TW: Mentions of Abuse

October 31st 1985, 2 months earlier

It was late halloween night and Robin had called me the day before to meet her at Ted Rogers.

“Hey,” she said, tapping me on the shoulder “are you ready?”

Before I had a chance to answer she was pulling me into the theatre and showing the usher our tickets. We took our seats in a dark room, lit just enough for me to see people in extravagant costumes all around us. There were men in lipstick and women wearing fishnets with nightgowns. I felt nervous for a second, it was the feeling you get when something you wanted to keep secret gets out. Robin held my hand and smiled at me.

“Just watch,” she whispered. When the projector came on, the crowd cheered deafeningly. People came out in front of the screen and started to act out the scenes playing behind them in time with the movie. The audience went wild for it. They put newspapers over their heads and shot water into the air with squirt guns. It was an organized chaos, perfectly timed and erratic all at the same time. When the song Sweet Transvestite started, the crowd erupted and a man in high-heels, fishnets, bold makeup and a corset came on stage. My mouth hung open. Everyone was cheering. They were cheering. They yelled things back to the screen in unison. It was only at the end of the song when I went to touch my face that I realized that I had been crying. At the end of the show, the cast bowed and I stood up with the audience to sing Time Warp again at the top of my lungs. I was dancing with Robin and with people I’d never met before. It was a perfect moment, one where my worries didn’t exist and I could be completely myself.

As Robin and I left, I felt giddy and light.

“So, what did we think of Rocky Horror?” She asked.

“I think that was the best night of my life. Thank you.” I saw that the streets were empty and dark, and went to give her a kiss on the cheek, but stopped short when I saw that she had a pained look on her face.

“You ok?” I asked. I touched her shoulder, and she winced. Lifting up her sleeve, I saw a purple-black bruise on her arm. “What’s that?” I asked softly, running my thumb over her hand. She pulled away, tugging down her sleeve and covering the bruise.

“It’s nothing.” She smiled weakly.