Mistaking Identities

I am an awkward person, known to commit social faux pas' the way others breathe or tie their shoes. I can make a party guest uncomfortable between an introduction and a handshake. I can look in the eyes of a long-time acquaintance and say "Hi, I'm Zack. Are you new in town?"

Maybe some of it can be traced back to a problem I have with faces. Once I note them, I never forget them. If you make an impression on me (the acquaintance above didn't) I will pick out one or two bold facial identifiers and commit them to life-long memory. So I'll always remember your blue eyes and beauty mark. But ten years later I might see a complete stranger with the same features and say "Hi, Suzy. Does your Portuguese Water Dog still have bladder control problems?"

These little gaffs become especially embarrassing in prominent gay cruising areas, a fact I learned this afternoon on the way home from work.

My recent bike accident has made me skittish, so I usually cut through traffic circles instead of following the road around them. So every day after work, I go north on 13th Street, cross into Logan Circle and and cross counter-clockwise through half of it before re-entering the road. However, copious amounts of cute boys and cuter puppies guarantee that my attention is not fully on the sidewalk.

Today, as I biked around the statue at the circle's center, I noticed a boy sitting on a park bench on the other half of the circle that looked like my friend Luke. Same red hair, same clunky glasses. Same ability to read a newspaper. Yup, had to be Luke. I've never seen Luke in such a tanktop, and he doesn't live anywhere near the circle, but surely there wasn't another literate gay boy in DC with red hair and clunky glasses. So I swung all the way around the circle to say hi to him.

So imagine this: You're sitting on a park bench reading a newspaper when a boy on a bike approaches you, slowing down significantly. He turns his head toward you. He opens his mouth to say hi, but then the light hits your face and the boy panics. He goes ashen and speeds off, all the way back around the circle, never to look your way again.

And that's exactly what I did. And its made me wonder how much of day-to-day homo bullshit is born out of insecurity and misunderstandings. That boy was really cute, and if I was single I would've said hi to him. But he doesn't know that. For all he knows, I was turned off by some inconsequential minutiae like stray neck hairs or hairy wrists. Or it's possible that he didn't notice me, or care, in the slightest and it's me reading judgement into everyone else. I guess it's something to keep in mind before assuming that all homos are dicks, or hotter-than-thou, or inconsistent mindfucks.

Which we might be, but let's remember there are reasons for it.