As I stood with the rain slowly soaking through my coat, I wondered not for the first time if coming out as gay might not have been such a good idea after all. If only I'd kept it to myself, I reasoned, then Siân would never have bullied me into going with her to the city's annual Pride festival. And then, instead of waiting outside in the rain for her to show up (late as usual) to take me to something I really didn't want to go to in the first place, I could be nestled down in my favourite armchair enjoying a good book, maybe sipping at a mug of hot chocolate if I was really pushing the boat out.
The city was as grey as the weather. From where I stood a grey street twisted steeply downhill towards a grey and uninviting sea beneath a sulking grey sky. Mouldering seagull-splattered terraces pressed tall and close either side of the road, each house rendered in its own unique shade of dirty grey. Even the people looked somehow hunched and grey, as though they'd let the city seep into their soul.
Against this backdrop there was no mistaking Siân when she finally appeared. Short and broad, she sported a vivid green tight-fitting top, an almost offensively yellow full-length plastic raincoat and her signature inhumanly wide grin.
"Come on!" she shouted before I could even open my mouth to say hello. "What are you doing just standing about in the rain like a big soggy gay frog? We're late!" And with that she was splashing rapidly away down the hill, and I was stumbling after her, trying to keep up.
* * *
"With so many gays in one place, even you might manage to hook up with someone. Go on, you'll have fun! Promise!" Those were her exact words when she'd persuaded me to come. I'd memorised them so that I could regurgitate them at her later, after the day inevitably proved to be a disaster.
Our local Pride wasn't one of the big ones, and from what little I'd heard it was a long way from being one of the best. My first sight of the place seemed to confirm my expectations. A corner of the big park by the seafront had been fenced off for the occasion, and people were milling around; there was going to be a parade, but fortunately it was running even later than we were. The small turnout, bedraggled but spirited, waved their limp sodden banners in defiance of the rain and slowly trampled the grass into a thick sticky mud while they waited for things to get going. Around the edges of the site the usual purveyors of hot unhealthy foods had set up their stalls beneath whatever shelter they could rig together, the salesmen looking damp and slightly bored.
"Well I wasn't expecting much but somehow I'm still underwhelmed." I looked to Siân for a response but she either hadn't heard me or was ignoring me, and was glancing around as eagerly as a child in a sweet shop. And I had to admit that in one important regard the festival was exactly what I was hoping it would be: if nothing else, it wasn't grey. There was colour everywhere, even if some of it was starting to streak in the rain, and there was a certain sense of irrepressible good humour about the crowd, despite the weather. It was the kind of place where you could be yourself and didn't have to be embarrassed about standing out.
And then I saw him, standing motionless in the very centre of the crowd...
"Who on Earth is
that
?"
She looked where I was pointing. "Oh, him? He's a regular feature, been here every year since the beginning. Practically a one-man institution now. Never speaks a word, though. No idea who he really is, but we call him the Jackdaw."
It wasn't hard to see why: the man was dressed something like a great black bird. A feather-trimmed black mask completely covered his face, with a stylised beak curving down to hide his mouth. Below that, his whole body was shrouded under a full-length robe of jet black feathers, glistening in the rain.
"Are you certain he's a 'he'?" I asked.
"Bloody tall flat-chested lady if she isn't."
"Fair point." I couldn't help but stare. The costume was impressive, but it was something more than that. It was the way he held himself: tall, proud and unselfconscious, gazing over the raucous rabble surrounding him as fondly and protectively as a mother bird watching over her chicks. It was the way he moved: purposefully, minimally, apparently indifferent to the rain. No, more than that even. It was the way everyone else moved around
him
. Respectfully. Almost submissively. Always giving him space, but still seeming to orbit around him like moths around a lamp. Probably they didn't even realise they were doing it. Perhaps, I thought fancifully, the crowd was only gathered in that particular spot because he was there; he was the seed around which the crowd had crystallised.
A screech of feedback interrupted my imagination and a woman's voice with a strong French accent gushed over a speaker system; "Ladies and gentlemen and, um, other good people, thank you for your patience. If you can somehow keep yourselves afloat in this mud for just a little longer, we'll be setting sail in five minutes. Five minutes!"
"Oooh," said Siân, "I like her voice. Sexy.
Damn
sexy. I wonder if the rest of her matches up?" She glanced about eagerly. "Where do you think she's speaking from?"
"Hmm?" I was still watching the Jackdaw in fascination, and hadn't been fully listening.
"Oh, what's this? Got your eye on someone already, have you? Well you go chase down the unlucky gentleman, why don't you? I've got a sexy-voiced lady to stalk and seduce."
* * *
We paraded over a mile down the seafront, ending up in a car park where a few people stood to deliver rousing speeches over a microphone, and then we paraded back. It didn't stop raining once but a surprising number of people were out anyway to give us support as we marched past, and only a handful of local louts braved the weather to jeer and throw abuse.
The Jackdaw walked with us, near the front, his feathered coat rippling magnificently with every step. I kept finding my eyes drawn to him irresistibly. My imagination hooked itself onto a new fancy: that he wasn't walking with the crowd at all, but rather he was pulling the crowd along with him like the tail behind a comet.
But I had other things to occupy my mind. I'd never have a better opportunity to begin introducing myself to the gay community. Siân had found her announcer - a pretty redhead named Marie - and had attached herself to her, leaving me to face the social intricacies of Pride on my own. I drummed up the courage to strike up conversations with some of the quieter men in the crowd. A few of them seemed very pleasant, and they were very polite about excusing themselves when I ran out of conversation and stuttered in awkward nervousness. Eventually I gave it up and marched in silence, on my own, hoping somebody with a warm smile and a pretty face might approach me. They didn't.
Back in the park I bought myself a burger in a bun and ate it dispiritedly. I couldn't really blame people for finding me boring; after all, even I found me a little boring. I just wished they were better at hiding it. Suddenly I felt a desperate need to be away from the crowd, and looked around for somewhere to hide.
A small stage had been erected with the intention of putting on a bit of a concert and a show after the march. The rain had flooded it completely, shorting out a variety of lamps and amps, and the put-upon technicians seemed to be packing things away, giving it up as a bad job. Behind the forlorn stage I found my sanctuary: a quiet area scattered with abandoned and muddied stage pieces.
Someone had left a mirror propped up against a couple of crates. I gazed into it critically. For the first time I noticed what I had unconsciously chosen to wear that morning: thick tatty grey coat; lifeless grey shirt; grey old-man trousers. Grey, grey and grey all over. And the worst thing was, it seemed to suit me.
A new wave of self-pity washed over me, soaking into my soul more thoroughly than the endless rain. I didn't want to be the grey nonentity I saw in the mirror. I didn't want to be the one standing miserably on his own, staring at his own reflection, tormented by the shouts of everybody else somehow managing to enjoy themselves despite everything. I didn't want to be me. I wanted to be...
