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In what was once the undercroft of a long-demolished church, the dim lighting lends a sense of calm to the club members as they move about. In an alcove sit two figures, both somewhat paler than the usual nighttime inhabitants of this establishment. The older of the two presses the younger for full details of events that had taken place earlier that day. Well, one has to deal with gossip, doesn't one?
Okay, then I'll tell you—but no interruptions and no questions! I really didn't want to participate. Marcus, however, was persistent. He said we should stand up for our own kind and argued that we had to do something to avoid being discriminated against. Not that I'd experienced that much discrimination—at least not since I admitted what I was.
OK, there was a time when my family realized what I was, and after that they took me out of the house and would have nothing to do with me again. Well, that was hard for me—especially since I hadn't yet come to terms with who I was. Well, we find it hard, don't we? Is there any of us who can truthfully say that we've never tried to deny what we are; that we just want to be 'normal' (whatever normal is these days)? I mean, I've never met anyone who hasn't been in denial at some point.
Anyway, as I said, Marcus was persistent. As he said, I don't know who found out about the meeting. Well, actually, it's not the kind of thing you can announce in the local press or by posters on lampposts. The local paper, however sensitive it may be to the views of local people, wouldn't accept the advertisement for fear of alienating its readership. Did they never think we might be among their readership? As for the posters on the lampposts, they would soon be torn down. Can you imagine how Brother Michael in the Church of Christ the Born Again, and his fate as a fundamentalist Christian, would react to the idea of us holding a meeting? I strongly suspect they would have come and occupied the Assembly Hall with us in it. You know... you hear about this kind of thing, don't you?
That was another reason I didn't like going—I thought there might be trouble. And what I didn't want was trouble. I mean, I'd just gotten my life nice and settled. I was having a really tough time coming to terms with who I am, and it wasn't easy. Then I met Marcus, and the two of us got on brilliantly... well, maybe that's not the best. Given my earlier comment about the fire, that's not a good way of putting it, but you know what I mean. We'd found this wonderful place, with neighbors just like us, and we'd settled in well. I know we're not a big community at this end of town, but it's nice and comfortable, and we all support each other. All right, I'm complaining about Trixie's dog. I'm sorry, but I don't think it's right to have a dog in a place like that—there just aren't any facilities for it—but I have no problem with Trixie and her partner. I actually get along pretty well with her partner, who, by the way, shares my opinion of the dog, but for God's sake, mention that to Trixie. She's absolutely infatuated with the mutt.
As I was saying, after a few hard years, I've got it all sorted and I'm happy with who I am. Well, darling, you must be, don't you? If you're not, you'll soon find that you're isolating yourself. It's like the two old ladies in St. Cuthbert's. Everyone knows what they are, but they're in denial all the time. They try to act as if they're perfectly normal and you can see the strain it puts on them. Like they... I don't know if they've managed to go on for so long. I know I couldn't have, but then again, I'm not a Christian fundamentalist - or any form of Christian, for that matter.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Christians. I've met some very nice Christians in my life, and some who truly understand the concept of Christian love. I just can't understand how people like us can reconcile who we are with what the Bible says. In my opinion, the two simply don't fit together, but that's just my opinion. I'm sure you have your own.
Anyway, Marcus dragged me to this meeting, and I mean, dragged me. It was in this assembly hall just off Brown Street; used to be an old chapel. You wouldn't normally find me down there. Part of town, you know the reputation it has. But Marcus insisted we go. Well, it's fine with him; he's 6'4" and built like a tank. No one seeing him would suspect for a moment what he is. They probably think he's a rugby forward out for a night on the town. As for me, well, darling, you really can't mistake me. I don't try to look the part; it just happens. I told Marcus I wasn't happy living in this part of town. Well, you heard what happened to that poor lad in April—that was just off Brown Street, as I explained to Marcus. He told me not to worry, he was with me. He was right; who's going to take on Marcus? No one with half a brain. The problem is that some of these gangs that hang out there, part of the city, seem to have significantly less than half a brain between them, let alone each individual.
In the end, though, it wasn't a problem, probably because there were so many of us there. I don't know where you all came from; I didn't realise there were so many of us in the town. When we got to the other side, we were all over the High Street and we all moved towards Brown Street. By the time we reached the hall, there must have been three or four hundred of us. I must tell you, it was an eye-opener. Well, you know how it is, you tend to think you're unique; that is, until you meet others who are like you. But I never would have imagined there were so many of us. There were, however—and all of us in that tiny assembly hall. Well, it isn't that small, but darling, with so many of us together, it was a bit cramped. Good work, Marcus, clinging to me, otherwise I would have been lost.
A guy in black leather and studs climbed onto the platform at the end of the hall and thanked us all for coming. He said he knew it couldn't have been easy for us to come; that many of us were seeing the sight for the first time. Well, darling, it may be. For some, it was the first time, but some of us have seen it forever. But we knew what he meant. Anyway, he introduced this guy, Seymour, who then walked onto the platform.
Well, I was thunderstruck. As it turned out, Seymour was the old man from number twenty. You know, the tall man with the long gray hair, doesn't say much? Well, he really had something to say once he got on that platform. He started off with things we've all heard a million times. You know how many of us there really are, and how we don't need to hide who we are, we should be open and proud. I thought, 'Yes, love, easier said than done!' Then he got into how we're actively discriminated against. I'd never thought of it that way, but once you start to look into it, it is us. There are a thousand and one little ways of making things difficult for us, and Seymour listed them all.
Let me tell you, after a while. Twenty minutes I was with him. To be honest, at that point I wasn't just with him, I was in front of him. I wanted to go out and tell them what was what; that we weren't prepared to be discriminated against any further, and that we wanted fair and equal treatment. Marcus, of course, never thought I'd do it like that. I think I scared him a little bit. Well, I mean, he'd never seen me get that worked up before, but Seymour certainly got me going.
Well, at the end of his speech, Seymour urged us to march to the town hall and demand our rights; to demand that they put an end to discrimination. I shouted, "Yes, that's the right thing to do!" and pushed forward, to the front. We were all gathered quite tightly around the platform, all eager to get out and show them that we stand up for our rights. In the commotion, Marcus lost contact with me, and when he found me, we were just establishing order for the march. Someone was handing out posters and banners—I have no idea when they were made—and others volunteered to act as stewards. A girl from number 10 and I had grabbed a banner that said "Equality Now." Seymour told us to lead the march. Marcus asked me if I thought it was a good idea and suggested that it might be going a bit too far. I told him not to worry.
Anyway, darling, we all rushed out of the Assembly Hall and assembled in Brown Street. And didn't that provoke a few stares from the locals, but they had better sense than to try and attack us all. The girl from number ten and I unfurled the banner between us. We both had to hold on to our poles for dear life; well, there was quite a breeze blowing and the banner really The young chap who has the lovely spot right inside the entrance to St. Giles was there. He had a drum and was beating out the rhythm to Chopin's Sonata No. 2 in B minor; a couple of the lads started whistling it, which, I must admit, sounded a bit odd.
Well, as you can imagine, as we walked down Brown Street, we attracted quite a few onlookers. They weren't too hostile. In fact, some were quite supportive. Some of them even joined us in our march, but I don't think they felt that comfortable; most dropped out pretty quickly. Well, you know how it is, and how other people feel when they're around us.
Anyway, news of the march got there before us. As we reached the end of Brown Street and into Corporation Street, there were some really large crowds of onlookers—and some. Some of them weren't so nice. In fact, some were quite abusive. One of these fundamentalist Christians came out and started shouting at us, calling us "abominations to the Lord," and telling us we were condemned to an eternity in hell. As we got closer to the Town Hall, there were more and more noises like this.
That's when things went wrong for me. I'd forgotten about my brother. Well, I mean, my family hasn't had anything to do with me since they took me out of the house, so why should I think about them? As we entered the square, there was a line of police officers outside the town hall. In the middle of the line was the Chief Superintendent... my brother Graham.
Seymour led the march forward until we were about ten paces from the police, and then he stopped.
Graham looked at me. "Philip, what the hell are you doing here?
“I stand up for my rights,” I replied.
“But you’re dead!”
"What does that have to do with it? I still have rights."