The Sky is Still the Sky

Chapter One

1966

Thomas strode into the bar, his hands tucked neatly in the smoke scented leather jacket he had pulled tight around him. The colored lights from the bar bounced off the tattered brown leather. Thomas kept his head held high as his eyes scanned the people in the bar. His mama always told him to keep his head up. "When your heads down people think you're scared. Don't let them think you scared. You're brave, Thomas. My brave Thomas." She had told him. A small smile played on his lips at the thought of the memory. He wondered if she would still consider him brave. Everyone else in the world believed he was shameful.

Women surrounded the bar and the jukebox, money in hand. A bartender or two shuffled around behind the bar, serving beers and pink looking girl drinks and shots of vodka. Men wore black coats and avoided the eyes of other men, especially Thomas. The stench of smoke filled the bar, the lights coming down upon the people in foggy colored streams. Nearly every person in there had a cigarette hanging from their lips or pinched between their fingers.

Thomas stepped away from the door, looking from side to side. It was a Friday in November, the cold Washington air sent shivers up his spine despite finally being indoors. The bar was located close to a college, one Thomas didn't bother knowing the name of. All he knew was that this was a bar. A place he could drink and play pool and fight in. Fighting was something Thomas always loved. He would walk around and shamelessly pick them, leaving with bruised knuckles and a split lip that never stopped him from grinning.

Fighting was Thomas's way of getting his energy out. Being gay wasn't something that was discussed no matter where he went. Many people said California would be good and he fell for it. The people there didn't throw bricks at him and threaten to kill him like they did in Kansas. Instead they stared at him, studied him like he was a creature they had never seen. As much as Thomas loved attention, he didn't love feeling like someone's science experiment. So he left.

When he rolled into Washington state four days ago he had his car, a couple hundred that he stole or won, he couldn't remember and didn't care to, along with his bag of his clothes. Thomas had worn the Charlese jacket when he drove into town. The jacket was a warning. It gave people a little taste of the scars and bruises hidden beneath the clothing.

Ever since Thomas's mother died, Margret Rhodes, bless her soul, he had been traveling. Margret was the only one who accepted Thomas back in Lawrence, Kansas. Of course, unless a man or two wanted a good time. Then they had no problem saying Thomas's name as though it dripped in sweet, sweet honey. Thomas was a "faggot" to the town. So he left. And he traveled. And he learned that no matter the town he went to, he was going to be the faggot. He drove across every state and stopped in every town he could manage. Nothing was different. Faggots were still faggots to them. So Thomas decided when he made his drive up to Washington, that if people were going to call him a faggot, he might as well live up to the name. Give them a story to put after the slur. Maybe a warning.

Most men rolling into town are trying to blend in. They got a past they're running from and need to hide. The men want to make a new name for themselves, start a new life, a better one. Thomas isn't like them, though. He's not trying to be a secret. Thomas doesn't want to start a new life, he wants to begin living the one he's wasted. Thomas didn't want any new name, he wanted to make his name. To define it. Have them whisper about him like he's some criminal. Because he won't live in fear. The kind fags get killed. The angry ones survive. And since all of the kind ones were buried, they got Thomas. It was a war path.

The Beach Boys played softly in the background, bodies scattered around the room, swaying to the beat. Thomas pushed past each and every one of them, twisting his body in awkward ways to avoid touching anyone. While Thomas liked fighting, he didn't like when someone else picked them. He liked to be the one to start it and end it. So Thomas worked hard to avoid doing anything that could cause some hot head in a button down and khakis to blow his top.