A dream on a Sunday Morn

I dreamed that I was at a club as the sun was falling Sunday night. I was invited there by the owners. One of whom sat the door and another was behind the bar. There was a full kitchen serving small dishes and a upper floor where people could rest and sit and have food. It was a gay club and this is important. I’m sitting at the door talking to my friend and people are walking in, hesitant, young. Some afraid to step in, some afraid they will be turned away, rejected here as they are rejected elsewhere. Snubbed here as they are snubbed elsewhere. But my friend smiles and nods and they are welcomed in. The club night is called Church. In walks a big burly guy, not bad looking but rough. And he turns to my friend and says “it’s a bit blasphemous to have a club called Church on Sunday.” My friend just shrugs and waves him in. But I can’t let it go. I say “We call it church because this is the place we are loved and accepted. Here we aren’t judged for who we love. Here we aren’t told we are monsters or unworthy. Here we are free. THIS is our church where we are free to worship as we please with those that please us.” My friend looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. Because I don’t generally confront people about their bullshit. Then he turns to the guy and says, “Yeah, what he said.” After sitting the door for awhile we go in and we have fun and dance. We are not the stereotype. We are not good dancers, but we are happy, enthusiastic and free. A young gentleman whom I am acquainted with slips his hand across my shoulder, his hand resting on my chest. I place my hand on his and say, “Hello, my love.” I say it impishly, playfully. But he pulls his hand back like I burned him. I turn around to see his shocked expression and I can’t help but laugh. My friend gives me a look and we smile and laugh as the young man disappears, fleeing. Whether from our laughter or the shock, I don’t know. My friend has the DJ put on a record and tells the room with a shake of the head and a the back of the hand to his forehead that He’s sorry but he had to. Then the beat of Gloria Gaynor, I will survive comes up and we groan and laugh and people get up from their seats and dance like silly happy fools. And then I wake.

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