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Wednesday, Aug 20, 2008
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What I mean to say is.... |
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| 'Shy' | ||
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- by Beau burriola "I hate meeting people," I repeated to myself over and over. I was ironing a shirt nervously for the fourth time, getting ready for the horrifying prospect of meeting a whole group of people I didn't know, and systematically psyching myself out for the occasion, just as I always do. I was right, I really don't care for introducing myself to new crowds of people. I have always been incredibly shy and going out on a limb in front of strangers has always been difficult for me. Tonight, I didn't really have a choice. I was expected. When you move to a new city, sooner or later you've got to get out and meet people. When that city is Raleigh, North Carolina, you've got the added challenge of trying to figure out where the type of people you want to meet are so that you can meet them at all. When it comes to Gay people, it's even harder. I've always been an insanely shy person. If I were invited to a party, I'd be the guy standing over near the wall or somewhere else out of the way, not even looking up at people around me. I always made sure not to speak to anyone, a possibility which invited the worst feeling of dread from the bottom of my stomach to the tops of my burning red ears. Even if I were able to muster the strength to go to more parties, I always had a very hard time figuring out how to introduce myself to the people in the group I didn't know. So, I always stayed mostly quiet. I didn't say a word to anyone unless they spoke to me, I had a rotten time, and just as soon as I could, I'd find a way to escape and get back to the comfort of my home. "7:30," Laura repeated, "call me if you get lost." I promised I'd be there on time even though I'd never been to that part of town. I'd only ever met Laura and her girlfriend once, and even then only for five minutes, when she came over to the house to buy some bike tools I was selling. I opened the door and saw the first Gay person I'd seen in more than two months. She was friendly, about my age, and had an amazing personality, so I decided I had to say something. If I didn't, I wasn't sure when the next Gay person to cross my path might come along. I managed to explain (bumbling though I was) that I had just moved to the area from Seattle and didn't know a Gay person in the whole town. That's when she gave me her number and invited me to come meet some of her friends. It took me two weeks to even pick up the phone to call. I kept the number on the refrigerator and kept looking at it every now and again, thinking of past bad experiences I had in trying to inject myself into random Gay social circles. There was the abortive attempt at an overnight trip to a house on Black Lake in 2002, where I ended up in a fistfight after only two hours, heading home in humiliation. There was the time I accepted an invitation to a dinner full of queer writers, only to find myself lost at all the self-gratifying conversation about obscure literary works from the turn of the century. I didn't say a word the whole dinner. There was the time I went along with a new friend to a party and found myself suddenly surrounded by Gay skinheads. I had no idea people like that existed. "They're only Lesbians," Matty assured me when I told him on the phone about the dinner. He thought I was crazy for going to Raleigh, and must have thought the lack of gay people was very much a result of my decision. His suggestion - that Gay men are a harder lot to be around than Lesbians - made me realize how much of a charmed life I had had in Seattle, with the same network of friends I kept my whole time there. Maybe I'm actually just afraid of meeting Gay men. Maybe I feel like Gay men are more tedious than the rest; too judgemental, more often bitchy and catty, just all around less comfortable? "They aren't all Lesbians, at least I don't think so." I found my nervousness suddenly increased by the idea of sitting around a table with ten Lesbians. It would be the writing group dinner all over again, but with conversation that would make me blush. Still, in spite of all the sour experiences of the past, I managed to finally pick up the phone and call Laura. She had been wondering when I'd call and she arranged dinner for a few people at her house straight away. Could I make it Friday evening? Great. No, don't bring anything. When I hung up the phone, I was relieved. At least, I was relieved for two minutes, until I started thinking about how it would all go. When I ran out of time for ironing the shirt and it was nearing time to go, I took a deep breath and locked the door behind me. I bet this never really gets easier. I bet I can go my whole life and always find it difficult to meet new people. I bet there will always be an awkward social situation I am not sure how to handle. I'm at peace with that. Now, if I can at least just get better at putting myself out there, I'll be okay with that. It ain't easy, but, especially in a smaller town where community is that much more important to survival, it sure is necessary. Beau Burriola is a stubborn Queer writer re-learning how to be the new guy in town. beaubrent@gmail.com |
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visit Beau at www.beaubrent.com
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