A Queen for the Quiet Queers

At the ripe old age of five, I knew I was queer. Did I know the word or what it meant? No. Did I have a child-like crush on my best girl friend? Yes.

Now, you might be asking yourself how a five-year-old has a crush on their best friend. Let me explain. Rachel captivated me. I wanted to play every game, work on every coloring sheet, and build every toy town with her. I held her every morning, pre-k through first grade, while she cried for her mother after drop-off. I tried to distract her with games and jokes throughout the day until she felt comfortable and calm again.

You might also wonder how I remember this. Well, I do, and I don't. I remember a fleeting interest: the occasional comforting and the persistent desire to be near her during game time and recess. The rest was filled in for me, embarrassingly. My mother told me about this "close friendship." I put the pieces together from there.

I was aware of my sexuality at a very young age. It might be more accurate to say that I was aware of what was different about my sexuality. I knew I liked girls the way my boy friends did and the way most of my girl friends talked about liking my boy friends. I acted as though this wasn't the case, but no amount of denial would keep me in the closet for too long past my childhood.

I looked for any sign in the media I consumed that others felt like I did. I scoured my social life for any indication of queerness. Around first and second grade, I was reading some young adult fiction, watching a fair amount of VeggieTales, and doing my best to sneak secular cartoons besides Scooby-Doo while home alone. My options for authentic queer representation were mostly non-existent. In the summer of 1996, the summer before I turned six, things changed.

At the time of their release, Harriet the Spy and Matilda were directly competing with each other. Released a month apart respectively, the films captured young audiences and started fevered debates on playgrounds across the country (I assume). You couldn't like both in my circles, much like most other competing things. You had to choose. I chose Matilda at the time, but Harriet also holds a special place in my heart.

Matilda was queer. I don't care what anyone has to say on the matter; I'm convinced. Whether one says 'queer' in the general sense of 'Other' or means it as the 'Q' in LGBTQIA+, it. doesn't. matter! Matilda was friggin' queer. Even if you only consider how many queer people related to her while growing up, it's enough to imagine an older and out Matilda.

Ms. Wormwood not only had the classic queer deep love and admiration for her homeroom teacher, Ms. Honey, but she also was the black sheep of her family. Matilda kept her magic a secret from her unaccepting family and everyone else until, one day, she confided in Ms. Honey... The one person she felt safe with. Does that sound like a familiar coming-out story? Oh, yours? You don't say. Mine, too.

The way I saw myself in that "precocious," "troublesome," and magical child is nothing remarkable. I would venture a guess that most children and maybe even some adults who watch it identify strongly with the film's namesake. What is remarkable is the kinship I and many other young queers found with a fictional six-year-old with a secret. Mind you, this was at a time when the representation of queer people was anything but authentic. We had to dig and stretch for our positive models if we could find any at all.

Harriet was the same. An obviously queer icon who spoke to the hearts of those other odd ducklings with something special about them. She was for a different type of queer than Matilda was, but for the queers nonetheless.

Matilda was a powerful and book-smart queer. Harriet was a powerful and street-smart queer. Both were queens, so it is perhaps revealing that you couldn't worship both in my neck of the woods. You were either a Harriet fan or a Matilda fan. In my youth, several of my favorite fictional characters went the way of Harriet the Spy. Forced to choose, I abandoned Chuckie Finster for Tommy Pickles, Arnold Football Head for Gerald Johanssen, and all of Charlie's Angels but Alex Munday.

Harriet was more popular with my friends during playtime. Their usual rule when roleplaying was to choose the character most like yourself. This defeated the point of imagination and playing (acting) in my mind and often upset my delicate disposition. However, it became easy for me to claim Matilda as the one I related to the most. She was, after all, much of what I pictured myself to be.

The thing about growing up and not being able to see yourself in most characters is that you start to think you are alone. Much like Matilda, I threw myself into books to feel less isolated. Books opened up worlds to me, even if I wasn't reading anything queer or queer-adjacent. I had read some Roald Dahl before; the soft boy James, his giant peach, and the ragtag crew of social outcasts he befriends was my favorite story until I met Matilda. Once I saw the movie with Mara Wilson, I asked my parents to buy me the book and a matching poster. They gave me money for the Scholastic Book Fair, and I bought the book and poster myself.

I was alone on that front. I suppose my friends found Harriet's razor-sharp wit and action-packed life more alluring than the quiet and modest adventures of Matilda.

But, I always preferred the library to light B&E.

Matilda still appeals to my inner child and feels relevant to my growing-up experience. There have been other characters I've identified with throughout my life, but none quite like Matilda. She is forever my internal, quiet, clever, and bookish queer self, and I cherish her deeply.