A
stooped old man with a long beard prepares to leave the room as a baby
sporting
a sash reading “2005” crawls in from the opposite direction.
“Hey,
don’t go yet!” yells the baby, revealing remarkable
speaking powers.
“Child,
I’m dead on my feet. I’m outta here.”
“But
you need to give me some advice, some hints, some cash.”
“It’s
your gig now. See?” He holds up his hourglass. “Just
a couple of grains left.”
“Hold
it, Grandpa. Don’t make me report you to the union.”
Father
Time sighs and turns around. “Baby New Year my eye.
Baby Rat Fink more like.”
The
tot scans him. “You don’t look so good.”
“I
don’t feel so good.” The old man drops into a
chair. “Believe it or not, I looked just like you a
year ago. By February, I could walk into a bar and get any
guy I wanted.”
“Ooh,
I can’t wait till I’m old enough to walk into
bars. I can’t wait till I’m old enough to walk.
So, partying made you look like this?”
“No
indeed. It was war, famine, injustice. All the usual delights
we have to cope with in our job. Did they teach you the motto?”
The
baby recites, “Hope For The Best, But Expect The Worst!”
“2004
had its bright spots, its generous moments, its signs of
hope. It also had terror, cruelty, and low-carb diets.”
Baby
New Year shakes his head. “I better stock up on skin
products.”
“The
year was rough, but they’re all rough. None of your
four cheeks will be rosy a year from now, babykins. What
made 2004 worse, and why time marched all over Father Time’s
face, is this year it got personal.”
“Huh?”
“People
don’t know that you and I are gay. Just like they didn’t
know when they voted to slap gays down that they were hurting
their own family and friends and a whole lot of decent people.”
Baby
New Year fidgets with his sash.
The
gentleman continues, “Those 11 amendments weren’t
a total surprise, but they hurt. I could’ve handled
them if Kerry had won. Sort of an election yin-yang thing.
But no. That day cut sharper than my scythe, and would you
stop fidgeting?”
“I’m
young. I have a lot of nervous energy.” The bambino
looks around anxiously. “What, what do you think I’m
facing?”
“Youngster,
I wish I could tell you the fearful people got it out of
their systems. But your year is going to be about more amendments,
and court battles, and I just pray violence against gays
doesn’t increase as a result of this so-called ‘mandate.’”
“Is
it too late to put in for a transfer?”
“For
us, it’s always too late,” smiles Father Time.
“Seriously,” says
Baby New Year, fastening and unfastening his diaper pin. “Maybe
I can take a turn as Ol’ Man River. I hear he just
keeps rolling along. Or maybe Mother Nature. I could do her
in drag.”
The
elderly man looks benevolently at the child on the floor,
who now plays with his toes. “I know it’s scary.
But time — that’s you — always marches
on.”
“I
don’t feel like marching. I don’t even wanna
walk anymore.”
“Child,
I know gay folks will win equality. What I don’t know
is how many of us years it will require, and how much it
will take out of gay people to get there.”
Baby
New Year sighs and takes his first tentative step. “All
right, Pops, I’m on the job. Now give me the dirt on
the bars.” |
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