I thought we were past this
I go to my pet sitting clients homes, a pair of lesbians, and talk about how their father is doing. They send me Christmas cards, and have wedding pictures on the fridge.
Another, older lesbian couple, telling me how they fought for gay rights when they were younger. I cuddle their lab and talk to them about my partner, my family, my life. Get to treat all of it as normal.
A trans fem and a non binary person come into my work, clearly expecting to be parents very soon, the trans fem doting on her pregnant, masc partner. I chat with them excitedly, happy to see families that look like me and my friends existing.
My girlfriend and I talk about getting married, what we’d wear, what a good timeline is. How we want our dog to be part of the ceremony one day. Our dream home. My mother hugs her like a daughter, accepts her as someone to be loved without batting an eye.
My trans friends talk about their jobs and plans for the future in the same breath as their identities and hoped for surgeries. It’s all normal, it’s all something they can have. That’s finally something the world has space for.
I grew up and discovered being a lesbian, being so clearly and visibly queer, talked about myself openly to strangers, with the idea of getting a hateful or dangerous reaction feeling more like stories from another generation.
We thought we were finally making it.
And yet my pet sitting clients tell me not to go to the neighbors on the right if anything were to happen. They won’t help.
My other clients, getting into their golden years when they should enjoy their home and the time they have to travel, talk to me about how they may move to Canada. The decision is sad and the words tinged with regret and fear as I sit in a house they’ve made their own for many years.
The couple I meet at work and I exchange a bit too meaningful of a look, one of quiet fear and care for each other, as we wish each other the best going forward.
I speak with measured words sometimes, and zip up my hoodie to hide my pride shirt more often than I’d like.
My mother talks to me on the phone, saying she’s scared for me and my trans, disabled partner. Says that I’m feminine enough that people won’t pay attention to me, won’t notice. Tells my partner to use her dead name. That the friends we have could attract danger. She says it with love, but it still hurts. I still want to snarl at her at the very idea of letting distance grown between me and the family I’ve found.
I hold my partner a bit too close, engaged sooner than we wanted. We sell everything we can’t take with us and hope against hope that my dual citizenship will protect her and somehow, give us a chance at the dreams this country can’t hope to fulfill anymore. That it would steal away one support after another until we’d waste away. Not all are so lucky as us.
And I meet with my friends. Counting the moments we get to spend together, pulling them closer and promising to take care of each other. Because it’s all too soon we’ll have to say goodbye. Talking about how somehow, somewhere else, maybe we’ll reunite. We’ll have our community again. But it can’t survive here.
I thought we were past this
But if we were, why am I so scared
janainaart
theartofmadeline
areudirty
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
gummygunk
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