ONE CHOICE!!

 If you vote for anyone else, 

I truly believe you are mentally ill.

UNVEILING FIRST LOVE / PART TWO: COLLEGE, CROSSROADS, AND CARNIVAL

UNVEILING FIRST LOVE

PART TWO:   COLLEGE, CROSSROADS, AND CARNIVAL

Parting ways with Ron was incredibly grueling.

At twenty-one, leaving my hometown wasn't easy either.  I mean, it was scary, especially moving out of state, but it wasn't my first time living away from home.

I couldn't wait to get out from under my parents' roof. Nothing bad had happened; I just wanted to chart my own course and be the master of my own life.

For several years, I see-sawed between work and school, constantly shifting my focus from one to the other. Only once did I attempt to juggle both simultaneously, and it was exhausting and draining, and my low grades proved that.

My first taste of independence was in a five-room, two story boarding house called The White House just off Ohio State campus. I lived there for four months, where I shared a kitchen and bathroom. Coincidentally, I was not attending O.S.U. then (at that time I had already completed 1.5 years), but instead worked for the Ohio Taxation Department, stuffing envelopes. Yep. I was earning money, but it was ridiculously dismal.

About thirty of us would sit around two of those standard putrid-tannish oval conference tables pushed together in a plain windowless room. The radio would be on and the hit at that time was Billy Paul's, Me and Mrs. Jones. As soon as I hear that song today, I'm instantly propelled back into that seat, stuffing!

I felt trapped in an endless gray fog, where every day blurred into the next in a dreary, monotonous haze. I didn't fit into the robotic, mechanical grind. I thrive on creativity, and there was none there.

I quit and returned to college. I wanted a brand new start, so I applied to Ohio University's Lancaster branch and was accepted. I continued my Theatre major, transferring all my credits from Ohio State University.

So I moved to Lancaster, Ohio, about thirty minutes from Grove City, and had a roommate named Steve Mack. He was definitely bohemian and an artsy hippy who liked hard rock, unlike me, who loved The Carpenters. But Steve had a genuinely affable way about him and I liked the guy.

I don't think he was gay, but we never discussed it. He had a unique attractiveness, though I didn't feel any sexual attraction towards him.

Me overlooking Lancaster, Ohio 

Lancaster revived me and I made many new friends at college and participated in productions like "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum," playing a Eunuch! I even formed a band and performed a medley of songs at the annual Talent Night. I felt like a star on stage, channeling the charisma and presence of Tom Jones or Gordon Lightfoot.

Playing a Eunuch in the musical A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum at Ohio University, Lancaster, with Mike Friesner and Tommy Deeds

Me and Bill Sharp in my apartment, which I shared with Steve Mack, for the after-party of Talent Night at O.U. Lancaster.  Bill was the genius behind my performance, playing the piano and leading the other members of the band.  What a genius.  I just found out he died at 64 in 2019.    I hadn't seen him in eons.  Damn.

Me and Toni Sutton taken before my Talent Night performance.  She was also one of the backup singers as well as a dear friend and student at O.U. Lancaster

I attended only the spring semester and, near the end, decided to shift my career focus from acting to interior design. This decision came after considering others' advice, which emphasized the practicality and realism of not pursuing a highly competitive career like show business. Interior design seemed like a more viable backup plan if theater didn't work out. I continued my acting studies, but now as a minor.

At that time, Ohio University's main campus in Athens was highly esteemed for its interior design program, and so I planned to start there in the fall.

Looking back, I realize how misguided that choice was. I was good at interior design but it was not my passion. I knew this deep down, even though I listened to others' opinions, instead of my own.

We should all pursue what we truly want and be who we really are.

When summer arrived, I moved from Lancaster back to Grove City to live with my parents. I took two jobs in the Columbus area: one at the prestigious department store Lazarus and the other at McDonald's.

At Lazarus, I worked as a salesperson in men's clothing at the Kingsdale Shopping Center in Upper Arlington, North Columbus. I also worked nearby as a cashier at McDonald's, taking customers' orders. I transitioned from wearing a dapper suit to donning a simple uniform of a blue pullover shirt and black pants. This early lesson in versatility would later serve my acting career well.

This is the time when I met Rex at The Kismet. The short small-boned boy was around my age, and was a bleached blond, my weakness. Rex shifted my trajectory!

Me and Rex

Thinking I was getting serious about him, I abruptly abandoned my plans for Ohio University Athens. Just like that, I transferred back to Ohio State University for the summer and fall semesters, returning to my first love – acting and theater. I decided to ignore others' advice and follow my passion. Fuck it.

My summer jobs came to an end,and I hooked up as a secretary working part-time with the Ohio Youth Commission, while continuing my education. As you know, my crush on Rex was just that, not true love.

Crazy love definitely influenced my choices, but that was soon to change!

Enter Ron.

I chose to leave my hometown of Columbus where Ron lived, and move to Shreveport, Louisiana, continuing my studies at Centenary College.

The night before I left, Ron and I had dinner at one of our favorite spots, a Chinese restaurant on High Street just off campus. Afterward, he walked me to my car parked near his apartment.

We stood in the dimly lit street, the glow from a nearby streetlight casting a soft halo around us. In the silence, we held each other close. I couldn't get enough of his natural scent, fresh like freshly washed clothes hanging on my mother's clothesline, gently swaying in the warm summer breeze.

What can you possibly say in a moment of painful goodbye? Nothing. Ron's eyes were teary. We kissed, and I tasted the salt of his tears on his lips. My heart ached. We tapped our rings together signifying us as a unit. , I entered my car and Ron walked away.

The next day, I loaded my parent's car with several suitcases and personal belongings. They drove me from Columbus to Shreveport, stopping for a night in Memphis. I couldn't stop thinking about my boyfriend. Though I was emotionally distraught and had a heavy heart, I kept it to myself. They didn't know I was gay or that I had a "saint" for a partner!

The journey South was a long haul and a debilitating adventure. I kept up a smiley face all the way, even though inside I was a basketcase.

Fear and doubt were strewn throughout my being. Eternal questions continuously circled my brain: What will this new college be like? How will I live in a dorm, which I've never done before? Home will no longer be accessible. Will I make friends at this new place? How will I get along? Will my new peers like me? Will I ever see Ron again??

Damn, I was leaving him behind in Columbus. What the fuck am I doing?!

When mom, dad, and I arrived in Shreveport it was late at night, so we had to wait until the next day for me to check into Centenary College. We stayed at a nearby motel and had dinner at its restaurant.

Although I wished I could have enjoyed spending time with my parents, seeing new sights, and trying new places to eat, I was in mental agony.

The next morning, after breakfast, I checked into my dorm room with Mom and Dad helping me carry my belongings. Most of the college was empty due to the holiday break. I would have several days to myself before classes began.

Mom and Dad kissed and hugged me before heading back to Ohio.

I went back to the unfamiliar dorm room, plopped on my bed, and sobbed. I felt utterly alone. However, it was a relief to finally release all the pent-up pressure from the trip down to Shreveport.

I knew my roommate's name was Perry and that he was from Texas. I hoped that he was gay, but I understood that the administration tried pairing people together based on one's major. Perry was also majoring in theater.

I organized my belongings and adorned my side of the room with familiar items from home to soothe my tumultuous emotions. I displayed framed pictures of Cher, Liza, Diana, and Barbra. Using a nail and hammer, I hung a 20x24 painting I had created, featuring two androgynous figures embracing, accompanied by a Rod McKuen poem: "It doesn't matter who you love or how you love, but that you love."

Taken in my dorm room at Centenary College

I plugged in my record player and small television that my Grandma Clifford gifted me for my high school graduation. I played Helen Ready's album, Long Hard Climb, which included the singles, Leave Me Alone and Delta Dawn.

On the bookshelf, I displayed some of my record albums, including Bette Midler's second album entitled, Bette Midler, featuring a clever caricature of her with red frizzy hair, a black tight low-cut dress, and strapped cloggy pumps on the cover. Next to Bette, I propped up Streisand's, The Way We Were.

Atop the television, I placed a small stuffed animal and a 4x6 photograph of Ron that we had taken one afternoon at O.S.U., amongst the vivid, eye-catching fall leaves.

With the college on break, I wandered around campus, ate at the student cafeteria, and located the local gay bar, called the Gay 90s. One night, I took a cab there. While dancing alone, Aretha Franklin's new song, "Until You Come Back to Me," began playing. The haunting lyrics made me think of Ron constantly.

I'm going to rap on your door

Tap on your windowpane

I'm going to camp by your steps

Until I get through to you.

'Til you come back to me, that's what I'm gonna do.

I left the dance floor and sat at a table, drinking sparkling water. I longed to hear Ron's voice. However, back then, making a long-distance call was prohibitively expensive, with the phone company charging by the minute. Whew.

Then, as if by fate, our Shirley Bassey song spinned, "Never, Never, Never." Hearing the lyrics only deepened my already sorrowful state, but I transported myself to the memory of holding Ron on the couch in his living room, as Shirley belted her heart out.

For the rest of the evening I was just perched on the chair, my legs crossed and my hands folded in my lap, listening to the music, and people-watching.

The next evening, after turkey and dressing dinner in the cafeteria, I was overwhelmed with pounding tension and anxiety. I dashed outside, agitated, and wandered around the grounds until I came upon the college track.

I leisurely ambled the track. At one point I flopped down on the rubbery turf, under the umbrella of bright moonbeams.

My lonely heart still racing, I started running the track, sweating as I expelled my toxic distress. After a few deep breaths, I began to feel more like myself.

It was the first time I had ever run like that. Jogging soon became a regular part of my fitness routine, a habit I faithfully maintained for decades.

Finally, the holiday break ended. Students began returning to campus, including the dorms. I met Perry, my new roommate. He was slightly taller than my six-foot frame, with dirty blonde hair, a clean-shaven baby face, and a somewhat untoned build.

He was pleasant, well-mannered, and easy to get along with, though he was somewhat naive and socially awkward, which sometimes annoyed me. Recently out of the closet, he had many questions about being gay, the gay community, and gay life. I was more than happy to share my experiences with him. Over time, Perry came to see me as a big brother.

One night we were in bed ready to sleep, lights were off, and we began chatting about life and our experiences growing up. At one point Perry asserted boldly, with sincere curiosity, "Dann, why do they call it 'gay' when I don't feel happy?!" Touché. I had no answer for Perry.

Classes began, and I quickly connected with the theater students, immersing myself in my acting studies and coursework. As six weeks passed, I found myself yearning for Ron. I brainstormed trying to find a way for us to be together, making the nearly impossible, possible.

I called mom and told her that I really missed her, Dad, and my Grandma Clifford, who had lived with us since I was four years old. I said, "Ya know, how about I come visit you guys for a long weekend, before midterms begin?"

To add more weight to my plea, I added tenderly, "You never know how much longer Grandma will be around." I knew exactly how to sway Mom.

My trendsetting Mother, Lois, who was way ahead of her time of women's lib!

My friends often referred to my mother as "Mrs. Clever," likening her to the mom from the popular 60s TV series, Leave It to Beaver. The comparison was spot-on: she was upbeat, caring, amiable, domestic, gullible, and easy to please. The major difference between them was that my mother was a trendsetter and had a job long before women's lib. These were the days when women were supposed to be housewives and tend only to the duties of the household. Yuck.

Well, mom relented and bought me a plane ticket to come to Columbus.

This lifted my spirits immensely. To add an extra spark to the journey, I decided to surprise Ron! I enlisted his roommate and friend, Jim, and mailed a letter to him, outlining my thrilling plan, letting him know I'd call once I was back home in Grove City.

Ron and his roommate and friend, Jim Williamson

I arrived in Columbus the night before Valentine's Day. Once settled at my parents' house, I called Jim. Unfortunately, Ron answered, so I quickly hung up. A few minutes later, I tried again, and this time Jim picked up. Luckily, Ron had gone to his room, leaving Jim free to talk. We coordinated our plan and synchronized our watches. The adventure was on.

But I was eager to hear Ron's voice now. I couldn't wait 24 hours. My rousing nerves were stirring inside with elation. I'll throw him way off course and call him. Half an hour later, I did. Jim answered, and I said, "Jim, put Ron on and tell him I'm calling from Shreveport." He shouted to Ron, who was in his bedroom, "Ron! Danny's calling from Shreveport!"

I heard Ron approaching the phone. "HI, DANNY!" shrieked Ron, with exuberant cheeriness. "My god, what a nice surprise." I replied warmly with urgency, "Oh Ron, I had to hear your voice, sweetheart." I took a beat. "I miss you so much." Ron repeated it back to me. Then I clarified, "I'm calling from the community dorm phone and just wanted to wish you a Happy VD!" Ron burst into laughter at the clever abbreviation, knowing that it also stood for venereal disease!

After fifteen minutes, we caught up, and I concluded with, "Tomorrow, Ronnie, something very special will be arriving for you, from me." His cozy and familiar response, which often followed my thoughtful gestures, was, "Ohhh, Danny...."

With profound anticipation, the next evening finally arrived.

In anticipation I barely ate anything all day. I drove over to Ron and Jim's apartment. I parked and walked up the stairs to their second floor apartment. Their drapes were open and lights were on. I cautiously tiptoed near the window and peeked in from afar. I saw no one. I rang the doorbell, thinking that Ron might answer, which would be fine. But instead Jim did, and Ron was in his bedroom readying to go out for the evening with Jim and close friends, whom I knew.

Jim quietly hugged me then ushered me in. He shouted to Ron, "It's just Betty and Liz." I thought, excellent Jim! Ron answered in a high tone, "Oh okay, I'll be out in a few minutes."

I sank into the plain kiwi-moss green sofa, taking deep breaths as Jim retreated to his bedroom.

Ron's voice was heard before I saw him. "Oh, you guys, I wonder if...." He strolled into the living room and halted dead in his tracks. Shock splashed all over his pretty face, and his sensuous mouth hanging open in disbelief.

It was clear that he was overwhelmed, his expression a blend of astonishment and awe.

"Oh. My. God. Danny....What are you doing here?!?" I coyly answered, "I'm your Valentine's date, Honey!"

With that, I zoomed into his waiting arms and we plunged into a gripping embrace.

I was home.

A delicious part of my 4-night/3-day trip was spent mostly with Ron. At one point, mom fiercely lamented, "I thought you said you wanted to spend time with us?! It seems you're spending more time with your friends on campus!" Uh, oh, I'm found out! Her disappointing comment hit me hard. Mom was right.

I returned to my studies at Centenary College. Once back in my dorm room, I was lying in bed one night, trying to sleep, yet I ached for Ron. Perry was fast asleep.

My only thought was: How could I be with him again?! I needed to pull out more magic, like immersing myself into my Lucy Ricardo weedling mode!

I contemplated, ruminated, and brainstormed. I thought, this time he has to come down here. Yes, exactly!

Next morning at breakfast, spring break plans came up in conversation with my other peeps. Some were planning a trip to the Mardi Gras. Hmm, I'd love to see this iconic, vibrant event. After all, my mom and dad spent their honeymoon there!

I started to concoct the scenario. Ron can fly here to Shreveport, spend a day or so, and we'll take a plane together to New Orleans. This way Ron could see my college, meet my new friends, view the theater where I perform, and sleep in my dorm bed.

I called him.

Ron initially thought it was a crazy idea, but he eventually came around. Neither of us had the money, but Ron suggested, "I think Jim might lend me the money." And indeed, Jim did.

Pow! The very next week, Ron arrived in Shreveport.

Playing tour guide with Ron on campus was an exhilarating experience, and I took great pride in having him there. He was so attractive that I enjoyed showing him off as my arm candy.

Ron attended class with me, ate with my friends in the dining hall, and I escorted him around the state-of-the-art Majorie Lyon's 300-seat theater one evening after dinner. In a few months I would be on stage here playing the Bishop of Durham in Vivat! Vivat Regina!

Me as the Bishop of Durham in Vivat, Vivat Regina!

With no one about, we wandered backstage, exploring the dressing areas, the green room, and the elaborate costume room, where my off-campus friend, Garland, reigned supreme. Several years later, being an exceptional seamstress and designer, he worked as Wardrobe Supervisor for CBS Television City in Los Angeles during the 80s, as well as for other major studios.

During my tour with Ron, I stepped onto the empty stage, a typical ghost light off to the side upstage, and performed a brief monologue from Six Characters in Search of an Author, that I had been rehearsing for an upcoming class. Ron, who was sitting in the first row, applauded enthusiastically from the audience, perfectly capturing my show-off moment.

Leaving the playhouse, we zipped up our jackets and headed to the dorm. The leafless trees and dim lamps of the quad created a perfect backdrop for romance. I linked my arm through Ron's, the slight chill in the air prompting me to rest my head on his shoulder. My heart raced while feeling a serene calm—a deeply fulfilling sensation. When we reached the dorm, we pushed the two beds together, improvising a cozy space, as Perry kindly offered to sleep elsewhere for a couple of nights.

The next evening we piled in a car with college friends and went dancing at Gay 90s club. It was surreal having my boyfriend by my side when just a month or so ago I was a gloomy-puss on this same dance floor, missing the hell outta this boy.  And here he is dancing with me to, "You're The First, The Last, My Everything," by Barry White!  

Of course, Ron indulged in his vodka gimlets and ended up tipsy. When he drank, Ron became sloppy and slurry, which was not enjoyable. It turned me off when someone was under the influence, as they were in an altered state and not their authentic self.

Despite coming of age during the 60s era of freedom where sex, drugs, and rock and roll ruled, I never experimented much. I preferred staying in control. After my head spun around like a whirligig lying on the bathroom floor one night from drinking too much, and I violently vomited, I swore off drinking, except for some red wine here and there. I tried weed about half a dozen times, but it never did much for me, except give me a hearty appetite!

The next day, Ron and I flew a one hour flight to New Orleans. Since Ron favored Marriott hotels, we had booked a room at their location on Canal and Chartres Streets. To him, this hotel embodied class and luxury. Our room on the 20th floor offered a stunning view of Canal Street and the Superdome.

The Marriott / New Orleans, Canal and Chartres Streets

Arriving on the day of the Rex Parade, known as "The King of Carnival," we hurried down to Bourbon Street. We tried to get into the festive celebration so we dressed marginally costum-y.

Ron was in a dark blue vest that fit over a white and navy blue plaid shirt, and he was clad in dark blue jeans. He accessorized with a pearl choker around his neck. There was a chill in the air so he put on his light black leather jacket, and carried an imperial red TWA bag, which contained some makeup, mouth gloss, a pocket pack of tissues, green eyeshadow (he always wore for special occasions), and other paraphernalia.

Ron's ensemble was off-set by oversized, clear tan-tinted sunglasses that complemented his diamond-shaped face. His dishwater blonde hair, unusually long, nearly reached his shoulders. He looked slender, colorful, and funky.

Me and Ron directly in the fun chaos of the Mardi Gras

I was decked out in a long sleeve light blue cotton Henley pullover shirt, patterned with tiny vivid cutesy bows and arrows. It resembled a pajama top and was ultra comfy and soft.

Over that I slipped on a black knitted tweed midriff that was patterned with light mini hot pink and blue dots. The bottom portion, which was just above my waist, was sky-blue, about four inches in height.

Around my waist, I draped a sheer scarlett red piece of material that could have been used for a bedroom window. I also wore a jacket that was midriff length and brownish plaid. My pants were light wash denim bell-bottoms.

The streets were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people, and the floats were passing by in grand fashion. The krewes enthusiastically tossed out doubloons and beads, and the spectators scrambled to catch them. We eagerly joined in the chaos!

We collected the "throws" they tossed, and decorated ourselves. Ron threw beads around his neck letting them cascade over his chest. I copied and did the same. He also wrapped the necklaces around his wrists, and even stuffed them in his coat pocket, dangling.

Afterwards we went into a bar, which we found in Spartacus Guide, a world-wide directory of gay bars, establishments, cruising areas, and much more for the gay person. At that time it was the quintessential global directory, well produced and put together.

Bars were never my scene. Discos, yes definitely, where I could dance. Idle chit-chat bored me, and standing around trying to strike up a conversation with strangers felt like the epitome of ennui. Despite societal pressures to conform and drink, it never truly resonated with me.

At the bar, Ron had three vodka gimlets and became buzzed, sloppily trying to hit on other guys. I was upset and resentful, just finding it a grave nuisance. It wasn't so much his flirting that bothered me, but rather his lack of respect for himself and for me by not keeping his wits about him.

I had to get him outta there.

After much persuading, I finally managed to escort him out of the bar. Ironically, Barry White's "Love's Theme" was playing as we left. Along the way back to the hotel, Ron got persnickety and demanding, arguing with me. "Why'd you make me leave?!" he balked, barely walking by himself. "I'm not drunk! I'm just feeling good. Why won't you let me have any fun?"

I tried to reason with him, but it was pointless. You can't be rational with someone who's in an irrational state.

I got him back to the Marriott, after he was leaning on me practically the entire few blocks. Once in the room he became belligerent. "I'm going back to that bar!" he barked. "I want another drink too."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I rolled my eyes, though he didn't notice. "Ron, you don't even know where that bar is!" I shouted. "Yes, I do!" he yelled back, and just like that, stormed out.

I'd had enough!  I let him go.

Then I quickly reconsidered. I couldn't let him wander the unfamiliar streets in a drunken stupor amidst the Mardi Gras crowds. The thought of him out there alone filled me with dread. Also, I didn't want to have the pressure, stress, and anxiety of waiting for him to return to know that he was okay.

I bolted out the door. Two, maybe three minutes, at the max, five minutes had passed. He couldn't have gone far. I scanned the hallway. No Ron. I rushed to the elevator and descended to the lobby. No Ron. Stepping outside, I glanced left down Rampart Street. No Ron. I got panicky.

Then I looked to the right and saw him about three-quarters down the block. I rushed after him, feeling a surge of relief.

By this time the sun was beginning to set.

I caught up to him, but he kept walking. I trailed behind, calling out, "Ron, can we please stop for a moment to talk?" He finally agreed, having calmed down a bit during our brief separation. I led him across the street to a spot under a Claiborne Oak.

Ron in New Orleans, with his TWA "purse"

"I was worried about you being alone, Ron," I explained, as we sat down on the grass. I spoke clearly, simply, and calmly, using empathy and "I" statements. This approach seemed to work. With moist eyes, he wrapped his arms around me and said, "I'm sorry. I love you, Danny." I held him, feeling my annoyance and anger melt away.

We whisked back to the hotel with Ron's arm around my waist and mine around his. Despite the cozy warmth, I was troubled by the evening's events. Returning to the room, I tucked him into bed, and shortly, he began to softly snore.

I sat on the edge of the bed, gazing out the extensive window at the tall buildings and night lights of New Orleans, feeling puzzled and lost in wandering thoughts.

The next two nights and days in New Orleans were pleasant enough, as we dismissed that chaotic episode and wedged it neatly into our furthest memory.

The day we left, we hopped in a taxi to the New Orleans International Airport. After checking in, we proceeded to the gate area. Since our gates were different—Ron heading back to Columbus and I to Shreveport—we said our farewells in a nearby hallway, as my gate was first. One thing about Ron was that he wasn't shy about PDA (public display of affection), and I relished the public kisses. He was the best kisser.

Back in Shreveport, days passed. Midterms came and went, and my studies became intense with numerous rehearsals for class scenes and projects. Being part of the college theater production kept me busy, which was a welcome distraction.

Though I longed to fondle Ron and embrace and kiss him, the whole fiasco in New Orleans had worn me out, and I was beginning to see Ron in a more realistic light. The honeymoon phase seemed to be transitioning into a different stage. I was concerned.

A major distraction, thankfully, was Barbie. From the moment we met, it felt otherworldly. We instantly bonded as creative soulmates. We had our own secret words, performed acting scenes together for class, and enjoyed social outings, like dancing at the Gay 90s.

One evening, Barbie came up with a brilliant idea when the controversial demonic horror film, The Exorcist, premiered. We dug through costumes at the Playhouse and hunted down what we were looking for. We attended the film dressed in nun and priest garb.

After the screening, we sauntered out of the theater and we were thrust into the throes of the paparazzi. Whaaat?! Where'd they come from?

A local newscaster approached us with a cameraperson and mic in hand, and began asking us religious folk our review of the film. Being quick, we improvised. Barbie became Sister Mary Agnes and I was Father Rudy (my dad's name), from the parish of Our Lady of Perpetual Help (my elementary and middle school). The next night we watched ourselves on the news!

Me and Barbie (Sister Mary Agnes and Father Rudy from the parish of Our Lady of Perpetual Help) at the preem of The Exorcist in Shreveport, Louisiana

Barbie and I were a platonic Ken and Barbie. Wait. Isn't that redundant? I mean, aren't they platonic, since they're dolls?!   However, my Barbie did want to take our relationship further, even knowing that this "Ken" was gay.  That story will have to wait for another time!

One weekend, Perry left the college to visit his parents in Texas. I had no plans for Saturday night. As I was reminiscing about Ron and our photo shoot on the Ohio State campus back in the fall, there's a knock at my dorm door. It was a guy that I occasionally saw on campus, infrequently greeted, and ate with once or twice in the cafeteria. Over a meal he'd ask me questions about what it was like being gay.

Craig, who was a nerdy introvert, was a student in the music department, who played several instruments, including the piano and violin.

He stood at my door then quickly rushed in, having a scared and quizzical look on his face. Craig flatly stuttered, "I want to have sex with you."  Okay. . .

I let him in, we got naked, madeout briefly (his breath wasn't all that pleasant, I think due to being nervous), and he shot his load quickly.

The whole interlude was automatic. Before he departed Craig offered, "You were my first."  Then he scooted out the door as hurried as he entered. From that time on, when I saw him in the cafeteria or on campus, he'd cower his head in guilt.

This unsatisfying encounter left me missing Ron even more. I put an album of Shirley Bassey, singing "our" song, Never, Never, Never:

And you love me too

Your thoughts are just for me

You set my spirit free

I'm happy that you do.

Impossible to live with you

But I know, I could never live without you

For whatever you do

I never, never, never want to be in love with anyone but you

I craved Ron's slender, plump lips right now. Sometimes, to tease me from across a room, he would slowly take his tongue and leisurely moisten and rim his entire mouth. It drove me batty! Alone in my dorm room, in that moment, I imagined Ron tasting my lips.

I loved receiving mail from him, and Ron was always attentive in that way. In April, he sent me a heartfelt card, reading, "7 months! Wow! Only if you were here. Pray for May. I love you so much, Ron."

That card gave me enough reassurance and tenderness to carry me through the next few days.

At the end of the semester, I reflected on my time at Centenary. While I really liked the close-knit camaraderie of students, the engaging and encouraging professors, and the bustling flowered manicured landscape of the campus, I decided it was time to move on to another institution. Financial difficulties, the Bachelor of Arts program not being the exact fit, and my homesickness—especially for Ron—were the main reasons for my decision not to stay.

I also didn't want to dorm-it again, and I couldn't afford an apartment. Living with Perry, who snored, was detrimental. I was a light sleeper, taking after my mother, so it was tough getting a peaceful night's sleep.

To combat my lack of sleep, I developed a routine for those days when I had two classes spanning over four hours. I'd pop a Dramamine then sneak tentatively through a window, slipping into an unoccupied dorm room to catch a few hours of sleep. It was the only way I managed to survive.

As the semester drew to a close, I set my sights on Baldwin Wallace College near Cleveland. (In 2012, they replaced College with "University.") Though it would be sad to leave my newly acquired friendships behind, I knew in my heart that I needed to move on.

Baldwin Wallace was far enough from family for independence, yet close enough to see Ron more often. With all my credits transferring seamlessly, it seemed like the perfect fit.

The night before I left, I called Ron from the hallway payphone one last time. He shared the exciting news of his promotion at work. I proudly reported that I had received straight A's, except for one B in Speech and Diction, taught by Ms. Acker. Ron's voice was filled with joy, and I could hardly wait to see him in person. I was coming home!

Returning to Ohio, I wondered if I would truly find that: "There's no place like home?" Would Ron's halo continue to shine brightly, or would it slip more?

The disruption in New Orleans lingered in my head. I pondered if something more momentous could be brewing – or – was that a one time deal?

God, I hope so. . . .

A typical pose for Ron, holding his favorite drink of Vodka Gimlet

Ron headed to Rex at Mardi Gras

Ron had this cake made for me, his "Devastating" Dann

XX

PART THREE SOON:   "REVELATION, RETREAD, RIFF, AND REV"