Only A Dream, Jesus!

© Andre Michael Pietroschek, all rights reserved

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Disclaimer: “I’m part of the Precariat, hands off my small change!” - No warranties! Read at your own risk, or skip it.

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License note: The German original runs under a Creative Commons license, but, so far, I did not sign one for translation rights OR my works in other languages.

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The story begins:

It was a moonless night, dark and windy. Still, the city was burning in several places. The sounds of fighting and occasional death cry from every direction. In contrast to that, nigh absurdly mundane, occasional family cars and some helicopters in the sky.

Like so many others, two friends also rushed through the night. Trans person Jaycee and Boredom’s Paragon (heterosexual), Effro Brough. Both had, proverbially, already been fisted (overwhelmed) by panic and danger.

No surprise, for the last ten minutes alone had included witnessing three rapes, riots, and a guessed fifteen bloody murders.

There was a lot more of injustice committed, but as with anybody else, the duo was limited to the individual perception.

`To the army barracks, or the nearest police station, or out of this city!´, shouted Jaycee to Effro.

Effro fell short of stopping to move on, dumbstruck.

`No! To the church.´, Effro insisted fiercely solemnly.

`They will not go soft on churches, the synagogue and the mosque are already burning, too!´, argued Jaycee.

Again, Effro was so touched by Jaycee’s remark that he nearly stopped moving.

`Do you suffer amnesia or blackouts? Bullets, blades, or batons cannot stop these fiends!´, inquired Effro.

Memories of the costumed assailants made their way back into Jaycee’s mind. They looked like phantoms from a nightmare, but this was the real world. More, than psychos on military drugs, or disguised, hostile soldiers they could not be for real!

`We will help. NOW!´, came Jaycee’s decision to make a stand.

The warrior-trans person charged a nearby psycho-phantom, body-checking it brutally, thereby slamming it off its victim.

The victim, a woman, stared at Jaycee in utter disbelief.

`Let me die, run to the church!´, spoke the violated woman, while she spat blood.

Now, it was Jaycee’s turn to hesitate and be dumbstruck. But, before he could the phantom attacked anew and had to be put down by a fast and hard combo of punches by Jaycee.

`Jaycee, we must reach the church. Bashing demons won’t help anyone!´

Jaycee turned back and forth, even with Effro’s pull on his shoulder. The mere thought of abandoning civilians was against his most innate convictions.

`I can’t just watch them suffer!´, screamed Jaycee.

`They know. Stop blaming yourself. To the church, quickly!´, bitched Effro, who by now looked stressed out as beep.

Cautious jogging only two streets further made the oft-mentioned church finally come into their line of sight. Just another besieged building.

`You are still sure that your faith will protect us?´, asked Jaycee.

Again, and more severely than before, Effro nearly froze when hearing that.

`Check on that with your daddy!´, muttered Effro finally.

People around saw Jaycee and also began to move toward the church. So did the first mob of phantoms.

Jaycee and Effro ran to the church’s front door.

Jaycee watched around, worried, toward the other civilians. Precious seconds were wasted, while their pursuers closed on in on them all.

Effro, losing patience, pushed Jaycee through the opened church door.

Inside the church, there awaited nothing `sanctified´.

Shattered windows, blood, and the valiant few people, who tried to resist the phantom onslaught. Simple barricades under a Christian cross.

Jaycee still did not understand, why they all seemed to care more about the church than about thwarting off the attackers.

The phantoms were close, and they did fiercer than ferocious movie werewolves and hungry zombies tended to do.

`To the crucifix!´, shouted Effro once more.

Jaycee made one step back, then two steps toward the enemies. Instincts urged to protect and defend, not craven withdrawal. Warrior souls often had a problem with such.

`Move to that goddamn cross, else we all will be butchered here like helpless cattle!´, screamed Effro at Jaycee. (No cattle deserve that, animal lives matter! -> The author)

The hatred in Effro’s eyes was real, but clearly the same was true of his companion’s worry and loyalty.

It seemed, Effro at least believed Jaycee to make a fatal mistake by his choice.

Jaycee made three quick, wide steps toward the altar, above which the mentioned crucifix hung high. But, when people again screamed in pain, attacked by the homicidal phantoms, he turned around once more.

Before Jaycee could charge into battle, Effro had wrestled him into a hold and pushed him toward the altar. Not for fun, for even a struggling Jaycee could see that his friend was in dire pain and wouldn’t last much longer.

`I will not abandon a friend in need!´, declared Jaycee.

`Neither will I, but your father, like it or not, sadly is correct with his assessment on the topic.´, managed Effro to reply in his struggle.

Inevitably, Effro succumbed to the pain. Simultaneously, Jaycee felt a power surging from behind him, a force long not felt. He was about to turn toward it, but once more the phantoms made him stare at the enemy, as more of them charged into the church.

`Friends, and once brothers in arms, but I CANNOT go with you any further.´, recited Effro.

Jaycee only felt a soft, gentle backward pull, something so beyond physics that Jaycee didn’t want to resist it. Fire, toxic smoke, and even the hateful phantoms lost all meaning.

But not Effro, a friend left behind, just like the valiant few, who risked their lives resisting the phantoms.

`Father!´, screamed Jaycee, with a righteous fury and a vengeance on seeing injustice winning.

Yes, Jaycee screamed: Father. All of us others would have, my guess, instead screamed: `God!´.

The end

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Only read this add-on, if you want to know the story-intent:

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In this dream turned fiction: Jaycee, JC, J.C., Jesus Christus doesn’t remember the past, unaware that he cannot just pull friends out of Hell. Effro instead, eternally damned and an enemy of God, is fully aware of such, hence, his jaw drops, when Jaycee asks HIM about faith in protecting & saving anyone (role reversal). Effro weakens, as the cross aka crucifix symbolizes the imminent presence of God (divine providence), where Effro remains unwelcome forever, but which also is the guaranteed safety for Jaycee. Effro hurts but attempts to save the forgetful Jaycee nonetheless. Finally, while still confused and amnesiac, Jaycee trusts his urges, albeit in a rude way, and challenges his father to revise old decrees and sorta kick phantom butts.

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A prayer for the lost ones?

God Almighty, who thou art rumored to be full of mercy: Find it within your grace, please, to make the money & stamina come to me, so I can fund all of those forlorn souls, who would be better off, when my fiction is turned into short films as we know them from #Alter and #Screamfest.

Let me bear the burdens of luxury, doing expensive drux, and banging upper class prostitutes, so all the others can cleanse their souls by being stuck in underpaid jobs and spartan existences..? Amen.

( I felt a bit like inventing `the heretic arts´, when writing this prayer, but it also reveals the human factor we all are guilty of: Selfishness and disregard for the well-being of others and true justice. A note -> The author )

Last, but not least:

Gifting me money is possible! Or, so it seems:

l http://paypal.me/AMPietroschek

l https://www.buymeacoffee.com/pietroschek

You took a hammer to my heart, shattering what was left of you and me. When you turned away, my breath stuck in my lungs.

i. couldn't. breathe.

Who knew breathing meant tears?

And when the door shut, darkness enveloped me; I fell, knees scraping, tears flowing.

i. finally. sobbed.

i. finally. breathed.

My knees bled, and the crunching sounds of my heart surrounded me.

The sharp edges of our past sliced my fingers as I gathered every fragment. Who knew love could cut so deep?

i. bled. for. undeserving. pain.

I wandered the halls of what was once us, my bloody fingertips a trail of sorrow, leading out the door and into the uncertain light of tomorrow.

A/N: This is by no means a thorough or well-researched interpretation. I go by what I do know about the identity of demi-boy from some previous reading and research. It's an experiment more than anything that I hope to make into a more full story. But such labels do deserve to have more attention and so I hope others on this site will do better than I do.

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Actors did one of two things when fans broke into their working studio and then tumbled out to the open in dressing rooms. One) scream in terror. Two) scream for security and/or a lawyer. Micah, found an opportunity presented to themselves.

These two, fifteen by his count, just one year his senior gripped hard and awkwardly over and under each other on lieu to their feet.

And when they did, the girl responded first. Growing hearts to her eyes, cheeks flushing and a squeal quickly aborted. "Evan! The Evan Cross-Foot!" Using his fictional alias. The reveal of his true identity under the dubious PI spy agency of the season wasn't for another few episodes. "Wes! Wes for all things hot stand up straight!"

"Don't use my name!"

Micah kept an adequate length prop pipe defensively toward her. In a pinch it worked.

Even if it wouldn't hurt fans enjoyed the opportunity to touch "mementos" of film and TV to fantasize with.

"Okay, okay just breathe..."

"Just the biggest most important moment of your life right now. And he's in action still."

"Seriously has the skills."

Wes though...

Micah turned the "spy gaze" onto this newcomer. The boy didn't flinch, instead he kept his ground, pulling an audaciously irritated look right back.

"Wes stop," he heard his friend whisper. "Stop, he could twist your organs around inside your body, y'know."

He broke the stare first, but kept Micah at his apathetic periphery.

"Hi!" she addressed of him directly.

In a swift motion he came just an inch of her perky, dazzling smile.

She simply giggled, despite the higher pitch, "my name's Melanie. Soooo, alright we really got off on the right-- oh geez wrong foot."

Slowly, he relieved her of duress. She had placed her hands aside, now out where he could see, palms out in a placating gesture.

"Really we uh-- we didn't mean..."

"This one didn't mean to peep in on your stuff and whatever else you would have done in private. That said she wanted to get an up-close look still," Wes followed up in a dry tone. Still not giving Micah an actual glance but by the looks of it more bothered by this entire situation than anything.

"Seriously we are so sorry."

Micah simply burst out laughing.

Quite the pair these two were.

The girl was cute and doe-like. Right down to a shade of blonde hair and extensions that couldn't be her natural color, wearing a sparkling, glittery top with equally girly accessories of a floral cross-body purse and jangly bead charm bracelets on one wrist.

Quite the pair they were.

Still so eager to please "Melanie" laughed too.

"Alright, alright I see. I get it I do," Micah conceded.

"You do?" Melanie asked in such a piteous, frightened little voice.

And her friend Wes much more wary. "You DO?"

"Sure. We have fudging protocols for these things," and from his drawer was a simple panic button.

CRAAAAAAaaaa--

CREPERS. Crepers.

Nope. Nope. Don't look at it. Don't look at your manicure and they won't look at the purple and black.

And heck, probably wouldn't even fathom. Yeah.

Wes was squinting.

Shi-- ZZLE STICK.

"But," he chirped, "I won't use them." And quickly put the button back in its place, where he also stashed his wipes.

Leaning back, concealing some other certain details Micah demanded allll of the kids' attention.

"What?"

"What."

"I won't call security, listen Wes can I call you Wes?"

Sparing a glance Wes did carefully answer, "I would prefer that yes."

"Look I need some help. Help that I-- that I can't exactly get on the set, from all these business types. They won't get it and frankly, all they know how to do is make my life a million times harder. And it already is super sad, like very sad. Tragic Backstory-- TM-- sad."

"And telling us this since...?" Wes led.

"Telling you Wes," Micah corrected, "Melanie," and she stiffened again, attention and slight awe away from her friend, "I do still have one of the best lawyers on pay and my "handler"/older sister Lydia is raging brickle running my career, her own education, and trying to "get lucky." I hope I don't have to go into what that means."

"Nope," Wes quickly cut in. "No, no you do not. And whatever has to happen, please never do."

"Good. Just needed to make sure we're on the same page. Since GMA and People sure aren't," Micah muttered the last bit quite bitterly. Both looked somewhat perturbed but otherwise remained silent. While he let out a huge sigh figuring how to phrase this next part.

"Look I'm sure you've heard things about me. Some good, some using me as a prop for debates on the ethics of child actors and the industry. Some, are reporters asking probing, uncalled for questions as to why I never suck face or even show any interest toward the opposite sex or bite at the studio's awful attempts to matchmake me with co-stars."

Every cast member within the under 18 demographic was getting pretty sick of it. And making themselves something of a chaos causing syndicate of sorts only alleviates so much.

"So what I need, is to be seen with someone. Someone the crowds won't expect. That they'll eat up for all their worth," Micah cocked his head toward the other boy, "which is where you come in." Interrupting before he could voice his surprise, "I need someone who won't get attached and come after me when we have to break this off. We can be friends even after if you aren't opposed."

Hands behind his back and a smile on he pitched himself forward, offering a handshake. "You up for it sweetie?" he posed succulently charming and love-struck eyes.

"Noooo," he said. "Noooo." He backed up just a bit.

"Security then? Since... neither of you are my friends, much less my... partner sneaking in to wish me luck on set or warn me about keeping my wits with the others?"

"That-- that's dirty!" Wes argued fiercely. And though he did sympathize, Melanie was another matter altogether.

"Exactly you can't force anyone to do something like that no matter how rich you are."

"And I don't want to!" he snapped back. "But I'm not lying when I say the media is eating me alive over something as stupid as romance and I want it to stop. More than anything! And Lydia won't. She won't help me so there's no one, literally no one, on my side who can do a thing!"

"How would this work?" Wes said, expression much less hostile. Somewhat resigned but also, directly facing him, finally looking Micah in the eye.

And that did, ease the knot always at his chest. Micah felt genuinely seen and damn did he have a cool air to him.

"I think," he said, sizing just how they would look together and in turn how to market themselves. Putting a hand out for one of his.

"It'll be a game of how we put our bodies together so... most important is hands..."

Wes and Micah's foreheads touched each other's.

"Okay if this is what you meant," Wes remarked, "you could have just said so, you didn't have to-- Melanie put that away!"

Despite her smile Melanie did apologize, swiftly tucking away her phone

"I do have a guy," Micah responded.

"No. Don't."

"MIKA!"

The door burst open and who to see them in such a spot but cold, cutthroat Lydia Storm.

Immediately he shoved Wes aside prepared to take all the blame whatever that may entail.

"What do you think either of you were doing?" she asked, voice blazing and harsh. "Just who are you two? Not auditioners that's for sure and certainly not on any list of approved admission." Brow furrowed in avid distaste toward the strangers now pinned in her predatory purview.

"Lydia it isn't--"

And in an instant the knot turned to a noose.

Quietly, Lydia simply dismissed his protests with a; "later."

She'd deal and punish him for this foolishness herself later.

"Now as for you."

"We're Micah's friends!" Wes defended hotly, hand holding his super obsessed companion.

Who also nodded, pouting as she did so before his sister's devastating presence.

In a cruel little laugh she cut them all down. "Micah doesn't have any friends. He doesn't need nor will have any long as he's working."

"You witch. You absolute--"

"Stop!" Micah exclaimed and even they couldn't be sure to who.

"Finish that sentence boy I dare you," she said, separating the pair. With Wes held firm by his bicep; scrawny with the muscle sinewy indicative of maybe a swimmer. Or someone with very good luck.

To let Wes see how defeated he was sent a shot of guilt so heavy and consuming, he just couldn't face the pitying expression he found.

"Oww! Hey that seriously hurts. Stop, okay--"

"I'll be sure to call security and if they're nice you'll just have to spend a few hours in lock-up."

"We were just leaving."

"You supposed I'd believe that? Our lawyers will be in contact."

"You can't do that!"

"Yes I can."

"Micah help us!" Melanie shouted.

"Shut up," Wes hissed. "However you can, meet up with us! I said I'd help you."

Lydia pushed them out, ready to escort them herself to the first muscly security person she found. While Micah could only look on.

Flattered as they are, the two of them had missed the chance. Why'd he thought of such an inane scheme anyway?

"Don't. Besides, Micah Storm doesn't matter."

Micah Storm hadn't made the money to put Lydia back on track, let her reclaim her life and the degree she'd always wanted. Sure, she struggled for Evan too picking up extra courses in law and business but they had private tutors hired to take the brunt of that.

All Micah had done was eat up food, take up space, and couldn't live without his beloved sister's touch. Cry for her to not leave him the way their parents did.

Sitting down, Micah put their head to their hands.

Micah-- boy, girl, or nonbinary-- whatever they are, they'd always been a burden. No pink or blue or purple would make that thought flattering unlike his pale skin or girlish, popping grey eyes.

****************************

By the time that "Lydia" woman had finally let the four of them all out streetlights had come on and they'd hardly made the last bus toward their neighborhood. Paid for, but not without their parents being called ahead.

Wes, Melanie, and especially Curt would be getting an earful for the excursion. Lucky for them, respectability had won out for them in form of the security chief not wanting the entire thing to reflect badly on the whole company. And who would deal with it but the accosted star.

Besides, her missing dinners was starting to become an annoyance.

Ruthless opportunism and blackmail right there. And awful shrew as that woman was, she was still twenty-three according to the Internet and so, inclined to listen to older, wiser adults who could call agencies or doctors in 'concern' for both. Or so Lydia looked to think by the mix of rage and unease.

"I do still have one of the best lawyers on pay..."

But there'd been more he was hiding.

His nails, had been painted in gender nonconforming colors? If he was remembering them right from Pride Month awhile back.

That whole "tragic backstory," and the flags on his mirror.

Wes hadn't gotten the best look but he'd seen enough.

What did Micah Storm want with an ace flag if he weren't...? Not that it was actually his business. But he supposed it fit with why a TV personality of all things treated the classic Fake Dating trope so flippantly.

"You thinking on something?" Melanie asked. "Wes how mad are you?"

Not at all honestly. He really hadn't done much to stop her.

On a Saturday morning at nine-thirty he'd hardly been in the mood to get out of bed and dressed much less stand on an overcrowded bus for some cheap promotion event.

"No, no I'm not. Really, I guess it helps that the guy really wasn't a douche like his pretty boy character is."

"I told you. Y'know when it comes to people at least you should listen to me more."

"Only if you could listen to me just a bit about B&E."

"Okay yeah, it's a deal," Melanie agreed heartily, "so, let's just hang tomorrow in your garage. Say we have an extra credit paper to figure out or something? I'll foot the snacks."

"Uhh maybe, I'd have to see if my Dad won't need it. He's pretty in deep on this aerodynamics test for a new spy plane."

And Wes, was personally invested in one-upping a certain harpy for-- for his friend. Micah... could seriously be a good friend.

Oh how his parents would flip to see their son friends with the Number Three of Young Prominent Acting Talent.

"I'm home," he called to the foyer, closing the door behind him.

Not far off was the kitchen and dining table. Mom closed the faucet. "Good dear, just set the table and once the stew boils your Father should be done for the night."

Wes set about the task without interruption. Then no one had checked the voicemail.

His parents and siblings continued and started new conversations about topics he couldn't hope to understand.

Speaking of Honors curricula and summer plans; taking jobs, looking at programs around him as he simply ate.

Keeping his thoughts focused on the singular Micah. New things were happening all the time.

"Sweetie, where did you and Miranda go?"

Melanie.

"Nowhere interesting. Just went to a panel."

"I'd hardly call that boring," Mom perked, "on what?"

"Was there an ROTC event at school? You should have said something," Dad effused.

"Geology?"

"Music?"

The twins had thrown their own favorite subjects.

Wes just huffed bemusedly. "Yeah, sure. I got up at eight in the morning to look at more rocks when you've filled our room with a mountain's face."

"Just a few pounds and besides they're geodes and don't forget the salt and pH analysis to be done."

"Of course not," he drawled.

"Okay be serious. Big bro just went to another make-believe panel about those kids books," chided his brother and youngest in the family.

"Comic books," he corrected futilely. "I would like to be excused."

"Are you sure, I made your favorite pudding for desert. All gluten and sugar included."

"I'm-- I'm sure," he said, now standing. "Guess I sorta lost my appetite or just tired."

Wes left without another word, closing and locking the door to the room he shared with his brother. Currently dabbling with horticulture on arid terrain. Something or another about reviving the depleted acids and pH levels in the soil.

Booting up his own laptop on the desk he opened up gender wiki.

Looking through the image gallery he eventually found the right colors. Light grey, light blue, and a white middle stripe.

Under that. Demiboy.

\\A person of any biological gender or gender expression that have a partial connection to the male gender or a masculine element to their preferred gender identity// ****Queery.

******************************

Lydia knocked.

They hardly reacted to the noise, frankly too tired and too depressed at the moment to even think about food.

"Mika, this isn't good for you. Look did someone say something? If the producer or costuming complained I'll talk to them. I can fix it."

"If they can pull a doctor that says you have an actual medical reason to be concerned about such a thing--"

"Go away," they moaned in a hushed, harried squeak.

"Pick it up when your ready. Just a few bites that's it. After well-- in the morning. We have to talk about today. Don't get out of it."

Micah peeled themself out of bed, tossing the pillow aside.

Walking the length of the room he cautiously opened the door, just a squeak.

Lydia materialized from the walls flinging them off their feet.

"Gotcha. Now let's see what it is this time."

This time.

This time it was in the magazines that had pulled his old interviews and pieces on what else?

A non-existent love life.

His sister merely clicked her tongue.

"Really Mocha Latte this is what's keeping you up at night." She put her hands to her hips. "Come. On. This is the easiest thing ever."

She hopped up on his bed, making him flounce around as she got her bearings, splayed the entire length as if they were two gossiping girls.

And she'd gotten into grey jogging shorts showing off slim, girly legs and a loose, blowy blouse curling her waist just right.

Micah had the waist part.

"Come on brother, let me teach you about love and about fools who fall for the big farce called celebrity."

"Pretty sure we've had this talk like, since always," he said, playing along to their own little critique.

"Not this unit because I don't approve of you being used as cheap tabloid entertainment," she said. "And nor do I trust you very much to use such privilege responsibly."

Hmm no. Of course not.

Micah kept rapt attention to this seldom moment of attention.

As just behind her had been his phone on app for a train out to Lamburg High. Where Melanie Dawson professed to go within his bushels of fan letters.

TBC

Part 2:

"If you hate him that much then let someone else deal with him instead of you."

Lydia was stock still, before clinching Melanie in her hand with the vice of a viper. "The only way anyone. ANYONE, takes Micah away from me is if I die first!"

"I-- why do I hate him though? And why am I asking kids?"

Micah notes his sordid hair. Still long but now greasy and limp, hung forlorn over his eyes.

"I want to be a girl," Wes says toward his family, enjoying a film.

Beginning with ice cream cups.

Micah and Wes decide to take a day out each in their casual clothing.

Turns into Wes as pitcher to Micah in a batting range.

\Sometimes I'm a boy and sometimes I feel real and here. Like a solid, whole person. And sometimes... sometimes since Lydia is the only one I could compare, I want to have her legs, her hips. I want to look less, less like Micah. And other times-- all of the time-- I feel like Jerome Horowitz, Deidra Dinkley, Lou Adderfae. I'm sorry Lydia, for being such a fuss/

Haircut.

Manicure.

Selfies taken at a bar where he certainly shouldn't be but is safe. Since there are mothers and older brothers, kind people, honest people. People who their families, former friends, society,

Says need therapy. Need to be fixed.

Just as the sun begins to set.

In a barbershop.

"Look," Wes insists, "just have a little flashback and I'm sure you'll remember him."

The kind child with a fringe of bubblegum pink hair, crying at the way such a style, reconfigures his entire face.

Jammed into a sardine can

ripping through the sky

at thirty-five thousand feet,

no one asked me

if I favored cock or pussy

for over two hours—

I guess it was either altitude sickness

or they didn’t give a shit.

We all shared our misery the same,

hating the ungrateful little bastards

kicking our seats

more than each other’s sexual orientations.

And when we lowered beneath the clouds

and when Florida revealed itself,

I raised my finger at the window

to the governor,

and offered a greeting from America.

According to Disney

my trip was soon to start

in the Gayest Place on Earth

DeSantis must have forgotten which State he ran for.

To everyone part of the community...

Be brave.

Be proud.

Be happy.

Be loved.

Happy Pride Month everyone!

#lgbt #PrideMonth

once a year only one month atlas the time has come that I can spam my discord servers with gay memes and text my friends about wishing them a happy pride month. This month is the month Id sham bully's for mocking us if I were to be in school, this month is when I get together with my friends and support them as they support me. Finally, I am able to notice how, how people actually have human decency showing that you hate someone off of their character and not off of something they can't control, and I can be sheltered by others being discriminated against. I am happy to be bi with all the support I receive from this month.

There4 was a time when gay meant being happy. There was a time when queer meant odd. Not any longer.

Until the late sixties, gay people across the globe were secretive about their personal actions. If they weren't, they would lose, their jobs, their family, their friends. The term "coming out of the closet" became the metaphor to disclose their sexual orientation. Then came a thing called the "Stonewall Riots".

On June 28, 1969, the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in New York's Greenwich Village, was raided by police. But instead of responding with the routine compliance the NYPD expected, patrons and a growing crowd decided to fight back They wanted their freedom to congregate, and the police tried to take that away from them. This incident changed the face of gay and lesbian life. Communities from all over the globe lent their support, and from this, the phrase, "Hell no, we won't go" came to be more than a phrase but their outcry for independence.

Myself, I'm a straight white male who never had a thought of turning the corner but that doesn't mean that I'm afraid to turn the corner and accept people for who they are. I will say that when I was younger, gay men came on to me, but I declined and there was no pressure, no hatred. We simply understood what we did and did not want.

I have met and become friends with many gay individuals over the years and in many respects, outside of their sexual preference, they are no different than anyone else. They have a mind, two legs, two arms, two eyes, and when they bleed their blood is as red as mine.

However, a major turning point was when AIDS hit the globe everywhere. People became frightened and angry with gay people and those old enough may remember the stupid things people said regarding getting AIDS from gay people. The big one was "toilet seats". Then came sharing needles. "Breathing the same air". The list is almost endless.

It took decades before AIDS came under control and today, people don't talk about it that much, but then came the right to live openly with a partner. Their significant other. And that blew open a new can of worms. Gay people wanted the right to get married.

The LBGTQ+ community marched, they gave speeches, they supported one another. No other movement in U.S. History has ever seen such an outpouring, such an outcry against human rights. Religious leaders spouted from the Bible where it would say. "one man and one woman", but history has shown us that being gay has practically been a thing since the beginning of time.

The most famous homosexual couple in Roman history around 500 A.D., are two Roman leaders, Antinous and Hadrian Although Hadrian was married, ancient sources reveal that he also had several relationships. And both insured each would have a stable or concubine of male slaves for their enjoyment. In 67 A.D., Nero, also an emperor, actually married his male slave, Scorus, in a public ceremony. These are just a few factual examples.

In today's society, being gay is pretty much an accepted way of life. Granted, there will still be a small percentage that will snub gay people, mainly the church "hardliners", but science has proven a complex interplay of genetic hormonal and environmental influence, meaning that that the X and Y chromosomes are and have become interchangeable determining one's thought process and their gender identity.

It all boils down to one thing today. Acceptance. If being gay makes you happy then I see nothi9ng odd about being queer.

To those who refuse to buy into any of this ... get over yourselves.

(FYI ...The federal government formally recognizes marriage in law for the first time with the passage of the Revenue Act of 1913. In 1929, all states now have laws regarding marriage licenses.)

In a better world

I could hold your hand

he said to me

that day on the beach

I smiled

not knowing what to say

I felt my heart

swell with pride at the thought

But in my inner world

your hand was already in mine

as we walked through the sand

our fingers interlocked

like an inextricable puzzle

And in a better world

I would have

pressed your body

so close to mine

and kissed you

deeply

passionately

fearlessly

22 March 1998

When I met her, I had no opinion of Eira. She seemed polite, kind, but not the type to stand out in a crowd. She had friends, but not too many. She was in two of my classes, Art II and Sociology. I barely noted her existence until I found her outside of class one day.

I was at the park because I didn't want to be at home. It was a cold December day so I didn't expect anyone else to be there, and was shocked to see Eira sat on a swing. When she saw me in the dark she smiled and invited me to the swing next to her.

Ignoring my hesitance, I cleared snow off the swing and smoothed out my dress and sat next to her. She complimented my dress, saying the way dark blue blended well with the colors of the next. I expressed a similar sediment in the rings she was wearing, the way the silver reflected off the snow made it appear to be glowing.

She smiled and asked what I was doing there. It was the first time she ever said my name, and it was lovely how the vowels in 'Ada' sounded.

I explained my woes of being at home. Although my parents were given a daughter, I was more inclined to the romantic pursuits of a son.

Eira laughed at my phrasing, saying she always found my dramatic nature to be charming. I blamed my flush on the cold. She explained she preferred to be in cold, and how she wasn't fond of the summertime.

We talked about dull things for hours, although being next to her made them seem like the most interesting things in the world. It wasn't too long before the cold got to me and I began to shiver.

She noticed and told me I should head home. It wasn't until then I noticed she had no winter clothes, just a long sweater and leggings. I forced her to take my scarf, fearing her getting frostbite. She said she would only take it if I took her ring.

After I allowed her to slide it onto my finger, she kissed my cheek and told me she would be there the next night too.

Evening after evening, we would meet up. She would be wearing normal clothes besides my scarf I refused to take back, while the only stable thing about my outfit was the silver ring. Eira would observe it on my finger with a look of happiness I rarely saw in her any other time.

It changed on the first day of spring officially, when it was obvious there would be no snow. I went to the muddy park, dressed in a light coat along with the ring, and she was not there. I waited for her, and she did not show.

I went to the park and waited for a week, before something bright red caught my eye in the darkness, right underneath Eira's swing. It was the red scarf I gave her all that time ago.

That was what filled me with dread as I realized I would not see my love again. I slipped the silver ring off of my hand and wrapped the scarf around it, before sticking it back in the mud.

The only thing I can I do is wait for winter.

I really like it because I can actually find pride merch in stores (although I am asexual so I'm slightly less likely to find that stuff over other stuff).

Okay but it's important to celebrate it because it helps us remember history wasn't too kind, like with any event celebrating a type of minority. Makes us feel more accepted, and human.