To Whom It May Concern:
I figure I’m pretty much a regular guy. I work 9 to 5 at a school, fix up my house or my car on the weekends, and like to go out for beers with my buds once or twice a week. I’m also proudly out and queer. But I live in a smaller city. There are no queer bars in my city, and really, I probably wouldn’t go to them, because I wouldn’t want to exclude half of my social group. It’s not that I go to ‘straight’ bars either – we just go to places where we like the service and the food, and I can snuggle in a booth with my boyfriend while the hockey game is on, or whatever. In a town my size, it’s impossible, or extremely limiting to attempt to surround oneself with queer culture, or even a queer social group, so I, we, don’t.
We’re surrounded by and integrate proudly into the mosaic of what is small-city modern life – which is neither queer nor straight, but mostly accommodating.
I guess my point is, the type of life I lead, and numerous people I’ve met all across Canada, isn’t seen. I wrote Four Way’s ‘Til Rain because I just wasn’t seeing myself, or any of my friends, anywhere on stages across Canada. Things like Queer As Folk are as foreign as the moon to us. We’re different, and have different stories to tell: not only from our straight friends, but also our metropolitan kin who can live, and be immersed in, queer culture. This is why I wrote this play.
In contemporary life I think there are so many difficulties for us to be able to find, feel and express love between men. And yet we all seem to share some of these troubles. The stories in Four Ways ‘Til Rain traverse the continent, ten years, and a number cultures, but they all have one thing in common. They all deal with men whose place and situation make their understanding of the queerness at hand perplexing.
Sincerely yours,
T. Berto
