Monday, August 21, 2017

Meeting the world's gaze


The willow leaves cut negative space from the afternoon sky. I don't want to over-explain, only offer what is necessary to perceive. We add up the days, cut a year in half, and her sum is I've learned to measure quantity in what is yet to come.

In that I've learned another collection of glances. Where, for two years, if I was seen at all, it was only from behind a wheelchair, and the strangers' eyes that met mine were saintly, smiling, and sad; now the gazes are quizzical at least, when not filled with disdain. I do not understand why we aren't allowed to simply disappear into each other, or the given cityscape. 

What of our pairing?

My fears are threefold:

(1) They assume she is a man.
(2) They assume she is a woman.
(3) They assume that no matter the answer to (1) and, or (2) that they are free to make a judgment regarding her fingers interlocking with mine.

I rarely feel completely secure in public. More often than not I am scanning crowds for possible antagonists, ready to lock eyes with the first contemptuous expression, letting my steady glare tell our onlooker everything they need to know. 

I will defend her with my body. I will defend her with my blood.

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