An Outfest Story: The Queerest Thing on the Streets
I have weird dreams. They’re not often poetic or make much sense but I find myself compelled to write them down. Disclaimer: I’m also not much of a writer.
It swelled and thinned, wound along narrow corridors and truck-wide streets.
Walking amongst the vibrant-colored hair, wild outfits, and the outlandish behavior of the performers, drag queens, and fetishists, she was completely inconspicuous. After all, she was hardly out-of-place in such company. And yet, everyone could not help but notice her. She was dressed in a gossamer, silver gown made of a soft see-through fabric that hugged her shoulders and followed her curves from breast to hip to ankle. The gown skated the ground as she walked but there was not a single blemish on it to be found—dirt dared not to stick to it. Through the gown, her undergarments could plainly be seen: black lace underwear and top.
The crowd was exceptionally large and, as usually happens, most people were not paying attention to where they were going or into whom they were colliding. But with more grace than would seem humanly possible, she navigated the chaos of the crowd without being hit by a single partier. Walking through the crowd barefoot as if she were walking across lily pads, she had a serene expression that more often than not found itself changing into a warm smile.
It was the smile that was the most amazing thing about her despite her unusual dress. Those in the crowd who happened to catch her eye found themselves instantly filled with warmth and possessed with the irresistible desire to bow their heads in gratitude and respect for some reason even they could not articulate. Those in the chaos of the crowd who noticed her made it their utmost priority to clear a path for her as she walked by. Regardless of the unusualness of these occurrences, every single person who had laid eyes upon her would never think to give their behavior a second thought; they were paying her the proper honor they knew, intimately and instinctually, she deserved. But just beyond this immediate crowd an something unpleasant connected with her.
“’If a man lies with a man as one lies with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable!” The man, balding and gray of an impressive stature, grasped a bullhorn in one hand and a homemade sign in the other that read: REPENT! SINNERS! ACCEPT JESUS! He would occasionally point out to the crowd of those who stood by and watched him with bemused expressions on their faces as he gasped his proclamations. “Turn away from the hell-fire; turn away from the brimstone and eternal damnation, brothers and sisters! Cast off your sin and come to the One True God!”
Luminous and numinous she was for all to see as she slowly made her approach towards the bullhorn-armed man. She had nothing but a warm smile painted delicately upon her features but even still the man braced himself for a close-encounter with which he was obviously uncomfortable. “Ha-have you come to seek Jesus, miss?”
Her smile widened and she took his hand into hers. For a moment, he had an expression of confusion, which quickly turned to terror as she brought his hand to her breast, beneath which her heart beat with a strength he could feel down to his heels. As quickly as it was donned, his terrified expression melted into concentration and then into tear-stained sadness.
“I’m so sorry,” he fell to his knees and grabbed hold of her waist; his tear-soaked face buried within her robe. “I understand… How could I…?” She allowed pallid fingers to reach up and stoke the back of the man’s head sympathetically.
She did not ask him for penance for She did not require him to ask Her for forgiveness. She had no threat of pain or damnation or even of consequence at all to offer him; She had only shared with him another path. And so, She let him cry himself to his own peace until he was ready to begin his new work—Her work.