TOPHER PAYNE | 3.26.2008
relationship with Preppy, we’re still introducing
each other to significant people in our lives. A
few nights ago, we met up with old friends of his
from out of town to grab a few beers and maybe
play some pool.
Everyone else was already in a booth when
we arrived. After the girls squealed and the guys
gave Preppy firm handshakes, he introduced me.
“Y’all, this is my fiancée.”
This was followed by more squeals and
handshakes, but my head was already elsewhere
entirely. A few months ago, I proposed, gave him
a ring, he said yes. That means I’m a fiancée.
Shit. I didn’t change his label. I’ve still been
calling him my “boyfriend”, which sounds like
we’re going to prom together, not like we have a
mortgage and are currently planning a wedding.
Over the next few days, I tried to use the new
label, but every time, it sounded like I was
trying to awkwardly drop a foreign expression
into my speech. Like when Madonna says she
and her family were “On holiday” instead of “On
vacation”, like any other woman from freakin’
Michigan would say.
I’m a very pro-label person. I know that’s not
a popular standpoint, because labels box you in
and all that stuff. My buddy Scott, the
transgendered performance artist, has built an
entire career writing on the subject of how you
can’t label him.
I tried to be open-minded about that, but in
the end, I’ve just labeled him “Scott, the
transgendered performance artist who doesn’t
like labels.” He has become defined by his
resistance to definition. That’s heavy stuff.
churches, to see if we can find a good fit for
both of us. I fell in love with an Episcopal parish
that was very polished and ornate.
That sense of formality happened to be what I
liked about it. I don’t want a just-folks minister
who tells everyone to “Just call me Debbie.”
When it comes to who has Jesus on speed dial if
I need some answers, I’d prefer someone I call
Reverend or Preacher over Debbie. It just sounds
wrong to me, like when I hear a nine-year old
call his parents by their first names.
If I’d ever tried calling my father “Cleve” when
I was a kid, there would have been dire
consequences. Authority figures have labels, like
“Dad,” or “Senator,” or “Mistress of Pain,” as a
sign of respect and a nod to tradition. And darn
it, I think it really helps clear things up for
people if you can give them a few keywords.
For example, I label myself as “a writer”. That
lets you know I spend a lot of time in a room by
myself transcribing imaginary voices, that I
probably smoke and/or drink lots of coffee, that
I’m a little narcissistic, and I have no money and
bad credit.
All of these things are true. I am also “gay,”
which is different from saying “queer.” I called
myself “queer” when I had sex with women too.
Eventually, I retired from that, so I updated the
label.
I recently acquired a car and had to stop
calling myself “a pedestrian,” which marked a
huge change in my life, more significant in my
mind than giving up that whole sleeping-withladies
thing, because I actually miss being a
pedestrian.
The ladies not so much.
fiancée, which doesn’t quite roll of the tongue
because it’s this totally unprecedented event in
my life. As we set a budget, and begin making
plans about locations and attendants (did I
mention my wedding is going to be fucking
huge, or did you already guess that?), the label
begins to feel more real.
It’s very likely I’ll get used to it just in time to
switch again and start calling him my
“husband.” And when people hear that label, it’ll
tell them something very specific about the two
of us and our lives together, and I like that.
Just like “writer,” or “gay,” or “Southern,” it’s
not really a label; it’s a title — proof of who I
am, and what I demand the world recognize.
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