There is Light Underground

Femme or butch, most of us wore t-shirts and jeans.  Shoes were selected in accordance with the season.  In the summer we wore birks. In the winter, depending on the weather, we donned tennies or boots. I couldn't decide if I was femme or butch.  In those days, it felt like a decision was required.  I knew I liked pretty, wholesome girls *Blush.* I was attracted to femmes.  So, out of necessity (or so it seemed) I began to craft my yang (or was it my yin?).

 New to Indy, I befriended a woman whose friends were older, highly political, well-educated, and (unfortunately) anti-male.  At 20, having had several caring boyfriends, I secretly did not share their desire to disassociate from men.  Yet, I was unwilling to risk losing my connection to this underground community that had the potential to satisfy my powerful desire for love and sexual connection. We hung out in dark lesbian bars, located in treacherous parts of the city, getting drunk and dancing until we crashed. Occasionally, I would land a kiss that affirmed my attraction to women.

In the years that followed,  I loved and lost (or left).  Relationships were long and short, each left an imprint that sculpted my psyche and approach to love and union.  In the words of Chris Williamson, I was both "the changer and the changed."

Upon hearing last week that the Supreme Court of the US slayed DOMA, the image of Medusa, beheaded and staring blankly at the stars, came to mind. Looking into her eyes my body felt looser, more agile and free. There are now places in this country where all families are created equal.  Places where my partner and I might walk the streets hand-in-hand. Places where I may no longer have to listen as my son is asked the same question time and time again..."Why do you have two mommies?"