First DRAFT of first chapter of what COULD one day be a... book!?!

Intro to “My Chameleons: A story of four Gay Palestinians befriending an American Girl in Jordan.”

My Kali
November 10, 2008

All Zain phone lines were busy so I awkwardly stood in a hoard of excited young people, straining my eyes to see a familiar face. Instead of my smiling boys I saw young Jordanian college guys with their spiked hair, bright tee shirts and (in an American’s opinion) tight jeans. The young girls wore “painted on pants”, heels, pounds of make up, and either board-stiff straight hair or teased-up curly hair. Regardless, everyone was looking his best in hopes to catch Tamer Housney’s eye. I can only sing along to the “Ya Habibi” parts of his songs, but I too had put a few extra minutes into my appearance… which I blamed myself for as I stood alone like an idiot waiting for my boys. Maybe I am late because I changed shirts ten times before leaving the house… It is really hot out here; I wish I didn’t sweat so much… Maybe the boys already entered the concert arena… Damn, I wish my phone was working… Even if it isn’t working, I’ll just hold it up to my ear so I look like I am talking to friends.

I put on my only-special-occasions pink lip gloss for the fourth time to keep my hands busy. My eye caught a guy talking on his phone. So I asked him, in Arabic, if I could use his phone to call my friend because my phone wasn’t working. He replied with a sympathetic smile, sympathy towards my butchered Arabic, not because my phone wasn’t working. I called Mouse (all names have been changed to honor the privacy of the real characters) who was laughing and yelling over the loud music on his side of the phone connection, “Hey babe! Where are you!? We are waiting for you!”

I pulled the phone from my ear to about shoulder level to end the call with Mouse and froze; the sympathetic man and I made eye contact. I was confused: Do I wipe my cheek’s sweaty make-up off of his phone screen? Do I leave it on so that he doesn’t see me wipe my cheek’s sweaty make-up off of his phone screen? The millisecond I stood there making this decision might have seemed to him like I was considering running off with his phone. Embarrassed, I handed him his phone, with evidence of a sweaty make-up, and briskly walked away.

I followed Mouse’s directions to the car they were waiting in. Many other young people were skipping down the same street to get closer to the entrance of the concert. My lips felt heavy with gloss, which I don’t find exactly comfortable. I considered wiping it off, but the boys are always telling me to wear it, so I left it. I walked with confidence to the car, You are hot, Jess. You look great. Just suck in your stomach a little, put your shoulders back, and don’t look at the guys yelling at you from across the street. Look for a car crammed with gay men.

Cars lined the streets leading to the entrance of the Tamer Housney concert. Bodies topped with spiked hair leaned against cars as they watched bodies on high heels shuffle down the street to the entrance line. High heels tried to stand balanced in line and attempted to look relaxed; but knowing they were being watched, mixed with anticipation for entering the concert, equaled a tap dance show on the sidewalk. Gelled black hair standing like television antennas also tried to look cool and confident, but watching the stunning show of tap dancers in front of them, mixed with well, just beautiful women in front of them was enough to keep them jittery like an Arab 2008 version of West Side Story.

Flamingo’s head emerged from a grey car. His perfect smile and sleek body comforts me. I immediately felt my shoulder muscles sigh with relief. I rushed to the car, a safe haven for me in this unfamiliar musical-like world. The parked car’s windows were rolled up, three bodies were already in the back seat, and the front two seats were filled. I distributed the traditional three kisses (one on the right cheek, and two on the left) to all five smiling guys in the air conditioned car.

In my very American punctual way I immediately started to apologize for being late, but assured them that I had been waiting a few streets away, for a long time. But all ears were tuned to Tamer Housney’s recorded voice coming from the car speakers. My happiness and ease adjusted to match the level in the car.

My left shoulder rested on the back of the drivers’ seat, and to my right was Flamingo with his long legs folded into his chest. Flamingo has smooth dark skin and a smile, but tonight I can see that behind his smile he is constantly thinking about his boyfriend. They are in a fight, as usual, but this time Flamingo wants it to be for the last time. His phone rings, he reads the name on the screen, sighs, pushes ignore, and returns the phone to his pocket. I ask him how he is doing, and he says that he is sad about his boyfriend.

Next to Flamingo is Cat. Cat is the fluffiest in body size and personality. He purrs as he listens to his speaker. Cat sleeps until the afternoon hours when he has the opportunity. Snuggling and making people feel loved is what he does best. He moves slowly, no matter the situation. Cat dances more sensually and sexier than any woman I have ever seen dance to Arabic music.

Perched on top of Cat is Mouse. Mouse’s dark shaped eyebrows and thick curled eyelashes make people take a second look, but his kind demeanor make people feel important and valued. Mouse is the smallest of the four, but is busier and more determined than the others. He reminds me of Cinderella’s helpers. Mouse gets shit done, loves decorating his apartment, and is comforting and encouraging like Cinderella’s friends.

In the front seat sits Cricket, the loud, night creature who is sensitive and sharp witted. Cricket often has tired students knocking on his apartment door, telling him that his music is disturbing the studying attempts of the entire building. He is tall and thin, always bouncing and smiling. When Cricket’s music plays, his body transforms to all the dancers combined from the music video. Cricket sits in the front seat in order to control the radio and because it is his boyfriend’s car, Bulldog.

Bulldog, who I will call Bull throughout the rest of this article because it is easier, is a bear in Gay Culture. He is not “gay acting”, he is rough and tough looking, but Bull is a complete teddy bear. If Cricket just gives him a pouty face or anyone asks him for any favor, he immediately pleases the asker. Bull is always very gentle and polite with me, treating me as a prince might.

Bull was concerned about taking care of me during the concert, as he is usually concerned about taking care of me in any situation. He was concerned that because there were separate lines for girls and guys, that there might also be separate view areas for guys and girls inside the concert arena. So Bull and I left the car to ask the security guard about the gender situation inside. He took my wrist and put it around his forearm as we walked between the tap dancers and antennas towards the front of the line where the security guards stood. I felt like Bull wanted me to be his arm candy to ensure his identity to the TV antenna boys, but I don’t mind, I like playing along and helping him feel proud.

We returned to find the boys exiting the car and greeting Mouse’s pseudo-girlfriend, Space. Mouse says he is bi-sexual, enjoys Space’s personality, long hair, and presence, but is also maybe with her as a cover-up, so that no one will suspect he is attracted to men. Space was smiling and talking loudly with the same excitement as the rest of the high heels on the sidewalk. Her friend, Turtle, stood motionless and emotionless, wrapped in a white hijab, looking down at the curb, and counting down the seconds to when she and Space could go stand in the girls’ line together without the boys. This was my first experience seeing the boys “acting straight”. I had heard rumors about it before, they had warned me that in public things would be different, but upon the arrival of Space and Turtle they resembled the TV antenna boys, but with better style and less gel.

Bull and I reported the good news that only the lines were separated by sex, but that when we enter, we will be able to reunite and watch Tamer Housney together. We were all relieved, except probably Turtle, who was still counting.

I had heard a lot about Space, but this was my first time seeing her. Mouse told me of her rich family, her long hair, and her spontaneous actions. I decided she really wants to be paid attention to, she wants someone, anyone to fill her. I stood in line with her and Turtle. I started tapping out of anxiousness with the other high heels. When the three of us were permitted to pass the security guards, we entered what was once a large parking lot, but tonight it was a concert arena for Tamer Housney.

I looked around for my boys, but another group of guys caught my eye instead. They were about 20 meters away, and as I recognized them Space said, “Ewww, Yuck, look at those GAYS! Eww!” After hearing this, I grinded my teeth together in hopes that my jaw wouldn’t drop to the ground out of disgust for her ignorance. My mind raced back and forth about what to do. I recognized them from the night before at the gay dance club, and they were really sweet to me. Do I say hi to them now to shock Space? Do I pretend like I don’t know them? I do want to protect my boys from being associated with obvious gays. I decided to look away, hoping that the flamboyant skinny gay guys didn’t see me. Honestly, the biggest part of me wanted to slap that girl and tell her about my boys who had been welcoming, nice, polite, respectful, and “straight acting” to her and her friend.

The boys met up with us and I gladly handed off the two girls to Mouse, and didn’t associate with them very much for the remainder of the night. I rotated linking arms with Cat, Cricket, Bull, and Flamingo for the next few hours of the concert.

All night Cat was calling his boyfriend in Dubai so he could hear Tamer Housney sing live. Cricket got jealous because Bull got a girl’s phone number. Mouse held hands with Space. Turtle continued counting down moments until she could leave us. Flamingo had a sad face behind his smile about his boy. I smiled and giggled all night as the boys passed me around from one set of shoulders to another so that I could see; they built a wall around me so that no spike head could “accidentally” touch the only American girl in the crowd, and we sang at the top of our lungs with Tamer Housney, each wishing he was gay.