i. maybe it’s 2015 and gay marriage is legal in all fifty states: but when someone asks my sexuality, my tongue still sticks to the roof of my mouth for a moment.
ii. my best friend in the front seat asks over her shoulder, “if you’re 80% gay, does that mean you only love him with 20% of your heart?”
iii. the first time i kissed her, the boys around us made it about them, about their howls. i stopped breathing on the cusp of her lips. i was made holy by her.
iv. in church, we bow our heads. how can i move my mouth in a prayer for forgiveness when i fully intend to sin again. i say, “forgive me father” anyway, just in case it sticks.
v. my father does not forgive. i say, “she’s hot,” absently. his face turns white, then red. “not in my house,” he says.
vi. the first time i come out in public, it’s to a boy smoking cigarettes. he spits and laughs. “bisexuals aren’t really part of this discussion, sweetie.” my girlfriend holds my hand and i don’t throw up. i learn my place quickly: gay rights do not belong to me.
vii. they are ace. the two of us make jokes back and forth about the cloak of invisibility we must be harnessing. when they are too drunk, i walk them home. when i have fallen yet again for the wrong girl, they hold my hand while i tremble. we do not go to the pride parade, where we do not belong, where i will be a breeder and they will not even be acknowledged.
viii. “but are you really gay? so do you love him? so do you love him?”
ix. it is fine and we just won’t tell her parents. it is fine and my grandmother can’t ever know it. the world is different now, i hear. in frat houses, i am the picture of their wet dreams. on tv, i’m just a picture, the girl who is “just experimenting.” in “my” community, i am only allowed in by the skin of my teeth.
x. it is 2015. he asks me if i’m “like that” and i feel my whole body exploding.
[”but it’s 2015, honey, with all that freedom, aren’t you happy?”] // r.i.d
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