His First Bar
by J. Adams Oaks

L eif would have found it hard to say exactly when they got to the club. He felt like his first real dance was with the cab. It didn’t matter that he’d shared the taxi with the Sheridan boys or their best friend, Kate. He leaned back in his own little corner and let his arm lounge over the headrest which felt like the shoulder of some unknown guy: and away they flew, through the Chicago night, past stop-lights and three-flats and neon signs and trees.

“You’ve really never been to a gay bar before, Leif?” shrieked the boys. “God, that is so weird–"

“Our closest neighbor lives fifteen miles away,” Leif said softly, opening and closing his cell phone.

Gosh, it’s hard to be indifferent like them, he thought, and tried not to smile, tried not to care, but every single thing was so new and exciting: Michael’s coral choker, Jose’s new blue Pumas, Kate’s little red head pushing above her white boa like a flower through snow. He’d remember it all forever. It had even made him a little sad to see his cousin Michael throw away the wisps of tissue paper he pulled from under the collar of his new Marc Jacobs shirt. Leif would have kept those designer wisps as souvenirs. Jose leaned forward and put his hand on Michael’s knee.

“Listen,” he said. “We are off to Hydrate by midnight. Right, bean?”

Man, how awesome it’d be to have a brother. Through his excitement, Leif felt like–if there had been time–he’d have cried because he was an only child, and no big brother would ever call him, ‘bean.’ No little brother would ever say, just like Michael did to Jose, “Man, your hair kills tonight!”

But, of course, there was no time to cry. They were suddenly in Boystown, surrounded by other cabs. Halsted Street was even brighter than usual from moving fan-like lights on either side, just like in the movies, and on the wide sidewalks couples seemed to float through the chilly winter air; shiny Italian shoes chased each other like birds.

“Hold on to me, Leif, or you’ll get lost,” said Jose.

“Come on, girls, let's make a dash for it,” said Michael.

Leif put two fingers on the back of Jose’s green wool coat, and they were somehow lifted past a big gold and rainbowed pillar, carried past a bouncer and a cashier, and pushed toward a little room marked “Coat Check” where the crowd was so packed, there was hardly space to take off their things. The noise was deafening. Two old guys in black tank-tops ran up and down with fresh armfuls. Behind them were two long racks jammed full of jackets. And at the far corner everybody was pressing forward trying to get at a little ATM for cash.

A great green quivering laser spread across the ceiling (It can’t wait; it’s dancing already). When a door far across the bar opened, out burst thumping music from the dance floor, it leaped into every corner.

Black boys and brown boys and blonde boys all patted their hair, straightened their pants and shirts, squeezed up close to the bar, anxious for their first drink of the night. And because they were all laughing together, they all seemed so beautiful to Leif.

“Are you wearing body glitter?” cried a voice. “How fabulous! You’re shiny all over!”

“Be a darling and check my teeth,” cried someone else.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I need a needle and thread. I just tore out miles and miles of frill,” wailed a third.

“Pass them along! Pass them along!” people hollered. A straw basket of programs was tossed from hand to hand. Inside: a nest of little pink-and-silver raffle tickets. Leif’s fingers shook as he took one out of the basket. He wanted to ask somebody, “I get one too?” but he had just enough time to read: ‘Ms. Tipsy is Making Feathers Fly! Midnight Drawing for a Cruise for Two,’ when Michael cried, “Ready, Leif?” and they pressed their way through the crush in the passage towards the big double doors to the dance floor.

Not one guy had touched the dance floor yet like nobody heard the loud music. Leif, pressing close to Michael and looking over Michael’s shoulder thought: Even the little shivering rainbow flags strung across the ceiling look like their talking! He forgot about being shy; he forgot how in the middle of getting dressed that night he’d sat down on his bed with one shoe on and begged his mother to call his cousins and say he couldn’t go. And the sudden rush of longing he’d had to be sitting on the porch of their long-gone country home in the moonlight listening to the baby owls crying, “More mice… More mice..,” changed to a rush of joy so sweet that it was hard to endure alone. He clutched his cell phone, and, looking at the gleaming, golden floor, the disco ball, the strobe lights, the stage at one end with its red railing and gold stools and the video screen hung in a corner, he thought breathlessly: Perfection! This is perfection!

All the young guys grouped together at one arched entry, the drag queens at the other, and older men all dressed in black, smiling foolishly, walked with long cocky strides over the polished floor towards the stage.

“This is my little country cousin Leif. Make sure he has fun,” said Jose, going up to one cute friend after another, “and make him dance and be nice to him; he’s under my wing.”

Strange faces smiled at Leif, sweetly, vaguely, and the strange voices answered, “Of course, my dear.” But Leif didn’t feel like those guys really saw him. They were looking at other men. Why didn’t someone start dancing? What were they waiting for? There they stood, smoothing their shirts, patting their glossy hair and smiling among their little groups. Then, suddenly, as though they’d all made up their minds at the same time what they had to do, guys came gliding over the parquet floor. There was a fantastic flutter among the boys. A tall, blond guy with dimples flew up to Michael, grabbed his arm, said something in his ear; Michael passed him on to Leif.

“Your cousin said I should say hi.” He bobbed around, his green eyes shining.

Then came a dark-haired man wearing glasses, then cousin Kate with a friend, and Jose with a little freckled guy with a crooked tie. Then this fat old man with a big bald patch on the top of his head walked right up to them and murmured, “Let me see… let me see…” like it was a yard sale and took a long time comparing each boy, looking from Jose to Michael to nervous Leif. It seemed to give the man so much trouble that Leif was ashamed for him. “Oh, please,” Leif said impatiently, “don’t bother.” But instead of replying, the fat man looked at Jose from head to toe, and then glanced at Leif again. “Do I remember this bright little face?” he asked, his voice reaching a high whine. “Is it known to me of yore?” The fat man cackled, like a witch, thought Leif. And at that moment, as the song changed, the fat man disappeared. He was tossed away on a great wave of music that came flying over the gleaming floor, breaking groups up into twos and threes, scattering them, sending them spinning….

Leif had learned to dance at boarding school. Every Saturday night the boarders gathered in a little corrugated iron mission hall for an all-ages co-ed dance party thrown by the church and included both baked goods and a DJ.

The difference between that dusty, smelly hall–with its religious texts on the walls, the poor clueless DJ in a purple fedora spinning 80s tunes, the pastor poking the girls and boys with a long white wand for getting too close–and this magical place was so dramatic that Leif was sure if not one single man approached him all night and he had to listen to that fabulous music and to watch the others sliding over the golden floor, he might die or faint or lift his arms and fly out of one of those dark colored windows that exposed the city lights.

“Hi there–” A guy smiled and asked Leif to dance (I don’t have to die after all). The guy’s perfect teeth glowed purple in the black light. His hand pressed against Leif’s waist, and they flew into the mass of dancers like flower petals tossed into a summer’s gust of wind.

“Crowd’s not bad tonight,” drawled the guy’s faint voice close to Leif’s ear.

“I think it’s breathtaking,” Leif said.

“What?” The faint voice sounded surprised. Leif said it again. And there was a tiny pause before the voice echoed, “Oh yeah!” as he spun around again.

The guy danced beautifully, like punk and hip-hop and ballet all rolled into one. Leif decided that was the great difference between dancing at boarding school and dancing in Chicago. People knew what they were doing, or at least had the attitude to make you believe them.

The flags were no longer separate banners; they were one rainbow swirling around him.

“Were you dancing at Berlin last night?” the voice came again. It sounded tired. Leif wondered whether he should ask the guy if he wanted to stop.

“No, this is my first gay bar,” Leif said.

His partner gave a little gasping laugh. “No way,” he protested.

“Yes, it’s really the first bar I’ve ever been in.” Leif was adamant. It was such a re-lief to be able to tell somebody. “I’ve lived on a farm my whole life until now…”

At that moment the music changed, and the guy led Leif to chairs against the wall in the other room. Leif tucked his red Chuck Taylors under his chair and fanned himself with one hand as he blissfully watched couples passing and disappearing through the swing doors.

“Enjoying yourself, Leif?” asked Jose, nodding his golden head.

Kate passed and gave him the faintest little wink; it made Leif wonder for a moment whether he might be growing up a little. Certainly his partner didn’t say very much. He coughed, tucked his shirt back in, pulled at the collar, took a minute to roll up his sleeves. But it didn’t matter. Almost immediately the music picked up the beat and another friend of Michael’s seemed to spring from the ceiling to snatch him up and guide him back to the dance floor.

“Crowd’s not bad,” said the new voice. Did everybody always begin with the crowd? And then, “Were you at Spin on Tuesday?” And again Leif explained. It’s a little weird that nobody’s that interested in me. I mean, Hello! My first gay bar! He was at the beginning of everything. It seemed to him like he’d never really known what The Night was like before that moment. Up until then it had been dark, silent, beautiful very often, but mournful somehow. Solemn. And now it would never be like that again–it had opened up, dazzling and bright.

“Wanna cosmo?” said his partner. And they went through the swinging doors to the front bar. Leif’s cheeks burned, he was unbelievably thirsty. The cocktails looked so sweet poured from all those bright-colored bottles, and how refreshing the frosted martini glasses! And when they came back to the dance floor there was that fat man lurking by the door.

“Come along, little bird,” said the fat man. He clasped Leif by the arm, and they moved onto the floor (more like walking than dancing). It freaked Leif out a bit to see how old the guy really was; shouldn’t he have to stay in the corner with the other old guys and drag queens? When Leif compared him with his other partners he looked shabby. His shirt was wrinkled, his jeans were saggy, his shoes looked dusty like they were covered in chalk.

But the fat man didn’t mention the crowd at all:

“Your first gay bar, isn’t it?” he burbled into Leif’s ear.

“How did you know?”

“Ah,” said the fat man, “that’s what it is to be older!”

He wheezed faintly as he steered Leif around a drunken couple.

“You see, I’ve been doing this kind of thing for the last thirty years.”

“Thirty years?” cried Leif. Ten years before I was born!

“Please, little bird, don’t think too hard about the math,” said the fat man gloomily.

Leif looked at the brown spots on the dome of the man’s head and felt sorry for him.

“I think it’s fabulous you still go out,” Leif said.

“Kind little bird,” said the fat man, and he moved in a little closer to hum a bar from the song before he continued, “Of course,” he said, “you’ll never last as long as I have, Twinkletoes. Oh, No-o…. Long before that, you’ll be up there at the railing, looking on, in your expensive black outfit. And these pretty arms will have withered and you’ll waste every weekend watching and you’ll smile away like the poor old dears up there and point at a youngster like yourself and tell the old queen next to you to look, just look at that vile man trying to kiss the newbie on the dance floor. And your heart will ache… ache….” The fat man grabbed Leif’s arm, pulling him in so close that their breaths mingled, and he squeezed gently as if he really were sorry for that poor heart, “…because no one wants to kiss you anymore. And you’ll comment to another old queen how slippery the floors have gotten and to another how dangerous they are in the dark, on and on until another night is over.”

Leif gave a light little laugh even though he didn’t feel like laughing, “But I haven’t even been kissed yet….” Was it–Is it true? It sounds true. Is this bar only the beginning of my last? The music seemed to change; it sounded sad; it rose into a great wail.

“I wanna stop now,” Leif said, breathlessly. The fat man followed him, first toward the front door and then back toward the front bar.

“No,” Leif said, “I don’t wanna go outside and I don’t wanna sit down and I wanna stand here, thank you.” He leaned against the wall, tapping his foot, pulling down his tight shirt and trying to smile. But deep inside him a little boy threw his arms over his face and sobbed.

“You know,” said the fat man, “you shouldn’t take me seriously, little bird.”

“As if!” said Leif, whipping his spray-tanned face away and sucking on his lower lip.

New faces paraded past. The swinging doors opened and shut. New music started. But Leif didn’t want to dance anymore. I want to be home, or sitting on the porch listening to the baby owls. When he looked through the dark windows at the city lights, they had long blurry beams like wings….

A soft, melting, seductive beat began and a friend of Michael’s appeared in front of Leif just as suddenly as the fat man had disappeared. Michael’s friend had amazing, thick, curly hair that caught in his long eyelashes. Leif decided he’d dance, out of politeness, until he could find his cousins. Very stiffly he walked directly into the middle of the crowd; very arrogantly he nodded at his new partner. But in one second, one beat, one turn, his feet glided, glided, and the lights and lasers and strobes and glittered faces and golden chairs all became one beautiful roller-coaster ride with his new curly-haired dance partner beaming, commenting on the crowd of course, and it all became so glorious that when they bumped into the fat man and said, “Sorry!” Leif smiled at him more radiantly than ever, not recognizing him one bit.