The yellow lines on the highway sped by in a blur, and we flew through the night, and we felt free. But we weren't, and we knew it. We were running away from something, running away was never the path to freedom. I thought about telling John to turn back. I thought about suggesting what he already knew. We had nothing. Enough money to share a meal and maybe one more tank of gas. We'd have to sleep in the truck. We didn't have enough for a hotel room. A 2,340 mile trip from Biloxi, Mississippi to San Francisco, California and we were only in Houston. There was no way we were going to make it. Another 1,900 miles to go, I wasn't even sure if we'd make it out of Texas before we ran out of gas. In fact, I knew we wouldn't.
But it didn't worry him. He had no fear. Probably because back in Mississippi he had nothing. His parents already knew. They disowned him and had kicked him out of the home weeks before. He had no family, no friends. No one to turn to. Except me. I'd like to think that had we been born at a later time that it'd been easier. It'll never be easy for young men or young women to come out, but I like to at least tell myself that it's easier now then it was then. 1950's Mississippi was not a place for us. Not that 2016 is. We were two 17 year olds who hadn't finished high school, who had no money, no jobs and nothing but a stolen pickup truck and each other. It's selfish and it's petty of me to feel envy for young homosexuals today. If anything I should be happy for them that they no longer have to endure the hardships that John and I had to. Not that they don't have their own struggles, but today they have more places to go, more allies to turn to. We didn't. What I ought to feel I suppose is thankful, but what I do feel is anger. Anger that I had to grow up in a time where John and I were denied our basic rights as human beings because we were different. Anger that because someone else felt freedom didn't apply to people like John and me.
My parents didn't know about me. Other than John, nobody knew. I could still turn back and I think I knew eventually that I would. As much as I loved hearing John tell stories of the beats and Allen Ginsberg, I guess I knew we'd never make it to San Francisco or at least I wouldn't anyway. When you're young, you can't help but put your dreams ahead of your realities. My fantasy was to live in a world where I could love John openly. Where our lives didn't have to happen behind closed doors. Maybe had we been closer it would have happened.
Once we ran out of gas, a trucker gave us a ride all the way to Glenwood, New Mexico. That's when we began to walk. It was hot and it was scary. I never saw one, but I heard the rattles in the grass only a few feet away. It made me wonder what other critters might jump out and get us. After what seemed like forever, we made it to the next town. I don't even remember the name. It had a bus depot. It was there, as I tried to sleep on that cold, hard bench that I realized that this was point of no return. One more step to the west and I was headed to San Francisco. Headed into the unknown, the uncertainty. I began to panic at that moment, wishing I had never gone. John slept on the ground below me. As harmonious as he looked, I'd like to think he dreamed of our lives together in San Francisco. That he imagined us living out our lives in adventurous reward. I couldn't wake him from that. As soon as he woke, I'd let him know I had changed my mind. That I was going back to Biloxi. I figure I was about to crush his dream soon enough. The least I could do was let him dream about it for a few more hours.
He told me he understood. He told me he supported me. I had security back home. A well enough off family, high school to finish up and a job I could go to. His grandpa had given him a ring that I always understood to be the most valuable thing that he owned. It was enough to buy me a one way bus ticket back home.
I convinced my parents and everyone else that I had followed John out of Biloxi trying to get him to change his evil ways. That I felt John wasn't really like that and I could change him. That'd I'd be the one to get him to give up his gayness and I'd bring him back the good Christian boy that he had been raised to be. His parents thanked me and told me not to feel bad because they too had tried and failed. I was made out to be a hero. A savior, and thought to be one until the day they all died.
I never saw John again. Back in those days we didn't have cell phones and internet. No one was in any hurry to try and look for him. When asked where I thought he went, I lied and said Canada. I have tried a few times over the years to look up John Milner, but I've had no luck. It doesn't surprise me much, he always hated the name Milner. Always said he couldn't wait to get married and take a different last name. Sipes, it could have been, although I don't think it's much better.
I saw on the news recently that there are kids who refuse to stand for the pledge. I stood for the pledge of allegiance every morning of elementary school. I recited those words every time. "With liberty and justice for all." Every morning. Every single morning I'd say those words. I guess all didn't include me, and it didn't include John.
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