Last night, Sir Raven got up when i was writing, because i got out of bed a little while after she got there. It was…just too much…at the moment to have her right there but unwilling to hold me. She came around the corner, made a joke, and i said i was here writing, because i was feeling a certain kind of way. Gently, i said that sometimes it was too much for me to be rejected and that i needed more than her just being there. i need to be spooned, held close, cuddled-that i wanted her to act like she wanted me there.
She sounds…sort of mystified because she is there in the bed and that by itself should indicate that she wants to be there with me.
So, i shyly ask if she would like to try it again, to go back to bed together and try to communicate that to each other.
But she has already moved on to messing with her tablet, watching tv, and so i wait for an hour-maybe more. When she goes to bed, i join her, and she turns on a movie on netflix, never touches me in any way and falls asleep.
i laid there silently weeping. i felt guilty because i know if i’m going to cry, i should be doing in the bathroom. i’m really not much of a crier unless i’m angry. This is different. My dispassionate observer-quiet for so long-reminds me that i know what actual torture is, actual kidnapping, actual brutality-and to stop this ridiculousness.
That is what i am thinking of when i eventually cry myself to sleep.
i wake up dreaming that my biological father is a gigantic bowl of m and ms. My mother told the same few stories about him over and over again. One was that he would be so angry, and she would pull her hair down and comb it long and soft, and he would melt. His eyes, my mother told me, looked like m and m’s-all soft with love for her. She told me to make sure in life to always know how to make a man melt. He was a total hard ass in every other way, so this story was something special.
Since i can’t make my Master melt, not intentionally, and am not aware of it if it ever has happened-i focused my day on what matters.
i hauled three loads of laundry down to the giant laundry mat. After i put the clothes-and Sir Raven’s new handkerchiefs!-in the dryer, i went out for a smoke. i saw this tribute and asked if i could take a photo. The men at the booth were kind, offered to have me please sign a tear drop with whatever message i liked. i smiled shyly and demured. Sir Raven would not approve, because i don’t know what God they pray to. Plus, all i could think of writing was WHY?
Or, maybe, why did it take a tragedy for you to finally see us and stand? Where the fuck where you when i was getting death threats and hit at school? Where were you when the pastor pulled his car over to tell me how clear it was to him that i was a “nice girl” and that Satan was confusing me with my sexuality? Where were you when my female lover beat me right on the street in front of everyone? Where were you?
But-of course-i do appreciate the support. Truly. Even if it’s too little, too late. Even if brown and black bodies are treated as less than. Something, some kindness, is good. It’s a start perhaps.
After all that, i realized i needed to focus and be mindful. i turned up the music, but noticed that the laundry mat keeper was trying to get a young, black, butch girl to leave because she was laying down in the chair and falling out. Quietly, i give her a juice, tell her the sugar will help-and that when she is able that i’d take her next door for something to eat. i pointed out that she has got to sit up a bit, because this is the only cool spot for her to be in the terrible heat of this day.
i routinely smile at strangers, offer peace and joy silently for their day. It is the least i can do. When i can help out a tiny bit, i do, because i’ve been invisible too.
i get everything folded up neatly and meditate on Sir Raven feeling strong and healthy each time i fold a new shirt, or another handkerchief. She calls as i am leaving, and i am nervous for a moment, but she just wanted to tell me she has met the person she needed to see at work on her day off, has picked up turkey and cheese and is headed home. We get there at nearly the same time. She tells me to sit and cool off. Fortunately, i thought to turn on the ac for her before i left. Then, i make her lunch and put away all the laundry. Change the sheets. Sweep the house. i make a giant picnic for her tomorrow. It will be hot and i want the Masters to be as comfortable as possible. This will be the first time i will get to be in leather and queer space, and i’m thankful. i cut up the summer sausage, cheeses, sweet peppers, and fruit carefully because i don’t want it to look bad. i’m not good at making stuff look consistent, even when i do focus hard. By the time i am done, the spread looks inviting. Crackers, hummus, and pita crackers round out the offerings. Sir Raven brings home a little treat for me-two bite brownies. We are getting up super early, so all i have to do in the morning is pull out the already packed Whole Foods soft cooler bag and add the little bottles of water than are in the freezer now. It’s been a productive day, and Sir Raven is happy, because i’m quiet and soft again today, per usual. She proved my point about watching her behaviors again this morning, when i got up and made her bacon and eggs, because i wanted to make sure that she had a good breakfast before she headed out. If i had waited for her to mention being hungry, it would have been too late to serve her. She thanked me, not in a “I have manners” kind of way, but genuine thanks. That was nice. 😀
Tomorrow, Sir Raven has to work the table with her leather brothers and some of our friends will be at Folsom. i just want her to have a lovely day, and what made her happiest about Folsom before was the picnic i prepared. That is why it was so important to me to get it all done. Yesterday, i met her at the botanical gardens with a teeny picnic and a cold beer, hidden in my backpack. It was closed, but the security guard let us walk in a quick circle around the Ladies garden, which was super sweet. We got a slice of pizza on the way home. i stuffed her wine in my backpack and she carried the pizza, which was great.
i had teased her that i got her handkerchiefs so she can flag BDSM and fisting, adding that i wouldn’t know except for her saying she loved it. She says, “Your vagina is about this big” holding her fingers an inch apart. i laughed. “If a baby can come out of it, i’m pretty sure your fist can fit in.” She laughed. “Hush up girl, you aren’t having a baby.” In my naughty baby tone, i reply, “There could be a cure tomorrow for fibromyalgia and you’d be knocking me up immediately.” We laugh then. i tell her i have a little surprise for her, meaning the picnic, and she asks if the surprise is the cure for fibro. i sure wish it was. Maybe that would change everything. Maybe its my fault, because i have this incurable illness inside of me. i do-i really do-understand that most people would never want me because of my disabilities. It doesn’t hurt. What does is when people who don’t want me themselves want to assure me somehow that this is not true. But its always been true. Just something i accept. Being unwanted is not a terrible thing, unless you know the difference-and i don’t.
i just want to thank everyone for the kind comments, for the honest comments. The care and concern means something to me, and i try to repay it with sending out loving warmth to each of you every day. We can never send too much love into the world.