Going Pink by Michael King

Oh, the glow of a sunset’s reflection on the snow. The blush of being caught with your pants down, the frills of a little girl dressed up in pink. Boys don’t wear pink is sort of an old rule. There was the pink triangle and the gas chambers for gays of the 40s in Germany. Yet in the 50s it was OK to wear the pink and gray shirt and occasionally see a pink and gray car drive by. But it seems that pink was mostly related to expensive stucco hotels, the color for little girls and bigger girls too, prom dresses, weddings, etc., and for gay men. Though I haven’t seen many gay men dressed in pink, the walk-in cooler in the flower shop was pink because the fairy co-owner expressed his gay status in that way. It was an unmistakable statement. So upon my new identity I fantasized my statements.  Red is more my color, but I want at least a touch of all clear, clean colors in my surroundings.

When it was a fact that the “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” was officially rescinded, I wanted to make a statement. As a veteran, I wanted to fulfill one of my fantasies. Quite by an unplanned circumstance I saw a pink wig at a thrift store. Immediately I knew what I wanted to do with it. Thus began a shopping spree to find all the rest of my fantasy. Both of my lovers were very supportive. Since one was working and had family responsibilities most of the search for my debut attire was with Merlyn, who soon became comfortable going into the ladies’ stores, watching my try on items, or the vintage shops, the lingerie departments and costume shops. I looked all over for glasses and then created a wire and jeweled extension to the frame of a pair of reading glasses that I accented with pink nail polish. The rhinestone earrings came from an antique mall.

Then came the big day; or night really. Escorted by my two lovers, both dressed in black, Queen Ann Tique, a name given to me by John Kelly, arrived at Charlie’s for the repeal celebration.

 I had been interviewed by Channel 4 when the vote passed and was introduced as a gay activist. From that point on my new mission has been to flaunt my gayness and now the grand entrance and celebration. Having been born a king, at 71 I was now a queen, a queen in pink.

By Christmas, I was able to add to the pink thing. I had another fantasy. In deciding to decorate for the holidays, I dragged out the decorations from storage and discovered that since it had been years since they had been used, the tree was missing. I must have gotten rid of it when I last moved, so, now to find that perfect tree. Merlyn and I were in an antique store that we frequent when we were greeted by one of the dealers with open arms stating, “Whatever you want we have.” My response was that I wanted a pink feather Christmas tree. Her eyes got large, her mouth opened and the shocked look on her face preceded the statement, “How did you know? We just got one in two hours ago!”

Again we got to go shopping for decorations. We found  a pair of fucia glittered deer, a clashing big pink bow, balls and garland and topped it off with what we thought gay guys should put on top of their pink feather Christmas tree; a fairy of course.

My next pink thing hasn’t been thought of yet, but I do have the rest of eternity to be pretty in pink or whatever.