The last time Drew went out of town, I couldn’t kiss him goodbye.
He got picked up by a cab outside his apartment building, and the driver was watching. Even though we were in West Hollywood (probably the gayest city on Earth) and the driver was being paid by Drew to perform a service, not judge his sexual orientation, it didn’t seem safe, and we said goodbye with a wave.
This weekend at Drew’s friend’s wedding (these were straight friends), both of us got really drunk, and Drew was obviously feeling pretty bold. He kissed me at the reception in front of a room full of people. Granted, most of them were dancing, and we were off to the side where no one was paying attention to us. But one guy, an older, uptight-looking man straight out of Reaction Shot Central Casting, saw the whole thing, and he jeered at us with disapproval and gave a disgusted look.
We couldn’t stop laughing about it all night.
On Tuesday morning, Drew drove me to my car dealership, where I’d left my car over the holiday weekend for some repairs. We had spent three solid days together and now we were saying goodbye again. Once again, lots of people were around, but nobody was really looking.
We played it safe and waved.
Drew called me a few minutes later on my cell phone. He apologized for not being as bold as he’d been at the wedding and said, “Sometimes I hate being gay.”
Drew’s going away again this weekend, and I’ll be there when he leaves. But depending on the variables of the situation, I’m not sure how we’ll end up saying goodbye.
But I’ll have my cell phone on me just in case.