Tools (only) My Heart Has

          My heart has already

          gone to Austin, and I

          fear that my mind

          doesn’t’ have the tools

          to lure it east of the

          Lone Star state line.

I got notice yesterday that we’re—finally—closing on the house next month. So, I text'd these thoughts to DimSum after a night of not sleeping. 

Tonight, I’m on a business trip with Love Heroine and some others I rarely travel with. We’re playing darts in a pub. I’m up against New Guy. I aim for ‘20’ but hit ‘4’.

“I’m going home,” I think of the lights that shine on the state capitol at Congress Avenue. 

In rapid succession, I think of five friends who will be less than 10 miles away from wherever I live. I think of homemade tortillas and Town Lake. My whole body shivers with excitement, and I’m glad that I have this wonderful secret.

“It’s time.”

New guy makes up crazy ways to throw the darts, and I think of soon-to-be Saturday nights in Austin. For New Year’s, I’ll be dancing in a room that’s sticky and smelly with not-so-straight-people. My heart races at the thought that the girl in a blue dress could be in the same spot at Oil Can Harry’s. I aim for ‘19’ but it bounces and the point sticks in the floor.

“I’m going home!”

The text to DimSum caused me to think of unknowns that come with moving to this ridiculously popular city. Sure, I have friends there, but I don’t have a job or place to live with my 3 pets. I have savings; but, will it last? Then, tears release anx when I feel truth knot up in my throat.

“At least I finally know where I need to be.”

It won’t be Florida—not Georgia, not Alabama, not Louisiana, not California. I’ve been on an incredible adventure this past decade, but it’s not easy to be a stranger in the South when you’re gay. My heart hurts for familiar faces that calibrate my soul.

“I’ll be home for the Armadillo Bazaar, SxSW, and Pride. Ahhhh, Hippie Hollow!"

It’s been 11 years.  #2—who I don’t write about but was the best thing that ever happened to my relentless frame filled with too much wanderlust—taught me about unconditional love and about making a home feel inviting. But, the world was my oyster; I needed adventure. So, we moved to Florida and then Georgia.  Whatever I was looking for wasn’t in Atlanta—with her—, so I followed #3 to California, to Alabama, to Louisiana where she would leave me for a 27-year old. (Not that there’s anything wrong with marrying someone who was in diapers the summer you left for college).

It’s all good; I’m better for the toils and troubles that come with this many moves and mysteries. I finally appreciate simple breaths and beliefs from random beings. I never took the time for strangers until I was one. 

“I’m going home.”

Tossing darts with my eyes not looking toward the bull’s eye, I'm thinking about how good it will feel to play darts at Gingerman on a Sunday afternoon with a pint of St. Arnold Brown in my bellly. And, I’m thinking about outdoor concerts at Bestie’s and Bestie Jr’s. I can feel the summer Texas heat rise through my thighs, and it makes me shiver.

A few months ago, I interviewed for a job with a great company that could give me a good job title. I can stay ‘there’ for the rest of my adult career, my life.

“Maybe they’ll call back before I pack everything?”

This crazed-hope scares me. It would mean life in a small city-town. I think of that last weekend in Austin, having breakfast with Wingman the morning after Pride, and thinking of all of the people who were celebrating their life in public. There were thousands. And, I am remembering the feeling I had, hoping to touch the hips of the girl in the blue dress.

Last weekend, trying to stay positive—so that I can put food on the table for Sweet Georgia Brown, Cali Surfer Girl, and Puff the Magic Dragonslayer—, I got a voyeur’s license for Cupid.com. I searched within 100 miles of that city-town. Not one lesbian seeks companionship.

“Can a place like that ever be home?” 

I think about living with a lover there and know that I’ll be half living. We won’t be out; I’ll for forever be introduced as her friend. Yuck.  Even if I never find another lover in Austin, I’ll be 3-D. There, lovers hold hands in broad day light.

“Imagine.”

“Everyone should live this life wherever they are.”