I am 17 and I am terrified.
As I sit across the breakfast table, scarfing down the eggs and bacon, I simultaneously attempt to stifle my jitters, but with no success. The last time my mother has seen me was almost two months ago; I’ve been working for an all-girl’s summer camp as a counselor. She’s asking me questions, making small talk.
“But why did you have to break up with him?”
She’s referencing my teenage ex- boyfriend, a boy who embodies the picture of Southern gentility.
“I just didn’t like him anymore… we just grew apart since I started camp.”
I’m giving her any excuse I can come up with, anything to avoid telling her the truth, even as it dances on the tip of my tongue, begging to come out.
My mother is a clever woman, the sturdy anchor of our family, and she knows when something isn’t right.
“Are you ok, Nik?”
Here it comes. She’s racing off without me, and I can’t stop it this time.
“Yeah I’m fine. Can you pass the butter? I think I’m gay. Can I have the syrup too?”
It all runs together with no regard for coherency or tact, and I’m left staring blankly at my mom as the realization of what I’ve just confessed to her washes over her in waves.
First she fidgets. Then she asks me to repeat myself, which I do, slowly and a little easier this time.
She has no clue of the previous weeks I’ve spent in anguish over this realization, the internal struggle of realizing that the boy-crazy daughter of hers is actually a lesbian. No idea of the supreme ecstasy I felt holding a girl’s hand for the first time, walking in the dim twilight of mulched trails in the woods, a feeling of such intense excitement I had never felt before. She is just sitting across from me at the table, formulating and crafting her response.
I prepare for the uncomfortable, the anxiety, the fear.
“Well, if I need to wave a flag in a Pride parade, I don’t care. Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“As long as you’re happy, you’re my daughter, I love you. Why wouldn’t I support you?”
I have heard horror stories and nightmarish tales of the unaccepting, the unwillingness to support, and the subsequent harassment, abuse, and slurs that have followed my friends and acquaintances when coming out. Those I had only read about or heard about that found themselves homeless and disowned, and I had prepared myself for it, ready at a moment’s notice to defend my finally-found identity to anyone, even to my own family.
Instead, I am greeted with love and support, the hugs and congratulatory remarks from relatives and best friends, and the ridiculous giggles that continue to come from my older sister as she mutters in between laughs, “my sister likes to kiss girls!”
-
I am 26 and I am exhilarated.
The news ticker on the TV at the bar of the lakeside restaurant I work for keeps verifying to me what I didn’t think was true. We had all been waiting to hear the news that day, June 26th, 2015. With baited breath and our hearts in our throats, my entire community was hoping for a positive result today. Surely, the tides of public opinion have turned. Surely, this would finally be a win for us all, as individuals, as a community, as a country.
The decision is a close one, 5-4. Obergefell v. Hodges.
I faintly remember the voices from the live stream back in April, each side defending themselves. I hadn’t felt this hopeful in our justice system in a long time. I think about my own relationship, my girlfriend at the time rhetorically asking, “wouldn’t it be just amazing if we actually won for once?”
My community is used to being told to wait our turn, hold on, not yet, just be patient. There are usually more pressing social and civil issues that require our attention, but today it feels like enough is enough and for once, we might actually have a moment to call our own. We’ve been diligent, we’ve been thorough, and we are tired of going to the back of the damn line.
I keep replaying these moments in my head, hoping I will tell my future children I have yet to create about this day. The interns running out to their perspective interests… the words ‘Victory’ and ‘Love Wins’ flashing across the screen… the tears clouding my own eyesight as our rainbow flag adorns the screen and I see countless others hugging their partners, friends, and lovers…
I see Ashley, my girlfriend, coming down the dock with the lunch I forgot to bring with me, beaming.
“Is it true? I heard it on the radio… did we actually win?”
“Yes baby, we did.”
We hug, we kiss, and wipe tears from our eyes as we attempt to carry on with our day, cursing work and other responsibilities.
A little over 12 hours later, it’s nighttime in the middle of Midtown, and Ashley’s pulling over to the side of the road. We enter the park, the Atlanta skyline lighting up the sky from our grassy knoll, when Ashley begins a heartfelt soliloquy I haven’t realized is a marriage proposal until she drops to her knee and pulls out a ring.
For the second time today, I’m sobbing tears of joy into Ashley’s shoulder as she tells me to breathe and let go of her so she can put this beautiful symbol of love on my ring finger.
For the second time today, love wins. We celebrate Pride in this park. We hoped for this future in this park.
We rush to our neighborhood LGBT bar to celebrate with the city, as today is not just for us, but for us all. It’s a victory, in such a massive way.
And I can’t stop smiling at my fiancée.
-
It’s November and I’m freaking the fuck out.
I don’t get this passionate about much, but this election? I’m involved, obsessed, and thoroughly committed to seeing this through. I can’t afford to sit this one out. I’m a Millennial lesbian liberal woman with a five figure student loan debt who only recently could afford health insurance. I have a dog in every fight for this one.
Ashley and I are at a friend’s house, watching the live results slowly pour in on the projector screen in the backyard, clutching our cocktails and each other a bit tighter with each state colored red.
When most of the East Coast begins to look like it’s bleeding, we keep telling ourselves it’s early.
When the Midwest continues the blood flow, we start to panic a little. We finish our drinks and drive home, telling ourselves she can still do this; we can’t lose our hope yet.
It’s not until 3 am when I get up to pee that I remember we fell asleep to the TV being on. I see him ascend the stairs, reciting a victory speech, and I walk a bit faster to the bathroom before I get sick on the carpet of our bedroom.
And that’s where Ashley finds me, when she comes in, worried look across her brow, as I continue to let the increasingly loud wails fall out of my mouth, and the contents of my stomach.
“But, how? How did this happen? What are we going to do?”
“We might need to go to the courthouse tomorrow. I mean it. I know we have a wedding planned for October but, what if he takes that away from us by then… I’m not losing that right to marry you…”
We both feel so broken the next day. I continue being sick to my stomach all day and spend that Wednesday just grieving. So much can change so quickly, and I’m so very afraid of the hate that’s coming, the fear that accompanies it, and the violence so often found hand in hand with them both.
-
Ashley and I don’t go to the courthouse. We instead obtained our marriage license and are holding onto it until October. If the tide changes again, this time we are ready to save our union before anyone can rob us of our right.
In the months since, the fear has subsided and given way to criticism, disbelief, and annoyance. We find humor in the jokes mocking our political situation, and just marvel with shock and dismay in the next scandal to hit, day after day. It’s exhausting keeping up with this circus.
It’s been two years since Obergefell v. Hodges, and we celebrated that anniversary happily. And in October, I get to marry the woman I’ve been friends with for over a decade and have loved for 3 years and counting.
No matter how dark the world may seem, there is always love, kindness, and resilience; just look at my community.
Love won once. We won’t let it lose again.
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