i know i promised you a car-accident story

[text]
but something came up today which takes precedence: a chance for me to experience commonality with other gay bloggers--which, god knows, almost never happens.

but we all have to come out sooner or later--at least, that's what kelly stern thinks--and i think he's right. and, in commemoration of pride month, he wants gay bloggers to post his annual gay pride photo and tell their own coming-out stories.

so here's mine (and apologies for the length--this is really a two-part story, but i couldn't tell one without the other):

[i've told people i came out at 34 for so long that, like hillary in bosnia, i believed it myself--until in the course of writing this post i did the math and realized that all of the events i'm about to set forth took place while i was still 33; guess i'll have to change my story.]

it was long past time to go. i was determined to leave austin--end up on one coast or the other and it really didn't matter which--i just wanted to get as far away as possible from the state in which i'd grown up. i did some research, sent out the requisite portfolios and got interest from two firms--one in new haven, connecticut, and the other in san diego.

i flipped a coin, and within two weeks had quit my job, given up my apartment, put everything i owned into storage and and was on my way west. i had no fallback; if the firm in san diego didn't want me i had no idea what i'd do but i figured something would turn up. it really didn't matter--it was time to start my life, i couldn't wait any longer, and it wasn't gonna happen in texas.

as soon as i hit san diego--it was a thursday evening--i found a motel, checked in, and the first call i made was to the gay and lesbian center (i still remember how i had to nut up just to ask directory assistance for the number, and how surprised i was when she gave it to me without sneering). i called and asked the guy who answered if they had any kind of coming-out group, and he said, "yeah, and it starts in 15 minutes--you better hurry."

that wasn't really what i wanted to hear, but i was damned if i was gonna wait another week. so i headed over, parked, walked into the center, went to the closed door to which they directed me--the meeting had already started--took a deep breath, opened it, and as i stepped into a large room full of guys sitting in a big circle (who all looked up, of course), i said, in a small, quiet voice, "gee, i hope i'm not too late."

to which somebody replied, "hey, it's never too late," everybody laughed, and i was welcomed into a room full of gay men just like me.

i can't begin to tell you what an amazing time i had that night--listening to their stories, telling them mine, feeling total acceptance for the first time ever. and afterwards, i was invited to their usual post-meeting gathering at a nearby diner. when we finally parted company that night, many hugs and phone numbers were exchanged, and i said i'd see 'em next week.

and the following day, my interview went equally well. amazing firm--they loved me, i loved them, they were ready to make me an offer the following tuesday pending a final interview with a partner who happened to be out of town until then. i promised to be back bright and early tuesday morning.

i tell you, by friday at noon, i was on cloud nine--a gorgeous new city, a world-class firm who wanted me, and an open, friendly, accepting gay community who loved me for me. what more could i ask for, right?

i never saw any of those people again.

[i'm sorry if i'm dashing everyone's expectations of a nice, sweet, easy coming-out story, but if that's what you were really expecting then all i can say is, you're obviously new here.]

because, having a weekend to kill, i decided to use that time to drive up to los angeles, where my four best friends from architecture school had ended up, and hang with them for a couple days.

long story short: by the end of the weekend they were begging me to pick l.a. instead of san diego and, overcome by nostalgia for all the good times we used to have, i picked up the sunday times, circled some ads, called four firms on monday morning and allowed myself to be seduced by the guy who told me my first project would be assisting with the remodel of johnny carson's old malibu beach house for a celebrity couple.

and thus the die was cast.

what i didn't know at the time was, (a) my new boss would turn out to be another demanding autocratic asshole just like the one i'd fled in austin, (b) the celebrity couple would turn out to be high-maintenance mental-patient nutcases (welcome to hollywood, mike), (c) the friends i'd moved to los angeles to be with, would--every one--abandon the city and move back to texas within a year, and, finally (d) the l.a. gay and lesbian center would have no coming-out group (a problem i'd tackle later, but that's another post entirely).

basically what i'd done was take a big step backwards from san diego--even though i was in a new place, i had fallen back in with old friends from an old life--people who still knew me as straight--and i didn't have the tools to break that perception.

the next six months were a blur--i was sleeping on rick and laura's couch for much of that time until i could afford my own place, working my ass off, dodging the high-maintenance celebrity couple's incessantly whining phone calls as best i could and basically not being gay in the least.

none of that shit mattered, though--the thing was, the fuse had been lit, and it was only a matter of time before it blew. the flashpoint came over memorial day weekend, during the rally.

the rally: an annual event among my crowd that takes place even unto this day--basically a glorified but incredibly elaborate scavenger hunt. the host (who changes each year) comes up with a theme, writes scripts and plants clues in various locations for six to eight teams. it starts on saturday morning of each memorial day weekend, and ends up that night at a party location disclosed only when you solve the last clue (and while the rally's fun, it's also deadly serious--these folks play for blood). two days of drunken debauchery follow the event.

the whole thing had started in austin but moved to california when most of the originators did, and people came from all over every year to participate. this was the first time i had ever done it, however, and i found myself in a foursome with this really hot--and openly gay--guy named john, who had moved from austin to san francisco a year earlier.

our team came in third that year, but i didn't care--by saturday night, i was totally smitten. we partied that night and laid out in the sun on redondo beach all day sunday. that night, john and laura (one-half of the couple i then lived with) announced they were going up to west hollywood for the evening to have dinner with one of john's friends, and asked me if i wanted to go (like there was a question).

we had a great time, at a little gay mexican restaurant on santa monica blvd. called la fabula (long gone, unfortunately). it was such a heady experience--every time some guy would smile at me, john would kick me under the table, catch my eye and grin.

later, when we got back to the party house, people were winding down after two drunken days, knowing they had to fly home tomorrow, crawling into their sleeping bags (which were all over the place; we're talking 35 people in a two-bedroom condo). laura stayed up with us for a little while, then retired, leaving us alone. john and i talked and talked, and i finally said, "look, i know we have to go to bed, but i also know you're going home to san francisco tomorrow, and i really don't want this to end."

and he looked back at me, and said, "it doesn't have to end, mike. come to bed with me."

to which i replied, "i can't do that--there's people everywhere; what would they think?"

and to which he replied, "that's your problem, not mine. invitation's open." and then he smiled, walked off, stripped down to his skivvies and crawled into his sleeping bag.

and there it was--as stark a sophie's choice as i'd ever faced in my life: deny myself and do what's safe as i'd always done; or, for the first time in my life, do what i want and deal with the consequences.

and, you know what? what had happened in san diego made the choice easy.

the next morning--memorial day, bright and early--the sun is shining, i open one eye and the first thing i see is a sea of feet and ankles surrounding our sleeping bag. then i realize what had awakened me is not all the feet but all the half-whispering: "who's that in there with john--oh my god, is that MIKE?" "is he GAY?" "holy SHIT, did you know mike was gay?" "get over here, look at this!" "i didn't know mike was gay, did you know he was GAY?" "MIKE?! that can't be mike!" "oh my god look at them this is so fucking COOL."

john saved the moment--he sat up, barked, "get the fuck away and let us get up!"

the room cleared.

john got up to head for the shower, asked me if i wanted to join him; i declined, dressed and went out to face my friends.

who totally and completely accepted me--hell, were finally grateful for an explanation as to why i had isolated myself while we were all in architecture school (which, if you don't know, is about as fucking gay as it gets).

so it turns out super-straight mike was gay, and everything was still ok--how 'bout that?

on the way back to l.a., and full of my new-found freedom, i euphorically confessed to laura my feelings for john.

to which she replied, "mike, honey, i love john, but i gotta tell you the truth: every rally, he cuts one from the herd--this year, it was you. sorry, but don't count on a callback."

oh.

but hey, two lessons are better than one, right?