December 11th, 2016

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I spent the night to the 11th at a friends place, a decently sized room in a collective living dorm. I got off the bus at the south exit of triangle station, where Herkules biked up to me and we walked off. We grab a beer and walk around and get some Naan to eat on the go. There's been a shooting this past week and we re-light some candles from an abandoned vigil. We notice that someone had poured water on the candles before we got there.

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We walk back to my friends place and I decide to stay in while he goes out to find some fun. I can't believe that I've even managed to drag myself to the city, going to a rave is out of the question. I'm just grateful that I'm not having anxiety attacks or depressive episodes. I skype with some friends while knitting, then hang up and listen to some music while smoking in bed. I put on some ocean sounds to fall asleep to.

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I wake up in the morning to someone walking in the door. I assume it's Herk so I don't bother moving. The person goes into the bathroom, but when he comes out I glance over my shoulder and I see that he's got dark hair, and Herkules' is bleached and practically gray. I pretend to be asleep while the person in the hall stands there silently.

It feels like forever but probably five minutes later Herk walks in the door, asking whether they woke me. I say it's fine and the guy introduces himself and kindly hands me a cup of tea, asking if he could take a picture of me just as I've woken up. He has a feather earring in his right ear. I say okay and he pulls out a dank little camera that flashes and blinds me for a second. The guy puts on some music and Herk says that they're going to take a shower (yeah, right) and they're in there for pretty much an hour and I awkwardly have to sit and hear the gagging noises during the pauses in the music as they fuck. "At least he's not straight or my brother," I think (though he practically is my brother) as I remember the times my brothers have fucked their girlfriends in the shower at our old house.

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When they get out of the shower I clean up and change quickly. The guy that Herk's brought home is chatty enough, asking all kinds of things, even asking where I'm headed off to.

 

 

"A breakfast for lesbians." I answer haphazardly, trying to brush it off, even though it's one of the most important things I've done in my life.

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"Wait, you're a dyke?" he says in that way that I'll never understand, putting extra emphasis on you're and dyke. What else would I be? I feel like it's written across my body in huge block letters and tattooed on my forehead, but apparently not. 

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The hook-up dude proceeds to tell me about these dyke girls he knows that are in a punk band, I ask whether the bass player or drummer is hot. I have a huge thing for bass players. 

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He tells me that he's opening a store in Lund and offers me a job there. We exchange numbers and I hope that he'll call me back. I briefly wonder if he was so eager to hire me because I'm gay too, and I think that hey, at least there's some justice, if that's the case.

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I hurry off and take the bus to the closest stop I know that's in the area of the venue. I'm starting to shake a little bit and I light a cigarette as I try to make google maps recognize my location faster than it is. I go in the complete opposite direction for about five minutes before I realise exactly where I'm going and I make it there at 10:00.

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As I approach the neon sign I see some people are already waiting outside, including a couple with a baby carriage. One of those two women is wearing a button up and snapback and has shoulder length, curly hair. I don't know whether this was just in my head, but I think she lit up a little bit and smiled when she saw me. She said hi and I said hi back before standing off to the side and lighting another cigarette, as I'd just finished the last one. I was too anxious to try to talk to anyone or approach the couple. 

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It takes about 25 minutes before they open the doors. I shuffle awkwardly in the hall as I hang my coat, pay for the food, grabbing some sandwiches and coffee before settling down in the middle of the long, empty table in front of the stage. People file in throughout about half an hour. I say hi and introduce myself to some but I don't talk to them. I'm just too scared. Mostly of messing up, saying the wrong thing, them thinking I'm weird. After a long while a couple (I assume) came and sat down next to me, they introduce themselves but I barely catch their names over the music and my anxiety. 

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"There's a lot of people I don't recognize today," the one closest to me says. "I don't recognize anyone here," I reply.

I tell them that I'm not from there, that I live two hours away by bus, that I came here today just to come to this event. One of the two is butch and I immediately felt camaraderie with her, "Your first time ever?" she smiles broad and kind as I nod. I felt so insanely understood and happy in that small moment when our eyes locked.

 

As we conversed about everything and nothing for a little while, the butch refers to me with she pronouns. And it doesn't hurt me at all. Like. At. All. I actually really enjoy the way she says it "Natasha says that she.." It made me feel warm and a little bit like I matter. 

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I hate it when other people call me anything else but they. I think I feel good about it because she's butch too, and she can't misinterpret my gender in the way that other people do. If feminine women, men, gay guys, anyone else, says "she" I completely close up. I feel violated and worthless, like who they're talking about isn't me.  

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The panel begins and so does my own personal nightmare. It's fine for about 20 minutes, but then it's just agony. I can't sit still, not for the life of me. I'm wedged in between two of my elders, they're so close, and it's making me claustrophobic. My hands sweat like crazy and all my fidgeting is embarrassing, turning in my seat, scratching my neck, wringing my hands. But I want to hear the panel and I don't want people to look at me if I stand up to go out for a cigarette. So I'm cemented in my seat for the last two hours, in agony. 

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As the questions wind on up on the stage my eyes sometimes go to the butch woman with the curly hair that came with the lady and the baby carriage. She effortlessly parents the kid, playing along with other people's kids, and she's everything I've ever wanted to be as a mom. 

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When the panel is over I wait until people have left the hall to grab my pack of cigarettes and duck out, but the tobacco does little to quell that awful feeling in my body. I go inside and sit for a while before deciding to leave, because everyone is leaving, and sitting alone is just sad.

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When I get out I check for buses but I realise I could just ask some of the people outside for an easier way to the station. I walk up to a trifecta of gay girls around my age and ask what the easiest way is. Compared to the last two hours I endured, it was a piece of cake. 

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Their eyes go wide and they look at me with awe. I don't think about it at the very moment -I'm just used to people looking at me like that because I'm butch- but later I realise these girls, maybe, thought I was attractive. Fresh meat. 

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One of the girls tells me to walk down the street straight ahead and what bus to take. I say thanks and walk off. I feel their eyes in the back of my head but yet again, at the moment, I don't think anything of it.  They walk past as I'm waiting for the bus later, and they have the same expression on their faces.

 

 

It's not until much later in the evening, at home, that I realise what I've done today. I was, for the first time, in a room full of people that are just like me. I even met two butch women, who I'll always remember, if I don't see them again. I can't forget their expressions when they saw me. I can't forget those one or two girls my age that I locked eyes with.