Page 71 of Sweet T

Sebastian grinned. “Over the years I worked part-time as an actor and part-time as a—well, you name it—waiter, retail salesclerk, bank teller. I got a few pro gigs, locally produced shows or commercials. Sometimes I was an extra in films. I even did singing telegrams.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Seriously. It was not great money. I eventually landed a director gig back at the CB Troupe. That was better enough to live on, anyway. But then my best friend, Terry, was murdered.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, some religious, fanatical, homophobic asshole shot him coming out of the Cherry Street Pub. I would have been with him, dead on the sidewalk, had Gerald not insisted I attend his niece’s dance recital that night. That’s how lucky I was.”

Evan shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“I wanted to clip his obituary, so Gerald brought home a copy of the Macon Telegraph. I was flipping through the want ads, the personals. It’s what we did back then, you know, before laptops and social media–”

“I know what a newspaper is, Sebastian.”

“Just checking. Anyway, I saw an ad that read Gay Men Wanted in Spoon, Georgia. The caption is verbatim; the rest I’m paraphrasing. Seeking sanctuary? Come to lovely Spoon. You don’t have to go to San Francisco, New York, or Atlanta. Find security in your own backyard. Who needs Provincetown or Fire Island when you can find peace and prosperity right here in middle Georgia?”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Nope. You know who ran that ad? I’ll give you a hint. You’re staying at his house.”

“Titus Shepherd? Tucker’s Dad?”

“Big Britches himself. So, we got together. He and Pedro met with me and Gerald at El Sombrero restaurant in Milledgeville. His daddy, Truman, was mayor at the time and he was there too. They wanted to know what it was I did, where Gerald fit in, if I knew anyone else who might want to come.”

“That’s so weird.”

“It was a noble effort at the time. Those Shepherd men love this town, and they were seeking an opportunity for growth here. We told them I was a director at a community theatre, and that Gerald was a high school English teacher. They wanted to know what our combined annual income was. When the meeting was over, we left them copies of our resumes, as requested.”

“What happened? What did Titus do?”

“Well, he and Pedro were hopeful, but–God’s honest truth–it was Truman that brought everything to fruition. I swear I could hear the cogs turning behind those kind brown eyes of his. He was a such a small man—like you. Adorable. He seemed way too petite to have such an enormous son and grandson as Titus and Tucker. He said if we were serious, to hold tight, that we’d be hearing from him. About a month later–Gerald had written everything off by then–I was still waiting. I’m not sure what for. Like that song in West Side Story, I felt like something was coming. I didn’t know what, but something big. Then one day, my phone rang. It was Truman.”

Evan had sat up, engrossed in Sebastian’s story. “What did he say?”

“He said that Spoon now owned this building, and that he wanted a community theatre for their town. Would I like to be the artistic director? That I would be a city employee, salaried, a good four figures higher than the one I was making in Macon. He also said there was a teaching position available at HOCO for Gerald, per principal Bradley, and that they were hoping he might be interested in developing a drama department there.”

“That’s unbelievable.”

“Yeah. We were hesitant, at first. But Macon was no haven. We’d experienced occasional hate-speak and vandalism there. And having lost Terry so tragically, we both had abandoned the notion that cities were safer for gay folks like us. So, we made the move. And guess what? We never regretted it.”

“That’s such a great story–as uplifting as it is unusual. Who else responded to the ad?”

“No one. No one else at all.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. Like I said. It was a noble effort by a father who loved his son. I’m also not sure how deep their budget would have gone. But they got us. It was the timing, too. The reason cities and coastal towns become havens for gentrification and cultural surges are because they’re destinations to begin with. People want to go there. Few folks are looking to vacation or move to a small town in the middle of Georgia. They didn’t have access to the internet then either. What were they going to do, put ads in every city paper? I mean, the only reason it worked with us is that it was local and near. Not that much of a move. I can’t see someone leaving, say Duluth, Minnesota, for Spoon.” Sebastian chuckled. “Unless... maybe the weather.”

“No. You’re right. Everything is accessible these days. The world’s at our fingertips.”

“So, now you know why I’m here. What about you?”

Evan took a deep breath and sighed. “My parents and I don’t see my future in quite the same way. Like you, I’ve got the acting bug, and it’s not something I can turn off as easily as they’d prefer. But it’s not only that. We don’t connect with anything. I’m a freak to them.”

“How did they take to your leaving?”

“Not good. I was planning everything out. Had money saved, a date. I was going to sit down with them, explain to them I wasn’t going back to school in the fall. They’re very blue-collar, pushing me towards a degree in computer science. Anyway, I came home from Sherri’s—the tattoo parlor where I worked—and Dad walked in on me shirtless. When he saw I had even more tattoos he–he just lost it. Started screaming at me about wasting my life and wasting their money. My mother was crying. I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw everything I felt essential into my backpack. Told my mother she would hear from me, eventually, but that I needed some space. And I left.”

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