"The Truth About Finding Oneself..."

Catching My First Glimpse Of Oz And A Fierce Kiss!

By James Finn
Medium.com

I was a homophobic gay teen. Back in the day.

I called the only other gay kid I knew about in my school a faggot.

I wrote about that just yesterday. I didn’t know how to be me. I didn’t know how to stop loathing myself.

Being a Gay Homophobe in High School

I think it’s common. My story.

I started to heal in a bar of all places, the dingy-fab Question Mark Bar and Grill in beautiful downtown Des Moines.

It was a gay bar.

The only sign it had on the outside was a pink neon question mark.

I found that sign glorious in all its tacky flamboyant florescence.

My heart used to speed up when I putted around the corner in my rusty, banana-yellow Pinto Pony and spotted that luscious glow of pink promise.

I was young. The drinking age in my state then was 18. Rumor had it that one of the two gay clubs downtown was popular with guys my age. I had just graduated high school.

I drove by the place once.

Just drove by, hands shaking on the steering wheel, and then home. The second time, I screwed up my courage and walked in, not knowing what to expect.

It wasn't really a club. I saw a bar. A small dance floor. Maybe a dozen guys. I smelled cigarette smoke and beer.

My heart was hammering pretty hard.

I perched on a stool at the bar, ready to bolt. I heard some guy dressed all in denim call some other guy Mary. This was a lot to take in for a teen from the Bible Belt. The beer smell alone made me feel like I was in Sodom.

The balding bartender walked up to me. “Whaddya drinking, cutie?”

I swallowed hard. “Um, me?” I squeek. “I'm not sure?”

“Tell ya what, hon. We got us a policy here. All newcomers get one Black Russian on the house. You wanna Black Russian?”

I didn't have any idea what he meant, but I nodded. He poured vodka and made small talk. The place started to fill up. The bartender introduced me to some guys my age.

Then I started feeling really good. The music pounded into me. The alcohol made me dizzy, and damn if I wasn’t popular.

This was nothing like school. I was normal! Everyone in here was like me!

Some cute guy grabbed me and hustled me onto the linoleum dance floor. I didn’t know what I was doing, but nobody seemed to care. He twirled me around, pulled me into a dark corner, and kissed me. Not seriously, but a thorough kiss and a smile.

I was on fire. Sexually? No. A joyful fire. I couldn't believe this place existed. I couldn't believe I’d waited so long to find it.

The feeling I had was of magical possibility. Like bursting into a Technicolor world after living a life of black and white.

And yes, Judy did play on the sound system that night.

That’s the night I first started to dream of Oz.

I didn’t know it yet, but I would keep dreaming until I made it to Oz, until I found Oz, and until Oz found me.

I’d still have to struggle with self loathing, but for the first time I really got it that I might be able to stop hating myself one day.

Not a bad lesson for a skinny kid in a dingy bar.

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"Fear Eats the Soul"