Welcome to the World (1st draft)

Welcome to the world, I’ve been Waiting for you. I think maybe my grandpa said that. He liked me. I felt that he liked me.

I see a man. He’s in a giant purple turban, the wizard of Oz on acid meets Willy Wanka, old-stylee. What was that actor’s name? I had such a crush on him – his big buggy blue eyes and big head with curly hair. Oh yeah, Gene Wilder!

My old boyfriend Joe reminded me of Gene Wilder. He was probably the first honest-to-goodness freak I ever fell for – I was home at last!

Joe showed me the joys of tape, how it feels on your lips and fingers. No, he didn’t gag me! He showed me how good it felt to put a piece of scotch tape on my lips, allowing it to hang off my bottom lip so the long piece was loose, and blow. It would vibrate, tickle. A pleasant sensation.

Funny, I completely remember tape, but I have no memory of ever kissing him. I’m trying really hard right now to remember – no, a kiss doesn’t come to mind. I can’t see it.

We were friends though, that is true. We laughed a lot. I remember driving across the country with him and the first time I ever drove in snow was in the Sierra Nevadas. It was September and we’re driving in a blizzard down this winding mountain. I’m wearing a t-shirt, I didn’t realize Northern California was cold – I think the heaviest jacket I had at the time was denim. (Come to think f it, I’m still pretty crappily equipped for cold weather, but that’s another story). Anyway, I’m driving in the snow for the first time in my life on the Sierra Nevadas down a very windy and terrifying road and Joe gets the idea that it would be fun to put his hands up my shirt and fondle my breasts. I start screaming, “This is not a good time!” I mean I’m scared, practically in tears, but I won’t take my hands off the wheel nor will I look away from the road. He’s laughing. Turns out he really has no idea how terrified I am.

Again, I don’t remember what his hands felt like, but I do remember the t-shirt. It was given to me by Deb Parker when I danced one Sunday night at the World. Sunday was lesbian night – they called it “Girlworld”. That’s what my t-shirt said. It was white and there was a line drawing if a girl in a champagne glass on the friend. I bitched up the shirt by cutting off the sleeves and cutting out the neck. I liked to wear 1950s lace bras under my t-shirts back then – especially light-colored t-shirts. Scandalous in my hometown, but the fashion du jour on the Lower East Side. Lots of necklaces and bracelets, too.

Shit, I recently saw a rerun of Sex in the City, and the Carrie character wore about three different outfits in one episode where her top was white but her bras were neon pink or blue or black. Of course, she’s not wearing t-shirts and her blouses are all probably silk or at least outlandishly expensive. It’s just not the same.

©May 5, 2008