Sudden Conclusions

With all the excitement of the night before, I forget to go to the big reveal. Monday comes and goes, and I don’t hear a thing. At least, not for three weeks or so. Not until it all happens suddenly.

Friday night tends to be college bar night. A dress code of collared shirts and nice pants is strictly enforced. Except not today. Without warning, its Drag Night. Everyone gets dolled up as skankily as possible and enjoys an evening of homoeroticism.

I show up, and immediately feel out of place in my conservative skirt. Everyone’s really gone all out. It’s like the Las Vegas Strip, except more than the typical 30% trannie rate. Immediately, I run back to my room for a camera.

Boob grabs, upskirt photos, dry humping, drag parties bring out the latent homoeroticism everyone has but is afraid to show. For one night, let it free. I left early. Drag creeps me out, but god forbid I appear to enjoy myself. As always, its only ok if you pretend not to like it.

I only got called out once. The college VP, the one responsible for win-on announcements, yelled in a drunken slur, “Hey! Why are you taking photos of only the guys?!” Ignoring momentarily that my photos are about 50/50, I leaned over and said “Because the guy’s costumes are better.”

He stared at me blankly for a second before snapping back to consciousness. “Oh yeah, that’s right!”

That was the only warning I’d get.

The next day, I’m lazing around in Becca’s room, annoying her like usual. I pick up her pink hippo, her favorite stuffed animal. “It’s such a cute poof,” I say. She recoils.

“My hippo is not a poof! It’s tough!”

So I respond calmly that one can be a poof and tough at the same time. She just looks at me quizzically.

“You don’t have to be so defensive. We all know about you.”

*Blink Blink* What?

“Oh, you didn’t know? Your win-on was announced at the meeting a few weeks back.”

I laughed, then promptly left the room and walked across college. An independent source from another block confirmed what Becca said. It actually made me angry. Did nobody think to tell me?!

I was stunned. Who knew? Suddenly, it stressed me. College meetings have spotty attendance. Some know, some don’t. I’m like a timebomb. I’d have to out myself to everyone, but I needed a good test subject.

I hovered around the fresher block for the rest of the evening, looking for one particular guy who I figured would be helpful to show up. Unfortunately, my poster wasn’t going to do itself. The stress would have to be supplanted by homework stress. I’d simply have to live under the assumption everyone knew, and take problems as they show up. That’s how we all should live.

That night, I called Two. I’d been on a few dates, and we’d made out a few times. I invited him to go clubbing with me. He said he was too tired, but added that he didn’t think we were going to work. It both confused and amused me, seeing how amorous he’d been towards me in the past.

He told me he wasn’t looking for a relationship right now, so I did the most logical thing: I asked him if we could still fuck around. I’m being excessively crude; I quote myself. He told me he wasn’t looking for anything at the moment, and that he’s sorry if I expected anything.

I’m an exchange student. I don’t expect a thing.

According to his friends, this was inevitable. He has intimacy issues. Better we weed these types out in the beginning, no?

The next morning, out and single, I return to Carden Room, the place where it all started. Another typical afternoon, with the typical cast of characters. Until Sydney Boy pops into the room and asks if we know where he can find Dion.

My jaw drops. “What are you doing here?!”, but he’s already gone. I don’t know if I should thank him or slap him. All of this is his fault. An unbroken chain, starting from the night we went guerrilla chalking, and ending with a realization.

I was upset because there was no reaction to my being outed. Life went on as if nothing was different. And in reality, nothing was. My homophobic friends continue to be just that, my friends. I don’t scrub so hard to the The Beat stamp off my arm. Chalking was all about standing out, but in the end, it’s all about being mostly the same.

One of these days, I’d like to thank Sydney Boy properly. Interpret that as you will.


Oh, and because I know you’re all curious, enjoy photos from Drag Night:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2066580&l=6cd10&id=3108199