An old friend was getting married, and being of the Jehovah’s Witness faith, our initial expectations of my participation at his wedding could not be met. We could be friends as long as I “followed the rules”, which I had a long history of complications with. I don’t blame him. I was honestly expecting it. The moment he called me to discuss my removal from the wedding party, I was in the back of a car with my pants undone. I kept the phone on speaker, a silent “fuck you” to this organization. He pleaded that I should still fly down to Florida and attend, offering the role of “stage performer” while the wedding party walks down the aisle. The requested song, “No One” by Alicia Keys. Being an outdoor wedding, I ultimately agreed and made my way down South. It didn’t take long for my presence to be felt. I, the outcast, surrounded by other “church members in good standing” inside a bar in Miami, not being able to tell where I end and they begin. The boot-sized Long Island Iced Tea I chugged upon arrival sat warmly in my stomach as I danced to a different tune. I knew this would be the last time we’d ever be friends. But back home, “the industry” awaited my return, and in that realization, I stopped feeling lonely.
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