I heard on the car radio this morning that a panel of federal judges upheld a lower court's ruling that Proposition 8 is unconstitutional. My friend Anne and I just about did high-fives in the car (a new trend: old ladies doing high-fives). Oh, hurray! Sanity reigns! Justice!
Except.
Gay people in California still can't marry. The decision will be appealed by fanatic, blindered people who want to meddle in other people's lives. Not to editorialize.
My dear friend Rob, who died last fall, told me while he was ill that if Judge Walker's decision lifted the ban on gay marriage, he and his partner of 30 years, Emanuel, would marry. That would make inheriting easier for Emanuel. Well, Judge Walker did rule against Proposition 8, saying it was unconstitutional, but the decision didn't open a window during which gay marriages could take place. Rob died unmarried. Legally, anyway.
In September when I flew to Los Angeles to say good-by to Rob, there was no mention of marriage. The focus was on coping with his condition. Emanuel was up every two hours in the night to check on Rob, even though an attendant slept in Rob's room. Emanuel carried him up and down the stairs.
When it was time for me to leave for the airport, I called a cab, and the driver turned out to be an efficient driver, but a horrible man. We passed a poster advertising Ellen DeGeneres's TV show, and he said, "She looks like a man." I said, "She's wearing a suit." "She is a lesbian, I think," he said.
Not now, I thought. Please, not now. I've just said good-by to a friend of forty years who has a devastated and devoted partner. Just get me to LAX and then go away somewhere and evaporate.
"She's married to a woman," I said, evenly.
"Next thing, people will be marrying animals," he answered.
"No!" I said.
He shut up. I was so upset, I miscalculated the fare and gave him a tip. I grabbed my totebag, and he drove off with his ugly baggage.
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