![]() I felt that if we did, I would be obliterated.ĭuring the spring of my junior year, I’d taken to wearing a turquoise acid-washed blue jean jacket, and I wore a studded leather wristband that served as a wallet-a souvenir from Los Angeles, where I’d spent the previous term away from school, working in the realer world. The jocks and I were like planets in different orbits, circling one another but not colliding. They wore baseball caps backwards and moved in packs. They wolfed down epic platters of scrambled eggs. In the dining halls, they filled boisterous tables. And I knew a splattering of visual artists, a handful of comparative lit majors, the odd philosopher, and three mathematicians, along with an assortment of other obsessive, quirky characters with whom I’d fallen into conversation in a dining hall line or bonded over the cinnamon toast at Naples Pizza when we should have been studying. ![]() I knew absolutely everyone in my major-there were only a few of us who had chosen to get degrees in Latin and Greek, so it would have been Herculean not to. I knew many of the people who styled themselves writers. I knew the theater people, a group that overlapped almost completely with the gays and lesbians, uncloseted and closeted. I was also cordial with most of the lesbians and gays who were still in the closet it was pretty obvious who they were. ![]() ![]() I was friends with most of the other gays and lesbians this wasn’t difficult because, in the early 1980s, not many of us were out of the closet. By the time I was a junior at college, I’d already met everyone I cared to know. ![]()
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