From the hilltop, Hunter could make out the coffin being lowered into the grave. He remembered playing on this hilltop as a kid, even hiding high in the branches of the hill's tallest tree when his father was on a drunken rampage at home. Now, from a distance, it was the closest he'd get to paying last respects to dad.

"Fucking cunt," Daryl muttered behind him. "What right does she have to ban us from his funeral."

"Can't have Vic Storm's two faggot sons marring his reputation in the community," Hunter said bitterly.

"We were there for him when he died. Where the fuck was she? He made his fucking peace with us, we have a right."

"He did make his peace with us." Hunter said, as the processional of mourners marched off like ants to commiserate over Jell-O molds. "Now we've got to make peace with it. With everything. Mom, the family, this fucking town."

"Can we get out of here? I'm so done."

Daryl had been surprisingly mellow this whole visit. Always a connoisseurs of overwrought drama, Hunter was sure Daryl would make a scene. Daryl was the last of a dying breed, the over the top sardonic drag queen who worshipped Joan Crawford as portrayed by Faye Dunaway. As kids, while Hunter obsessed over Zelda and Mario, Daryl memorized every line of "Mommie Dearest." He'd act out the scenes over and over again, sometimes with Hunter as Christina. Until Dad's belt made the scene fade to black. When he'd grown up enough to rebel and run away from home, Daryl channeled all of Ms. Dunaway's fierceness when yelling in their father's face: "Why can't you give me. The RESPECT! That I am ENTITLED to!" From then on, Daryl's flame burned bright and Hunter had never seen it dull. Except for those times with the belt. And now, more than twenty years later, the pilgrimage to the town that would never accept him, to be perpetually rejected by a family that never accepted him. And somehow, Daryl handled it all with a quiet sort of dignity.

"Not yet. We've got one last stop before we blow this two-bit burg."

*

Evergreen hadn't changed at all since Daryl and Hunter snuck in without fake ID's in high school. Sadly, neither had its clientele. Rusty was still behind the bar, a little rounder, few more lines furrowing his brow.

"Get the fuck out!" Rusty bellowed. "It's the Storm brothers!"

"Hey Rusty," Hunter whispered as he leaned over the bar. "Do you guys still do the drag show on Sunday nights?"

"Yeah, too bad you missed it. The girls are getting so much better."

"Do the girls still store some of their wigs and costumes here?"

"Some do, yeah."

"Do you think they'd mind if someone used them for an hour or so?"

"Why?"

Hunter touched Daryl lovingly on the shoulder. "I think it's time our Podunk hometown met the fabulousness that is DeLisha DeVille."

*

Hunter drank his beer and watched the crowd. It didn't seem to matter where you were, a gay bar is a gay bar. The game is the same, the rules just slightly skewed. Still, there was a deep camaraderie in growing up gay in a small town, knowing full well that there was a bigger, badder, theoretically better world outside the town limits that couldn't be erased. In a city, people are constantly glancing at the door, seeing if something better walks in. Here... something better might be right in front of your face.

"Hunter Storm?" Hunter turned and saw a handsome, cornfed guy, who looked vaguely familiar. "It's me. It's Calvin Harris." He smiled from ear to ear and Hunter at once recognized the childhood best friend who'd given him his first issue of "X-Men" hiding in the face of this grown man.

"Calvin! Oh my god, man, how've you been?"

"Been arite, you know. Working for my dad's company."

"Great. That's... wow, good for you."

"Look at you! Man, you look... amazing."

"Aw, whatever dude. You too. Jesus, it's been years! I haven't seen you since high school."

"Yeah. A lot has changed."

"Yeah." It was just then that Hunter realized that his childhood best friend, the boy he'd had a crush on all through puberty and high school... was here. With him. At the local gay bar.

"Couldn't get out of here fast enough, eh?" Calvin chuckled. "Can't say as I blame you. Just wish you would've taken me with you."

"Well... if I'd known... "

"Hell, at the time I didn't know! If I did, I definitely would've asked you out. That is... um... if you would've had me."

Hunter blushed. "Oh, I would have." They smiled at each other.

"Sorry to hear about your dad."

"Thanks."

"How long are you in town for?"

"Leaving tonight. Back to Chicago."

"Oh," Calvin frowned.

"But if you ever come through, let me know. I'd love to... "

"Me too!"

A hush fell over the bar as DeLisha stood on the makeshift stage, the 90's pop fading out as the DJ switched discs for DeLisha's performance. Draped in sequins, DeLisha locked eyes with Hunter from beneath miles of fake lashes. The quiet chords of Etta James' "Cry Me A River" filled the bar and DeLisha gave the performance of her life. It was a fitting tribute to their father.

###

Glad to be back for Volume 4! Just joining us? Catch up now:

Volume 1 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five

Volume 2 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five

Volume 3 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five

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