I mentioned the brother (well, one of them) parenthetically. He’s complicated: never says the wrong thing, except: be in the closet at my wedding (it’s her family, it’s their culture, you wouldn’t understand). And: family is important, family harmony above all. Even if I were completely anti-gay, out there trying to cure homosexuality, I wouldn’t say anything about it to you.
So I asked him the other day: what do you really think? No answer yet.
Walking out to buy paper clips the awkwardness came back. Every glance was clouded with judgment, ridicule, rejection. Every face his.
I don’t need his answer. I need to let him go.
Just like that the people on the street were all beautiful, all different, all going their own places. The warm wind felt like dead leaves peeling back off my skin.
This morning I said, before leaving the house, “They’re not all him.” She said, “They’re not all him. They’re all me.”
Now. I’ve done the thing where I project my fear on other people. I’ve realized no one is thinking a damn thing about me. And I’ve walked around with the milk of human kindness in my veins, loving everyone I see.
But I’ve never imagined that each person I see loves me as thoroughly as she does.
It’s really something, at least in small doses. The perfect antidote to the poison of transferred self-hatred. Left me... softer. Looser. Comfortable, finally, in my own skin.