Stories from the Past: Coming Out Cow

My senior year of high school, the theatre director a TCHS declared that we would do a one-act version of the three-hour Sondheim monster Into the Woods.  Because I didn't sing, I would be the Narrator for  the play, and she had planned to enlist all of the pretty, preppy, show choir kids to play most of the parts.  The traditional corps of the department would serve as back-up artists and crew...which, while crappy, was better than an earlier idea to dress them all up as trees and have them dance around as different parts of the scenery.

Just like this...but made of dancing high school theatre kids.  Image via Wikipedia

Anyway, I had decided months ago that I was going to come out before my senior year started because I was tired of living the lie.  So, on Sunday, August 8th, 2004, I told my parents, which is another story for another day.  It intersects with Into the Woods because I was working on that show at the time.  In fact, I was the theatre intern with my friend Alisabeth.  Between us and Mandy, we were given the job of doing the cow.

For those of you who aren't very familiar with Into the Woods, it's a musical mash-up of the stories of Jack, Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Little Red Riding Hood all going into the woods to get their dreams.  Okay, well, Jack obviously has to have a cow because he's going to the market to sell his cow for food for him and his mother.  Now, there are two ways that you can do this.  You can either hire an actor to play the part of the cow or you can build a cow prop.

We, sadly, attempted the latter.  It was maybe the most dangerous weapon that I've ever seen on wheels.  Made of two-by-four, chicken wire, plaster, paper-mache, and white paint, more people bled on this cow than I would have thought possible.  It was a hot disaster.  The casters wouldn't stay straight, the back of the cow buckled, and it needed so much plaster to make it look like a cow verses a box covered in chicken wire that that was what I was assigned to do with Alisabeth for the second week of school.

Friday, we were sitting out in the courtyard outside the drama room.  This was right after the outdoor furniture that had been used at the previous year's prom had been donated to the school but before they screwed on that brass nameplate that dedicated it to that kid that died.  Alisabeth and I are slathering plaster on the cow and talking about the election.  She had proven to be mostly conservative, and this being 2004, my senior class could vote for the first time, and it was shaping up to be an important decision:  you could either vote for President Bush or you could vote against him (Kerry not actually counting as a canditate because he stood for nothing).  Although we could agree on the upcoming pro-liquor referendum for Tift County (which was dry at that time), we eventually ended up on thornier subjects.  Like gay marriage.

Obviously, I defended gay marriage against her arguments, but at the same time, I had to admit to myself that it looked like it was going to be an uphill battle, even for civil unions.  I mean, two of the four states to have same sex marriage have happened in 2009, and this was five years ago.  If I'm not mistaken, Massachusettes was the only state to have anything like this going on.  My fervent support made Alisabeth ask me if I was gay.  To which I immediately replied "no."

I started to kick myself and got really quiet. I guess Alisabeth was either embarassed that she had asked and I wasn't or didn't know what to say because she knew I was closetted.  I actually surprised most people when I came out.  And I had promised myself that although I wasn't going to throw myself a "coming out" party like a debutante, I also wasn't going to deny it any longer if anyone asked me.  And this was my first test, and I had already screwed it up.  After another couple of minutes of silence, I back-tracked:

"Wait, scratch that."
"Scratch what?"
"I am gay.  Not many people know.  Don't spread it around."
"Okay..."

We talked about my coming out for a little bit.  I didn't want the news to get around because I was afraid, this being the deep South, that I'd be harrassed.  But, I didn't trust this girl, and the circle of people who knew was getting big.  Soon, it was going to explode.  But for now, I was just another guy covered in plaster, trying to make a cow for the musical theatre.  And the future was a story for another day.

By the way, the cow never did become satisfactory.  Instead, we dressed up a short girl like a cow.  She did a much better job than a plaster representation.