“Where are we going?” Vince asked Darren as he was pulled onto the stage, unaware of everyone in the room. “Are we getting tacos? Because it smells like tacos in here. Bro, that’s awesome.”
The bar back put the seat in the middle of the stage, next to where I stood. He winked at me, some twinkie little thing that looked like he should be at home playing with My Little Ponies rather than being shirtless in a gay bar.
“Well I never,” I said with a sniff, my hand at my throat.
Darren pushed Vince into the seat, kicking his legs open until he sat spread-eagle in the chair.
And suddenly I knew where this was going.
“Oh sweat balls,” I breathed.
Darren knocked off the headphones and ripped the blindfold off Vince. He blinked, frowning as he looked around until his eyes fell upon me. The smile he gave was blinding. “Hey, Paul,” he said easily. “Man, today’s been weird, right? I didn’t think I’d get to see you tonight, but I’m so happy I did. I love you, you know?”
“I’m sorry for what’s about to happen,” I told him solemnly as Darren leaned over and kissed Helena on the cheek before he stepped off the stage. “I hope you can still look at me tomorrow.”
He squinted up at me. “What’s about to happen?”
“DJ!” Helena barked into the mic. “Drop that beat!”
And through the speakers came the familiar thump of bass from a song that no one on this earth had ever been able to resist.
Many had tried.
All had failed.
And as it rolled through my body, Sexy Paul burst forward and took over.
IN 2004, the world changed forever.
The United States lifted a 1981 travel ban upon Libya.
Google released Gmail.
Massachusetts legalizes same-sex marriage in compliance with a ruling from the state’s Supreme Judicial Court.
Scientists in South Korea announced the cloning of thirty human embryos.
Preliminary hearings began in Iraq against former president Saddam Hussein.
The Greek national football team won the 2004 UEFA European Championship in Portugal.
Explorers reached the bottom of Krubera Cave, the world’s deepest cave.
George W. Bush was re-elected, narrowly beating John Kerry.
But all of this pales in comparison to January 13, 2004.
It was a Tuesday.
I was nineteen years old.
I remember where I was when I first heard it.
The library at the University of Arizona, studying for a test for a class that led to a degree that would ultimately become pointless as I would one day have my soul trapped in a cubicle at an insurance company whose commercials would forever ruin lizards and cavemen.
Sandy was next to me, wearing a suit jacket with a pair of jeans.
(Don’t ask. 2004 was a very strange time.)