There are some experiences that put you firmly in a “before it happened” and “after it happened” territory. Moments that define how you look at the world. And they always seem to be moments that start normally enough.

It was St. Patrick’s day, I was 19, and I hadn’t seen Alex in months. Her short spikey blonde hair was almost in a buzz cut now, and her baggy men’s shirt and pants exaggerated the mock seriousness of her expression. She looked like a fine young English gentleman, and when I told her so she adopted an accent and started gesturing wildly, talking about her exploits over the past few months. I laughed while she told me about her newest girlfriend – not the one who was coming tonight, don’t confuse them! – she was always over the top. I shook my head. I told her I was single now, Mark was gone for real now, and that the scars on her arms were healing up really well. I held her forearm and inspected it while she pulled out her cigarettes.

“I love you. If you do any more of this I’ll fucking kill you, do you understand me, miss?”
“Young man to you, don’t give me away you maniac! Lets go outside, yes?”
“Yes!”

We spilled outside the bar, catching up on what we’d been up to since high school. I couldn’t believe that I knew this girl before she was this person, back when we were so small. I lit my cigarette off someone’s who was standing outside with us, then I leaned into her as she lit hers off mine.

“Hey dyke! Why don’t you light mine?”

I turned around and looked at the guy who was standing in front of me, I laughed and turned back. Alex’s friends were all over the map, but this blonde kid was really out there. What a weird approach! He looked like he should be hitting on 19 year olds and driving a pick up truck- just some normal looking guy.

“Hey dyke!”

This was a weird game he was playing, I wondered how they would have crossed paths.

“Hey dyke, I’m talking to you! Won’t you fuckin’ talk to people who aren’t queer?”

I looked up at Alex. Her jaw was locked and her eyes had gone hard. She didn’t know him. He was talking to me. He was talking to me. I felt a hand crush down on my shoulder as he spun me around, pushed his face in mine and shouted again.

“HEY QUEER!”

Without thinking I pushed him back with all the weight my body would allow, “Hey asshole! Leave us the fuck alone! You don’t say shit to me, and you don’t say shit to my girlfriend! Do you understand me?!”

Alex stood tall behind me. There was a tense quiet that lasted for a year.  He sized us up and took another step towards me, and in a minute she flew in front of me- this time we were both shouting, both moving forward, both going to guard the other. People stepped out from inside the bar and turned to see us facing off with this wall of a famer’s son. There was a deafening silence, until finally he wavered and walked away.

We stood, vibrating with adrenaline watching him retreat. Alex and I blinked hard for a moment and then tossed out cigarettes down and moved quickly back inside. Alex ordered us drinks, calm as anything while I looked around the bar, dazed. Wondering how many other people in the room had those words inside of them, waiting to explode.

K: “I didn’t think that people DID that anymore. Did we just get gay bashed? What just happened?”

A: “What just happened? Since when am I your girlfriend?!”

I took a long sip of my drink and shook my head at her amused expression, “Oh shut up,” I laughed, feeling shaky and as tough as a tomcat, “you belong to the world.”

{image: lolita.se}