The Big Gay Kiss, and a Dream

Last night I watched the Big Gay Kiss II on “Dawson’s Creek.”

I’m 27 years old and I watch “Dawson’s Creek.” Isn’t that sad? I guess I’ve become a regular viewer. I’ve developed a Wednesday night routine: on Wednesday nights I stay in, cook dinner, and settle in for “Dawson’s Creek” on the WB at 8:00 followed by “The West Wing” on NBC at 9:00. It’s a nice contrast — at 8:00, it’s slow, melancholy, soapy high school angst, making me feel like a kid; and then at 9:00, it’s quick, snappy dialogue and intelligent plot developments about Chinese satellites and the White House Counsel’s Office, making me feel like an adult. Affairs of teenagers followed by affairs of state.

“Dawson’s Creek” isn’t a great show. Plot developments occur suddenly, and characters make rash decisions without the writers letting us see their motivations develop. It’s like they film a two-hour show and edit it down to an hour. But I can’t help but watch. This is partly because I look forward to seeing Jack, the gay guy, but on top of that, the show has lots of beautiful people. And it’s filmed very well. The scenes and the people are angst-filled, laconic, bucolic watercolors.

Too bad the show doesn’t make much sense. I mean, last night’s episode was the senior prom, and it took place on a big yacht, and there were no chaperones around. Pacey yells his head off at Joey, his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, in the middle of the dance floor, and no adults show up to ask what’s going on. And all the other kids just stop and stare. These are high school students, and nobody laughs or makes fun of Pacey? And the students can pretty easily take swigs of alcohol out on the deck of the ship? And Jen is seriously in danger of falling off the side of the boat, and there are no chaperones there, either? If I were a parent of a Capeside student I’d seriously be considering a lawsuit.

But the kiss.

Jack and Tobey have had this platonic thing for a few months now. Tobey’s very out, and Jack isn’t comfortable with that. Jack’s friend Jen tricks Tobey into asking Jack to the prom, so they go, and they sit together all night having a nice, fun conversation, although we only get to see about 30 seconds of it. Later, Tobey asks Jack to dance, and Jack gets angry and snotty at him, telling him that this date is purely platonic. Tobey gets up and leaves.

Switch to the other characters having their hetero teen angst for a while.

When we get back to Tobey, at about 8:50, he’s out on the deck of the yacht, staring out at the moonlight reflecting on the water. Just like they used to do on “The Love Boat.” Isn’t this where the washed-up former TV star with the 1970’s haircut shows up, wearing an evening dress and a pearl necklace?

But no — Jack comes out onto the deck. Tobey slowly turns around, and Jack walks toward him. He tells Tobey that he used to be afraid of him because Tobey was so out. But he says that after this terrific night of conversation and laughter, he’s realized that the thing he used to hate about Tobey has turned into the thing about him that he most admires. And that he doesn’t feel platonic anymore. And he leans in, and their lips come together. And they stay together, tenderly, for five full seconds.

It’s not raunchy. They don’t suck face. Instead, it’s just really, really sweet. Gentle. Romantic. Pure.

It made me feel something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Before I came out of the closet, this was my vision of gay life. Romance. A kiss. A boyfriend. Purity. Poetry. Before it turned into casual sex, perpetual singlehood, and cynicism.

What happened?

Later, I went to bed and I dreamed.

I dreamed I was at a party, and a friend introduced me to a guy with black hair. I fell in love with him immediately; I was head over heels. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this way. In some sense I felt like I’d met him before. And he seemed to like me, too, but I wasn’t sure.

We talked for a while, and then he told me the bad news: he was HIV positive. And he was bisexual, and he’d got HIV from having intercourse with a woman.

And yet the next thing I knew, we were lying together in a bed, wearing clothes, cuddling, being nice and tender with each other. It felt so wonderful, like he was my soulmate, even though I was scared and I didn’t think this was ever going to work out.

I woke up from the dream, and I realized that in physical appearance, he was a composite between the second guy I ever dated — someone I didn’t date for very long — and a particular blogger who lives in the Mountain Time Zone.

The dream has been percolating in my subconscious all day.

I wonder if maybe I’ll be happy, but only if I accept certain realities.