"Her"

Work At Play

Well, Angel. You surge on yet again. It's a little strange to be talking with Her the way I am now: myself on my big red couch, and her standing next to it, quietly stroking my hair with a look of pleasantness in her upturned lips.

I look at her arm in mock annoyance. "I suppose so."

She wrinkles her nose as she scratches me behind my ear. Why are you always so tense?

"Me? Tense?"

Yes, you. Scoot over. I want to sit next to you. I begrudgingly obey, even though the prone position I had been lying in had been perfect for placating my painful monthly cramps. She sits down and puts her hand on my stomach, not for healing, but for comfort. Tell me. What do you think of when you think of me?

I close my fingers over hers and smile. "Meadows, and endless forests, dances and rivers. Hugs. Warm, flowing ocean currents. and love, mostly. Why do you ask?"

She smiles and kisses my cheek. No particular reason. So what do you intend to do at your practice tommorrow?

I inhale deeply. "I don't know. What I think I should is be more aggressive. Speak up for myself. But I don't know if that's what I should be doind, or if I'm just overcompensationg for being different againn-"

Just relax and stop being so tense. Everyyone's just as awkward as you are. You just beat yourself up for it more than they do. It's just practice. Even if you think you are the worst on the team, that is subject to change once you have an actual opponent to face. She smiles, closing her eyes to her own memories of me. I know you're afraid of hurting your teammates. You still think of yourself as 'The Wall' don't you? You're not. Not anymore. Much of that stregnth, that was used to overcompensate for what you didn't have: friendship, understanding, love, is elsewhere. It's in your stories. It's in the way you can talk to your family, your acquaintances, your co-workers, and me.

"Then what good am I if I can't be that strong on the field anymore? What's the point of even playing flag football?"

To learn from others, and to teach them as well. To gain a better understanding of people who you would most likely dislike if you met them in passing. In order to have an open heart, Sweet One, it must be open to all, regardless of surface differences. The way they view you may change. Give it time. Time for you to readjust yourself to the sport, and the others on the team. Things will change for the better, in ways you cannot understand yet.

She kisses me on the cheek again. Her words are never easy to hear, but they are always neccessary. "And what about giving the writing club 'Visionary'? I have no idea what I'm getting into. I don't even know if they'll understand it. It's not like anything."

And that is exactly why I want you to give it to them. It's very special to me. I'm sure that in time you will understand why.

I throw her arm off me. "I want to understand why now, dammit! You want me to commit professional suicide by giving complete strangers this mystical...thing that I don't even understand. For godsakes, there'll only be one other lesbian there! And I haven't even asked permission if I can even bring a lesbian piece to the meeting! What if I hand it over and everyone's dismayed, or shocked, or disgusted? What the hell do I do then?"

She yawns at me. Has anything I've asked you to do ended in you being mistreated?

I frown, ashamed as my childish reaction yet again. "No."

They may not like it, and I doubt any of them will truely understand what it's truely about, considering most people are bound by their self-imposed boundaries of gender, religion, and sexual practices, but at least they'll know that you are not bound by any of those things. That you are free, up front and personable.

"Why? Can't I do that with "The First Love"? Or "Duel"? Or "To Marry A Prince Of Regia...One Must Have An Understanding With A King?" All those are just as celebrated as "Visionary"."

M yawns in boredom. You mean those are your celebrated 'straight' stories. You want to hide behind a thin veneer of respectability in order for those people to accept you, and then you plan to hit them over the head with who you are. No. You must no longer do this. It is true that these other tales are also who you are, but you cannot hide behind them. Safe stories will never be your best work.

"I believe what the club organizer told me to do was to get everyone a copy of my worst work-"

As if that is any help to you! She laughs dryly. You are a working author! Your worst work is in a file somewhere, slowly disentegrating. You have no true motivation to finish that. What is the point of having your earliest work judged from the time you were a child? She chuckles again. She is underestimating you, but I will not. And after they see your work, no one else will either. You need feedback on the tales you weave at the present time, not the ones from yesterday. A mischiveous smiles alights on her lips, and I fear the question I know is coming. While we are on the subject of your illustrious organizer, what do you think of her?

"Oh, stop it, M! Why must you continue to humiliate me by questioning me about every woman I'm attracted to?"

You're wrong. I only ask you about the women you have a chance at.

"Why would I have a chance with her? She's older, has kids damn near my age, not to mention the fact that she's very involved in the community, and every gay, black and lesbian seems to have her number-"

You're forgetting the fact that her rack is fantastic. She says with a grin. But maybe you can leave that out when you ask her out.

"That's not funny." I announce, feeling mortified that she noticed what I noticed from day one.

Why are you so embarrassed when it comes to sexual expression? At least men are honest about it, even if they are extremelly shallow about it.

"That's exactly what I don't want to be. I don't want to like her just for her rack!"

Of course not. You respect her for starting the book club, the writing club, and damn near everything you've been exposed to for the past few months. You like her intelligence, the way she smiles at you. You even like her nose..for some reason. She shakes her head at me at the last reason. That lady has a huge nose.

"Knock it off, M." I reply with a scowl.

Why? Are you offended that I'm pointing out the truth?

"There's no winning an argument with you. So why do I bother?"

We were arguing? I thought I was just giving you encouragement, as usual. She smiles. I'll stop teasing you once you accept yourself for who you are instead hiding and ducking from your feelings and observations all the time, L'il Miss Stiff-n-Stagger. It would make you a better person overall you know.

I sigh. "You're perfect. You know that?"

Nope, thankfully I'll never be that stagnant. Tell me about the woman on your flag football team. The other one you like.

"She's cute. She has a nice body. Her truck's alright. I don't know if we're looking for the same thing, though. She doesn't seem to be looking for anything with anyone. And she lives about an hour and a half from me." I stamp my feet in frustration. "Why does everyone I like have to live far away from me? This sucks!"

M wraps me in a soothing, calming hug. I know it does, sweetheart. I know it hurts not having what you need. But trust me when I tell you everything will be alright. You'll eventually find someone you can come home to. Don't worry about how long it will take for that to happen. Just keep on getting out there, and learning, playing, and working. You'll find who you're looking for. I have a feeling she'll surprise you.