Chapstick Femme

The weather is perfect for a recovery day...

The air lingers with humidity long before the morning sun touches my skin, promising us an extension on warmth and adventure before fall settles in. It’s especially perfect for a recovery day (for any day really). The first in months that my partner is well or strong enough to chance climbing our stairs. I get lost thinking of us, together again in the delicious heat instead of a frigid, sterile room.

‘Today feels like ours.’ I keep my eyes closed as I press my face toward the sky. My feet are bare, soaking up the heat that’s collected by the brick patio that we’ve made ourselves. We’d put it together using river mud and left over brick, large squares our landlord would’ve otherwise discarded. Lost in sensation, I nearly miss the sound of my entire life calling to me through the open window behind my ankles.

“Hey sweets.” My partner’s voice brings me to the door, then fast and excitedly back into our apartment. I sigh with relief as I climb down the stairs. Glad that we’re nearly back onto our own version of a “regular” sleep schedule. Just the thought has me smiling as I turn the corner to find my partner. Standing on the mat I’d made us for the floor (for easier, safer access to... everything). ‘Today is going to be great for us.’ I think staring at thyr smile as I reach out to take thyr hands.

The weather is perfect...

Almost no day is better for recovery than a summer day; with today as the rare exception. Early fall has the leaves changing in the most beautiful ways, but not the heat. My partner, dressed always in old blue jeans- tattered from all our adventures; (from gardening and most recently from the fire pit we dug out together.) They wear heavy flannel to cover the places where the hospital staff had struggled to start an IV. I know the bruising makes holding thyr cane painful and difficult, but my partner flatters my waist with thyr free hand anyway. The peaking heat makes the humidity seem like a heavy blanket, causing me relief for my affinity to short dresses.

For a while as we walk, the only sound is thyr cane as it makes contact with the sidewalk. Even the usual sounds of life (birds, students, cars etc.) seem absent as we begin down Hit street toward our destination. Walking tightly against the nook of my partner’s side, I forget about everything but us and our adventure- a trip to the No Gas (our favorite place for finding snacks and wraps). The place never used to be busy, standing mostly alone, until the new parking garage went in for the University. Still, the distance there and back is ideal for us to get my partner moving again without destroying the precious progress we’ve made. Slow and steady, we approach opposite the No Gas as it sits along the same side of the road as the new garage. Neither of us notice the unusually empty yards along the side where we walk. Only when the low murmur becomes the loud sounds of groups gathering, drunkenly shouting from the open levels of the garage.

perfect...

We don’t pause or turn away from the sound; the longer part of our walk is behind us now, so the only way home is foreword.

“Oh no.” My partner murmurs, pulling me tighter to thyr side. Confused by the sounds, I am slow to recognize what we’d both forgotten because of our most recent dip to the hospital... “The university’s first game in the new league is today.” It wouldn’t have prepared us had we remembered. Not the sort of entitled, overaggressive “fans,” many of ‘em arriving by private aircraft and landing us some of the wealthiest ole white men to crawl out of Georgia.

“Hey!” It begins, their shouts crowded by the distant sounds of stadium cheers as the game begins. “Hey!” They call at us from the upper levels of the parking garage, hanging over the edge with bottles in hand. The entire garage is now their own private tailgate area, void of any locals or townies.

“Hey!!!” Another calls, “You gaay?” He drawls out the word but ones on, not wanting or needing a response, “We don’t allow that where we’re from!” The others, now giving us their attention from every level, begin yelling along too. Hurling slurs, empty beer bottles and threats at us.

...recovery

Beside me I can feel my partners body tense. I begin to search for a way out- the empty street between us and the garage isn’t enough space, but there is no short way home until we make it to the cross street. My partner holds thyr arm around my waist now, taking painful steps and limping in exchange for thyr cane gripped as a possible defense weapon. We continue toward the No Gas, doing our best to ignore them (even as the threats become more graphic and promising), until one of the bottles they throw hits so close the glass shatters against my bare legs. I nearly call out, instead quietly flinching against my partner, who surprises us both by sparking up like a firework; they scream:

“Why don’t you come down and finish the hate crime you just started?! That’s what it is in my State!”

The words escape from that place deep inside us all (Q) where the accumulation of others’ self-hatred and forced silence piles up.

...the weather...

The scream comes out slightly hoarse but still loud and fierce, piercing their their threats and causing an eerie silence. Anger overcomes the fear in my chest as I grab my partner by the belt buckle, nearly carrying thym as I run. We make it only to the corner of the cross street outside the No Gas, just as they swell into the open stairs, screaming wildly as they reach the ground level- telling at us exactly what they plan to do when they catch us. ‘They will. No matter how fast we run.’ I can’t help but think to my self. We can hear their excitement. Screaming as they hit the street. Ready to prove to themselves, and us, exactly where we belong in this world.

“Hey!!” I flinch at the scream, loud and closing in behind us. “HEY!” This one cuts across the hateful threats of the others, causing another pause and hesitation amongst the group. “HEY!” The same voice calls, louder somehow, but it isn’t at us.

Still panicked beyond with fear, we don’t know where to move, or how to react, as a new group of younger males enters the scene. Like something out of a musical, they come marching in from behind us (the same direction we’d come from). They’re covered both in the local University’s logo and their own, letting us recognize them as one of the fraternities on campus with a house near our apartment. Their own screams build as more of the young men join the first, putting themselves between us and the hate group.

...perfect

My partner and I don’t move. Watching it all unfold in shock. The fraternity men push the mob back into the garage, swarming and corralling our harasser. The smug hatred of our would-be attackers is replaced with fear at the absolute resolve of these heroes, who even begin taking on some of the physical violence meant for us; they meet it with a justice we would not have known otherwise.

“Hey, HEY! Get out of here!” This call is for us. One of the young men calls, waving his arms at us from the outer edge of the scene, desperate for to catch our attention. “GO!” He screams, urgency in his tone.We do, dragging each other and cutting down every shortcut we know home.

...for a recovery day.

Safely locked inside, my partner and I collapse in each other’s arms. Holding one another tight, we weep and cry out to release the pension of emotions we feel. Finally, we are left bewildered in silence; then relief and wonderment at the unique twist of masculinity and timing that just saved us.

*

Our past is filled with ghosts and heroes

My partner and I don’t remember enough to identify the individuals or fraternity that saved us that day. We only know they came from one of the many Greek houses that lined the streets near our east campus apartment. Streets we had avoided before our encounter that day. Though we never left home on another game day, whenever my partner felt strong enough- we began walking down those streets. And none of the young fraternity boys, who spent time on their porch or in their yard, ever said anything to us. Except to wave- letting us live more freely in our little corner of the world.

...our present with those riled enough by the world to be called friend.