Jamaica Plain

For the first month after I moved, my neighbors all stared at me in silence, looking away if I tried to make eye contact. They stepped around me on the street, some gracefully, others bluntly, with jerky movements, but even their actions to avoid me somehow denied my existence in their midst. I was the elephant in the room; socially invisible.

No one at the firm had mentioned, when I was apartment hunting, that Jamaica Plain was a predominantly lesbian neighborhood. The realtor had talked of architecture, accessibility and the (relatively) low crime rate; no mention of demographics at all.

But if a gay man is all but invisible in JP, a dog owner is surely not.

When the Chesapeake Bay retriever named Sam became my roommate, I was suddenly known to everyone on the block. ‘Sam’s dad’ was welcomed home. The neighborhood may not have seemed the ideal home for a gay man, but I liked the ‘small town in the big city’ feel. The pub around the corner had Guinness on tap and served an amazing breakfast. The park was in walking distance and offered acres of romping room for both Sam and me. The food co-op and the strip of downtown stores were just a few blocks away as well. Boston nightlife was available by subway. I didn’t even need to change lines on the T to get to work.

But I kept my car. This was Boston after all, not New York. Bostonians drive.

Besides, there is more to my new state than just its capital. The ‘burbs are full of pretty historic sites and sudden picturesque farms, sidled right up next to malls and big box stores. And if the charm of ‘North Hampton, East’ wears off, I could always drive to the tip of the Cape and submerge myself in the gay men’s piece of provincial paradise. Though, I had heard that P-town was more of a tourist trap than anything.

But even in this sea of lesbians, I never lacked for dates. Well, first dates, anyway. The neighborhood couples were forever setting up ‘Sam’s dad’ with random gay men they knew from God knows where. I was too cute to be single, they said, in that way that happy couples have of making single people feel terminally ill with a terrible disease. They were sneaky, too. I never actually agreed to any set-ups, but over the next year blind dates turned up at the neighborhood pot luck, the park, Kris and Jane’s baby shower, the Women’s Rugby championship, anywhere they were reasonably sure that I would show up.

Pride Day was no exception. Or, maybe it was the exception. Depends on how you look at it, I suppose. It was my last blind date ever. Of that I am sure.

The annual Pride Day cookout was held in the park in the evening, leaving most of the day free for the parade and other activities. The evening was warm for early June and I was comfortable in my jeans and tee-shirt. My windbreaker was stashed with others of its kind under the table that had been set up for the usual summer potluck dishes. I had worked my way through devilled eggs, corn salad, barbeque chicken and watermelon, and was looking for a grape soda before I headed back to retrieve Sam from whichever ‘auntie’ was currently entertaining him.

My hand was numb from cold and I still hadn’t found a purple can in the sea of ice water. “Why can’t I find a grape?” I asked aloud as I stood staring down into the icy depths of the cooler.

“Here’s one.” I had not expected an answer, particularly not in a smooth baritone. A can was pressed into my hand and I groaned when I looked up at the gorgeous man who had put it there.

His laugh was light and fun and unaffected. “Not that I don’t like to hear moaning on a date, but that hardly sounded favorable.”

The twinkle in his –brown? - eyes nearly got me. I tore my eyes from his and looked up and down at the rest of the package. Well, someone at least had good taste.

“So, whose lawyer’s cousin’s hairdresser’s butcher’s brother are you?” I hoped I conveyed at least some humor. It really wasn’t his fault. He may not have even realized this was a set up. Most don’t, or they wouldn’t come. The ruse is often the reason they leave without my number. He had called this a date, though. I snorted internally. I wasn’t sure that I wanted anything to do with a man who would agree to a blind date.

“Only one degree of separation, actually. MJ is my cousin.”

“MJ?” I hardly expected this from her. She was usually the one to whom I complained about the pushiness of the others. My eyes went from wide with surprise to narrow with suspicion. The easy laugh once again filled the air.

“Before you ask: no, this isn’t a prank; no, I was not blackmailed or deceived into coming; and no, I don’t make a practice of accepting blind dates. I actually asked to come meet you.”

“Huh?” Real articulate, I know, but I was understandably thrown for a loop.

His wide smile was evident even in his –green, maybe?- eyes. “MJ has been sharing ‘Devin’s blind dates’ stories for the past year. Oh, don’t worry. You’re the hero in every one. ‘The amazing Devin thwarts the well-meaning but insufferable, busy-body lesbians and manages—once again—to free himself from the clutches of that most feared of villains: the Blind Date.” He paused. “Ah…yes, MJ and I read too many comics… but regardless, I decided I wanted to meet this illustrious hero myself.”

I supposed I should say… something. Then he winked, and actually leered a bit. “Though, I had hoped you’d be wearing your spandex costume. They are quite flattering on a figure such as yours.”

And… still nothing came from my mouth. I can only imagine the look on my face, but it couldn’t have been very flattering to either of us.

He- had he said his name yet? – took the soda back from me and put it on the nearby buffet table. Then he took my half-frozen hand in his and began to walk away. “C’mon.”

He tugged my arm when I didn’t move to follow. “We’re going for a walk. I want to see the ducks.” He winked one – grey?- eye at me and pulled me along.

Greg--as MJ’s cousin turned out to be named--was an architect with a large firm downtown. His mother and MJ’s father were siblings, and his mother had passed away five years ago. I learned this, along with numerous ‘MJ as a child’ stories as we walked through the park towards the pond. I had expected him to drop my hand once I was following, but he held it firmly. I was even more surprised to find that I didn’t want to let go. Holding hands, walking in the park, it felt couple-ish, something I hadn’t felt in a long time, and certainly not with any of my blind dates in the past year. Besides, his hand was warm.

We stopped by the pond, watching as the setting sun made rainbows on the rippling waters. Even nature was celebrating Pride Day.

Greg brought my hand up closer to him, holding it between his own carefully, as if it were a precious stone or a day old chick. “You know, I thought of a solution to your blind date problem. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to meet you, so I could share my idea.”

“Oh.” Greg was still staring at my hand, so I stared at it, too, waiting to hear the plan.

“It’s too bad, really. If it works I won’t be able to hear the stories anymore.” He looked up at my eyes briefly. It was too dark now for me to make another guess at the color of his.

“It’s all logic, really. The insufferable busy bodies want to see you ‘coupled,’ so they will continue to set you up as long as you are single. If you are no longer single, they won’t set you up.”

I pulled on my hand, but his hold was unyielding. “Greg, I already know that. This is not a solution.”

“No,” he agreed, then raised our joined hands higher. “This is.”

I looked around self-consciously, not so much in embarrassment as looking for witnesses, to know that this was real. “But… we just met.”

He shook his head and pulled one hand away to gesture, “Oh, no. I’ve known you for a year! Well, MJ has, and that’s just the same. It works in reverse, too. We were raised together. We’re practically the same person, just different genders. Admit it, you’ve wished MJ were a man before, haven’t you?” The left corner of his mouth twitched and he winked, as if including me in on the joke he was playing on the ducks. “Devin, I’m your wish come true!”

He posed flirtatiously, one hip forward, and batted his eyes, pulling the smile from me that I had been determined not to show. This was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

Greg turned to walk back to our party, still tugging me along. “You need time to think, and it’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.”

We found my jacket under the table, and Sam with MJ, but she refused to give him up. “I’m borrowing him for the night. I’m going to call Mom and tell her I brought a man home. She’ll be thrilled!”

I was startled to hear my small laugh echoed louder beside me. “Oh MJ, Uncle John will get her straightened out one of these days.”

MJ rolled her eyes. “Greg, she’s already straight, she wants me to be, too.”

This seemed to be a well-rehearsed play between them. They lapsed further into family jokes I didn’t understand, but I didn’t feel left out. I was too focused on the pattern Greg’s thumb was drawing on my palm. I found myself automatically cautioning myself to enjoy it while it lasted, but not to get used to it. ‘Why not?’ I thought, ‘it’s being offered, why not get used to it?’ My quick pat to Sam’s curly brown head was distracted, and I didn’t say goodbye to MJ or anyone else as Greg pulled me out of the park. Just as well; I’m not sure I could have met the looks on their faces.

I unlocked my door when we got to it, then stood out in the hall to say goodnight. Greg had released my hand so I could get my key, but reclaimed it once I’d turned around. He brought his other hand to my shoulder.

“I hope you had a good day, Devin.”

“Yes, thank you, Goodnight,” I blurted in a nervous jumble. I felt my cheeks warm in embarrassment at my lack of eloquence.

Greg chuckled, a low sound deep in his throat. “Goodnight,” he whispered. He dropped my hand and pulled me closer, holding me in place with an arm around my waist. The other stroked my hair back from my face. I put my hands on his shoulders, squeezing for a moment to feel the firm skin and muscles. Greg was leaning closer, his lips coming to claim mine. I waited, my stomach flipping in anticipation. Then—

“What color are your eyes?” I was as startled as Greg that I had asked that. Had interrupted our first kiss. But I did want to know. I waited patiently, looking at those eyes as they blinked at me. This close I could see a handful of colors, all mixed together like a child gone wild with a Spin Art toy.

“Well, I guess they are hazel. My mother hated the word, but she loved my eyes. She preferred to call them fey eyes. Proof, she said, that I was a changeling. All my best and worst qualities were blamed on my fairy parents who stole her baby and left me instead.”

It should have been a serious moment. Greg’s arms around me, speaking of his late mother, a kiss perhaps moments away. Yes, as I think back I can envision the solemn moment and dozens of appropriate responses, most of which involve lip contact. Maybe it was nerves, or fate, I’m not sure. But my response was far from solemn. I giggled. Not snickered, or chortled or chuckled. Giggled. “You’re… you’re a fairy?!” It was part statement, part incredulous inquiry. It could have been a devastating blow to our budding… whatever it was. Laughing at the memory of someone’s beloved mother is not the way to win friends.

Greg merely smiled with both lips and those eyes and kissed me anyway, an awkward press of his lips to my open, laughing mouth. “Absolutely,” he spoke against my cheek, his voice amused and a little husky. The arm around my waist dipped lower, palming my buttocks and pressing us more closely together. “100. You?”

I groaned as the front of my jeans pressed into the front of his. “Oh, yeah.” All traces of humor had left my voice, and it was Greg who snickered.

“There, that’s the kind of moaning I like to hear!”

I thumped him half-heartedly on the back, then rested my cheek on his shoulder. “Can you really defeat the evil Blind Date for good?”

“Mm, yes.”

“My hero.”

“Oh, no, remember? You’re the superhero in this story.”

I tipped my head back to look up at Greg. “If I’m the superhero, what does that make you?”

Greg hummed and swayed, rocking me while he thought. “Your fairy godmother, of course!”

“Of course!” I agreed, smirking. “Can you turn pumpkins into a carriage? Mice into horses?”

“No… but I can see into the future.”

“Oh? What does my future hold?”

I felt Greg take a deep breath, and heard him release it through his nose. “I see… I see us making out on your couch.”

I looked up, my brows raised. “I don’t have a couch.”

“No?”

“No, just a futon. It pulls down into my bed.”

“Mm, even better.” I felt Greg’s lips on my neck, then his tongue as he began making his way up to my jaw. I pulled away and stepped towards my door. Greg looked up, surprised and wary. I took the doorknob in one hand, and grabbed one of his with the other.

“C’mon. Let’s go meet the future.”

The End.