Inside the Rainbow

Pride and Joy

Photo by Visax on Unsplash

A late afternoon storm crackled and dumped sheets of rain onto the Interstate 24 commuters who just wanted the workday behind us. After miles of white-knuckled driving, my exit peeked through wiper sweeps. I eased into the stop-and-go ramp traffic just as the deluge let up. I inhaled deeply, released my steering wheel grip, and turned the wipers down a notch. Sun rays broke through the heavy, wet sky in two spots, one on each side of me. And then it happened.

Two rainbows crisscrossed and turned the world golden. Rose gold. “This must be the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” I thought or maybe said out loud. There were no Leprechauns or coins in sight, but I quickly understood the true treasure. Having long embraced the rainbow, it simply hugged me back. In pink radiance.

I love a gay man.

He makes me laugh. The double over, can’t breathe, tears streaming, wet my pants kinda laugh. He was my date at a family wedding. Southern Baptist church. As etiquette dictates, we were in our pew 30 minutes early. We chatted with guests taking their seats, including my elderly aunt whom he had never met. They exchanged first-meeting niceties, and she moved down the row in front of us.

“She reminds me of my kindergarten teacher,” he shuddered.

“I don’t see it. And what’s with the shudder?” I asked.

“It was during reading circle. We’re sitting on the floor, and she’s in a chair in the middle. Reading the book. Someone came into the room. She stood up and stepped through us to talk to them. Her dress edge swept over my head and got caught there when she suddenly stopped. It was really scary under there.”

Silent laughter can be the loudest. Our bodies and the pew shook. I grabbed Kleenex that couldn’t sop up the tears fast enough. We took deep breaths, settled ourselves, until we dared meet eyes over a sideways peek or raised our heads to the disapproving faces pointed our way. Our heaving then returned with a vengeance.

He holds my hand. So automatic between us, it’s barely noticed. Like meeting for dinner and walking across the parking lot hand-in-hand. Until we got to the restaurant, where, of course, he opened the door for me. His mama taught him right.

Sometimes it’s a lifeline. He held my hand through my brother’s funeral. A warm reassurance that he felt my grief and his love would sustain me. And that time he called in pain, needing to go to the emergency room. I rushed him there. Outside the hospital entrance, he reached his hand toward me. I grabbed it and held on for his two-day hospitalization, only letting go when surgical doors closed me out of the appendectomy.

He looks out for me. Not in an obvious, in-your-face way. I just know if I fall, he’s behind me or sometimes in front. We went to a Star Trek movie several years ago. We decided to forego dinner and load up on concessions. With our arms full, we headed for the escalator to the lower-level theaters. He stepped on in front of me. I froze. I must hold the rail as I step on and off, and I didn’t have a free hand. Halfway down, he looked back and saw me still at the top. He turned around and ran up the down-escalator. He took enough of my snacks to free one hand, and we stepped on together.

I didn’t always know that he was gay. And I cherish our discussion after I asked. And he confirmed.

“If someone were to ask would I prefer my children be straight or gay, I would say straight.” I said. “Not because I think gay is lesser. But relationships are hard. And in our bigoted world, gay relationships are harder. I would never want a difficult life for my child.”

“But, Mom, it’s easier.”

Pure gold.