What Do You Feel? I’ve Never Been

God Doesn't Like Lesbians," Grandma Huberman Hised, Throwing The Magazine In The Trash. Jennifer Knew What Lesbian Meant, And She Knew She Probably Was One. But She Couldn't Understand Why God Would Hold That Against Her Or Against Monica Mathers, Who'd Never Started A War Or Killed Anybody, And Whose Deadeye Three-pointers Were Straight-up Amazing. After All, Hadn't God Made Both Of Them? But People Were Like That, She'd Noticed. They'd Invoke Godly Privilege At The Weirdest Of Times And For The Most Stupid Reasons.

The Wind Picks Up. It Sends Leaves Scurrying For Cover Until A Softer Breeze Blows Through, Settling Them Down Again As If To Say, Shhh, There, There, It's All Right. One Leaf Still Dances In The Air. It Spins Higher And Higher, Defying Gravity And Logic, Stretching For Something Just Out Of Reach. It Shall Have To Fall, Of Course. Eventually. But For Now, I Hold My Breath, Willing It To Keep Going, Taking Comfort In Its Struggle.

If There Was One Truth Evie Had Learned In Her Short Life, It Was That Forgiveness Was Easier To Seek Than Permission. She Didn’t Plan To Ask For Either One.

"promise. Don't Misunderstand Me-you Are Quite Vexing." He Touches His Tender Jaw. "and You Hit Like A Man. But You Didn't Cause His Illness. That Is His Doing."

Evie Wanted To Cry. From Fear. From Exhaustion, Yes. But Mostly From The Cruel Uselessness, The Damned Stupid Arbitrariness Of It All.