“Mom: I think I might be gay.”
My mother turns
stares
Sixth grade homework sits on the table
Dad in bed
snoring
chainsaws hitting the wall
Mother here
awake
staring
Hands clench, eyes burn
I wait for my mother to laugh
frown
scream
I wait for the scream I’ve heard
pounding in my head
television parents rejecting their children
(I know 3 gay people)
(They all come from television)
(Their parents hate them)
I wait for what I know
fear pulls at my heart
terror squeezes my lungs
I wait for my mother to laugh.
My mother laughs.
“You’re not gay.”
“You’ve always had crushes on boys.”
Five years pass—my mother was right
(I’m not gay)
Five years pass—my mother was wrong
(I’m not straight)
Quoiromantic
Quoi
Noun. French. “what”.
Romantic
A word I don’t understand
Quoiromantic
A person who cannot tell the difference between loving someone
like a friend
like a sibling
like someone you never want to release from a hug
To loving someone
like a partner
like a spouse
like someone you never want to release from a kiss
Quoiromantic
Me
Asexual
A-
Prefix. Greek. “without.”
Sexual
Something I am not
Asexual
A person who does not experience sexual attraction
Asexual
Me
Quoiromantic, asexual
Me
Asexual, Quoiromantic
Me
“Dad: I’m bi.”
My father freezes and looks at me
knife down
stares
Ham sandwich getting cold
I sit and look back.
stare
swallow
(Did I ruin his lunch?)
I wait for him to laugh
frown
scream
He stares
I stare back
“I don’t think you’re bi,” says my mother, “you’ve always had crushes on boys.”
I told her once I was gay
(Did she not remember?)
I would have to like girls to think I was gay
(Right?)
My father says nothing
always nothing
never anything
He never says anything about my queerness.
Two years pass—I’m still not gay
Two years pass—I’m still not straight
“I think you’re gay.”
I roll my eyes at my mother
(Did she forget about all the boys I liked?)
My mother speaks
Gay
Gay
(What happened to straight?)
I ignore her
Bi
Bi
Bye
I shouldn’t care
(But I still do)
“Bi” is only the shortened version
the summary
the SparkNotes to the novel of my queer identity
I shouldn’t care.
“I remember when gay just meant being happy.”
I eat my dinner and ignore my father
(It’s meant queerness since the 1950s)
(Why is he stuck in the 40s with Roosevelt and Truman?)
I say nothing
He looks at me
“I thought queer was a bad word. What’s it supposed to mean now?”
I say nothing
My mother smiles
chews
swallows
speaks
“It means odd.”
I say nothing
heart pounding
stomach twisting
food stabbed to mush on my fork
I am queer
(You are odd)
I am bi
(You are gay)
(You are straight)
I am quoi
(You are bi)
I am ace
(You’re just confused)
I stare at my food
silent
avoid eye contact
say nothing
“So does that mean you’re odd?”
I ignore my father
I take another bite of my dinner.
“What is it? That L-G-BLT?”
My father laughs
so clever
so funny
so utterly unoffensive
“If the queer community is so inclusive, why isn’t there an ‘H’ for ‘hetero’ in LGBT?”
My father stares
My mother smiles
I say nothing
I say nothing
I think
I think
Maybe for the same reason it’s the NAACP
National Association for the Advancement of Colored People
“National Association for the Advancement of Colored (and White) People”
No.
Maybe because exclusion is meant for safety
The oppressed don’t include their oppressors
“Equality is sharing, and sharing is caring”
No.
Maybe because it was the
straight people
cis people
those who attempted to push us out
strangle us
kill us
murder us
when all we wanted to do was
love
be ourselves
survive
Maybe because the H would stand for
homo
if it hadn’t already been made into a slur by the
heteros
Maybe because we’re trying to keep the H out because H can be twisted into
hate
Maybe because we already have L for
love whoever makes you happiest
Maybe because we already have B for
be careful not to let anyone tell you that you’re wrong
Maybe because we already have G for
grow and nurture and be the best you can be
Maybe because we already have T for
take care of yourself and all those you love
Maybe because you still have not earned the right
into the library that houses our stories
leaving you with
the SparkNotes and acronyms that say nothing about who we are as people
Maybe because you never bothered to care about us
before you knew that the person you created was one of them
Maybe because you are still the problem.
but you refuse to realize that you’re part of it.
Maybe we other you
because you othered us first.
L-G-BLT
