When you grow up in Cornwall, Ontario
Ottawa is The Big City just an hour away
making Alanis a huge deal. Our homegirl
who made it big in ‘95
………………………………………the year I moved
to Vancouver for grad school. Having survived
my home town secondary
by being a class clown, a charmer
maybe
………….I was the harmless yearbook editor,
………….that theatre guy with a ponytail, the kid
………….whose father worked as shop steward
………….but hung out with the doctor’s son
I couldn’t wait to get
to university to find more people
like me. But in my undergrad
I looked around that first day
of classes thinking, Oh
these are just
the same people from other
small town high schools.
…………SO, I don’t know why
I was convinced a fine arts program
would be fag heaven, but
you guessed it, I was the only
gay guy in my MFA
………….………….………….where
one male prof told me
the first chapter of my novel
about a millworker who has sex
on the downlow with men in a park
despite having a girlfriend
was a boring subject.
Nobody was interested
in a millwright at work,
………….………….……………..though
the only portion
of the story at a mill
was about the millwright’s brother
who burned to death
on the job, from an accident
with a bucket
of burning motor oil.
Boring.
Deaths in Canada from HIV peaked in ’95.
One thousand, seven hundred
and sixty-four, which was the second
leading cause of death
for young men under 44
after suicides.
………….………….I wonder
which young men
were killing themselves?
And why?
………….…..The good news is that 1995
was also the year of the AIDS ‘cocktail’
thanks to a jagged little pill called AZT
which made every gay man’s life expectancy
possible.
………….…..Not to overlook the mental
………….…..health benefits too.
My first roommate in Vancouver
was a lezzie set dec coordinator
for a TV production company.
Her brother had just died of AIDS
so he’d missed the cocktail
by months. Irony is its own
bitter pill.
Gail hadn’t let her second room
for the year her sibling was dying
but now she was ready, she’d said
to bring some gay male energy
into her life again.
She had one rule: I wasn’t to have
anonymous sex in our apartment
which I mistakenly tested the bounds of
when I picked up Gary
on a city bus. We’d talked
and flirted and went back to my place
for a fun night of my tongue
connecting the dots
of his body’s freckles.
In the kitchen that next morning, with Gary
in my new bedroom, Gail grilled me
on where we’d met, did I know
his name, how long
had I known him.
………….…..………….…….I thought
a conversation on a bus ride sufficient cuz
I’d gotten his name, but in the light
of day, she and I obviously
had differing opinions
of what ‘anonymous’ meant.
Ditto, safe sex.
………….…..……….She didn’t talk to me
for a week. Eventually I’d move out
cuz of her coke habit.
Another male prof that year
told me he felt he couldn’t comment
on my essay because
he didn’t know anything about
gay stuff
………….…—as if words are illegible
written by a queer hand—
………….…..………….…..…………which
is kinda the same logic
that thinks a straight man’s body
is somehow built different
than a homo’s,
………….…..……….as if
prostates
are the unicorns of queer butts.
’95 could have been my year
to take the cue from Alanis
to allow myself to be angry
at people who considered my queerness
a condition, rendering me
untouchable,
………….…..……..unknowable perhaps
despite all my writing
being an invitation to strangers
to know me better.
………….…..………….……..Rage
was a great motivator
for social change, sure, if we’re talking
institutions and human rights, like
AIDS drugs, same-sex marriage,
adoption rights, and health insurance
or permission to be in the hospice room
with your dying partner even
if his parents want to refuse you,
rage, sure.
………….…….But
interpersonally, anecdotally,
I can assure you that nobody
liked an angry faggot.
Photo credit: Jessica Zais Photography
Michael V. Smith is a writer, performer and filmmaker. Smith has won a number of awards for his work, most recently garnering Director’s Choice at the Cinema Diverse festival in Palm Springs for his feature documentary The Floating Man. A full professor, Smith teaches Creative Writing at UBC Okanagan in Kelowna, BC.
