(Side note: Millie and Lucy are both kind of athletic and wear what I would describe as sensible shoes. I can almost immediately tell whether someone else is queer by whether they think Millie and Lucy are sisters or partners. Like sisters? Are you for real? Look at their matching sensible shoulder bags!)

Actually one of my first performances was a tribute to mothers, created for Lucy’s grandmother’s ninetieth birthday when I was seven. (Originally it was supposed to be a ninety-minute performance, but I was told I had six minutes, max—a time allowance I know Lucy fought for.)

It was a dance, not to “Funkytown,” but a song Grandma Shirley liked, “Sing Sing Sing (with a Swing)” originally written by Louis Prima and covered by Benny Goodman. I made tap shoes and decorated my leotard so I would look like what in my mind was an old-timey dancer.

Halfway through the dance, Lucy’s cousin Herbert ran up and pulled me off the stage because he said I was up there “shaking my hips in my underwear” and it was disgusting.

The first abrupt end to one of my performances.

But not the last.

Not everyone gets it. Or almost no one gets it.

I know that.

And sometimes, the not getting it can be louder than disco.

Oh. Also, I go off on what Millie calls “epic tangents.” Which are (almost) always relevant. And eventually connect back to the story.

THREE

See?

Okay, so there I was. In Greenville. The last strains of “Funkytown” fading into the sunny day. Either my audience was not loving what was happening or they were the quietest audience in the history of audiences. Or both.

I was getting up from my epic splits, brushing the bits of gravel off my palms, thinking.

I had two choices: One, keep going. Like, the show must go on (a theater saying that people used to say way back in the 1900s and also a song by the epic band Queen). Two, act like the three-part disco roller performance was actually a one part, take my bow, and roll off into the sunset.

If you’re caught up, it’s not going to surprise you to hear that I took option one.

Heck yeah, I did! Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” came on (recorded in 1978 and originally released as a B-side if you can believe it). That’s like the most powerful gay song (not sung by a gay person) in the world!

I blew a kiss to the crowd, did a jump turn, pumped twice, and flew into a sit spin. I came out of that, waved to the crowd, and went right back into a series of hurricane kicks that I then transitioned into a heel toe spin, because I love spinning; the world flew into a stream of light and dark when suddenly. . .

The music cut out.