Pike Street. The young man coming towards me has little horns. They emerge from the skin at his temples. He is skipping down the street past me. Mid-twenties? My eyes follow him. I have never seen a Satyr in person. The scent of magic follows him, something like sage and cream. I see his chunky boots covered in bear fur, the pointy ears of an elf, the pink press-on claws, the curly brown hair full of the sun. Not a care in the world.
He meets his friend at the corner. There is dance music bouncing between the buildings. His friend is a little shorter, wearing a white t-shirt and shorts. They kiss right there, with tongue and with a piece of their soul. There are no clouds in the blue above. I melt a little. How cute! And then I am boiling.
I come from a different time and place. Come back with me for a second.
I come from a time when they crucified a young man like him. They left him in the cold, tied to a fence. I come from the time of Matthew Shephard.
I come from a time when lawyers could use the ‘gay panic’ defense. You could kill a gay man for coming on to you. It was considered a momentary lapse, a psychological break. It was only natural. A form of self-defense.
I come from a time when movies were simple. The one who breaks the rules of gender dies in the end.
I come from a time when the police were not an option. When you needed to heal, you healed alone in a hospital room.
A time when a thirty year relationship did not give you access to your husband dying in the ICU.
A time of confusing funerals. The family sitting on the other side of the church, casting glances at you, wondering who you are. Why you look so fabulous.
And now here we are, light years ahead in about thirty years or so. Still tripping over potholes.
Today (the day before Pride), I am happy to see such blissful affection in the street. I wonder if someone will find a way to measure how much blood and sweat went into making this moment happen. “I wanted to know the exact dimensions of hell.”
Yes. I have reached that age.
Look – there is an older man in a wheelchair. Blazing white hair in the sun like a lion’s mane. They have a ramp for him to enter the bar. Our eyes meet.
His eyes have questions. Do you remember the Plague, young man? Not this Covid flu, no, I’m talking about the thing that killed everyone. All of us. Do you feel cheated? Hm? Do you know the meaning of the word?
He flashes a quick smile before rolling into the bar.
This is great LL, glad you are putting your writing out! I need to see a Satyr in person!
Love this post, LL. Looking forward to the next one!