I Don’t Speak Indonesian

This weekend I was out to a local gay club, by local I mean it’s not in Boston, by not in Boston I mean it caters to the tragic suburban gays, by tragic I mean a drag queen wearing black stockings and white shoes in a dress that was trying to hard to be Bob Mackie, but failing miserably.

My friend Maureen and sat at the bar taking in the local color while playing a game of guess my gender. This bar is in Haverhill about 5 miles from New Hampshire a butch lesbian paradise. This place is so close to the flannel line if you if it weren’t for the facial hair you wouldn’t be able to tell the bears from the womynn.

Maureen was telling me about her plans go home to Indonesia next Fall. She had a new nephew born this past Spring, she is very excited to see him and the rest of her relatives that still live in Jakarta.

“Do you want to come, when I go home?”

“I dunno, are there gay bars there?”

“Yeah, of course that’s where I hang out. Boys will be falling all over when they find out your Americana.”

“Great it will be like LA all over again. Little Asian men following me around night cubs asking me questions like, ‘Is everything proportionate?’ or “Do you speak Tagalog?”

Ok, I know I’m idiot of asking that question but I was bout 4 beers into it by that time and the idea of traveling to a country in Asia has always scared me. It isn’t because Indonesia is the largest Muslim majority country in the world and I’m a Gay American. It isn’t because I am afraid if I get hurt I will end up in a scary Third World hospital. It’s because I am afraid of being the tallest person for miles, sort of a walking sideshow. I have visions of people pointing and laughing at me.

Now you think I’m even more of an idiot and your probably right.

“Does your family speak English?”

“Yes. If we go you just have to learn a few Indonesian words. It's very easy not like English.”

“Like dalma?”

“What?”

“Dalma.”

“That’s not an Indonesian word.”

“Yeah it is. It was on that package of noodles you gave me.”

“You’re crazy.”

An hour goes by, more drinks are served.

“Is it dolmas?”

“Are you back to that again?”

“Yeah, dolmas that’s it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t come.”