Two years after my boyfriend died I still was far from myself, life seem to spin in a different circle. Questioning the meaning of life became my new past time, along with spewing angry words at God. I felt lost in a very dark cave called depression.
I was working for the Catholic Church in San Francisco, though found refuge at a Gay Dance Club called the I-Beam… I loved to dance, and it was certain that at a Gay Dance Club a woman who wanted to dance her pain away could do so without hassle. Freedom to dance without anyone watching. It was heavenly.
As time went by my family and friends tried in vain to set me up with dates. They had good intentions trying
to find me love and happiness. But I wasn't in the mood for falling in
love. It was a risky business that love thing. Death seemed to lurk
behind the eyes of those I met. Maybe I was bad luck? Maybe they would
die on me too? Fear became my new best friend, and it sat by my side
unbecomingly.
In response to those who encouraged
me to date again I would tell them, "When the time is right someone
will walk up to me unexpectedly and tell me his name is John. That will
be my sign." John was the name of my beloved.
I honestly believed my chances were next to none and it suited me fine.
So imagine how shocked I was when dancing at the I-BEAM that a young, handsome man danced by my side. The I-Beam
was a place a woman could dance unnoticed for eternity, it was a gay
club. What was this guy doing dancing by me? Gee, couldn't he tell I
was a woman? His flirtation was blatant causing me to blush. Nervous
and caught off guard by my feelings of attraction I decide to leave the
dance floor. He tapped my shoulder. A rush of warmth went through me
causing my friend Fear to melt. He said in broken English,
"My…name…Yann." I repeated, "Yawn?" His next words changed my
world. He said:
"Yann…is John in French."
Should I continue with telling my beginning tale? Or are you missing the brocante?
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