ALPHABET SUPERSET WEEK 1

Her hand squeezes mine and my heart jumps. I can feel how soft her skin is, except for the fingertips that are sore from pressing the guitar strings. I like to think that they’re sore from love because it was that night by the river, when she wouldn’t stop strumming, sometimes dissonantly but with so much passion. It was that night that our love sprouted.

I realise how cheesy my thoughts sound, but I like that. A lot. Perfectly cheesy. I mouth these words and I can’t help but grin. I’m grinning a lot these days.

Our eyes lock and hers fill with curiosity.

“Why are you grinning?” she asks.

“I don’t know,“ I say, grinning even wider because I perfectly do know.

My happiness runs over and I start to giggle. She starts giggling too and we squeeze each others hands tighter and look into each others eyes deeper and there is a bubble of emotion stretching all around us. I’m so happy that it almost hurts because no giggling, no laughing in the world can absorb so much love to keep my body from exploding.

She leans her forehead against mine and suddenly I´m calm again. The corners of my mouth drop because I can see her eyes even more clearly now and they are so beautiful that I could drown in them. Maybe, I think, my thoughts aren’t perfectly cheesy after all, but way over the top cheesy. Too much to be healthy. But they still feel good.

“We should go,“ she whispers.

I nod reluctantly. She lifts her head and withdraws her hand from mine, which leaves a small feeling of emptiness. There is energy in her movements as she stands and grabs her jacket and shoes. Her face is turned away, but she keeps talking.

“I think we should take the route over the hill. I know, it’s more strenuous, but we’re already a bit late.”

I don’t mind being late. To be honest, I don’t mind being so late that there’s no point in coming at all. But of course, I can’t say that because it would destroy her expectations of this becoming the most fun night of the week. Only, I’m not a good actor and she’s not stupid.

When she turns around to me her expression changes from excited to confused to worried.

“What’s wrong?”

Shame washes over me. It’s so dumb.

“Nothing,“ I lie. “I’m just –”

Because I don’t know how to finish the sentence, I shut my mouth again. I can’t even explain to myself why exactly I’m still sitting there as if I was glued to the spot. Part of me expects her to get annoyed, to tell me to pull myself together, because, honestly, that’s what I want to tell myself. But all she does is sit down and take my hand again.

“Are you nervous?”, she asks softly. “Are you even afraid?”

She knows me. How can she know me so well when it has been only four or five weeks since we first spoke to each other? I manage to nod, the shame still burning just behind my forehead. There is no reason for any fear. I love her, she loves me, this is normal. And there is no one there tonight who would ever think otherwise.

But there will be mutual friends at the party, which means everybody will know. And there will be my brother, who wouldn’t tell my family if I asked him. But that would feel even worse.

She smiles and all I want to do is melt my body against hers and hug her tightly and let her hug me even tighter until we both forget our plans and this conversation and are just two people in love. But her arm, connected to mine by our hands, makes sure we keep enough distance to talk.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,“ I bring myself to say.

“It is. I’ve been there. Almost all of my queer friends have been there, and I guess most of yours too.”

Memories flash through my mind. My friend shaking with nervousness while telling me about his male crush. My flatmate carefully mentioning that she was trans, as if I wouldn’t want to live with her if I found out. But this was different. It wasn’t about me then. I was just the recipient of the news, the noble straight cis woman becoming an ally.

Still, I ask: “Have you?”

And I feel relief when she says: “We have. It’s normal.”

Then I ignore her distancing arm and pull her into a tight embrace, plant another kiss on her lips – how can a kiss taste so sweet! – and tell myself that I can overcome any silly nervousness with her on my side.

I am not entirely convinced by this, but I withdraw from the hug and get ready myself. She deserves a happy evening, not one with a fearful girlfriend hesitating to leave the closet behind. Nothing bad is going to happen tonight.

We cross the courtyard to get our bikes. She stops before climbing on hers, then moves closer for a brief moment to brush her lips against mine, then down my cheek until she reaches my ear.

“You look beautiful,“ she whispers and I smile.

The weight lifts a little as we ride through the dusk. The wind blows our jackets up and my hair into my face. And it takes most of the shame and anxiousness with it, up into the air and away. The giggles start again in my chest. I love the wind, the cold in my fingers, riding right behind to her. Has it been like this before? I can’t remember.

I have been in love before. There has been sillyness, a world painted all in pink, illogical pride as we walked hand in hand, wanting to scream into the world: Look, I have a partner. They are so perfectly wonderful! But it never has been a woman and somehow that makes everything different.

There’s hardly any traffic and we are making good progress. So we allow ourselves to slow down a little as we pass through the park. I ride alongside her and hold out my hand. It feels brave, almost as brave as the moment barely three weeks ago when I reached out for the first time ever. She touches my fingers with hers, so gently that we can both pull them back easily if we need to. Yet, it feels powerful. Not just because I love the touch of her hand, but also because I know that everyone can see it. It makes me feel insecure and bold at the same time. And as if I could make an important political statement with just an act of affection. It’s scary, but it’s also empowering. Part of me longs for the stares, for people to recognise how special we are.

The narrow bikelane beyond the park’s boundary forces us to let go of each other’s hands. Once again, all I see of her is her back and the sticker on the back of her helmet. It seems to be queer-affirming in some way I don’t yet understand.

That’s the other thing preoccupying me. There is a whole world of queerness that I cannot begin to understand. Loving her makes me part of it, but it doesn’t really feel that way. I have known plenty of queer people, but never have I seen myself as one of them. Now this incredibly colourful, adventurous and – more often than it should be – dangerous world is open to me. Am I an intruder? Do I really belong there just because I fell in love with a woman?

As the hill gets steeper, I fall back because I am too much lost in my thoughts to pay any attention to physical activity. After a while she notices and waits for me.

“Can we push?“ I ask, as I come closer. “I’d like to not be all stinky when we get there.“

Of course she says yes and then I have her next to me again, because they have built more space for pedestrians than for cyclists. She tries to deflect my thoughts, which she probably still suspects somewhere around my parents finding out about my non-straightness.

“It’s only a few weeks until the Pride parade”, she says. “Did you know that it’s the city’s 40th anniversary this year?”

I am grateful for what she is trying to do, but the comment forms another ball of shame in my chest.

“I’ve never been to Pride. Not even with queer friends,“ I confess.

She seems strangely excited. “Then I can take you to your first one.“ Her eyes twinkle, then fill with uncertainty. “That is, if you want to go with me.”

“I don’t know.”

I feel her disappointment. It fuels the growth of this ball of shame.

“What’s stopping you?“

I can’t answer this question with an empty phrase because I don’t want to hurt her.

“It somehow feels like an initiation ritual for being part of the queer community. I don’t feel ready for that. And I definitely don’t feel worthy.”

She laughs, grabs my waist and pulls me tight, which stings a little as her bike gets crushed between us. Warmth grows over the shame. She loves me so much that she doesn’t care.

“No one has to be worthy”, she says, still giggling. It’s the way her arm rests on my waist that prevents me from feeling laughed at. “If you want to be part of the queer community, then you are.”

“Am I queer enough for that?” I can’t hold back the question.

She stops us, turns to face me and smiles boldly.

“Well, at least you are about to give your girlfriend a very, very hot kiss.”

Then, we are in the middle of it and everything melts into a blur of sensations.

When we finally pull apart, our eyes lock and there is so much passion in just that gaze, that it feels like an elongation of the kiss.

I love you, I think; not quite ready to say it out loud, but very ready to admit it to myself. Why wouldn’t I want to be queer, when it involves loving this woman?

And then I understand how to cope.

“It’s an adventure.”

Confusion washes over her face.

“You set me up for an adventure.” I smile at her. “It’s like Bilbo and the search for the ring, or the wardrobe that leads to Narnia. I have the choice to stay out of it. But I guess that would be boring.”

She grins. “Would it?”

As we continue our way uphill, my thoughts do a zick-zack dance. I fall silent again, unable to express them. There is a world full of every colour of the rainbow, of people freeing themselves from heteronormative expectations, of endless ideas about love and identity and even more ways expressing them. I am able to set foot into it – or I’m already half in the door, if I’m honest. How priviledged can one be? It’s a big adventure. Standing out, fitting in, broadening the own horizons. Getting to know many more kinds of queerness and feeling as part of a sometimes celebratory, sometimes suffering, but always strong community.

At the top of the hill, I squeeze her hand once more. It gives me courage. Then, we get on our bikes.

“Ready?” she asks, sounding as if no would be a perfectly acceptable answer.

“Ready. Let’s give those party people something to gossip about.“

Our bikes shoot downhill and once again the wind pushes cold into my face. I can’t stop grinning. Maybe she won’t have to wait any longer than tonight before I am ready to tell her how much I would love to accompany her to the Pride.