Eventually I will get down everything I have to say about these last two days that, in a way, culminate the last year. When Dean opened the door to his apartment Toni Braxton was thumping in the background and the place was filled with good smells coming from the kitchen. He introduced us to his friend and room mate and said, “We like to keep the place jumping.”

We hadn’t been there fifteen minutes before Maura said, “I’m the minority here.” Usually, a university gathering is filled with white folk. Not the case here, and then I said, “Well, I’m the minority too,” because it didn’t take long to figure that every man in this apartment was gay.
Which was surprisingly unsurprising.
Dean, the skinny, somewhat sexless boy from my church who basically shows very little expression or character is Dean who at home plays loud R&B music, hangs out with his band of colorful (literally) friends and is probably gay. Then Dean is asking us if we’re going to the gay night club with him and then here we are, heading out there and saying, “We can wander around, but let’s not get too far from Dean, his friends or each other because we don’t want to get hit on.”

(I’d just like to say neither one of us did get hit on, which left me, at least, feeling slightly insulted because… well, I’m vain.)