Authors Note: No offense intended. Please listen to Same Love by Macklemore while you’re reading this! ;)
Words, hurled carelessly at the ones that are different, the ones that don’t follow the unwritten rules, the ones that state that you must be the same, the ones that say you must follow the stereotypes, and wear the same clothes, play the same sports and listen to the same music.
There’s something people don’t think about.
What if it’s NOT that you don’t want to be the same? What if it’s that you can’t be the same?
What if you’re always going to be different? You were born different and you can’t change it, whether you’d like to or not.
That’s my parents.
Gale wasn’t okay with being gay. He lived in a conservative family that believed that homosexuals should be driven out of America, that they shouldn’t be alive. When he started being attracted to boys, he didn’t understand it, didn’t want it.
After the Blaze, an epidemic that traveled from Russia to North and South America and killed 3.8 billion people, it changed.
Gale fell in love with Lloyd, my other dad.
He was the one that changed Dad’s mind.
Lloyd was the sweetest person you’d ever meet.
He’d been hiding from the police for a while.
He knew the real him, and accepted it. Because that was who he was.
To me, Lloyd was Pop, and Gale was Dad.
They’ve been through a lot. Some was because of me, and some was because of each other.
Our president, Carol Rose has made so many rules. Too many to count.
And most of them,
Are about gay rights.
My dads could never own businesses.
They could never adopt more than one kid, because the president thinks, somehow, it’s inhumane to allow homosexual people to have more than one kid. It apparently “poisons” the world.
They may never work with other people.
They could never own properties, including houses. They must build (and fund) their own, and can never stay at someone else’s house.
If a gay person ever adopts, the kid that they adopted is considered gay, and is restricted by the same rules.
And last, and definitely least, all of the rules that apply to regular people (which is how they refer to ‘straight’ people) don’t apply to them. An example is, if a homosexual person was injured, or killed, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not to them.
I throw on a plaid shirt and some cargo shorts and rush downstairs.
A envelope and a box lay on the table, almost unnoticed.
My dads were murdered almost five years ago. I’ve been living on my own for three.
I don’t know what this is.
I open the envelope with trembling hands and take out a wrinkled, yellowing piece of paper.
We both can’t believe that you’re already eighteen. We’ve been through so much with you. You’ve bared through the awful comments, the rude glares, the insults.
We are so, so proud of you. We can’t believe you still have faith in us, still smile through the awful days. We couldn’t be happier to have you as a daughter.
Love, Pop & Dad
I get up.
Inside, was a key, a note, and a train ticket.
On the note was an address, a town, and a note, reading;
Your dad and I wanted to make you something that you would remember, cherish, and use forever. We’ve been making this for a while now. I remember when you were younger. Always so fascinated with the things I made, and invented. I want you to be able to do that with your life now. We’ve built you your own shop. We love you. Forever and always. Go now.
Love, Lloyd
I grab a plaid shirt, cords, some running shoes, and a backpack.
I fill the backpack with a few tools, some snacks, and cash.
I sling the backpack over my shoulder, fix my hair into a ponytail and sprint to the train.
I check my watch. 1:00 on the dot. I have to get there at 1:15.
I sprint faster.
I check my watch again. 1:10.
Five minutes away.
I decide to take a shortcut, cutting through a backyard, some bushes and a park. I arrive at the train station and sigh with relief. But that relief shouldn’t be relief. It should be worry. 1:16, on the dot. I’m late.
I run to the station’s open box and ask the lady whether there was going to be another train or not.
She looks me over once, and then responds coldly, “There will be another train in five minutes, Deviation.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I say, a flush creeping up my cheeks.
“I said Deviation. I know what you are. A dirty gay.” she spits, glaring at me in a hateful way.
I should have known that this was coming.
“Yes, ma’am.” I reply, knowing that if I said anything else, she would gladly strike me.
She glowers at me and hands me a ticket for the 1:20 train.
I slip it out of her hands and run to the train stop.
I sit on a bench next to a guy that looks nice enough.
I smile.
He doesn’t smile back.
Never mind.
Not so nice.
I hop onto the train and sit in the back, one of the only available seats left.
The not-so-nice guy sits right next to me and scowls, crossing his arms.
I roll my eyes.
I’m used to this stuff.
The train stops and I get off, and so does the N-S-N guy.
I turn the corner at Oak, and so does he.
“Are you following me?” the guy says sharply, cracking his knuckles.
“No. Are you following me?” I inquire, acting dumb.
“Hell, no. Why would I follow a dirty little Deviation?” he spits, nostrils flaring.
“I don’t know. Maybe you think that you can take advantage.” I shrug, and he rears back.
“Are you talking to me?” he asks, clearly insane.
I simply raise my eyebrows and walk off.
But he doesn’t give up.
“Are you TALKING to me?”
He swears at me and I turn the corner, glad I shook him off.
But I didn’t.
He grabs my arm and shoves me down, clearly expecting me to go with it, just let him hurt me.
I twist his arm and force him off of me.
He falls, and swears, his nose bleeding profusely.
From out of the corner of my eye, I see two other lean, mean looking guys come creeping from the corner.
I take one look, and bolt.
Now, I may just look like a vulnerable ‘gay’ girl, but I’m not.
Man, I can run.
I’m tall, yes, but it’s not the reason I’m fast.
I was chased by a group of gay protestors one time, and they were fast. They caught me, then beat me.
Me, the nine year old girl wearing a button down and jeans.
When I came home, Pop and Dad helped me train. I was already fast, I just needed to learn how to use it.
I round another corner and stop, open a door to a shop and slipping inside.
I hear shouts, and curses coming from around the corner, and hold my breath.
The shouts pass and I let out the air I was holding.
“Excuse me ma’am, but may I ask, what are you doing?” I turn around to see a thin, white haired man standing right overhead me.
Man, he’s tall.
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