JANUARY 13, 2000

I don’t like flying as it is. Now I’m just sick to my stomach. If this lady next to me doesn’t shut up, I’m going to scream. With so much racing through my head I want to cry.

I can’t stop thinking about the VFW. There wasn’t a swimming pool there. The American Legion down in the Capital Way neighborhood had a big one of course. Clifton and Mom were members of the Legion. We got to swim there and black kids would poke their heads over the fence wishing they could join us. All of us, white and black, went to Stephens Elementary. Things were still kind of segregated then. Mom had a lifetime membership everywhere it seemed. When we had to leave the legion to go home, that was hardest of all. Around the pool was a huge yard. There were horseshoe pits, swings, and even a creek that ran along the back edge by the woods. They had their own little jungle. I was in heaven. I didn’t ever understand everything about Mom’s drinking but I always knew where to find her. I had the VFW and American Legion phone numbers memorized.

GO SWIMMING BOY

Sitting on the plane looking out the window, that day keeps ringing in my head, Mom screaming at me, Just put the damn thing on Bobby Lee! Her attacks were almost always followed with a slap across the face. All of the kids in the pool pulled back in unison when I got slapped. They were all watching. I wanted to run into the woods and hide, the place where I always found peace. Why did I have to wear a damn bathing cap anyway?

So she throws it down on the ground. God Damn it! Then don’t go swimming boy! But I’m not allowed in the water without it since my hair is so long. I ran from her. She simply said, Grow up or cut your damn hair. I hated my Mom sometimes. She picked up the bathing cap making sure not to spill her cocktail, and grabbed me. She pulled it down over my head and eyes, pulling hair out all over, ripping at it and screaming. Pulling it off and putting it back on, just to make it fit, Now go and leave me alone damn it! she yelled as she snapped the strap around my throat and shoved me into the pool. When I came to the surface, she had stomped off towards the clubhouse to go drink more.

By then, the tears of fear had long gone, and been replaced by shame. There was many more days spent swimming at the American Legion. That stupid bathing cap always popped right off my head when I dove in because I just refused to use that strap. It wasn’t like I was some, longhaired freak. My hair was only down to my shoulders at the time. Back then people with long hair had to cover it because the pool pumps weren’t advanced enough yet to handle that. The feel of my hair when I swam deep was cool. I was Aqua Man.

The turbulence in the air was making me sick to my stomach. I hate flying. Maybe it’s the destination ahead. I have already been to the bathroom twice to hurl. People are just so rude; staring.

Traveling over the clouds I stopped here and there in my mind. We were at the Rod and Reel Club down Chesapeake Beach, sitting out on the deck. I hate it here. Mom is always so drunk; I never did like to see her in public that way. People always think, Bless her heart! It was easy to watch them whisper and then look away. You know a drunken old lady ain’t too pretty. There are so many rednecks here. I know everyone of them wants to smack me around for being a little faggot. Don’t look Bobby. Stop watching, I whisper to myself. Could it be that they are white trash too?

Here was my Mom looking like a fool, so drunk, with her head hanging low slobbering all over because her teeth didn’t ever fit right. Not the smartest kid in her class, she sat there talking about the N, double A, BC as she called it, and colored people taking so much from us. Colored! Can you believe someone would still say that? She became so close to enlightenment near the end. All people grow I guess. Mother, I said angrily! Why don’t you just call em Coons or something. Good God! Just say Black! Of course she went into a rage.

My thoughts buzzed all over, reviewing my life. After all these years… I look away… Clouds again… Why didn’t you open up Mom? Every one of us, all her children, always gave so much and she hated that. We only tried to give back. I want to hate you Mom but I can’t. I only love you more. Now you will be remembered.

Walking the Board Walk in Ocean City… back to the VFW again… I can’t stop chipping the paint off the old cannon. Why do they have it here? A weapon was a strange monument I always thought.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. Sir, please put your chair in the upright position. I see clouds still. My stomach hurts. The whole flights over and I missed out on cruising the sexy attendant with the jet black hair that just touched me. He saw me zoned out. How nice of him to leave me alone, even though we both checked each other out, head to toe, when I got on the plane. It was a hot moment.

Suddenly, I shoot straight up in my seat, with eyes open wide as the plane slammed hard on the tarmac. Completely awake and aware of why I’m now here, I swallow back vomit again. No matter where I go by plane, I always feel lightheaded when it lands. The strong cold outside came in through the sides of the plane. Out loud I complained to myself, Damn it’s freezing! You couldn’t have waited till summer, huh Momma? I have been in Florida for so long now and have quickly forgotten what a cold day even feels like. As I step off the plane onto the ramp, my back arches tight right away and I lose my breath. As I leave the plane, I pull my coat tight, the only one I have, and it helps a little. Finally I am inside.

The terminal was hot and smelled as I walked in. How could I have forgotten that sensation so quickly? Heaters pumping. Damn. Everyone, sick and coughing. What am I doing here in the middle of winter, enduring the smell of a crowded heated building? Damn it Momma! Inside the airport, I see Stanley and his daughters. With tears welling up in my eyes, the déjà vu sensations overwhelm me. I know I have been here before. This pain in my stomach is the same. My brother and I look at each other, without saying a word. With only a glance, our eyes have spoken clearly, the way siblings do. I see the truth in Stanley’s face and I know why I have come. We are sad and he knows I’m not here by choice.

What I don’t see is what’s happening with him, what he is going through with Tracey. I guess their situation wasn’t as important as Mom at that moment. Splitting up? Yes, divorce after so long, twenty some years together. How could that be? It is a strange thing. I always considered the men in the family to be free and strong spirits; with the exception of Tommy of course. Somehow, he got lost along the way. Like most men though, I think we are all typical pigs. Why have we all been divorced? Did we all do what was expected of us and marry up before we found our way?

Stanley gives me a very formal hug because we are, of course, in public. We can’t be too close. Fuck that, I think! I reach for him and hold on. The feeling is in my back, my head, and my eyes. It is true. I realize without him need to saying a word. Momma has passed on.

In this packed, stuffy building, we had known today would come. Look at him, Bea, shaking already. Stanley remarked to his youngest daughter, forcing himself to laugh; always being the father he never had himself. You think its cold Bobby? I smile and we walk on. I hug my niece Sasha and I knew she missed me. Living together has made us closer. She’s still a little shy as when Duran and I took her from her parents. She had been visiting up north when Granny Boop passed. I know she needs me here by her side. We have become friends since she came to live with Duran and me in Florida. Strangely, I felt I was on stage before an audience. They were here waiting for me; the Uncle from out of town.

As we drive to Stanley’s house, I lose my thoughts and find myself leaving the car and hiking in the bare woods. Somehow I keep up with the moving car and know the way. Baltimore is not so far from Stanley’s. Of course anything’s better than driving to DC as far as they were concerned. Tracey is not with them but that I understand. She had control at their house and needed to prepare the home for what was to be, one final family gathering.

In my mind I carry on conversations with myself. Deciding to split up and divorce now! What kind of timing is that? The trees are so bare. Why does it seem so sad? I know the ways of nature here. The gray brown life of the woods is how I feel. I want to scream it out and beat my chest… Momma! I haven’t seen a winter in two years.

We don’t talk about Mom on the way. Sasha and Bea are quiet in the back seat, respecting our loss, not really knowing if they should talk. Sasha is happy to see me. I catch her simple smile. She’s been here a week, and is already playing divorce counselor for both her Mom and Dad. It shows. With that one smile, the message to me is clear. Save me Uncle Bobby! Bless her heart! I think. How old is she now I wonder? The ride seems so long. I don’t really hear much in the car, not even sure what was said.

Tracey’s at the house. There is a strange look on her face like I have never seen before. She stares at me with yearning as if to say, Please forgive me. She is like a trapped maiden ready to run from her captor. I can see it in her eyes. Distressing me so, I know then I will not be seeing her again anytime soon. I turn away and say I have to go to the bathroom.

Finally I throw up. It’s all been too much. There is a knock at the bathroom door. Are you ok? Tracey asks. I open the door to answer. Yeah, I’m ok honey. With a proper pause, I look at her with sad eyes. Got any of that good ice tea you always make? We hug each other holding back tears. We have so much to cry about. She is my friend and I don’t understand what happened to her or who she is now.

DAY 1 - PICKING A CASKET

That next morning, we met at the funeral parlor like good children, so far so good. Sitting in this little room, Linda Sue is there. Like Stanley her pain is obvious. We hold on to each other while sitting side by side picking out a casket. We all seem to agree so easily. Why now? We couldn’t even pick which day to celebrate Christmas together before she died. Mom would like that one, I say pointing to a rose colored steel one. Cynthia has taken the lead being the oldest. She volunteers to handle it all. Don’t worry you guys, she tells us and we don’t. We all agree. What a mistake that will turn out to be.

We are led down a hallway by an attendant and Lorna Sue has two of her kids with her. Why did she bring them? She is actually going to force those kids to see this! I think only in selfish terms now, becoming protective of my dead mother. We enter slowly through the lovely big wooden doors. Lorna’s kids aren’t taking this well. Stacey May is crying like a hurt child while Mike, Lorna’s oldest, just looks at his dead grandmother once and walks out. Cynthia and my beloved sister Mabel, both having strong motherly hearts, go to their niece who only needs to be held. Lorna says, She’s ok. They both look hard at Lorna Sue. Lorna defending herself tells us, her daughter asked to come. I don’t believe it. Then again the children did spend five years of their life with Granny Boop.

Linda Sue doesn’t fight it. Mom is lying on the table before us. They have her draped to the neck with a white sheet. The condition that killed her has made her body fat and swollen. She looks a little unfamiliar yet she really looks like Grandma that way. The funeral home was able to set it up real nice in a hurry. There were two tall candles on either side of her. Back lighting and red carpet in the room made it almost temple like. The moments spent there were easier because of that. It was dignified I guess.

Tommy Gene is not here yet, but that is no surprise. Cynthia can’t stay in the room too long. She is hurting, the big one leaves first. Hmmm… Moments pass. Stanley and Mabel walk out almost right behind Cynthia as she leaves. Alone with my Mom, I speak out loud as if she can hear me. Now Momma what happened? It’s just you and me. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Momma! You look like your mother now. Did they hurt you? Oh Mom, I miss you so much already. With my tears just streaking my face and down the front of my jacket, I accept that my beloved Mother has died. The forced acceptance is more than the pain of my grief. Be at peace Momma. Go, see the world.

Screams were on the tip of my tongue, ringing in my ears. I wanted to beat my head. Momma! Sitting with my mother for the last time, my grief is delayed. The shame of a burying her naked doesn’t bother me. She went straight from the hospital to the funeral home they told us. Why they didn’t dress her is beyond me. I almost fall from my chair. There she was. I don’t know how long I sat there, maybe five or ten minutes, lost and staring, watching her sleep. Unable to remember when I kissed her last, I needed to kiss my mother one more time.

Linda Sue didn’t come in to see her because Cynthia Margaret told her Mom was swollen. She looked like she always did to me when she was sleeping on the couch. The skin on that face, once animated but now tired, sliding down her cheeks was strange. It was her. Scars of her battle with the years are so clear now. I’m not happy. I’m relieved it’s over for you Mom. Go now. We’ll be ok. I’m not so shocked or surprised; I’m kind of over it now. You have been sick for years remember? The pain will hit me later.

Being the eldest I guess Cynthia has to do what was expected of her. We picked the nice casket that I suggested. The one with roses embossed all over it, it was beautiful. The funeral home hadn’t dressed Mom. What a shame. I know the sisters wanted her dressed, but they relented and agreed to leave her as she was. So have fun Mom, running around naked in heaven! When you bury