Abnormal Lives (29 page)

P
aris put on his makeup. He could hear the laughs of the three troublemakers he had seen previously. One would make an obnoxious remark about one of the other contestants and the others would laugh and holler so loud that they could've been mistaken for dogs howling at the moon. Paris decided he wasn't going to let them bother him and he wasn't going to worry about whether Michael was there and who he was with. That night was about him. He didn't care what any of the other competitors thought about him or who would be there that night. The only thing that mattered was that he was pleased with himself, and he was. He was sure when he walked out onstage, the crowd would love him.

Paris lined up with the rest of the contestants and walked onstage to be introduced. He glanced out into the audience and almost lost his balance. Michael was sitting upfront with Jewel. Jewel grinned when Paris looked over at them. Paris took a deep breath.
Everything is fine
, he told himself. He wasn't going to panic or get flustered but he would strut a little bit harder and be extra charming. When Michael looked at him, he would not see odium but the value of what he'd lost and would never have again.

All the contestants stood onstage, ready for the first part of the competition. They would all walk up to the podium and answer
the question: “Why did you decide to be gay?” Paris knew the question would be asked but had no idea how he would answer. Hell, he didn't remember deciding to be gay. He only remembered the moment he realized, in his heart, that he was gay and embraced it. All the contestants had the same tired answer: “Because you can't help who you love.”

Paris decided to switch it up a bit. When it was his turn, he walked up to the podium and said, “I decided to be gay because you can't choose who you fall in love with, but you can choose who you have sex with.”

The crowd cheered and Paris walked back to his spot onstage, grinning from ear to ear.

Next was the swimsuit segment of the competition. Paris wore a red halter bikini. The glitter from his lotion made his skin sparkle under the stage lights. As he watched the other competitors wobble out onto the stage like ducks, he realized that he would be the victor.

For the dance segment, Paris did a choreographed segment to Destiny Child's song “Bootylicious.” As he danced and gyrated across the stage, he became exhausted. He heard Stefan and Simone in the audience cheering for him, along with the rest of the crowd. The sound of their voices gave him the strength to go on.

For the talent segment, Paris performed a spoken word piece that he had written himself. He walked up to the podium and gave his introduction. “This goes out to all the haters, all those who choose to spend their whole existence spreading negativity, disturbing the natural order of the earth; this one's for y'all.”

Bitch, ho', slut, tramp, these are the things you say about me. So miserable you have to stroke your ego by bad-mouthing me. Jealous because I do things you only have the nerve to do in your dreams.

“I know that's right!” a voice yelled from the crowd.

Fag, queer, homo, gay, you spend so much time trying to think of words to classify me. Going out your way to expose me but don't know who you are, or who you want to be, or is it you want to come out the closet and be like me.

The audience applauded. “Tell it!” they screamed. “Tell it like it really is!”

Syphilis, herpes, HIV, these are the rumors you spread about me.

“You ain't never lied!” a member of the audience shouted.

So scared your man wants me, you couldn't give a damn about your integrity, as long as you can convince him my body is diseased, so you can have reassurance he won't come near me.

The audience applauded. Paris, out of breath, took advantage of the opportunity and paused to catch his breath.

Heathen, savage, heretic, if I don't share your beliefs you choose to demoralize me, but will look in my face and smile at me, even hand me your Bible and try to convert me. All the while gossiping about the people you claimed to have helped and their families.

The audience applauded once again. “Amen to that.”

Did creation spur from you? Did you create the universe, the elements, the sun or the moon?

“Hell naw; they didn't create a damn thing!” a voice sounded from the audience.

Who are you to place judgment on me? You cover your ears, too proud to listen to me. It's time someone informed you, you are the lost one; not me.

The audience stood up and applauded him. Paris walked behind stage and got a drink of water. He got a washcloth to wipe the sweat from his body and took a seat. He was pleased with himself. He thanked Isis for his confidence and courage.

All the contestants stood onstage, ready for the winners to be announced. Paris was anxious. He prayed silently, and held his hands behind his back with his fingers crossed.

The host commented on the wonderful job all of the contestants had done and began to announce the winners. “For third place, give it up for Diva Delight.”

Paris watched Diva Delight walk up and get his prize, a single red rose and fifty dollars. He was one of the three who were stirring up trouble backstage. Paris told himself that he wasn't going to get upset. He was going to take the high road and be happy for him. He refused to let jealousy sneak up on him. Jealousy was one of those emotions that could change you, for the worse. Besides, Diva Delight might've come in third place but Paris was certain that his name would be announced for first.

The host looked at his card and announced the winner for second place. “In second place, give it up for Paris.”

Paris's jaw dropped. He stood there, frozen in his spot.
You've got to be kidding me,
he thought to himself. How was that possible? He saw the other contestants and none of them were as good as he was.

“Come on, Paris,” the host said. “Don't keep us waiting too long.”

Paris walked over and got his prize, a dozen red roses and two hundred dollars. Paris walked back to his spot onstage. He wanted the contest to be over. He wanted to get offstage and get a few drinks to lessen his disappointment.

The host announced the winner for first place. “First place goes to Cocoa Queen.”

Cocoa Queen walked over to receive his prize, a dozen white roses and five hundred dollars. He was the ringleader of the three troublemakers. Paris rolled his eyes.
How the fuck could he win?
Cocoa Queen stumbled across stage the entire time, not able to walk in his shoes. He didn't even care enough to shave his legs for the swimsuit competition. His dancing was lousy. It looked
more like he was having convulsions than dancing. When Cocoa Queen went up to the podium to speak, he said, “umm,” and smacked his lips so much, it seemed like he was waiting for a fuse to come on in his brain so he could recall the words that he needed to complete his statement.

Cocoa Queen began to blow kisses at the crowd and the crowd booed him. “Well, fuck y'all, too!” Cocoa Queen shouted, and then flung his roses out into the audience.

A shoe flew back at him, then a wig, a bottle of lotion, and more shoes. The host and the contestants covered their faces with their arms, trying to block the flying objects. Paris fled backstage and the others followed.

Cocoa Queen ran backstage, teary-eyed. He held his head down to avoid the stares. His cockiness was gone and his two friends laughed at him. Cocoa Queen grabbed his belongings and left out of the back door.

While the other contestants sat there discussing Cocoa Queen's misfortune, Paris thought about how amazing it was, that everything might not work out the way he'd expected them to but whenever he called on Isis, things did work out. He had to be conscientious not to take too much delight in Cocoa Queen's misfortune.

When the music in the club started to play, Paris joined his two friends and enjoyed himself, forgetting all about Cocoa Queen.

26

S
imone drove down the street as the sun crept into the sky, illuminating the world. As she watched the transformation of the horizon from the deep darkness of midnight, to purple, to rose, she felt like she was part of it. She looked at Stefan and Paris through her rearview mirror. They had had their fill of drinks and now a look of boredom had settled on their faces. Simone smiled at the sight of the two. She could never remember a time that she'd felt so close to them. The feeling scared her. It was the quiet before the storm. Whenever she felt peace or happiness, God would reach out and shake the ground underneath her, causing everything she'd worked so hard for to tumble down. It was the same feeling she'd had when she left her grandmother at the hospital that day and went home with Stefan to cook, clean, and prepare for their grandmother to come home. God was about to strike again. She did not know what the result would be but the anxiety she felt warned that it would be nothing she could do to prevent it. She would be severely punished for her happiness. She couldn't conceive it as anything else but a punishment. God didn't want her to be happy. She was the one creature on earth God wouldn't allow pleasure. She never considered that her happiness was based on falsehoods that needed to be torn down so she could rebuild with new awareness, awareness of truth. Nor could she admit to herself that she had taken
advantage of the familiar. She'd used it as her security blanket and it had stifled her growth. It was time for her to grow up.

Simone wished that she could take a picture of the moment so she would always remember that feeling of happiness. She never wanted to lose that feeling. She recalled her grandmother telling her that she didn't need a camera to take a picture. If she wanted to capture the moment, all she had to do was close her eyes and picture all that was going on at that moment in her mind for a few seconds. That way she would not have to fumble through photo albums searching for a photo. She could always recall it because it was inside of her and could never be destroyed. Simone pulled to the side of the road and closed her eyes tightly, remembering that moment, remembering the now.

“Where are we going now?” Stefan asked.

“Home. Why? Do you have something else in mind?” Simone asked.

“Well, now that you brought it up, I have this sudden urge to take Mrs. Sandra up on her offer.”

“You want to go to church!” Simone exclaimed.

Paris giggled. “Church? What the hell has gotten into you?”

“I don't know,” Stefan said. “It might be because I heard somebody yell ‘amen' when we were at the club. They said it with such passion, I just feel compelled to go to church.”

“You're so full of it,” Paris said.

“I think the real reason is because his father goes to Mrs. Sandra's church and he wants to see his daddy,” Simone said.

“Oh shut up,” Stefan said. “I just want to go; that's all.”

“I know one thing,” Paris said. “I wouldn't mind seeing the look on Sandra's face when she sees y'all walk through the door.”