The Front Runner

Avenue, under the budding trees. Then we turned into Central Park and walked along the paths. Cyclists and strollers walking dogs passed us. We walked apart, under the newly green trees, over the worn lawns scattered with rubbish.
    We sat on a park bench. Near us, a bum slept on the lawn in a stained overcoat, a newspaper over his face.
    "Look," said Billy, "if the bourgeois rituals mean that much to you, then let's get married. What the hell. Whatever keeps things peaceful. Would that help?"
    I took his hand and held it hard, wanting to kiss it.
    "Let's come out," I said. "All the way. Why should they tell us how to live?"
    Billy smiled a little. "The USOC will burn us at the stake."
    "Let them try," I said.
    We didn't have any great making-up embraces. First of all, we were in Central Park, and second, the quarrel had shaken us both very much. We roamed around the park just touching each other, full of a strange new hurting tenderness. We drifted through the Children's Zoo and petted the ponies and looked at the pigs and chickens. We wandered across the Sheep Meadow and fell into a game of tossing frisbees with some students. At the pond, we watched the children sail little boats, and helped one small boy rescue his capsized schooner. We went out on the lake in a row-boat for a while. For the first time, I didn't care if we were recognized or not.
    We wound up in front of the big carousel. It was turning, bright with lights and laden with children. The little organ was playing "After the Ball Is Over," and the horses were going up and down.
    "I want to ride on the merry-go-round," said Billy.
    I remembered how he'd said he wanted to skate just to get me pissed. "At least you won't sprain your ankle," I said.
    I bought two tickets. When the merry-go-round stopped, we climbed onto what we agreed were the two fiercest-looking horses. Nobody paid much attention—grownups lose their minds and ride this carousel all the time.
    The wheezy organ started to play "Daisy, Daisy," and the merry-go-round started to turn. We went up and down in a dream. Billy leaned his head against the pole, and just looked at me. Finally he reached out and held my hand, and squeezed it so hard that my fingers crackled.
    "Are you trying to blackmail me into buying you some popcorn?" I said.
    When we got off, a woman was standing there with two children and she said, "Filthy queers."
    "Speaking of popcorn, I'm starved," said Billy. "I haven't eaten since yesterday."
    We drove downtown and ate at that restaurant whose name I won't mention. We talked about the marriage.
    "Do you want to try getting a marriage license?" I asked.
    "I couldn't care less about being legal," said Billy, buttering his baked potato.
    Now and then two desperate gays would apply for a marriage license. They were always turned down. I decided we would forget about the license—we had enough hassles as it was.
    "We can go over to the Beloved Disciple, and Father Moore would marry us tonight," said Billy.
    I thought about this, then shook my head. A quickie ceremony in the gay church, like two teenagers at the justice of the peace, was all wrong.
    "Let's not rush," I said. "We want to do it the right way. We ought to invite a few people, the ones that matter. Your dad would be hurt if he wasn't included."
    "Whacha have in mind, man?" Billy teased. "Five hundred people at St. Patrick's Cathedral, and a reception at the Waldorf?"
    We laughed. "No," I said, "we want something small and intimate."
    After dinner, we went to the Saturday night dance at the Unitarian church hall for a little while. The two-dollar admission covered free beer and soda. A bunch of gays were dancing to a record player, mostly slow dances. Billy and I danced a few of the slow ones, pressed together, our arms tight around each other. People recognized us, but left us alone. Billy felt feverish—emotional stress can drive up the temperature, and I worried what effect this blowup would have on his training. Now and then we looked at each other, with that look that acknowledged how close we'd come to the edge.
    We sat in the dimly lit church for a little while, and I prayed and Billy meditated. Finally we felt peaceful. Then we drove back to the college.
    The next day, I told Joe Prescott about our plans.
    "It may mean more pressure on the school," I said. "If you want me to, I'll resign."
    Joe thought about it and shook his head. "Marian and I would be happy to have your wedding here at our house, and