It would not always be a smooth ride, but there would be help along the way. It was how I learned that – when it came to being open or living in fear of homophobia – my choice was clear. And those travels prepared me to be an gay man. This summer was how I closed out the 20th Century. And I came to treasured a woman who bought me dinner and introduced me to friends after I was hassled by teenagers in a French phone both. Later that trip, I would be similarly grateful to a group of Québécois girls from a convent school, who agreed to share a room with me in an otherwise hostile hostel. I would never forget those kind Sicilians who smelled like hash and defended me from the invading soldier on an Italian train. Read Next | This is Worth Hearing: History’s Most Famous Gay Composers Turn of the Century We might be related – it’s not so big an island.” Screw the military! Besides, your nona and your mama are Sicilian. “You’re our friend and he’s an ass,” said another.
“What trouble? Let him go to the bar,” one of them said. “You didn’t have to tell him to leave,” I said. I wasn’t even worthy of an obscene gesture. He did the Italian version of flipping them off – gesturing at them with the back of his right hand against his throat and under his chin. And they already told me they hated serving in the conscripted Italian military.Īfter much back and forth with them, the soldier got up. The Sicilian-Rastafarians didn’t tell the solider I could understand him. He thought I should leave the compartment.
He wasn’t comfortable with me being there. The soldier’s demonstrative hand gestures did much of the communication. His presence quieted us.Īt the time I spoke more Italian than I could understand, but I understood enough. From the moment he laid eyes on me, I could tell he would not be nearly so cool. We had turned into quite the party.Įventually, another passenger joined. For dessert, I brought out cookies and a bottle of prosecco. They shared their food and drinks with me – hastily-ripped-in-half sandwiches and Peroni beer. Read Next | What Happened When My Estranged Cousin Decided to Read My Life A Soldier Invades We have beers or apertivi when I see him on the piazza,” said the other laughing. Until one looked another with realization on his face. But being young and brave (or stupid) enough not to lie answered: “I’m not into girls.” And then came the dreaded question: “Did you leave your girlfriend home in New York?” Our Italian train journey was turning out to be a nice one. It’s an edifice so bleak in design, a joint might be the only thing that could help one find beauty in the structure. But they had clearly smoked before they got on at Roma Termini, Rome’s main train terminal. I wouldn’t have asked to join anyway because I knew at the time it was very dangerous to get caught doing controlled substances in Italy. I don’t think they actually lit up on the train. They told me they were considered outsiders back in Palermo. Believe it or not, they thought weed was legal in the States because of all the talk about blunts in American rap. At first, they explained it by saying that they were “Rastafarians” and “fans of Bob Marley.” I’m not entirely sure if they were joking. I had also recognized a familiar smell as they entered. Read Next | NYC Bath Houses Are Back, and Gay Men Are Cruising Them Once More A Lit Conversation They were disappointed I had no plans to go there on my first trip to the Motherland. When I told them I was also of Sicilian decent, we spoke of the island. Eventually they explained they were speaking Sicilian, the language of my ancestors on my mother’s side. But when they spoke to each other, they used an Italian dialect I couldn’t grasp. And I was a rather surprised when they greeted me with a cheerful, “Ciao! Come stai?” But I was, at first, intimidated by these four strangers.
That was all over when four guys not much older than me clambered in. “So what if they do?” I thought to myself. I wondered if this was because they could tell I was gay.
A few passersby looked in but did not slide the door open to sit with me. Except for me, it was empty for several stops. My compartment contained six seats made of some kind of barely pliable plastic. What better way force myself to ponder the future than to be surrounded by the unfamiliar? And that’s how I ended up alone on an Italian train bound for the Côte d’Azure. But I was willing to risk getting out of my every comfort zone to gain a sense of independence and some time to think.