We walk among them, blending ever so cleverly in our wing-tipped shoes, and hideous striped ties, riding the subways to corporate offices, where we huddle in cramped cubicles from nine to five, waiting for the weekend. Ah, the weekend, that magical time from Friday evening, to Sunday morning, when the straight world ceases to exist. It’s then that all roads lead to Liberty Avenue, where we shed our work week persona, and allow our hair, (and other things) to hang down.

Liberty Avenue was uncharacteristically sparse this particular Friday evening. The usual weekend, happy hour crowd who normally stopped in at Woody’s to unwind from the long workweek had a special engagement they needed to attend. Principal Bailey stood in wide-eyed amazement, as a line of club boys, drag-queens, and leather-daddies extended from the gymnasium, down the grade school steps, and out into the schoolyard. The colorful assortment of unexpected guests had come en masse, with money in hand, eager to pay a five dollar admission to watch history being made.

Ted checked the lens on the camera feature of his cell phone. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” he grinned.

“Put that thing away!” Emmett smacked Ted’s hand.

“Are you kidding? After all of the years of ridicule, and jokes about my age, and being reminded about that goddamn PRIDE pity-fuck, finally I’m going to have my revenge.” Ted was chomping at the bit.

Word of the inconceivable had spread like wildfire throughout the clubs along Liberty Avenue. Like Ted, many who now stood in line were checking the cameras on their cell phones. With probability stacked against them, only a brave few stood to cash in on such a long shot. They were going to need undeniable proof in order to collect on their bets.

“Did we miss anything?” Ben and Michael joined their friends in the slow moving line.

“Not yet.” Ted focused his camera lens on the gymnasium door entrance.

“What’s he doing?” Michael asked.

“He’s going to take pictures,” Emmett said.

“I thought we were here to show our support.” Michael frowned.

“Not me.” Ted’s grin grew even wider.

Emmett looked at the long line of familiar faces behind them. “Can you believe this? It’s like Friday night at Babylon,” he said.

“Minus the thump-a-thump.” Michael took note of the carnival-like music emanating from inside the gymnasium.

“Do you think he’s going to show?” Ben asked.

“He’s been practicing all week,” Michael said.

“That doesn’t mean he’s going to show.” Ben was still skeptical.

“Everyone, may I have your attention please? My name is Mr. Bailey. I’m the principal here at George Washington. On behalf of our Parent, Teacher Association, I would like to welcome you all to our annual carnival night. We’re very happy to see such a huge turnout. We’re sorry about the long wait, but as you know, our city fire ordinance will only allow so many people inside at a time. We’re not rushing anyone. We want you all to enjoy yourselves, and hopefully spend lots of money at the booths. Again, thank you all for coming.” Principal Bailey greeted the next group of guests as they entered the brightly, slightly over decorated gymnasium.

All in all George Washington Public School’s Annual PTA Carnival Night was pretty much your average, run-of-the mill, respectable, hetero affair. There were tables of homemade baked goods, bean bag and ring toss games, hot dog and cold drink stands, displays of arts and crafts for sale…..

“Michael, Ben, over here!” Melanie’s voice rang out over the merriment.

The group of friends made their way through the crowd, and over to the art booth, where Lindsey had a line of paying customers waiting for their likeness to be caricaturized.

“Congratulations, Mel. It looks like your carnival night is a success,” Ben said.

“We have Brian to thank for that.” Lindsey briefly looked up from her work.

“Where is Brian?” Michael asked.

“He’s where he always is, at the center of attention,” Melanie said.

Suddenly, a flash of light at the far end of the gym caught Ted’s eye. It was followed by another, then another, and yet another. Emmett, Ted, Michael, and Ben followed the lights into the sea of familiar Liberty Avenue faces that had gathered around what was obviously the most popular booth at the carnival. The four friends maneuvered their way through the paparazzi-like scene. “Oh, my God!” Michael’s gasp stopped them dead in their tracks.

With flashbacks of Super-Q racing through his head, Michael watched in disbelief along with the others. Never in a thousand years could anyone have imagined Brian Kinney in a bright red clown suit, with matching nose, white make-up, and a multi-colored, striped top hat.

“Stand aside! Move out of my way!” Ted couldn’t wait to snap his picture.

Michael, Emmett, and Ben stood dumbfounded. They watched as Justin pumped helium into colorful, elongated balloons, before handing them to Brian, one at a time. With precision, and skill, Brian meticulously twisted the long sheaths of rubber into made-to-order poodles, dachshunds, elephants, and giraffes. He then attached them to strings, and handed them out to the children that surrounded his booth. Emmett looked up at the rainbow of animals floating above his head, and began to laugh along with the rest of the crowd.

“What are you laughing at? This isn’t funny!” Michael elbowed his friend.

“Funny? It’s hilarious!” Ted snapped another picture.

“Put that camera away!” Michael turned on Ted. “What kind of a friend are you? How can you stand here taking pictures while Brian is being humiliated?”

In the midst of his husband’s outrage, and the laughter, and snickers of Brian’s former tricks and friends, Ben took note of the expressions on the youngest faces of Brian’s captivated audience. Among them, one set of pint size, hazel eyes outshined all of the others.

“This is horrible. Brian is never going to live this down,” Michael fretted.

“If he’s lucky, he won’t.” Ben smiled.

Michael couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you fucking kidding me? Look at Brian. He looks like a goddamn fool, a buffoon, an idiot, a fucking joke! He’s dressed in a goddamn clown suit, in front of half of Babylon.”

“But look at Gus.” Ben pointed. “Do you know how many fathers wait a lifetime, and never get to see that look in their child’s eyes? No, Michael, the joke isn’t on Brian. The joke is on those of us who came expecting to see the pride of Babylon humiliated. Instead, what we’re witnessing here is magnificent valor.”

Ben pulled a twenty dollar bill from the front pocket of his jeans, and slid it into the cashbox on Brian’s booth. “Good job, Brian!” Ben called to him.

“Thanks.” Brian winked at Ben, and smiled.

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