The Distance

AUGUST - JASON, 1

In February of my sophomore year, the first season of RuPaul's Drag Race aired on television. I had no idea it would have a profound effect on me. I probably wouldn't have ever watched it if not for my cousin Carla. She was over at our house babysitting my younger brother Luis. Why my mom never trusted me to look after him was a whole other can of worms. Anyway, Luis was already in bed and Carla put on this show with gay men dressing up like women in wigs and makeup and something inside me hiccoughed. That's a weird way to put it. I felt something that seemed to upset the rhythm of my heart. It was like I'd been living in a dream all my life and everything people said or did felt alien to me. Everyone kept trying to reassure me that this world was normal and then suddenly I watched this show on TV and I woke up. It was reality. Literally, it was a reality show that was produced and had fake drama, but the drag queens were fearlessly existing as themselves and I was hooked.

Naturally, I said none of this to Carla. We just sat on the couch, ate Takis, and made jokes. She had just finished college and spent some time in London. I thought she was so cool and worldly. I wanted to be like her. I wanted to travel. I wanted to hurry up and become an adult so I could go somewhere not the suburbs of St. Louis, Missouri. I heard my Tio make some jokes about gay men living in San Francisco. I wanted to go there because I knew that was me. That was my reality.

I had known for a long time, I just couldn't put it into words. I knew in elementary school when all the boys pretended to be Power Rangers, and I was the only one who wanted to be the Pink Ranger. I told them it was because I liked pterodactyls. The color, the skirt, the expression of femininity had nothing to do with it. I knew when we went down to Texas and I saw a guy on the beach who looked like an action figure and I wanted him to ask me if I would help him put on sunscreen. I was only eight, but I wanted to touch his chest and arms. I didn't know why though. I didn't have the words.

My family was a big reason I didn't have those words. My mom in particular was very closed off to the world outside of her interests. My mom loved three things; horses, Indy 500, and Jesus. Sundays were a big day for her. She would take us to church and then we'd go back home quickly so she could watch men drive cars in circles. I didn't get it.

I had a similar thought about joining the cross-country team in the fall and then running track in the spring. Cross-country courses were amazing. They had hills and trenches, trees and fields. There was variety. During the track season, I would just run the same loop like a race car. The 3200 was the worst. Eight times around the track. Boring.

I was really fast, though. My mom liked that. I made a joke when people asked how I got to be such a fast runner. I'd say I'm just trying to get out of this godforsaken place as fast as I can. My mom was less excited by that.

On Tuesday morning, I had forgotten what day it was. Summer had that effect. Days ran into each other. I was in my room with the radio on. This song by Rihanna was played nonstop and I was thrilled. I loved that song. I pulled a T-shirt onto my head and wore it like a wig, the neckline tight against my forehead. I copied the movements I had seen from my favorite songstresses. I popped my hips and tossed my hair. I did this with the door locked. If anyone knew it was how I often like to spend my time, I would've been mortified. I frequently felt like I had to pretend to be someone else at school and around my family. It felt great to let loose. I culminated my performance with a practiced "death drop" like I had seen on Drag Race. My mom must've heard my body thunk against the floor. She knocked on the door. I quickly turned down the radio and threw aside my T-shirt wig.

"What were you doing?" she asked when I opened the door. She stood there in her fuzzy yellow robe, looking around my room with her eyes wide as if she expected to find a burglar.

"I was exercising," I said. I reasoned that it wasn't completely a lie.

Her attention drifted to the radio and my shirt on the floor. There was no way she knew what I was doing, was there?