Big Booty Judy, My One and Only Love

If pressed to confess, I could.

But my confessions wouldn't be revolutionary and that was tonight's theme at Secretly Y'All, Tell Me a Story at Balliceaux.

So my night began with revolutionary confessions.

I found a seat, had a Cazadores brought to me and then a friend found the seat next to me, providing unexpected company.

He'd just come from Hopscotch, a music festival I've never been to, so I wanted to hear all his stories.

Thurston Moore hanging out like a regular person, Kurt Vile not impressing, a show in a WPA-built amphitheater, it was all interesting to me.

Then it was show time.

Host Colin kicked off the storytelling with the saga of a gay classmate in high school.

The story made a huge arc, from sitting at the cool kids' cafeteria table to years later trying to wash the friend's poop out of sheets and clothing.

"Hopefully, my story won't be as shitty as that one was," joked Paul, the second storyteller.

His humor continued as he told us, "I lettered in filming football games."

After several examples of how hard it was to be gay in southern Virginia, he shared how he'd come out to his Mom in the dark after watching Saturday Night Live with her.

Actually, it would have made a great SNL skit.

Sylvia took the stage saying, "I'm out of my comfort zone" and talking about how she never fit into any of the traditional "boxes" life offered.

She went on to share how after she kept beating a boy playing softball, he'd called her queer.

When she asked her Dad what "queer" meant, he'd told her, "That's a man who squats to pee," thus reassuring her she wasn't queer.

It wasn't until years later that she met a woman and realized, "I'm just gay. It was the first box I ever fit in."

Hermalinda's story began with her falling in love with her best friend and imagining dry-humping her in the back of her convertible.

She also made a hilarious reference to the only gay person she knew at that point, her P.E. teacher, Big Booty Judy, whom she did not aspire to look like.

The audience cracked up when she talked about her first sex with a boy.

"Afterwards, I couldn't figure out why, on god's green earth, anyone would want to do that."

The story that knocked the socks off the crowded room, "How I Got My Name," came from Ed, a paramedic.

He told of the thrill of bringing people back to life and also of how understaffed and overworked they were.

Responding to a call, he found a man in what he diagnosed as cardiac arrest, giving him the appropriate drugs for the heart, but to no avail.

Sadly, when they got him to the hospital, the doctor told him the man had bleeding from his brain, not cardiac trouble.

His mistake.

"Anyone here ever kill someone?" Ed asked of us. "Yea, I thought I'd be alone on that one."

He spoke of his fatigue and over-confidence in treating the man and the room was absolutely silent listening.

He now has several non-profits and donates 80% of what he makes to them, his way of making reparations.

Once again, Secretly Y'All had delivered a story that hit the audience right in the solar plexus.

It was difficult to hear and riveting at the same time.

Intermission followed, a good thing because people needed to get a drink and talk to each other after that.

I had a fascinating talk with a woman about the issues raised by Ed's story and how sometimes things are just destined to happen and nobody really causes them, it was just time.

That's a concept I understand and I shared with her a devastating story from my own life, confirming her theory.

After the break, we heard from the attendees who'd put their name in the hat to share a story based on the theme.

One was about keeping information from your family (in this case, Mom and dad were both P.E. teachers. "So they can't control the volume of their voices") and how that works both ways.

Another began, "I love women so much" and devolved ("To quote a painting...") into a guilt trip during a blue moon.

The final revolutionary confession of the night involved a straight (but not narrow) woman trying to work for LGBT causes without really having any sense of the bigger picture.

All in all, it was another superb night of stories we never should have been privy to, as only Secretly Y'All can deliver.

Waiting for the RVA Big band to set up, I chatted with the kind of friends who wanted to discuss why it is that when you finally head to the loo at a party, inevitably a boring person starts talking to you, delaying your relief.

Somehow that segued into David Crosby and Steve McQueen and their unworthiness due to hitting women.

There are only so many places you can go from there and one of us left and the rest of us sat down for some music.

Trumpet player extraordinaire Rex Richardson was playing with the big band tonight and as a long-time fan of his, I wanted to see that.

I've been to many of his performances at VCU and wanted to hear him play in a larger group than I'd had a chance to before.

There were a couple of times when he was soloing that the trumpet player next to him just stood there smiling and shaking his head, clearly impressed.

But the entire band was sounding good tonight, and I was especially enjoying "My One and Only Love," a long-time favorite of mine.

The John Coltrane/Johnny Hartmann version is my favorite, but I'm just happy to hear it live, even as an instrumental.

After the song ended, the trombone player with the curly red hair went on to sing a few lines of the song, showing off to the musician next to him.

You fill my eager heart with such desire
Every kiss you give sets my soul on fire
I give myself in sweet surrender
My one and only love

He was no Johnny Hartmann, but it was still pretty wonderful to hear.

To quote a painting, an evening of poignant stories and big band music puts me squarely in my comfort zone.