lgbtq
The letters LGBTQ are just another way of saying that Love is Love.
The Date
I left mum in the kitchen fixing dinner for José Luis while he was watching some noisy animation on the pad. Keeping each other company and discussing the non-sense that came out of their mouths did well for them. I had set myself for an evening drive choosing less traffic over peace of mind, accepting the occasional drunkard of a Friday night. Driving downtown and picking up a group of friends heading to clubs and bars, dressed sparsely and loud as ducks, was a way to take a bite of the night spirit. It was the only one I could afford or dared to taste since Micky had moved to Guadalajara convinced that he could make a business out of the pockets of gringos looking for a next-door exotic vacation. José Luis had not seen his father for three years. Not that I missed him but life was easier then. Was I angry? I had been. Very. Not for the reasons one might think of thou, not the obvious ones. The thing is Mikey and I had plans here in Houston. Our families had moved before we were born. They did it the right way, no river crossing, no smugglers involved and, when it was our turn, there was a proper job for him and a business project on my side. Things had worked for a while, things were literally working, but then he started talking with his brothers. They put this idea in his mind that there was a lot of money to make back in Mexico, either building cheap flats for American and Canadians or organizing trips for lazy travellers. This would have been something I could live with, if only he had come up with it before José Luis was born. I was angry because I knew that, if I had followed him, in two years he would have pulled some other deranged idea out of his hat. Plus I wanted José Luis to be American through and through and moving wasn’t going to help. The passport wasn’t enough. Of course, when he left my project went tits up too. I could not afford the risk with a two-year-old child to raise. Mum moved in with us a month later, bringing with her two pieces of luggage and her flowers pots and I picked up the driving gig. Not a lot of money but a decent hastle to keep things spinning. By the way, his real name is Miguel but he liked being called Mickey, another crazy idea of his.
By Davide Rubini5 years ago in Humans
The Loneliest Year: Part Two
April 2020 After Jesse broke my heart in November, I lost the motivation to work out and eat healthy. Now the gyms were closed, and I was limited to at-home exercises where I used candles as barbells. Committed to getting back to my former fitness level, I signed up for a healthy meal service named Fit-Meal Fit-Life, and I used half of my $1200 stimulus check to pay double the price for a set of adjustable dumbbells. I did the math, and I figured if I didn’t go to the gym for a year and a half, I would recoup the expense.
By Navaris Darson5 years ago in Humans
The Loneliest Year: Part Ten
December 2020 I tested negative for COVID-19 multiple times. Unable to bear the thought of spending a 37th year single and alone, I decided not to acknowledge or celebrate Christmas at all this year. And it honestly made things better.
By Navaris Darson5 years ago in Humans
The Loneliest Year: Part Six
August 2020 I figured out the explosive bass I’d been hearing in my bedroom since June was coming from an apartment three floors above me, WHICH WAS INSANE. When I went to ask other tenants if they were also bothered by the music, a very cute guy came to one of the doors wearing a mask. The next day I taped a handwritten letter to his door, asking if he might want to stay in touch. I wasn’t sure if he was gay or single, but my intuition told me to go for it. He messaged me that night, and as we chatted on Instagram, he shared a photo of his girlfriend. Cool, cool, cool.
By Navaris Darson5 years ago in Humans
The Loneliest Year: Part Three
May 2020 I walked a lot. I walked by myself, and occasionally, I’d go on a socially-distanced walk with a friend. While walking with my friend, Grant, at Pan Pacific Park, we ran into my friend, Tamara, and we talked to each other, spread out in a giant triangle.
By Navaris Darson5 years ago in Humans
Above and Beyond
Phillip Kincaid kindly thanked the buxom young hostess who saw him to his table. The swishing of her black skirt as she walked away caught his eye and made him shake his head unnoticeably and with moderate disapproval. “Times have changed,” he said to himself, remembering the tuxedoed maître d’ from his first visit to The Chateau sixty years earlier. Though the charming little restaurant still had much of its original allure—including the three crystal chandeliers in the middle of the main dining room—his uninterrupted annual visits bore witness to the abandoning of its glory years of formal dining into what Phillip’s surviving college classmates referred to as “a quaint dive.”
By Marc Preston Moss5 years ago in Humans
