i. i once stayed at a lovely little bed & breakfast just north of dublin,
where the lady of the house fried eggs for me every morning, and her husband said my name in gaelic.
i might come here again, i thought, with you, and
then i remembered.
ii. it took me years to realize that there was a reason some of the other girls started changing in the showers.
iii. some things our parents said we don’t bring up again. we know they didn’t mean any harm. we know it’s our job to forgive.
iv. there i stood at nineteen, a theologians’ daughter, and
understood perfectly well what this holy sacrament was and what it meant
to be denied its reception.
v. “you mean ‘boyfriend.’”
vi. i am asked whether i prefer tits or ass. i want to say ‘hands’, but i understand this invitation for what it is, and am not interested in extending one of my own.
vii. “no way! i would never have guessed!”
(what disguised me, i wonder? did my hair get too long again? my manner too soft?)
viii. sometimes it’s not the words our parents say, but the words they don’t.
ix. the first time i was asked to join a threesome was prompted by me holding my girlfriend’s hand. we were fifteen.
x. kicked in the face for a kiss, the news say.
beaten up on a bus for refusing to kiss, the news say.
i don’t care who you kiss and what you do in the bedroom, you say.
but i’m gay everywhere i go.