8 am, second day on the bus
An interesting phenomena is unfolding before me. There's a microphone at the front of the bus and riders are sharing their stories of the last 24 hours. The bus has become church. Our sanctuary. And when the morning alter call is given, the true believers step up, give testimony.
The stories are kind of what you might expect. The spontaneous "Right-Ons" that remind us that there really is work being done, even while waiting in line for the gourmet buffet at the Red Lion Inn in scenic downtown Elko. Mostly interactions with closeted waitresses and desk clerks. We know not what we do, only that we are doing it. Some stories bring tears, some remind us that we are going to have to watch each other's backs at some point on this journey. Probably to protect us from one of our own (I've got a 20 dollar bet on it with the Chronicle photographer). We are all wearing our whistles in anticipation of Utah. Plueeze.
I, as usual, am watching more than listening. My listening is directed towards my Ipod as I type this. Rufus Wainwright's rendition of "Hallelujah" comes on at just the right moment. Every moment is perfectly on time this morning. I am at peace in my pew, 5th row back, left-hand side. However, my lower back is already killing me. I should be at my stretch class today. I miss my routine. I miss my friends, my familiars. And yes, Killacky, I got your farewell phone message singing, "Cumbaya, Lesbian, Cumbaya." You called it (and I spelled it). Yesterday started with matching tee-shirts and by the end of the day we (with the exception of the bitter, bitter Widow Ewing) had sung "This land is your land" three times. So NOT queer. But I guess that is the point, isn't it.
We roll into these towns, these Renos and Elkos, declaring ...almost pleading, "We are just like you!" Or is it "We want to be just like you."
My little voice that dare not speak too loudly begs to be heard: "The Queers are coming, the Queers are coming!" Not to worry though, I'm saving mine for DC. Yesterday, I was thinking about all my October sojourns to DC to raise a little hell. This is my ninth trip in seventeen years. How did this ever happen? I caught myself thinking about the first time Rebecca and I read names at a Quilt display in DC. Rebecca was furious at the readers' passivity. When it was our turn, we didn't just read them. She flipped the microphone around to face the White House and we screamed them to the one who didn't care. One of the best things I ever did and we never planned it. I, as so often was the case, just followed Queenie's lead. I suspect she has another surprise in store for me somewhere down the road. fortunately, I take direction well.
Meanwhile...
I must say that this tribe would make a lousy bunch of Quakers. Nobody, but nobody, is into the collective power of silence. Not this morning anyway. Maybe it's because there was a Starbuck's in the casino (remember this if you ever find yourself in Elko). And now we are really in the thick of it. The bus driver, who is a black ex-Marine doing his duty with gritted teeth, just took the mic. Had to tell us that the Utah border weigh-station guys knew we were coming and were supportive. His people.
I think it's time to crank up the volume.
The stories are kind of what you might expect. The spontaneous "Right-Ons" that remind us that there really is work being done, even while waiting in line for the gourmet buffet at the Red Lion Inn in scenic downtown Elko. Mostly interactions with closeted waitresses and desk clerks. We know not what we do, only that we are doing it. Some stories bring tears, some remind us that we are going to have to watch each other's backs at some point on this journey. Probably to protect us from one of our own (I've got a 20 dollar bet on it with the Chronicle photographer). We are all wearing our whistles in anticipation of Utah. Plueeze.
I, as usual, am watching more than listening. My listening is directed towards my Ipod as I type this. Rufus Wainwright's rendition of "Hallelujah" comes on at just the right moment. Every moment is perfectly on time this morning. I am at peace in my pew, 5th row back, left-hand side. However, my lower back is already killing me. I should be at my stretch class today. I miss my routine. I miss my friends, my familiars. And yes, Killacky, I got your farewell phone message singing, "Cumbaya, Lesbian, Cumbaya." You called it (and I spelled it). Yesterday started with matching tee-shirts and by the end of the day we (with the exception of the bitter, bitter Widow Ewing) had sung "This land is your land" three times. So NOT queer. But I guess that is the point, isn't it.
We roll into these towns, these Renos and Elkos, declaring ...almost pleading, "We are just like you!" Or is it "We want to be just like you."
My little voice that dare not speak too loudly begs to be heard: "The Queers are coming, the Queers are coming!" Not to worry though, I'm saving mine for DC. Yesterday, I was thinking about all my October sojourns to DC to raise a little hell. This is my ninth trip in seventeen years. How did this ever happen? I caught myself thinking about the first time Rebecca and I read names at a Quilt display in DC. Rebecca was furious at the readers' passivity. When it was our turn, we didn't just read them. She flipped the microphone around to face the White House and we screamed them to the one who didn't care. One of the best things I ever did and we never planned it. I, as so often was the case, just followed Queenie's lead. I suspect she has another surprise in store for me somewhere down the road. fortunately, I take direction well.
Meanwhile...
I must say that this tribe would make a lousy bunch of Quakers. Nobody, but nobody, is into the collective power of silence. Not this morning anyway. Maybe it's because there was a Starbuck's in the casino (remember this if you ever find yourself in Elko). And now we are really in the thick of it. The bus driver, who is a black ex-Marine doing his duty with gritted teeth, just took the mic. Had to tell us that the Utah border weigh-station guys knew we were coming and were supportive. His people.
I think it's time to crank up the volume.
posted by Leslie Ewing at 8:09 AM
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