b y Ronnie Black– I was gearing up for the Drag Ball. I figured that somebody should cover this night of debauchery and it was on Halloween of all things. I was having a beer with some friends and we were showing off our costumes. I was dressed as a serf, there were three girls one was a Native American one was painted green and the other had on a pillow case. I wasn’t sure if this was a sign or they were just drunk.
A braver soul than I busted into the room not wearing a shirt and smeared with mud. He claimed he was a craw fish, but I knew his true nature was far more horrifying. We had a few more drinks and left to go to the Drag Ball. I had stuffed a pillow into my get up to make it look like I had boobs the size of nuclear bombs. Fat Man and Little Boy had nothing on me.
We arrived at the Ball drunk and tired. The man at the door gave me a martini shaker I told him I hadn’t entered any contest. We spoke to the rest of locals they were of every conceivable race and gender. Men, women and other- black, white even zombies. I guess that’s the risk you run of having this type of shindig on Halloween. The women or those whom I perceived to be women were beautiful anyway in all of their glory, bobbing and undulating in the middle of the Gorge. I was mesmerized and they seemed to be able to converse with the guy who said he was the crawfish.
I turned to my friends and said, “I need another beer. I’m going to go back to the room.” I left for a short time, changed into regular attire and when I returned they said they knew of a party we could go to. “Sure,” I said “I’m a man in need of a good party.”
Somebody had wanted me to buy them wine so I thought I could kill two birds with one stone. Another girl brought some rum and shared it with the crawfish and myself outside the local pizza place. The owner came out and said we were bad for business. “You people can’t drink here. This is main street Poultney.” He said, pointing at us from the front door. “What do you mean by you people?” I asked. “This woman is clearly a native and don’t let that crawfish fool you he is pure Chinese.” We had several more words that involved a great deal of spitting and gesturing.
We moved on and found the party. A life size William Wallace was in attendance as was a convincing Governor Palin. We made light conversation and then it hit me, I had forgotten about the wine. A man at the party said he knew just the place. He took me out back and sold me some cabernet out of the trunk of his car. I thanked him and gave him five dollars as we left the party.
On the way back to the Drag Ball a man in a mask followed by a basketball team approached me. I asked him if he was on acid. “A straight mute, huh, taken a vow of silence. Then be gone with you.” I said.
There we were, back where we had started and I missed the runway show. But in all of his glory stood Mark Jordan in a miniskirt. He was the hottest woman, who wasn’t a woman that I had ever seen. Words could not explain the full extent of emotions that the Drag Ball encompassed. At the drag ball I was the crazy for being a man and dressing like a man. “Thank God that this endeavor has passed.” I said as I staggered home.
