Ruth

Emily Ralph was one of my best friends growing up. She lived on the other side of the University Campus, and was the only Jewish girl I knew. Emily was adventurous, creative, fun, and knew how to cook for herself. Her grandmother survived the Holocaust and I remember seeing VHS tapes of interviews with her. Emily’s mom was a social worker whose office was across from a corn field.

I liked Emily because her family was tranched like mine. I have 3 sisters, and the oldest has a different father than myself. Emily’s older sister had a different father too; he was a concert pianist, taught at the University and lived around the corner. Greencastle was very conservative, and in spite of small town expectations, it was nice to know that families could have layers.

Emily’s mom was a petit woman with knee-jerk empathy and a strong sense of right and wrong. I always admired how Emily got along with her mom. They seemed to be friends.

I came across the word ‘ruth’ recently. I was more familiar with ‘ruthless.’ There is comfort in the existence of that word’s antithesis; showing empathy, compassion. It’s as though the power of ruthless is balanced and ultimately overcome by its own root; the root is its absolution.

I remember vaguely those VHS tapes; an old woman, a grandmother, with a heavy accent, describing a very personal horror she survived. Only later did I realize how sublimely beautiful it was for her to name her daughter, “Ruth.”

Afflatus

Divine inspiration.

I was casually studying for the GRE and found a book of big words with a cover that appealed to my sense of graphic design. I thumbed the pages and delighted in how many words I actually knew; then I read the chapter heading, "words you probably know." It was followed with other chapters of varying interest and difficulty...I was hooked.

I have been writing monologues inspired by words that don't exist, and there's a satisfaction that comes from finding something that is yet unnamed. What I didn't expect was just how satisfying coming across new and existing words could be. Going through this book, I rolled the definitions of words around in my head, and some of them are truly captivating.

That's when I came across the word, "Afflatus."

The root of the word is 'afflare' which means, "to blow upon." The idea was that, for an artist, writer, scientist, poet, or anyone really, there's that moment when you are seized with inspiration so profound, that it must be divinely attributed; the brush of an angel's wings.

It reminds me of how, in ancient Greece, muses inspired artists; true creative impulse came from without. Then, as the gods waned, and celebrity took over, the curious origin of creative impulse was buried in the psyche of the artist.

I have taken to this word so much, because I love the idea that profound inspiration might be a spiritual experience. I don't subscribe to any faith, but I find that allowing a spiritual component in my creative endeavors is generally advantageous.

I stood in the bookstore with my new prize in hand. The pages fanned close and the sweet smell of a new book brushed my face. "I should make a note of all words I find beautiful and inspiring. List them, (in a blog?), and allow them to guide me towards something creative, profound. Catalogue them like treasured recipes."

So that's where I am now. My excitement about the definitions of beautiful words might not tell me where this will lead, but afflatus isn't concerned with outcomes, just inspiration.

My letter to Indiana Senator Lugar

Dear Senator Lugar,

I grew up the son of a Judge in a small college town in Indiana. When I graduated high shool, I left Indiana to go to NYU to pursue a career in the arts.

I also left Indiana because it wasn't safe for me.

You see, I'm an openly gay man now, but back then, well, Indiana wasn't a safe place to live. This might sound strange, because as everyone knows, Indiana is home to some of the nicest, most hospitable, and genial people in America.

But it wasn't the case with gays and lesbians.

I knew of one other gay person in my class and between us, we had a handful of supportive friends. I suppose I was lucky; being the son of a judge, I didn't receive the lion's share of bullying. But I knew I couldn't make Indiana my home.

I don't know if you can relate to that: growing up in a place you love, and knowing you cannot call it home. It's a special degree of heartache that is.

I've made Brooklyn my home for about 7 years since I graduated college. But I miss the community, the environment, and the sense of belonging you get in a small town that Indiana fosters so well.

Perhaps distance makes the heart grow fonder, and time forgives.

And yet, I read in the news the other day, that a young man of 15 committed suicide in Greensburg, Indiana. He was bullied for his perceived sexuality, because he was different. He was called a fag, and told he doesn't deserve to live...

Sir, it breaks my heart that in the 11 years I've been away to hear that Indiana hasn't changed much.

Since I've joined facebook, I've reconnected with a lot of people I grew up with. I've since discovered that there were plenty of other lgbt's at my high school. I wasn't alone! It's bittersweet knowing that now.

And recently, I've learned that one of my lgbt classmates is in Afganistan. I'm wildly proud of this person, yet, I can't imagine what it is like for them. It pains me that this person cannot serve openly.

It reminds me that things haven't changed much since I've left. Well, Sir, that needs to change.

When I came out, it was truly transformative. Someone asked me, "Gay pride? What do you have to be proud of? You didn't do anything to be gay."

However, I am proud, because it took a lot for me to stand up to bullies, to leave my home, to love myself for who I am.

And there's a pride that comes from carrying the courage of your convictions. That, if you reach out to people, sincerely, candidly, and humbly, you can show them how important it is to respect each other, no matter how much you might disagree with them.

And so, I'm writing the Senator of my home state. I'm writing you in the hope that, my story might persuade you to vote for the repeal of DADT, or to vote for ENDA, or for an anti-bullying law that will prevent another tragedy.

These are all great things that will make Indiana stronger, safer, and a better place to raise a family. From the water towers of Brooklyn, to the silos of Indiana, you have my word on it!

I sincerely appreciate your time and attention to my email.

Very truly yours,
William Croft Vaughn IV

Maegan's Speech

Hello everyone, I'm Maegan, Heather's sister, the gimpie.

If you know my sister, you know how selfless she is. She is incredibly devoted to others. And Brian is a very lucky man. Heather worked tirelessly to find the best home in Indiana for our mother to move in to, so that she is taken of.

Of course, Heather would not be able to devote herself to others like she does if a great man was not there, supporting her 110 percent. They've been selfless with me too, allowing me to move in with them the first time I moved out of Greencastle. I am eternally grateful to you both for all you have done for me.

Living with them, I saw first hand how Heather and Brian became the epitome of a great relationship, and truly something to look up to. They never go to bed angry with each other. And if one of them asks the other to do something, they never hesitate. Seeing how happy they are to come home to each other is truly special.

Brian is also a remarkable man. He is just stubborn enough, but you know he cares about you when he picks on you. That's how he makes you feel like family, and you've felt like family since we met on Conner Street.

Some advice: don't pop wheelies on your motorcycle, especially if I'm riding with you. Also, know that, as devoted as you both have been to others, you have two great families and phenomenal friends that are, and will be, as devoted and selfless to you.

We are all so excited for you, Heather and Brian, and I congratulate you on your wedding. I wish you both Health, and to continue to love each other unconditionally. Also, that you never stop dancing!

Congratulations!

Wedding Sonnet #2. For Heather and Brian

What shall I give you for your wedding day?
Some thing you two do not already own:
The perfect gift that will sublimely say,
What words themselves cannot express alone.
 
A potted plant to symbolize love’s growth?
Or nesting pots to simmer life’s cuisine?
A Telescope?  A detailed star chart? Both?
A princess cut diamond aquamarine?
 
Alas these thoughts though nicely sounding still
Ring hollow of the goal for which they’re set.
A cup of love these gifts could never fill,
And true love’s measure is the surest bet.
 
The greatest gift then can't come from anoth’r
You’ve given it already to each oth’r.

Subway Stairs

I looked down at the subway stairs I was climbing. Just a flight of stairs, but suddenly it took on a weight and gravity, because I was going to my lover's home.

Beneath this flight of stairs, I could sense those other stairs, sprinkled across new york city. 102nd and Broadway. Astoria Boulevard. South Second and Havemeier. Somewhere way the fuck out in Queens. Port Authority. Grand Central. The stone, the wood, the laminate stairs.

The premonition I would only become as familiar with these stairs as I did with those others levied itself against the longing I already had to climb these with enough regularity to surpass them.

I surfaced onto Union Square, with cold January to greet me. For once, then a while, and hopefully longer, I have found the path to my lover.

Embellishments

I love to dance. Specifically, Country-Western. Mostly, Two-Step. And, Line-Dance.

The allure of line-dance is doing the same movement within a group. There is something uniquely profound in moving your body in sync with many other people. You see how their bodies move, and, in return, you learn something about your own.

Traditionally, it is expected and appreciated for everyone to do the movement in unison, with as few mistakes, and embellishments as possible. It truly is enough just to do the choreography with other people, sharing that dance together.

My favorite line dance is "Say Hey." If the dance-floor is my church, then "Say Hey," is getting chosen to be saved, baptized, and reborn again, all in about 3 minutes. And that's what happened one night when the spirit or endorphins were flowing; I found the dance.

I hadn't done any Afro-Haitian dance since college, but suddenly, the back undulations, the open arms and stomping legs returned. You could say, I was in the moment, like an actor who makes a choice instinctively. Suddenly, there was something inside myself that desperately needed out. Don't get me wrong, I was still doing the choreography, just wildly so.

It was as close to a spiritual experience as I can attest. When the song comes on again, I can hope for another re-birthing, but I'm happy just finding what the dance is that night. Sometimes it's remembering the first time, sometimes it's finding something new, sometimes it's just about sharing it with others.

Another line dance, Texas Tango, was choreographed by Susanna Stein. She is one of the founders of the Big Apple Ranch. It's a beautiful dance set to "Music on the Wind" by Suzy Bogguss, which has a unique 5/4 time signature.

Last night they played Texas Tango, and I found myself dancing next to Susanna. I thought, "Wow, how often do you get to do a line dance right next to the person who choreographed it?"

Normally, I like finding little things I can add to a dance to make it my own. This time, I chose to hold back and honor the choreography. I enjoyed it just as much, simply sharing the dance with those around me.

3 Generations of Gay

Growing up, I suffered through comments along the lines of, "Oh, you make me feel old," or "Oh, I'm dating myself." It seemed a legitimate sport in small town Indiana. I was always polite in my responses, because someday, if I was lucky, I would share in that experience.

Tonight, our new roommate, Hasan, finally moved in. He's 22, a student and bartender. Very charming, and handsome, and full of enthusiasm. He invited myself, 29, and Nick, 25, to join him at Club Greenhouse for a night of partying:

"You should come! I've been to lots of bars and clubs, but this one is the best. It reminds me of how they described the best clubs in New York, like the one that used to be in a church."

Nick and I responded at the same time.

Nick: "Oh, Avalon."
Croft: "Oh, Limelight."

The humor was lost on them, and I gratefully discovered that those moments will go completely unnoticed if you refrain from pointing them out. Yes, I had been to Limelight before it was Avalon, and before it turned into a mini-mall.

But now I'm curious to the moments when others held back from me, refraining, as I did, to point out a difference I may not have fully appreciated.