NYC/CO

"Marty!" I flop out of the house, rolling my eyes at my sleeping husband, who cannot see me because  he is asleep. His dog is so small it wrangles its way out of our tiny yard at least once a day. We're only a block off of Colfax, and he would get flattened. And it's not my dog, I have been clear about that. I don't have a dog. I don't need a dog. That dog is going to cause a divorce one day, I'm sure of it. "Marty!" I call into the neighborhood. I don't see the stupid furball anywhere.

  "Marty!! Ugh." Two women I don't recognize are walking up the street toward me. Here in Murderville--- which is how we refer to our neighborhood--people don't generally stroll down the street. However, this patented suburban behavior has been on the rise in the last year. Our property values increased and our neighbors began to take on a different hue. The new homeowners, many who swooped in and paid cash, have painted, planted and even get their cars fixed after the hail storms. Probably because they drive Jeep Liberties and not 1990 Honda Accords. It's fine, our home increased in value by a hundred grand this year. That sounds so great, but when the values in Highlands Ranch and Boulder are up at 1.2 million, all it means is that we could get more for our house than we paid for it and then...move to Wyoming. We can't afford to leave our neighborhood. It's fine. We like our little house.

I yell the dog's name again, and both women  take a step toward me. "Is he a little dog? Fuzzy little brown thing?" I immediately recognize her accent: Brooklyn, like none other. It's been years since I've heard it, and I've never heard it here in Colorado. Without intending to do so, I respond in kind.

"Ya, he's a little creep. I have no idea how he escapes."

"Oh, I  know--" it's all one word in that accent "ohIKNOW"-- "I have one too, My husband took him for a walk and let him off the leash. He found his way home, but I was so angry I didn't let my husband back in the house when he got home." She looks at her friend and raises her eyebrows in confirmation. The look is returned and I am swept back to a time when I was only 22 and sharing an apartment in Flatbush with two other dancers. I lived in the same building with these types of women. Hell, based on their age, I suppose it could have been them.

"Are you a native?" she asks me. Without waiting for an answer, she says "Why do you people walk down the middle of the street? There are sidewalks, you know. It's like every daily constitutional is a the freaking Easter parade here."

"The hell does that have to do with being a native? You never walked down the center of East 95th on a Sunday?"

She smiles and  stops walking.

"Also," I continue, "what are ya doin' right now, huh? Walking down the center of the damned street like it's a parade."

I am a Colorado native, on a technicality. I wasn't born here, but my parents are natives. I was adopted across state lines and brought here like Smokey and the Bandit running Coors. And I am not old enough to use that reference,  but I am old enough to use that reference. My parents just wanted a healthy baby boy to raise and send to college. They got gypped. I got cancer when I was 18 and I skipped college to be chorus gypsy. Lived in New York, missed birthdays and anniversaries because I was in shows. I am quite the disappointment. Also, I'm gay, but frankly that doesn't seem to bug my parents too much, so I don't count that on my list of "Things I've Done To Be A Disappointment To My Parents".

I met my husband when I was working in New York. He is a  "real" Colorado native. True farm boy, his family still has horses out in Parker, his license plate is a "Pioneer" plate, which most idiots think  has something to do with DU hockey, but whatever. Most people are idiots, doesn't matter what state you live in.  He walks the damned dog straight down the center of the street and does the same with his horses at home. We have chickens in Denver, which seems odd but it turns out its a common theme with our people. Chickens, I mean. Gays like fresh eggs. Irony? Could be.  Or it's just him:You can take the man off of the farm but  you can't take the farm out of the man, and such and thus, Or is it thus and such? Who cares, I dance, I don't grammar.  Or farm. Fuck you, where's the dumb dog?

"MARRRTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" I bellow without much commitment.  The women begin to call for him too, smooching their lips in kissing noises and looking in yards. Their accents are killing me. If I was Marty I'd from from those bright vowels. To me, the sound is a trigger of a different life.

In 2008 I was dancing ensemble in Curtains  with David Hyde Pierce, and I let my swing have the role one night so I could go see Spring Awakening. It's virtually impossible for us to see one another's shows, but I had seen Johnathan Groff at Starbucks and he was looking so fine and nothing was keeping me from that show. I waited for him at the stage door with all the other fan boys and girls. I noticed an old guy was there, also hovering . He seemed too old to be hanging around with us kids. At 22 I still considered myself a kid, even  though by gypsy standards I was practically middle aged. I kept staring at him, trying  to  figure out his deal. I do this thing when I see people, I make up their history in my head. He was at least thirty, dark hair and eyes. Not ugly, not a troll at all, actually pretty handsome and it looked like he kept in decent shape. He seemed distant, he wasn't there to meet the cast, that was obvious, he stood to the side. Maybe his kid is one of these fan girls, maybe he's just being a dad, patiently waiting for her to get her autograph. That was it! I was sure. I looked at the faces surrounding me for a trait similar to his: eye color, posture. Nothing. She must look like her mom. I look back at him again, maybe one of the boys is his son. But those sideburns he's sporting....ugh. Seriously?Who wears sideburns, Johnny Bravo? I survey the boys: no sideburns. So if he's a dad, he must have adopted his kid. I get bored.  Lea Michele comes out and chats with me--we met doing a "Miscast" thing last year, she's sweet. I hardly say fuck  at all when I talk to her.

 Then Johnathan emerged, and I got all clammy. I started nervously babbling to Sideburns about the show,and if he'd liked it or not.  He was polite, but kept crossing his arms and staring at the ground. I couldn't figure out why he was there, he showed no interest in talking to anyone in the cast.  I was only talking at him because I didn't want to look like a loser standing there panting over Johnathan. So instead, I kept babbling at Sideburns. I was starting to think he was maybe retarded, and when I turned around fucking Johnathan was headed straight for me. I actually think I made a sound, like a chicken "peep" or "eep" as he approached, because Sideburns looked up from the ground to see what was happening. Well Goddamn, now I'm the 'tard. Way to go, genius.

I didn't have a program for him to sign, because a signature wasn't why I was there. I stood facing the guy I came there to...see...talk to ...flirt with... take home....lick until he screams...staring into his eyes wondering...exactly why was I there? He easily struck up a conversation, he said he'd seen me at Starbucks and asked which show I was on. Even if we haven't seen each others shows, we recognize members of our own tribe. He was clearly exhausted, that cast was known to leave everything on the stage on every performance. Sideburns still hovered, speaking to no one and looking at the ground. Johnathan  finally asked me to get a drink, it took him forever. I was starting  to think I had suddenly lost my mojo. I said sure, sweaty palms and high voice notwithstanding. I asked where.

"I just live up there."

Shit, at his place? He  just invited me to his place?

Suddenly my brain seized. Dear God, was this happening? I could go home with Johnathan Groff? I  could go home with Johnathan Groff. I can't breathe.  But it's physical, it's not the prospect of Groff, he's what I cam here for. Something else has gone wrong. Sometimes I have these weird chemo flashback moments, nowhere near as cool as Acid flashbacks, and I feel lightheaded and dehydrated and I start to gray out---

When I came to, Sideburns was bent over me, fanning me with his program.  There was a coat or shirt under my head. Johnathan was nearby, apologetic  and concerned. They got me sitting upright, and I looked at Sideburns for the first time. His eyes were deep brown and he had these beautiful full shaped eyebrows and sideburns that should be ridiculous in 2008, but weren't at all. "You look like Johnny Bravo," I said.

"Thank you," was his only reply.

He handed me a bottled water.

"Can you get home OK?"

I shrugged, "I live in Astoria."

"That means nothing to me. I'm from Denver."

"I mean, not Astoria, that's where I lived when I first got here. I'm from Denver, too." I take a sip of water and try to clear my throat. I'm still squeaking. What is wrong with my voice? "I live in Flatbush," I manage.

"I saw that movie. Fonzie was in it, right?"

See? Old. Ugh.

I drink my water. "I'm good, I can get home." I stand on wobbly legs. Sideburns helps me stand and watches my face closely.

"My hotel is right there-" he points across the street to the Belvedere.

"Really? That place is a rat hole."

He shrugged. "I didn't come to New York to stay in a hotel. I came to see the city. I only sleep there."

Johnathan emerges from the stage door with a stage manager who is holding a first aid kit. He stops briefly and nods at Sideburns, then holds his hand out to me. "You good?" The SM looks me over, I smile and nod, he scurries back through the door.

Sideburns waves at us as we part ways, like he is our dad and we're going on a field trip. "See you later."

__________________________________________________
The next morning I have no choice but to hit the Starbucks in Time Square. Turns out Johnathan Groff has a weird coffee maker I cannot figure out, something German with individual portions. It was annoying so I left. As I am on my merry way, I pull around the tourists clogging the sidewalk. I speak out loud to no one and to everyone "Can we just get two sidewalks, please? One for us and one for the fucking tourists?" A woman in  yellow crocs and  beige culottes shoots me a dirty look and I give her a blank stare.
"Whatever, " I mumble as I push past her.
"Ugh," she says and looks me in the face. We both stop.
I break into a smile. I knew she was here this week but didn't expect to run her over on the sidewalk.
It was  my high school theatre teacher. The same woman who brought me to the city on a field trip in 2004. My parents still blame her for my life choices.
"Seriously, the fuck with the Crocs?"
"Seriously, the fuck with your mouth?" Without pausing, she turns to her group of students. "This is Jared. We're seeing him tonight in Curtains." The kids immediately begin to crowd around me like I'm a celebrity or something. I shake my head with faux disdain."What'd you tell them?"
"That you're a star and I  taught you everything you know." She grins. "And that you used to have braces and pimples."
I regard the kids and hold up my coffee as if in a toast. "Beat it, trash." And with that, I make my exit.
They are all laughing, delighted, which tells me they knew I would do that. Dammit, I hate being beaten to the punch. My hand catches hers as I leave, before I look down at my phone  for any changes to the schedule. Back in the day I missed a brush up because I didn't check my email two hours before the call. Who checks their email compulsively like that, anyway? And now, I wonder who even checks email? Never mind I almost got fired for that. I'm much better with checking texts now, at least a change will be sent to me, directly, I don't  have to go schlepping around  my emails or a website or thus and such. Or is it such and thus? Who cares?

I run into Sideburns. Literally. Straight into him.

"Why don't you fucking look where you're ---- oh." First of all it's my fault, clearly, but he's from outta town so I get to act like it's his fault. "Oh. Hi."

"Hi. How was your night?"

"Better than yours I'm sure."

"I moved from the Belvedere. I have a friend with a place in Washington Heights. He's out of town. I wouldn't have thought of it if you hadn't said something."

"Ya, cool. That's nice. I gotta get to rehearsal."

He doesn't move, and again I consider the possibility that he is retarded. He is just standing there, in my way, like a tree. There are NYC mounted police who are more graceful  than this guy.

"So....did you like Spring Awakening?"

"I liked Curtains better," he smiled.

"Hey, I dance in that sho----" his smile only brightens. "Are you stalking me?"

"Little bit."

I have no response to this. I've never been stalked before. At least that I know of. You know if you're being stalked, right?

"Okay, that's a little creepy," I push past him. I can feel him watching me with those brown eyes. They are pretty nice eyes, and he's not as old as I thought originally. I turn back. I don't know why. Something...I want to touch him. I want to know if his arms are as strong as  they look. I like the way his eyes go straight to his soul and then look into mine.

"Hey, I have rehearsal until one then my call is at 5. I got nothing in between. Wanna get lunch?"
The hell am I doing? I've never asked anyone out before, that's not my gig. I am asked out---even Groff asked me, man, I didn't ask him. Stop talking, Jared. Just stop--walk away. I start backing away, thinking it'll be easier to run if I do it that way.

"I can meet you after your rehearsal, " he doesn't try to follow me. He doesn't take a step toward me or even increase the volume of his voice. He is just planted there, his eyes zoomed into mine. Nobody else exists. I stop moving so I can hear him more clearly. "I'm a good cook, I can make you something at my friend's house if you don't mind schlepping to the Heights."

"Did you just say 'schlep'?" I can't help the smile that is warming my face, so I hide it by sipping my coffee.

"We have Jews in Denver. I know the word."
______________________________________________________
After rehearsal I find  him at the stage door, as promised. He is holding a rose and a Starbucks. It's an iced frappachino, my afternoon curse. I squint up at him. His face is smooth, not nearly as old as I had thought the night before."Okay, Creepy, how did you know?"
"They are gifts. You want them or no?"
I take the rose and put it in my teeth. "Lead on, Creepy. I'm sure I'll regret this."
______________________________________________________

"I think your creep has come back," I'm jarred from my thoughts by the woman with the accent, waving her arms at my open door. Sure enough, the dog has returned. Is he smiling at me?

"Oh my god, you are a creep," I say to Marty. My accent is getting thicker. I should probably go back in before she thinks I'm mocking her. "Thank you." I wave at her, " you have a lovely walk." She probably thought I was commenting on how she walked, my emphasis was all weird trying to drop the accent. I shouldn't talk. Ugh.

She waves and continues on her way with her friend. I hear her say the word "handsome" to her friend and I chuckle. that is not a word I hear as a descriptor for myself any more. I'm old and broken and fat. I turn to Marty. I scoop him up and shut the door behind me. I pad to our bedroom, where my scruffy husband is snoring away. He got rid of the sideburns a few years ago, but I still see them in my mind's eye. I think about throwing the dog on the bed to wake him up, then change my mind. I set the furball on the floor, run a toothbrush through my mouth, splash my face with water and climb back into bed. I have to wiggle and snuggle for almost a full minute before he even stirs. He rolls over and wraps his arms around me. "Is there coffee?"

"Are you even awake?"

He nods blearily. He is not awake.

"Remember when we met?" My voice is weirdly thick, it feels like I have cotton in my throat. I'm not a kid who reminisces. Forward is the only direction. He mumbles, "You went home with Johnathan Groff first." I realize he's awake, looking straight to my soul as he has always done.

"You let me," I counter.

"Right, I was going to stop you."

"When I passed out, I woke up with your coat under my head. Did you catch me?"

"Did you fall?"

Through the open windows, I hear the women continuing their walk and loud gossip up the center of the street.



---Kryssi Martin 16 May 2017