At the local bar doing trivia night theme of presidents absolutely whiffing failing every question. Nobody on our team knows fuckall about the presidents heights this isnt basketball and everyone here isnt a sportsgay even if it were. Here comes the next question. Who was the only president who never married? My boyfriend and I look at each other. Wild eyed. Knowing. Hush falls over the bar as groups panic trying to divine this knowledge from the aether. “I know this one” beckett says, sounding hunted. “I know,” i say back, like we’ve been stalking a great and terrible man-eating beast for its head and turned around to discover it behind us. “Who the fuck,” my friend says. The answer rises in me like the tide. Unstoppable. “James Buchanan,” i say, and then bite my tongue to stop myself from continuing. Dubious, but aware it’s the only response we have, my friend writes down the answer. “Why?” my other friend inquires. “How do you know that?” “People think he was gay” i reply. We are gay enough that this skates without further inquiry. My boyfriend and I avoid eye contact. Our answers are graded. We have failed trivia. Oh my god did we ever fail trivia. But question 11- who was the President who never married? has a stark graphite checkmark next to it. James Buchanan. Our friends laugh about the gay people knowing the gay president. Becketts hand finds mine under the table. We exchange a look of profound, soul eroding knowledge.
nothing makes me feel more insane than explaining supernatural lore to my non spn friends who stare at you as if you spent years of your life trying to discover the secret of the universe only to find out there is none
