I wouldn't have been so angry if I hadn't been trying to escape. She wouldn't have hurt me so much if I hadn't been trying that Sunday afternoon to get away, however briefly, from the consistent, pounding headache of coming out. It wouldn't have hurt as much if I hadn't been so vulnerable to her ignorance.

I went to that bookstore like I had so many weekend days recently because I needed some comfort, some connection that I really wasn't the only gay person in the world like I feared. I went to bookstores specifically because I could find that connection with people like me. I could read their stories and realize that maybe there was hope for me, that I didn't need to kill myself, that I could survive. On bad days, I couldn't convince myself. On good days, I knew that not only could I survive, but I could thrive and succeed and find a better place because I was gay. Today, this day, was a bad day. Survival in this homophobic world seemed unreachable. I needed the words to salve my worries.

I walked into this huge bookstore, one so big it needed a directory. I knew exactly where to go; the place was familiar to me without the directory. Row 14, far west side, next to Women's Studies and across from History. I liked this bookstore because I could look at the Gay and Lesbian Studies section without being glared at or scrutinized. In some bookstores, they put the L/G/B Studies right across from the Sports section which I noticed led to some interesting conversations. I needed solace today, so I went to this bookstore specifically because I wouldn't be bothered.

Not only was no one in the Gay and Lesbian section, no one was in the entire row. I could have even more privacy than I had hoped. Past African-American Studies. Past Women's Studies. Gay and Lesbian Studies. Home.

I began the browsing ritual. I never started with the As because I had done that too many times. All the titles blurred together now after I hit the Gs. I started at the bottom shelf-the Vs to the Zs-and worked my way slowly back through the shelves, examining every spine, pulling books out occasionally to read the comments on the back, sometimes because they had an author I had read before. Is It a Choice? by Eric Marcus. I had bought this essential guide when I first realized my sexual orientation. It was sitting under my bed at home. The Lost Language of Cranes by David Leavitt. I read it in one afternoon the previous summer, a check-out from the library. Ready to Catch Him Should He Fall by Neil Bartlett. I smiled to myself. It was one of my favorite books, one of the only gay books I knew with a happy ending for the gay couple. I picked it out and randomly turned to a page, getting lost in the poetic prose.

Still no new book to buy. Still no new insight about my sexuality. I set Ready to Catch Him Should He Fall down and continued my search.

A little boy-seven, maybe eight-came down the aisle. He was a cute little kid-feathered brown hair and these cute cheeks. He was smiling in that way only kids know how, that smile for no reason at all that is so hard for me to remember now. He made me smile. He saw me, smiled even wider because I was smiling, and continued towards me.

"Billy," a woman said. "I'll be back in just a few minutes, okay? Try not to go too far." Mom. She had on a loose dress and sunglasses, even in the store. Even though she had this look of perpetual worry on her face, I still managed to smile at her. She smiled back in this adult contract sort of way, implying that because I was white and blond and clean cut, I would watch out for her kid, even though I was a stranger. I sealed the contract when I smiled at her. She gave one last look to Billy and headed off.

I got back to my business and I noticed this book on the shelf, face out like it's on special display. The Family Heart by Robb Forman Dew. I picked it up because it seemed like an interesting title. "...Heartfelt...story of a mom whose son comes out to her...understand the process of coming out." Bingo. This was the book I needed today.

I felt Billy behind me. I casually turned around because I'm a curious person by nature and also because I made this adults' contract with his mom. He was browsing the history section like he was some Civil War buff, stopping on books with titles like Gettysburg and Lincoln's War. He seemed intrigued by this book about Stonewall Jackson and took it down off the shelf. I smiled to myself, thinking how I never would have looked at this book even today, much less when I was seven.

I turned around and continued my search, seeing if there was anything else I needed. Now that I'd found The Family Heart, I felt I could go home and get some perspective. This day might be a good day after all.

"Hey, Billy-boy." I heard her coming around the other side of the aisle, the one closest to us. Mom came back into view and Billy and I both turned because you have to if someone is three feet from you. She had taken off her sunglasses now.

"Did you get some reading done?," she asked Billy. "Find any good books?"

"Nope, not really," Billy said.

"I'm sorry, honey," Mom said.

She looked at me now because she was telling me, "Thanks. Our contract is over," but the only things she said was, "Hi." Our eyes met and hers were sympathetic and thankful in that typical mom sorta way. She said, "Hi" as our eyes met and we both defined our roles-hers the concerned but trusting mother and mine the responsible stranger. Our eyes met and as quickly as they did, we broke eye contact because that's what strangers do, never keeping eye contact too long. And her eyes went down and I could see her reading the placard on the shelf I'd been standing at the entire time. I could see her reading the words, "Gay and Lesbian Studies" and before she could control her face, it dropped, her face dropped. In that moment, any pretense of kindness and hospitality and good will was gone. In its place was this look of pure confusion like I'd never seen before, this archetypal wide-eyed, mouth open charicature of confusion about this person-me-who she thought she trusted.

She looked first to the placard and then slowly to me, her eyes meeting mine. Her look changed from that confusion which at least didn't have a judgment to this look of anger and fear-intense, definite fear. Her mouth closed and her eyes narrowed and our eyes met again. This time, the contract was over not because I'd done the job and watched her kid. This time, the contract was violated. I wronged and I could no longer be trusted because I was gay and this is her male child and I could have corrupted him, recruited him, molested him in the time she was gone. I had misrepresented myself as a clean-cut young guy and instead should have warned her, should have shown her somehow that I was gay. And in her eyes I was a pervert and a freak and probably a child molester because I was in this section, this L/G/B section trying to open my mind and find some hope in this crazy homophobic world. I had broken our contract into a million little pieces.

"Come on, Billy," Mom said. Her eyes were still locked with mine while her hand groped for Billy's hand. "Come on. We have to go now."

"But Mom-" Billy said.

"No 'buts.' We have to go now." She had found his hand and was now leading him away. She walked backwards, still keeping this eye contact with me as though I might make a move to take her son away, steal him away. She walked backwards until she was far enough away from me that she could safely turn her back on me and walk away, walk away from this gay man who caused her so much worry, this young gay man who was more afraid of himself than even she was.

The hurt and the pain were immediate, striking my core, ringing so well the source of my own worries, my own fears. I stood there feeling the waves of hurt, of shame, of pain, acute pain until the tears came, the tears I couldn't stop for minutes, not even in the bookstore. I sat on the footstool near me and cried cried cried, trying to wash myself of this deed, trying to cleanse myself of this filth this woman flung on me with her eyes. I cried because I saw the monster I was through this woman's eyes. I saw the monster I was, and saw the monster I would always be in this woman's eyes.

I put the book back on the shelf and left. No book could ease my pain. Not now. The wound was freshly opened and it would take days to begin to heal.

* * *

Last week I went to Matt and Sun Mi's house because their daughter had just been born-little Montana. My partner and I went to their apartment to see her and to teach the parents infant CPR, just in case.

We stayed to watch a movie as we always do at Matt and Sun Mi's house. As we watched the movie, Sun Mi brought out her daughter, just a week old. She held Montana out to David and he took her, cradling her in his arms. Soon it was my turn to hold the baby.

I sat there holding this baby in my arms, David next to me holding my other hand. Matt and Sun Mi sat nearby, watching the movie. They never once checked up on Montana and me. They just watched the movie. We had a contract that I would take care of her, temporarily. They trusted me with their child.

I thought about that woman in the bookstore for the first time in a long time. I thought about her son and her reaction and I could see her face again, her confused face which hurt me so much then. I thought about the woman and finally realized who the real monster was that day.

I smiled down on Montana.