Under the Christmas Tree - Prologue. Prologue

Very loosely based on a true incident.

It was the Christmas season of 1983 if memory serves me right. I was visiting a gay couple in their early 30’s, Mike and Jim, whom I really didn’t know well. I was staying in their home as the guest of mutual friends, my BFFs Rob and Larry, who were allowing me to tag along on a holiday vacation. All four of my hosts were kind and gentle with me since I was only two weeks post break-up with my partner of nearly 3 years, Wayne, who had been my first “true” love.

I’m Arthur Gibbs and at the time of this story, I was almost 26 standing about 6’1” and weighing about 175. I was not a weight-lifter, but was pretty well put together and lived in Durango, Colorado.

Wayne and I’d met when he was 32 and I was 22 and celebrating my graduation from Southern Methodist University (BBA) with 3 of my best gay friends. We were spending a couple of weeks camping and hiking in the Colorado Rockies and happened to camp near Wayne and his best friend Randy, who immediately went after my pal Jacob. Wayne and I fell in love on a mountaintop and I moved to Durango a month later to be with him. I landed a job in the billing department of the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Train. We had a good life, or so I thought. “True” love turned out to be untrue love when I discovered he’d been having a serious affair with his co-worker at the Sheriff’s Department for almost 2 of our 3 years together.

So, I arrived at Mike and Jim’s magnificent home in the mountains just above Boulder, Colorado, with a busted heart and crushed spirit, feeling ugly, unloved, and, worse than that, unlovable. During the first couple of days of a planned week’s sojourn, I was quiet, morose, and despondent. I could appreciate the beauty of the idyllic setting with the mountains, pines, spruce, fir, and aspen all around, and about a foot of powdery whiteness to shimmer in the moonlight and glisten in the sunlight. Mike and Jim had decorated the house to the hilt, using all Mike’s talents as a department store window dresser at one of the leading stores in Denver: Goldwater’s. (Yes, that Arizona Senator Goldwater.)

The tree alone was worthy of a Better Homes and Gardens cover, standing 12 feet tall in front of a 24-foot window overlooking the city of Boulder about 3500 feet below and a little to the left. Rob and Larry went on and on about how incredible the tree was as we sat before it with spiced teas or ciders listening to The Carpenters sing “Merry Christmas, Darling,” which just made me miss the good times with Wayne. (Yes, there had been a lot of good times before it all went to hell in a 2-minute confession one day.) I tried to hide my tears.

At breakfast on Christmas Eve morning, Jim announced that their buddy Gil would be coming over during the afternoon for some eggnog and some time in their amazing hot tub, which was on the deck overlooking Boulder. I didn’t think anything about it until Rob took me aside and told me to “get your shit together, clean up, and put on something sexy” before Gil arrived. In the ensuing shower I couldn’t help but wonder if I was being set up. It was too soon. But … I did as I was told.

Most of the morning was spent with Mike and Rob beating the stuffing out of Larry and Jim at a marathon round of Spades games while I sat in a lounge chair pretending to read City of Night by John Rechy. Had I actually been reading, I should have selected something a bit more uplifting, but it really didn’t matter since I couldn’t focus my brain on the pages before me anyhow. I kept wondering what Wayne and his new boyfriend Alvin were doing to celebrate the holidays. I kept wondering if I should get the hell out of Durango and make a new start somewhere far, far away where I wouldn’t be likely to run into Wayne or Alvin or any of our joint friends at the bank or grocery. Maybe I should go someplace warmer, like Dallas or Florida or Arizona.

But I did enjoy many aspects of life in Durango: the gorgeous summers, unbelievable fall scenery, skiing at Purgatory or Wolf Creek or Telluride, clean crisp air and sparkling mountain streams, hikes and camping. I even had some good friends: our Business Office Manager Allen and his sweet wife Rita, a couple of gay ranchers (Chuck and Erik) who have a 1000-acre spread on the mesa south of the city, and Jordan, a new arrival to the area who is the assistant chef at the Strater Hotel, Durango’s historic top accommodation. Maybe Jordan and I could spend more time together, see if we are compatible as good friends (or whatever) if I stay in Durango.

But I digress. Let's get back to Christmas Eve in the mountains above Boulder.