Parting Glances

by Nakhone Keodara

I was sitting at the Hollywood and Highland Red Line station minding my own business, as always, reading The Wisdom of the Overself by Dr. Paul Brunton. I saw in my periphery that a thuggish looking black dude had thrown his bags down next to me. He started proclaiming loudly “Man, they are too many homos up in dis place. I gotta leav this place! Ona dem looked at me from up dere!” I started to asked myself is he talking to me? But how did he know? And then I remembered I was wearing a pink shirt with “Macho” written across my chest. Maybe that’s what gave it away. It struck me as odd that he didn’t say faggot, but, nevertheless, it still hurt my feelings and I got angry.

Seeing that he had tattoos and not wanting to get my ass kicked I proceeded to get myself up and walked 20 yards over to the next sitting platform and plopped my ass down while shooting arrows in his direction. I was incensed that he picked on me. He walked away toward the stairs and kept reaching into his pants to fix his crotch.

My mind was racing. I asked myself now why would someone go out of their way to make that half-baked insult if it had nothing to do with them. Then, it occurred to me that maybe it was internalized homophobia on his part. I saw him looking over at me and saw that I’d gotten up and moved away from him and he looked sullen. I went back to reading my book but the train took forever to get there. I was hoping and praying that I could just escape this comfortableness and go on my merry way once the train arrives. God had other plans!

Outside, I got a glimpse of his face and he was beautiful. Oh, he’s gay, I thought. He walks like a thug, he talks like a thug and dresses like a thug but I saw a softer side to him. And, in that particular moment I remembered what Lil Kim said about “the best head comes from a thug.” I chuckled to myself and got on the Orange Line.

I sat in the raised side seat at first but wanted to find a more comfortable chair to sit so I can take a nap on the ride home. Lo and behold, without realizing it I was walking toward the back of the bus and saw that thug, and, being the slut, er activist that I am I decided to sit two feet away from him. I crossed my legs and slouch down just so and made sure that my crotch was protruding. Wanted to test the waters! Sure enough, homeboy kept checking out my package and I peaked at him through my shades.

What I saw was a beautiful, yet scared and somewhat innocent young boy. His eyes were deep and dark brown, and I kept wanting to kiss his lips. In my many attempts at stealing glances, I noticed that he was talking to himself blurting out things like “You know, I’m the only child that my parents, uh…” or “Hell, I ain’t scareda nobody.” How sad, this little hottie is psychotic, I thought. But then something else occurred. He kept looking at me and I sensed that he wanted to talk. A bit reluctant, I quipped, “So, where are you going?” He looked pleasantly surprised while pretending to be hard and said “Why do you want to know?” I responded, “Just curious, that’s all!” And so the conversation started.

He proceed to tell me that he just came from his sister’s house babysitting for the weekend and that he was heading home. Taking another leap, I asked him whether or not he lived with his parents. He shot back, “Hell, no!” I asked him how old he was and he told me 20yo. “Why aren’t you living with your parents?” I asked. “Because…” he said. It became clear to me that a lot of gay black kids are still being kicked out of their homes because of their homophobic parents. And the reason why he made that comment to me was because of his internalized shame of being gay. I thought, for young gay black men it must be especially difficult due to the deep rooted homophobia that exists within the African-American community due to their Christian faith. I continued, “Did you move out of your parents house because there was something they couldn’t accept in you?” He looked around and pretended not to hear me. People were sitting all around us. “What are you?” he asked forcefully. I knew he was asking me if I was gay but what came out was “You mean, where am I from?” I said. I continued, “I’m from Laos,” regretting that I didn’t disclose myself for fear it might make him scared to talk to me.

He started to mumble about something else so as to drown out my question. “I live in a group home,” he finally responded. I pursued, “Is it like a drug or alcohol kinda home?” “No..no..no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just a group home for adults,” “Next is Van Nuys stop, huh?” he said. “Yup,” I said. He nonchalantly told me, “That’s my stop!” I asked him if he’s got a phone and he said no and I asked him if he got a pen and paper because I don’t have one. “What are you giving me your number or something?” he inquired. “Yeah, just for support and stuff. If you need someone to talk to or whatnot.”

We couldn’t find a pen and I began to asked the lady sitting next to me for her pen but he told me to forget about it and that he’ll see me when he sees me. “Remember, there’s hope. There’s all kinds of help out there. God loves you and he made you the way you are,” I quickly blurted out as he got up to leave. He pretended not to hear it. I looked up as the bus door opened and saw him giving me the peace sign with a look of recognition and those sad puppy dog eyes told me he was appreciative and that he recognized. One of the most memorable parting glances I’ve ever had. Too bad it was a missed opportunity!