Chris brought to my attention that i manage to not always reply to comments. If i have done that to you, as well, then i must apologize to you as well. That isn’t my intent. i try to respond to every comment, because the comments are at least as important as anything that i have to say.
Sometimes, i only have time to click “like” as a way of acknowledging that i have read and appreciate what you had to say.
Sometimes, i need to think deeply about what has been said and want to give a reasonable, thoughtful reply.
Sometimes, i am replying on the train which has wi-fi but is sometimes spotty.
Sometimes, i am really touched, but words fail me, and so i might sent a ❤ instead.
In any case, i agree with Chris, that its fairly rude to have someone take time to write a comment and not get a personal reply.
In related news, i rarely check emails on the account linked to this blog, so i sometimes notice questions far later than they were asked. i’m open to questions at any time, anonymously or not. It would help if they were left in the comments, or if there is a comment alerting me that i need to check my emails.
Chris, i did reply to your earlier comment, and i apologize for not acknowledging you sooner.
Yesterday was a truly lovely day. i don’t think either of us could have made it through watching the whole parade, and even just seeing the last five or ten minutes was everything to me. Well, the kiss was everything, even if i did have to beg.
Sir Raven warned that i should never feel safe doing that, that we never are safe. i am always paying attention to feeling that someone is paying us a little too much attention, especially if they are setting off my internal warning bell. When this happens, i move my body in front of hers and walk in front of her because if we are going to get shot, its going to have to go through me first.
i always notice the easy way heterosexuals get to hug, hold hands, kiss, touch-all with never checking it their safety. In particular, it bothers me when i’m feeling a lot of pain and sick from the pain and can’t put my head on her shoulder or lean against her for support.
There are people who feel just fine about lesbians, provided they adhere to their ideas of what lesbians should be-both femmes, basically.
There are people who feel that Butch is some kind of affront to their masculinity, or that if i just had a real dick, i’d be cured.
There are people that object to inter-racial relationships.
There are people who automatically assume that a person with disabilities is non sexual, but then stares because for some bizarre reason when people see two women in love, their mind goes straight to fucking. We have had people directly ask us how we have sex, or loudly comment about it to each other.
So, for all of these reasons, we are careful. Even in the greatest city in the world.
Maybe that is why i was so touched yesterday, that so many people don’t hate us. Granted, i would imagine that a lot of the crowd is LGBTQ-but also there are straight allies. On the way home, crowd goers who disbursed filtered back into the world, quietly. If you were looking for it, you might notice the Disney backpack, with rainbow shaped mickey mouse heads. Or the rainbow hued converses. A few people rode all of the way back to our neighborhood, but no one spoke. i always smile at and acknowledge Butches, even though i feel invisible as a femme all of the time. i know how hard it is to be Butch from loving a few of them, and i want them to know that i see them with pleasure, not disdain. When Sir Raven goes into a store i wait outside, and a young Butch holds the door open wide for me, making eye contact for a long moment. In our own neighborhood, there is no acknowledgement of Pride going on. In Manhattan, whole store fronts have displays in rainbow colors. Some stores surprise me by offering pride clothes, shirts that read simply, “love is love.” Everything feels full circle in a way, the tragedy in Orlando is remembered here at the start and end of the parade. The woman next to me says the glittery float is for Pulse.
On the long ride home, i remember sitting in a car parked off to the side, ready to eat a hot dog and a milkshake. i feel danger before i turn to look, a truck with a double-barrel shot gun in the window and a confederate flag pulled next to us. i had instinctively pulled my hand out of her hand when something felt wrong. It was meant to be a moment where we could forget our poverty and enjoy a rare treat. My hands are already grabbing her food, and she pulls back out on the road quickly. There is laughter from the truck and i worry they will follow. It’s happened before.
i think about my girl self, the milkshakes melting in the summer heat, wanting so badly to escape this place. And i want to give her a hug, show her the future, how for just one moment she will feel safe enough to exhale and kiss right in the street. Kiss a woman she loves without reservation, beyond all reason. That kiss, her perfect lips on mine, for just a moment-is everything i ever hoped for-and i wish it could last forever.