From the proposal on the Rim of Crater Lake to the actual Union in Vermont, follow along as we develop plans for our Union Ceremony scheduled for August 2004, celebrating 10 years together.
Thank you for a lovely dinner--and the free entertainment at the gallery openings was a nice change of pace, good thinking.
We are honored and flattered that you would choose to include us in your big event (whatever we end up calling it); it is only another unrequired indication of how much we mean to you, and its significance is obvious.
We are proud to serve as best men for a couple of men we think are the best.
Recruiting Our Boys. The boys would be at our house in 45 minutes, and I was on my way to the office to print out my story. I dropped it into a page layout I had set up earlier in the day and was going to have the story printed in booklet format.
We were taking the boys to dinner to ask them, or instruct them rather, they were going to be our Best Men. I was concerned it would go something like, “So, we want you to be our Best Men.” And they would say, “Okay,” and then we’d order dessert. I felt it needed more importance. Something that would carry some weight to it, that would affirm exactly how important their friendship and involvement is. Not sure what sort of gift could do this appropriately, I decided to write a story.
After printing it, I drove over to Kinko’s. I had planned on dropping it off, making my men go with me to pick the finished, published format after dinner. But, to my surprise, Kinko’s is only open to eight o’clock on Saturdays now, and it was a quarter-to-seven. It was looking like I wasn’t going to be able to get this done instantly.
I scanned the store for a lesbian or gay sales clerk, but there were none. At the Midtown Kinko’s, not a queer in site. I had every intention of playing the ‘I’ll have a broken-hearted fag’ sympathy card. So I found the next best thing—a hydrogen peroxide blond with more piercing than work ethic. I told her I had to—drop something off for her to complete in a self-motivated fashion. “How many copies is it?” she asked.
“Ten. I already have the copies,” I said.
“And they just need to be folded and saddle-stitched?”
“Yes,” I said. She rolled her eyes and pulled out her order form as if this would take more energy to write up the order than actually complete it. “Umm, how long do you think it will take to do? A few minutes, maybe?” She looked frustrated. “I mean, I guess I could wait, but I mean, if you don’t have time, I’m fine with just leaving it and picking it up later.”
“Uhhhh,” she sighed, grabbing my copies and disappearing behind the counter. Ten minutes later, I had ten booklets in my hands.
I was home by seven o’clock, only fifteen minutes late. The boys were already there, and we quickly closed up Barnes Place and headed off to a gallery opening. October is Atlanta Celebrates Photography month, and there are all kinds of photography events. We get to the gallery and my men follow me around, while I talk about silver gelatin prints, film speed, aperture and how they all combine to produce the final print we’re looking at. It didn’t take much cheap gallery wine before the discussion in front of sepia-printed tulips evolved into an animated debate over exactly where that fine line exist between message therapy and prostitution.
Filled with high culture and low conversation, we were just a few minutes away from our dinner reservation at Dish in the Highlands. We ordered a bottle of wine and some appetizers and then our dinner. Sensing it wouldn’t take much more wine before I before I’d be slurring my vowels, I suggested to Tony we get down to business.
We had a perfect table in the corner of the patio. So while we were completely surrounded with people, we were in our own world. The server had a sense when to approach the table, and when to circle, when to interrupt and when to stay quiet.
We told our boys we wanted them to be our Best Men – to be intimately involved in the planning and execution of our Union. They, of course, said they would love to be involved, and expected to be involved. Dan asked exactly what the scope of the responsibilities would be, and we said we had no idea, that they would just have to roll with the punches as we did, making this up as we go. And with that, there was a moment of pause, as if the conversation was over and let’s move on to the next topic.
So I pulled out my story, “Holding the Keys to Our Virtual World”, and explained that I had written a story because I didn’t want this conversation to just pass through a dinner course and be done, but I felt it had to be marked in some way as significant. Not just for us, but for them as well. And so I read my story. I knew if I looked up to make eye contact, I couldn’t keep going, but I could feel their smiles. I could feel the weight each word carried for them.
Then I got to the last two paragraphs. The part about them unlocking the door, throwing it open and shoving us through. About the keys symbolizing mutual access and commitment to safekeeping of each other. I think the restaurant came to a standstill, like in a movie when the camera pans around action in the center of the room, but the balance of the room stood still. And in a “Steel Magnolias” moment, we all turned to girls.
Then we gave them a shadow box with a Barnes Place skeleton key, and explained it’s the only one. For Dan, who loves priceless collectibles as gifts, the moment could not have been more priceless, and as he set his eyes upon the key, he said, “If we didn’t still need to use our only skeleton key, you’d have ours, too.” The evening was a wonderful affirmation of the depth of our friendship and a commitment to protect and safeguard it. For yours truly who loves capturing priceless collectable moments, this particular celebratory moment will live on forever in my mind--the cool fall air of the evening, the slightly dizzying taste of a fine Oregon wine, and my favorite men snacking on rosemary- and pine nut-infused popcorn.
