Six Mile Avenue

We took an apartment on Communipaw Avenue in Jersey City in November of 1990. It was all we could afford at first. The two-fare zone made things inconvenient for zipping in and out of the city on Path Trains. The fare was only a dollar each way and the train stopped in the heart of the West Village and places further uptown. The bus was a dollar too, but always slow and jammed packed with hood rats. Anthony and I met James Miller on the bus that runs down Communipaw to the Gove Street Path Station– you know the place; right up the street from Exchange Place. It had the picture perfect view of the Twin Towers. James, a Black queen, was a cross between Sade, Prince and Rick James. He stole the last seat on the bus. We had to stand. James irked me because he tied his straight long hair with a pink silk ribbon. Was that so necessary? It seemed as if he were trying to make people hate him for being a shameless snow queen. He was as sissy as a sissy can be and unlike anthony was not 'light-skinned'. My lover and I were butch but not closeted. Anthony poked me in the ribs with his elbow. I could hardly keep from laughing when James gave us that look– ‘I know you’re gay too.’ I hung onto the metal strap for my dear life as the bus turned a corner down Fairview. Nothing had to be said. My lover wasn’t threatened. The middle-aged queen was lusting for me. He assumed I was into Black men because Anthony is Black. So I smiled back and gave him a pleasant nod, but we didn’t strike up conversation. Weeks later, Anthony and I went to see a late showing of ‘Cats’ and arrived back home in Jersey at the Gove Street stop when the place was like a ghost town. Buses were rare in the early hours of the morning so we decided to shell out the $10 for a ride the rest of the way home. James was standing at the bus stop. He had taken out his pink ribbon. It may have been because it was late and scary in Jersey City at 3 a.m. and even real girls don’t wear ribbons down their backs at that hour of the day. “You want a ride with us?” I asked. “Sure I’ll split it with you.” “No need for that, there’s already two of us,” I offered as we headed back down Communipaw and giggled like sissies as we let down our guards and all became flamboyantly gay for six miles.