People typically had their minds made up about me before they'd even met me.
That was the problem with being a gay guy in a Canadian town small enough to be the setting for a Stephen King novel. Ours was the kind of town that a tour guide could only give a scant description to, a fact which many residents, with their Protestant upbringing, took pride in.
If pressed to provide a more fulsome description, the tour guide would likely look around, nervous, spot me, and declare:
"Behold! Elrye, Canada's only homosexual!"
Elrye had three homosexuals, but they didn't command the same infamy.
Not that I had sought infamy. Until a few months ago, I was so forgettable that my parents had a running gag where they would pretend to get my name wrong.
Edward? Elric? Dave?
It's Eric, by the way.
Anyway, I embraced my anonymity. Nothing good could come from being the main attraction in a town that had been the last to outlaw hanging. While the town's politics had progressed tremendously since then, I fully intended to keep a low profile until I had enough money to live alone when I matriculated.
But then Marcus Cooper came to town.
Marcus Cooper was the leader of an environmental impacts team that our mayor had invited after some big oil company had shown interest in the land just north of our town. This was before the Trucker Convoy but around the same time when rumors of Canada's "lost decade" were finally reaching small towns. We weren't smart enough to know if, or how, Marcus was culpable for the lost decade, but that he was from Ottawa was sufficient, in our minds, to hold him responsible.
Somehow, Marcus persuaded everyone to think otherwise. He faced insults with compliments and snarls with smiles. Once, Ol' Cranky Delores hurled a racial slur at Marcus (he was black) on his way to the gas station. A few days later, she gushed to anyone who would listen about how he had helped her fix the stair railings leading into her backyard after her son had delayed the work for the fifth time.
Marcus quickly had everyone under his spell.
I think I liked Marcus the most.
I took every chance I could get to talk with him, a fact which elicited several laughs from his subordinates. But, Marcus never showed that he was in any way uncomfortable with my obvious boy crush. When I tried to flirt with him, which I knew I did poorly, he would laugh politely and put his arm around me in a way that seemed intimate to me but was likely platonic to everybody else.
When it was time for Marcus and his team to submit their report to Ottawa, Elrye held a small party for him and his team. Although they had only been with us for a couple of months, it felt as if we were losing longtime residents.
A fact about small-townsfolk is that we know how to throw a party. People danced and sang and had competitions of strength. I sought out Marcus pretty early on but intended to meet up with him later on in the party after seeing a group of people trying to get their last goodbyes with him.
But then he noticed me and waved me over. He and some others were sitting on a log. A lady was cuddling into him, which he didn't seem to appreciate but was too nice to reproach her for. Instead, he asked if I would sit next to him. I agreed and heard him sigh in relief when I replaced the woman who had probably hoped would have gotten some BBC that night. I suppressed my laugh.
I was having so much fun talking to Marcus. The hours went by quickly. I also couldn't help but notice the warmth of his hand on my thigh. It had initially been on my knee but had trailed up my leg the more inebriated Marcus became.
By this time, most people had gone home. The only people left were some members of Marcus's crew and a few of my work friends. Everyone was completely hammered--including me. The universe seemed to collapse entirely on just Marcus and I.
