Page 67 of And Still Her Voice
“What!? But what about New York? The Statue of Liberty, and SoHo, and Casa Susanna.”
River shook his head. “Don’t you remember what happened last month when we were in Greenwich Village?”
“But you could dress normal.” I reached out to take his hands.
“Normal? And what about the color of my skin?” He pulled away.
“Isn’t New York supposed to be pretty liberal? I thought it was hip,” I answered, but he disappeared into the bathroom.
“Remember what happened last time we stayed in Greenwich Village?” he asked. River had stumbled back to the room in the early morning a bit shaken up. He told me he’d escaped arrest but that others weren’t as lucky. After a small gig over at the Bitter End, he’d gone a couple blocks up to a bar called Stonewall Inn where they had drag shows. Just after midnight and the place was packed. Apparently undercover cops came in and raided the place, starting with employees, and then singling out drag queens and other cross-dressing customers. He told me the police roughed up a woman dressed as a man and then from outside people started throwing coins and bottles. The tires on cop cars were slashed.
The next day River had read to me from the Village Voice how the police had difficulty “keeping a dyke and a dancing faggot in a patrol car.”
“Homo Nest Raided, Queen Bees Are Stinging Mad” blared the headline on the front page of the Daily News. “Lilies of the valley pranced out to the street” when the cops showed up, the paper said. The rebellion lasted six days.
As offensive as the media coverage was, it would be the beginning of a change, but as progressive as I thought New York might be, things were still pretty tense. River was right, New York wasn’t safe for a person like him, and he didn’t have the strength to fight back anymore. I couldn’t argue his decision.
River walked out of the bathroom. “I’ll go with you,” I said, even though settling in New Orleans wasn’t exactly a dream of mine, I’d follow him to the end of the Mississippi.
“No, Honey. This is not your path. I see great things for you.”
Tears gushed from my eyes. “But you’re my best friend. I can’t live without you.” I reached over to wrap my arms around him and sobbed, my mascara and Twiggy eyeliner running down my cheeks.
He handed me a piece of paper with a number where he could be reached. “Remember, I’ll always love you, Honey Moon,” he said, lifting my chin, peering deeply into my soul, “and you, too, Grandma.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the same and turned away before Grandma could say anything. He set his suitcase on the bed and I ran out into the pouring rain.
***
On the bus to New York, Grandma, always looking for double rainbows, tried to make me feel better. “Darling, every crossroad you’ve come to on your travels so far has brought you to where you need to be. Think about it. You never would have met River if you hadn’t walked into Steinway’s.”
“Yeah, never mind that Dilbert would still be alive,” I said. “And now River’s gone. What’s that all about?”
“Darling, I do know how it feels. I had this friend once, a great composer, Charles Cadman. We traveled together through Europe—that is, we and his mother—”
“Oh, for the love of God! This is not helping.” I massaged my forehead. “Why do you always have to compare your life to mine?”
“You’ve made a great friend. Just because River’s gone—”
“No! He was more than a friend and now I’m on this bus with a big hole in my heart and an insensitive leech.”
“It will mend itself,” she said.
“God dammit, Grandma. I didn’t just tear my dress.”
“Please don’t use that language. It’s not becoming of a young lady.”
I wished she had a face so that I could throw that half-full glass of water onto it. “Fuck you! Is that more becoming?”
“You’re hurt. You sound so much like your father when he’s angry and hurt.”
My body tensed with rage. I thought my insides might rip through my skin. I put my pillow over my face to scream my brains out.
Finished purging, I removed the pillow and spoke as calmly as I could, as coolly as Grandma always did. “Now I can understand why he wanted to get rid of you, why he called you a bitch.” I waited for her to respond. In the lethal silence I knew she’d been gearing up for a muted blast off.
She didn’t respond, but I knew the debates would continue.
I rolled down the bus window for some fresh air as we bumped along through fertile rolling hills and valleys. I took in the cloying fragrance of the sweet grasses and tobacco fields as we entered the dairy and horse farm country.
