I landed in San Francisco late Friday morning and checked into my hotel. It was the first time I'd been anywhere since Glenn died. It felt strange traveling alone.
I ignored my thoughts and got ready to meet up with my Navy buddy, Ernie Shuler. We were going fishing, which wasn't really my scene.
Ernie was getting married tomorrow and I was in town for the wedding. I hadn't seen him in several years, but we'd become brothers in RTC and we'd stayed close ever since.
I met him and his two groomsmen at the dock and we climbed aboard. The captain of the fishing boat thought it was amusing to have four Navy men on board. We joked back about how tiny his boat was.
After several hours and a few beers, we were back on land and hanging out in Ernie's Best Man's backyard. It was nice to catch up and I forgot about the actual wedding the next day for a while.
I'd seriously considered not coming to this wedding. I loved Ernie and his fiancée Nicole was amazing. But I lost my husband to cancer six months ago. A wedding was going to be hard.
Friday with the guys was great and I was so glad I had come after all. But back in my hotel, looking at my uniform, I was starting to get stuck in my sorrows all over again.
At the last wedding I'd attended, Glenn's uniform had hung beside mine on the night before. We'd celebrated alongside his sister and her new husband.
I hadn't spoken to any of the McGuiness's since right after the funeral. They'd been my family and then they just weren't. I didn't contact them and they didn't contact me.
There hadn't been a falling out, there just wasn't any reason to stay in touch. Our connection to each other, Glenn, was gone. We didn't have kids or own a house or anything like that, so the family ties died when he did.
I still saw his sister's Facebook posts and I knew she was pregnant, but I didn't even "like" the photos. I lurked where she couldn't see me. I'm not entirely sure why.
I slept fitfully and awoke filled with apprehension. I walked across the street and got a giant hot coffee. Back in my room I very slowly pulled on my Full Dress Blue uniform. I imagined Glenn fussing over my medals and my gloves and hat.
I pulled myself back into the present and stared in the mirror at Lt. Commander Blake Cameron, decorated Naval Junior Officer. I needed to be this version of myself today and put Blake, the husband of the deceased Lt. Glenn McGuiness-Cameron aside. My training would keep me calm. It had to.
At the Temple I milled around with other sailors and guests until it was time to take our seats. Ernie and Nicole were married and a glass was stomped. I stood and clapped and cheered as they walked back down the aisle, married and glowing with possibility.
There were shuttles provided to take guests to the hotel where the reception was being held. I sat at the hotel bar with some other guests while we waited for the party to start. I made small talk, but I couldn't tell you what it was now.
I wanted another drink, but I wasn't going to get drunk in uniform. That was just not done. I nursed a Coke with lime that looked like a cocktail instead.
It was a typical wedding reception with a nice luncheon buffet. The cheerfulness was starting to get to me though. I returned to the hotel bar for a break from the general celebratory atmosphere. I was starting to flag.
Ernie found me at the bar and asked how I was doing. I smiled and hugged him again, telling him I was doing great. It was his wedding day. I wasn't going to drag him down no matter how much I wanted to talk to my buddy about my pain.
Before he headed back into the party, I told him I was going to call it a day. I was tired from traveling and a little overwhelmed. We hugged again and we promised to catch up soon. I made my escape.
Back in the hotel, I removed my stiff and heavy uniform and hung it with care in the closet where I didn't have to look at it. I pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and ventured out into the city. It was only three in the afternoon and I might as well see San Francisco while I could.
I walked through The Castro and enjoyed the Saturday afternoon bustle among the rainbow painted streets and buildings. I compared it to Boystown back home. The fact that it wasn't flat was the main difference.
I had a late lunch in a little café, sitting outside to enjoy the California weather a bit more. A couple walked past, kissing and squeezing each other tightly. I missed Glenn again.
Glenn had been as white and as vanilla as you could get. He was so straight-laced, I'm surprised he could actually be gay. But he loved me and I loved him. He promised to be faithful and to stay with me forever. I took that offer and it lasted five short years.
We'd met at a training event and dated long distance for a few months. He was able to transfer to my location and we dated in person for eight more months. We got married after a year of having met and we were married for five years before he passed.
Glenn wasn't feeling well for a few weeks when we started seeing doctors. We were told repeatedly it was an infection of some sort and he was put on heavy antibiotics. He felt so sick taking those meds.
When he'd finish a course, he'd feel better, but only the symptoms of his reactions to the antibiotics would go away. His original illness persisted. Many doctors and many frustrations later, he was diagnosed with Stage 4 brain cancer. No one had found it in six months. I was so angry.
Before we had time to come up with a plan, Glenn took a turn and died just two weeks after his diagnosis. I wanted to beat the crap out of every one of those doctors that gave him medicines for an infection. My anger was unbearable. My sorrow was absolute.
Six months later, I was still sad and mad, but it was manageable. I'd seen a doctor at the VA and they had given me some antidepressants. I had bi-weekly counseling for a while. I was still seeing the therapist, weekly now.
I was starting to feel like myself before this trip. I hoped I hadn't set myself back by coming here to attend a wedding. According to my mom, I needed to start dating again. I needed to have sex. I'm sure she could hear my eyes rolling over the phone when she'd told me that.
My mom was originally from Mississippi and she lived in Atlanta, which is where I was born. She knew I was gay before I did. She was an advocate and an ally, even when that was a difficult thing for a Christian southern single black mother to be. She was my number one supporter in everything I'd ever done.
The happy couple continued to grope one another on the street and I thought about her words. Maybe I really did need to get laid. Now would be the perfect time. I was on a mini vacation a half a world away from home. Anonymous sex sounded tempting.
I slowly headed back to my hotel, turning everything over in my mind. Thinking about sex made me think about my relationship with my husband.
Glenn was a boring lover. We had sex on schedule, twice a week. We used the same position almost every time. Glenn would fuck me doggy first and then he'd finish with me face down, flat on the bed, underneath him.
He'd come without much fanfare and then he'd jerk me off if I hadn't come myself yet. I nearly never did come from fucking. Glenn didn't have a big dick or much skill, so he didn't get me off from penetration. I'd take over jerking myself off at some point and he'd quietly watch until I came.
It hadn't always been that boring, but it was that way for the vast majority of our relationship. I truly loved Glenn and he was enough for me. I hadn't really had a lot of boyfriends or hook-ups even before I met Glenn.
