Juneau & Xena do Thelma & Louise
Excerpt from On the Meaning of Adam Lambert
1 Februay 2010
Juneau was having a bit of a down day, Xena wanted to cheer her up and this is the story.
Oh, Dearest Juneau,
I wish I could pick you up and take you for a drive in the country. We would listen to Adam sing while I tell you funny stories and we get silly with laughter. We talk about the boys we loved and the ones who love us.
We stop for lunch at a little country pub where we flirt and laugh with the barkeep and his regulars arrayed around the room, at the dart board, billiards table. The waitress gets in on it, and by the time we leave, the place is in an uproar and we can hear their raised voices as we drive away.
We are really enjoying this because we have left our families to fend for themselves for a change. Laundry, groceries, cooking – we have left it all behind and you just left a note – “Out for a strategy meeting with Xena”.
We keep driving and now we’re singing along with Adam, but some of the songs make us cry – “Come Home”, “Tracks of my Tears”, so we have to stop to compose ourselves and we find a roadhouse – full of blue-jeaned boys drinking beer. The place is packed and hopping, so as we approach the door, a couple of guys grab us by the hand and practically carry us to the dance floor where your partner grabs you by the waist and with his free hand, turns you away, then turns you back with a thud against his chest, his belt buckle grazes your midriff and he twirls you away again, you’re getting dizzy now.
Country boys can dance! Slides, stomps and pirouettes in their glorious carved cowboy boots, embellished with silver and turquoise, they move us gracefully around the room, haven’t felt this exhilarating freedom since we spun on the giant turntable in the school playground. My partner checks with a quizzical “you o.k.?” eyebrow lift and all I can do is grin back………..keep dancing and he holds tightly.
Just in time, the music slows, but our partners are still hanging on to us and insist we dance this slow dance with them. (I now have to stop and breathe for a sec.) What choice do we have? At this point we have forgotten we were sad and we’re laughing again at these boys who won’t let go. How old are they? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? (oh, oh déjà vu recollection here)No one knows us here, so why not? Let’s give in and let go. These are country boys who do physical labour all day long and their arms, their shoulders are muscled and tanned. Their fitted denim shirts show off how narrow their waists are and the eye slides down to where they loop their thumb in behind their ornate belt buckle. What choice do we have?
It’s a lovely Shania Twain ballad, the lights are dim, and the boys are gorgeous – what’s the worst thing that could happen? So we dance some more and after the song is over, we slide into a wooden booth with high walls between us and the next table. Our protestations are met with deaf ears and a little pleading. The boys are so earnest and nosey – are you married? Do you like younger men? I think they can make a martini here if you want one. Are you hungry?
We are trying to be cool and behave like the sophisticated and mature women we are supposed to be. But, we just ran away from home so for now, we’re party girls, blissfully dizzy from the dance floor – just a cold beer with the boys and we’ll head back. Well, maybe one more beer and another dance.
Didn’t we have a great time? Let’s do it again.
Love and hugs