Funny little hate crime

Brockman's into some interesting shit. Since graduating from college he's done stints in Costa Rica, The Congo, and Argentina researching primates. At present he's in Wisconsin at his parents' house working on his graduate school applications, a full-time job unto itself. Needless to say, he doesn't get out much these days.

A couple months ago he seized an opportunity to eat and drink like a Roman at a cocktail party thrown by his parents in the house he grew up in. As one might expect, the guests and his parents had all deserted him by 11:00. A good buzz like this one too rare to be wasted on sleep, he sat outside staring off into the Wisconsin darkness, yearning for inspiration.

He heard revelry's call from somewhere off in the distance. In ominous darkness loomed boundless possibility. His wasn't the only party in the neighborhood on this night, just the tamest. Like minded citizens of the world perhaps? His heart raced. Having never before met his neighbors across the street, insulated all his life by rows upon rows of dense evergreen trees, he was determined to right this wrong there and then.

Naturally, before embarking on this trip into the unknown, he scurried back inside to retrieve his trusty head lamp. Naturally.

Some two hundred fifty yards later, two smokers standing alongside the neighbors' house noticed a light emerging from the darkness, shortly followed by a skinny, bearded man in his early to mid-twenties who was wearing..... a head lamp?

He introduced himself as "Isaac Brockman, from across the street." As the smokers brought him around back and introduced him to the rest of the party, everyone assumed Brockman was gay (after they were done staring at the head lamp in wonder, of course). As one of them astutely whispered to the other, "That's how fags shake hands... And that's how fags talk." Familiar with the notion that he might give off a gay vibe during introductions, Isaac has become well versed at sniffing out homophobia. And when he senses this sort of high school locker room vibe, he becomes deliberately gayer.

Having been handed a beer by his seemingly gracious hosts, he flitted about the room like Liberace at a Nascar race. "This will have to do," he thought to himself.

Suddenly, however, he was pulled down to the ground from behind. Instinctualy curling up into the fetal position and covering his face, faceless attackers punched and kicked him. "Fucking faggot!" they hissed.

Moments later his assailants were pulled off him by other party-goers. He was lifted to his feet by a man and a woman, presumably his progressive hosts. They apologized profusely, wiping the dirt and wet grass off his shirt and pants: "Oh my god, we're soooooo sorry that just happened!" Even under the influence as he was, their apologies seemed borne out of fear of legal repercussion than of shame that people they'd invited into their home were of the deplorable sort.

Isaac assured them, "Everything's fine! Happens all the time. Don't worry about it." This had never happened before.

They replaced the beer that had gone to waste during the attack.... He drank it, and then another, resolutely staring around the room at the people who were staring back at him while they spoke in hushed tones to each other.

He cracked a third beer before flipping the switch on his head lamp and venturing back out into the Wisconsin darkness towards the home he grew up in.