Fucking elitist cafe. We were dykes, we had to pee. George had made long neon stickers that said Assimilationist and we were sticking them on the cafe windows, and also on any nice cars we came upon. There were also stickers that said Trash and Smelly Dyke and those got stuck on asses and t-shirts. The march took so long to get started. We were standing in the street at 18th and Castro surrounded on all sides by millions of lesbians, trapped. Everyone needed to pee or else needed to get more beer and you just couldnât move. It was almost too much. Someone handed me a drum, a bucket on a rope, and I beat it with a wooden spatula. Iris was getting me winks of approvalfrom friends and acquaintances. I showed her off like a new tattoo. She was awfully cute, and her southern voice drove me crazy. It sounded both tough and charming, and then there were her slinky blue eyes, and her big lips like a crimson pillow with a pearly corner of tooth poking out. She had that rakish look I die for, and when she opened her mouth, forget it. We were marching around, slapping on the fake drum. I could see Willaâs glowing head bobbing in the crowd up ahead. The need to avoid her perfectly tempered my bliss with drama. We were trying to be friends that weekend, but I couldnât handle it. Iâd think that I could and then whomph , right in the stomach. Why hadnât she loved me the way I wanted her to? Had I given up too soon? It had been such a manic breakup, it almost felt like Iâd imagined the whole thing. And there was a post-breakup law in effect that I couldnât be affectionate with anyone in Willaâs presence until her adjustment period passed. This was understandable but also mean because she bartended at the only bar worth going to, so I might as well have stayed home.
The march wound its way back to a stage set up in the middle of the Castro, it was amazing. The night stayed warm, and all these dykes were jumping around in the street. Girls were performing on the stage, there was a fisting demonstration. A dramatic green-haired girl did a convulsive dance until she fell off the edge. I had my shirt off, I was sweaty, blitzed, everyone was. Girls were tugging down their pants and squatting to pee in the middle of everything. I had moved from beer to wine and back. I figured I could makeout with Iris if Willa wasnât paying attention and of course that got sloppy. I opened my eyes in the middle of a big tonguey one and Willa was standing right there. Naturally she acted like she didnât care, why bother, everyone was having such a great time. I think she bummed a cigarette from me. I remember a highchair right in the middle of the street, and a really drunk woman locked in it, banging on the tray, making people feed her Coronas. The lesbians started to disperse, but we decided to take the party back to Irisâs house. We were looking for a cab to deliver us to the Mission, and there was Willa, kind of sulking, very drunk and wanting to come along. Well, Ok, If You Think That Would Be All Right For You. She was moping, quiet, her face wrinkling down toward the ground. Well , do you want me to go? She was so indecisive, it drove me crazy. Listen, Do What You Want, But Make Sure You Can Deal With It. She climbed into the cab like a kid being taken to a hospital or her grandparentsâ, someplace awful. Then there was this strange woman in the cab with us, no one knew who she was, she just wanted to join us so we let her. She was older and had a long drunken story about her ex-lover and a Greyhound bus and how she had no place to go. I think once she opened her mouth we realized it was a mistake to let her come along. She had the driver stop at a store, where she jumped out and returned with more beer and a Hustler . She was showing us all the pictures and asking what we thought. Check her out, that oneâs hot . She was like someoneâs drunken father. At Irisâs we threw the magazine
The march wound its way back to a stage set up in the middle of the Castro, it was amazing. The night stayed warm, and all these dykes were jumping around in the street. Girls were performing on the stage, there was a fisting demonstration. A dramatic green-haired girl did a convulsive dance until she fell off the edge. I had my shirt off, I was sweaty, blitzed, everyone was. Girls were tugging down their pants and squatting to pee in the middle of everything. I had moved from beer to wine and back. I figured I could makeout with Iris if Willa wasnât paying attention and of course that got sloppy. I opened my eyes in the middle of a big tonguey one and Willa was standing right there. Naturally she acted like she didnât care, why bother, everyone was having such a great time. I think she bummed a cigarette from me. I remember a highchair right in the middle of the street, and a really drunk woman locked in it, banging on the tray, making people feed her Coronas. The lesbians started to disperse, but we decided to take the party back to Irisâs house. We were looking for a cab to deliver us to the Mission, and there was Willa, kind of sulking, very drunk and wanting to come along. Well, Ok, If You Think That Would Be All Right For You. She was moping, quiet, her face wrinkling down toward the ground. Well , do you want me to go? She was so indecisive, it drove me crazy. Listen, Do What You Want, But Make Sure You Can Deal With It. She climbed into the cab like a kid being taken to a hospital or her grandparentsâ, someplace awful. Then there was this strange woman in the cab with us, no one knew who she was, she just wanted to join us so we let her. She was older and had a long drunken story about her ex-lover and a Greyhound bus and how she had no place to go. I think once she opened her mouth we realized it was a mistake to let her come along. She had the driver stop at a store, where she jumped out and returned with more beer and a Hustler . She was showing us all the pictures and asking what we thought. Check her out, that oneâs hot . She was like someoneâs drunken father. At Irisâs we threw the magazine
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