Thought Theater

Cedric genre: Gaylingual & Uncivil Unions

It was Friday the thirteenth and I had been in London for approximately a week. I’ve always liked Friday the thirteenth despite it’s billing as an unlucky day. I ventured out to Compton’s (a gay bar) to see what London was like on the weekend and I had just purchased a beer at the bar when Cedric walked in and made his way to the counter next to me. He was quite noticeable and he didn’t seem to fit the mold for the crowd that had gathered that evening. It appeared to me to be an older crowd with a local flavor. Cedric was neither older nor local. I don’t recall what we first spoke about but it was likely something inconsequential. Nonetheless, as sometimes happens, we formed an instant bond that would last the remainder of the evening.

Cedric was twenty-two and from France…his hair was cut in a fairly severe mullet and he had very thin sideburns that ran down his cheeks to connect up with what I might describe as an under the chin scruff. He was carrying two shopping bags from which he would later pull out a scarf that he would wear for the remainder of the evening. He was wearing a velvet blue sport coat, a basic white shirt with an element of stitch work, and last but not least, a pair of what appeared to be white Prada shoes that had a very elongated and pointy toe. Let’s just say they were the kind of shoes that precede one’s entry into a room and continue to be discussed long after one’s exit from the room. Before you get the impression that I didn’t approve of his style, let me just say that Cedric couldn’t wear anything else and still be Cedric. His attire simply added to his charm.

Cedric had only moved from France to London the previous month so Compton’s was a new experience for the both of us. He indicated it was one of his first ventures into the gay area of London. Unfortunately, living in London is even more expensive than New York City so he was living, as he described it, somewhere in the distant outskirts. The conversation was flowing and comfortable despite a bit of a language barrier. We each shared numerous observations about London from an outsider’s perspective. As we were discussing London’s night life, he indicated he had already had a few beers…having just come from the Admiral Duncan to check out Compton’s.

In contrast to France, Cedric told me that he drank when he went out in London. He explained that in France people rarely go out alone. He shared that it was unusual for people to approach those who were alone unless they had an intentioned interest. I took this explanation to mean that if you did approach someone who was alone, it would not likely be for casual chat as that would be inappropriate, if not rude. I told him that in America it was routine for people to mingle amongst the crowd and that casual conversation generally had little specific or intended meaning. To my surprise, he then inquired if I had any particular intention to which I quickly answered that I had no agenda. Had I thought further about his remarks, I would have known they foreshadowed the remainder of the evening.

As we drank our beers, we each took turns running to the bathroom. I would watch his bags and drink and he would watch my drink. Cedric was easy to talk to and while his English had a definite French twist, I seemed to follow what he was saying much better that many of the locals. At one point in the conversation, he started leaning over the bar and facing the bartenders as he was holding his head. I recalled that he had previously told me he thought he was a bit tipsy so I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. I leaned over to say something to him and when he straightened up and turned to talk, I realized he had the hiccups. He had turned towards the bar when they began in hopes they would cease before he would need to speak again. Unfortunately, by asking him a question, I blew his cover which forced him to acknowledge their presence. He immediately began a profuse apology that lasted for the next few minutes. While he didn’t actually say the words, it was obvious that he was embarrassed and it was apparent that having the hiccups in France must have had far more negative connotations than in the States. He seemed truly horrified.

With an abundance of charm, he told me he would be unable to share an honest account of the evening with his French friends as he would have to skip over the hiccups in order to avoid abject ridicule. Perhaps Cedric was simply a skilled charmer, but I’m inclined to think he was simply being his authentic and original self. Seriously, it was abundantly apparent that he was sincere. At the same time, he seemed to doubt my nonchalant reaction as I repeatedly told him to stop apologizing. Regardless, until they stopped, he continued to turn towards the bar each time he had to hiccup again. Fortunately, for Cedric’s sake, they stopped in less than fifteen minutes.

I think at this point I bought another round of beers…a semi-celebration of Cedric’s return from social disgrace. It was shortly thereafter that Cedric told me he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and suggested we find a place for dinner. It sounded like a good idea. He quickly told me he wouldn’t know where to go and asked if I might know of a good place. I suggested a place called Balans. I had eaten lunch there earlier in the week. The food was good and it was nearby.

We made the short walk and we were quickly seated despite the fact that it looked like we may have been in for a long wait. As we looked at the menu, Cedric soon exclaimed, “They have Toulouse sausages!" I asked him what they were and he proceeded to explain that it was a type of sausage named for their place of origin, Toulouse, France. They were served with mashed potatoes and a reduction sauce. It sounded intriguing and comforting, so, needless to say, it was what we both ordered. I don’t recall our specific conversation after we placed our order but it wasn’t long before the two gentlemen seated at the next table asked if I was an American. They were American as well and we shared a few details about where we were from, what we were doing in London, as well as our next destinations …typical small talk amongst tourists.

Cedric was uncharacteristically silent during the exchange except for the obligatory greetings. As I finished speaking with the two Americans and turned my attention back to Cedric, I immediately noticed a change in his demeanor. It wasn’t a look of anger but a look of deflation…it was the look one might expect to see on the face of a child upon hearing that Santa Claus wasn’t actually a real person. He did his best to conceal the change but it was as noticeable as the clothing he wore. In my head, my first thought was that possibly the lack of food and numerous drinks had simply gotten the best of him. As I think back, I’m convinced that was my hope but certainly not my perception.

Before much time for further analysis or conversation, our food arrived. I thought the sausages were quite good. As I watched Cedric eat, I saw that his prior excitement for Toulouse sausages had turned into what I would characterize as an attempt to choke down an overcooked hot dog at a carnival stand. I asked him if they were what he expected and he said yes and that they were quite good…but it was obvious that the moment was no longer about food for Cedric.

We left Balans and walked a short distance to a club down the street. We went inside and sat in the seating area in front of the pay counter. Within moments, tears were streaming down Cedric’s cheeks. I didn’t speak but I placed my hand over his on the table. He mumbled the words, “all I do is cry" and then said he just wanted to be in love. I touched his cheek while trying to offer him some encouragement. I knew there was little I could say or do because I recalled my own similar feelings when I was his age. He was at a time and a place that cannot be denied or avoided despite all the words of encouragement that can be offered by those who have already made the same journey. I told him that he would find love knowing full well that while love endures, love would likely never again be quite so pure, quite so real, and quite as innocent as it had been before it was found.

Absent the appropriate spoken words, I took out a pen and paper and I wrote down these words and then handed him the paper to read:

Cedric wants to be in love
Twenty-two…too young for blue
His world is heavy
His smile is lovely
It’s all up there…just above thee
Look up my friend…
Discovery!

We sat for a while longer before we left. I wished him well and then we each headed off in different directions. I was happy for the chance to share some time with Cedric and in knowing he’s out there somewhere discovering himself reassures me that love is still alive.