. . . sorry . . . the Latter Day . . . whatever. You came here for the election, then? To work for Prop 8?”
The kid nodded.
“Canvassing or something? Going door to door?”
“Yes.”
Jake could feel his face flashing red—a sure sign that he was beginning to lose control—but he made no effort to temper his reaction. “How did that work out for you? After you’d won, I mean . . . after you’d taken away people’s rights in a state you don’t even live in, for fuck’s sake. Did you feel you’d done some good in the world?”
Jonah seemed to think about that for a moment. “Truthfully . . . no.”
“Wow. Imagine that.”
“I’m not sorry it passed, because I truly do believe that marriage is between one man and one woman. But I never felt that I’d connected with another soul. Made a real difference, you know. I never had that one-on-one. And when I saw you standing there watching the sea lions, and you seemed so kind-hearted and decent and . . . I don’t know, like a regular guy . . . I felt like I had to reach out to you, because I could help.”
“And how would that be?”
“Look, Jake . . . I thought I might be gay myself until I met Becky.”
“Excuse me?”
“Maybe I’m totally out of line here, but I’m pretty good at telling when somebody’s—”
“You’re talking labels, Jonah. Around here we don’t put labels on people.” This was completely untrue, Jake realized—San Francisco was obsessed with labels—but he had to say something, and this was all he could manage in the heat of the moment.
“Let’s put it this way,” said Jonah, lowering his voice as he looked around the room. “You sleep with guys, right?”
After a moment, Jake replied quietly: “Yeah. Not often enough, but . . . yeah.”
“And do you know why that is?”
Jonah’s wooden, seminar-style questioning annoyed the hell out of Jake. “Because I’m attracted to them?”
“Yes,” said Jonah, missing the sarcasm completely, “but why are you attracted to them? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re trying to complete your masculinity. Someone, at some point in your life, said you weren’t man enough, and you believed them, and that’s why you think that being with another man will somehow—”
“Jonah—”
“Hear me out, dude. You’re one of the manliest guys I’ve ever met. Not just in appearance but . . . your manly heart and your compassion. You’re the real thing, dude. You’re man enough for any woman.”
By this point, Jake had lost track of his emotions. He felt flattered, insulted, humiliated and validated all at once. Without making a spectacle out of it (since several of the other diners were already glancing in their direction), he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and removed three twenties, tucking them under the butter dish.
“What’s that for?” asked Jonah.
“I gotta go. That should cover my portion.”
“C’mon, dude—”
“You mean well, Jonah . . . but you don’t have a clue what you’re dealing with.”
“If this is about Prop 8—”
“It’s about everything, Jonah. It’s about all sorts of shit you don’t know about in Snowflake. The world isn’t as neat as you think. It’s not your fault. It’s everybody else’s fault.” Jake pushed back his chair and stood up. “That includes me, for what it’s worth.”
Jonah gazed up at him in forlorn confusion.
Without looking back, Jake headed directly for the stairs, only to remember, as he climbed into the cool night air, that there was no instant escape from this phony island. He stood beneath the phony lighthouse and the real palm tree and waited for the shuttle to arrive, fretting at first that Jonah might follow him out there, then fretting because he did not. He imagined the kid sitting alone in the midst of all those strangers, heartsick that he had failed in his holy mission. He considered going back, but he knew there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t
The kid nodded.
“Canvassing or something? Going door to door?”
“Yes.”
Jake could feel his face flashing red—a sure sign that he was beginning to lose control—but he made no effort to temper his reaction. “How did that work out for you? After you’d won, I mean . . . after you’d taken away people’s rights in a state you don’t even live in, for fuck’s sake. Did you feel you’d done some good in the world?”
Jonah seemed to think about that for a moment. “Truthfully . . . no.”
“Wow. Imagine that.”
“I’m not sorry it passed, because I truly do believe that marriage is between one man and one woman. But I never felt that I’d connected with another soul. Made a real difference, you know. I never had that one-on-one. And when I saw you standing there watching the sea lions, and you seemed so kind-hearted and decent and . . . I don’t know, like a regular guy . . . I felt like I had to reach out to you, because I could help.”
“And how would that be?”
“Look, Jake . . . I thought I might be gay myself until I met Becky.”
“Excuse me?”
“Maybe I’m totally out of line here, but I’m pretty good at telling when somebody’s—”
“You’re talking labels, Jonah. Around here we don’t put labels on people.” This was completely untrue, Jake realized—San Francisco was obsessed with labels—but he had to say something, and this was all he could manage in the heat of the moment.
“Let’s put it this way,” said Jonah, lowering his voice as he looked around the room. “You sleep with guys, right?”
After a moment, Jake replied quietly: “Yeah. Not often enough, but . . . yeah.”
“And do you know why that is?”
Jonah’s wooden, seminar-style questioning annoyed the hell out of Jake. “Because I’m attracted to them?”
“Yes,” said Jonah, missing the sarcasm completely, “but why are you attracted to them? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re trying to complete your masculinity. Someone, at some point in your life, said you weren’t man enough, and you believed them, and that’s why you think that being with another man will somehow—”
“Jonah—”
“Hear me out, dude. You’re one of the manliest guys I’ve ever met. Not just in appearance but . . . your manly heart and your compassion. You’re the real thing, dude. You’re man enough for any woman.”
By this point, Jake had lost track of his emotions. He felt flattered, insulted, humiliated and validated all at once. Without making a spectacle out of it (since several of the other diners were already glancing in their direction), he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and removed three twenties, tucking them under the butter dish.
“What’s that for?” asked Jonah.
“I gotta go. That should cover my portion.”
“C’mon, dude—”
“You mean well, Jonah . . . but you don’t have a clue what you’re dealing with.”
“If this is about Prop 8—”
“It’s about everything, Jonah. It’s about all sorts of shit you don’t know about in Snowflake. The world isn’t as neat as you think. It’s not your fault. It’s everybody else’s fault.” Jake pushed back his chair and stood up. “That includes me, for what it’s worth.”
Jonah gazed up at him in forlorn confusion.
Without looking back, Jake headed directly for the stairs, only to remember, as he climbed into the cool night air, that there was no instant escape from this phony island. He stood beneath the phony lighthouse and the real palm tree and waited for the shuttle to arrive, fretting at first that Jonah might follow him out there, then fretting because he did not. He imagined the kid sitting alone in the midst of all those strangers, heartsick that he had failed in his holy mission. He considered going back, but he knew there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t
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