“I have not concealed it. It has been hidden in plain sight.”
“My darling.”
I quivered at her words drenched with affection.
“I do not fear it, nor shy away from it,” she said as she moved closer to me and touched her hand to me cheek.
I leaned into the gesture, taking pleasure from the warmth of her hand against my skin.
She whispered, “You have bewitched me utterly. I admire you most ardently.”
Suddenly her lips were upon mine, kissing me, sending the most wondrous sensations through my entire being. I returned her affections with the same ardor, loosing myself in the soft motions, savoring every moment, every taste. She ran her fingers through my hair. Her body pressed into mine, igniting my passion further still. After what seemed an eternity, I pulled my lips from hers and caught my breath.
“My affections are a mirror to yours, dearest Margo,” I whispered, “you are the enchantment I have longed to claim.”
A Promise from Sarah by Arabella Meiko
One thing remains constant as we make laps through the blurring world, days and weeks pass, never waiting for anyone—your warm hand in mine. Your skin remains slightly rough and scarred, just like the day I first met you. You were insecure about it. My response was a light giggle. Your skin was perfect even if it was bumpy or hairy. If only I could hold your hand everywhere.
You have changed my world for the better, my lovely Sarah.
We met in a minimalist coffee shop. You were working on a college essay, and I was peacefully reading a book. The coffee shop was packed, and you asked me if you could sit next to me. I told you that I was not meeting anyone, so you did. That was the first thing I told you. I peeked at your computer—you seemed to be working on an environmental sciences essay. You ordered an americano, you were one of those who liked your coffee dark and hot. I ordered a caramel Frappuccino. Your computer had a cuteSarahsticker on it with a smiley face emoticon beside it. “My name is Serenity—and yours is Sarah, right?” That was the first thing I asked you. You smiled awkwardly before nodding. We started talking, and suddenly hours had gone by. Your brown eyes and broad shoulders captured my heart, and love bloomed in my heart. You told me you went to the gym often, which is why your arms visibly had a lot of muscle. I bit my lip.
Your hair used to be short and black, styled in a pixie cut. I begged you not to cut it before, but you did anyway. You said it was to embrace your masculinity. Back then, I could not tell if you did it for style or to feel more like a man for the slight chance ofusbeing accepted. I could not tell if it was so you could lay next to me in public without inviting the stares of others. You told me you went to the gym so you could protect yourself in such a dangerous world. You started to wear androgynousclothing so you could lean on my shoulder in the subway without attracting disgust from others. You still do not hold my hand in public. Baggy clothes and jeans—perhaps a cap would enhance your disguise. You started to do all you could to protect us from nasty words filled with hatred.
I continued to wear white dresses like I usually did. A perfectly laced blouse would do the trick most of the time. I rarely tied my ginger hair up because you loved to stroke your fingers through it.“Serenity, you are my world,”is what you would murmur smittenly. You are my princess, Sarah. You are someone who should not be hiding. We have to hide, though. We would be punished by the law for existing.
At home, you gaze at the dresses I own. My oak closet occupied much of your attention. I gave you some of my garments, even though you never wore most of them outside for a long time. Your brows would furrow holding one of my dresses, scared to go out with me in it. At first, I thought you were ashamed to love me. I thought you could not stand to be seen holding another woman in public. “You are wrong,” is what you told me. Indeed, I was wrong. You were not frustrated with me, you were simply afraid—not just for yourself, but for me, too. If you presented yourself as feminine alongside me, you feared that we would be stared at, no matter how many times we say we arejust friends. If anyone found the love letters I secretly sent you, or the numerous bouquets you gave me, they would know immediately, and we would be chastised.
Inside my room, we would play dress-up as if we were small children. You would braid my hair and put rainbow pins in them, and I would tie your hair in bows and style you in various dresses and skirts—in all colors, of course. Although, my clothes were often too small for you. You still enjoyed it. We would spend hours with my yellow polka dotted curtains drawn just dressing up. The curtains must be drawn. I love to hearyou giggle—nothing could bring me more happiness than your joy. Our hearts are linked. I feel your sorrow and you feel mine. Admittedly, I share your fear, too. In the world we live in, I cannot help but be afraid.
You have a canister of pepper spray in your purse whenever we go out. I always bring a comb that hides a blade within. We both want to protect ourselves and each other. It does not have to be this way—but the world we live in makes us have to stay on guard. You always nervously check your watch, reminding me that we should not be out at night. I agree, it is way too dangerous to remain outside at a late hour. “The last thing I want is for you to be hurt, Sarah,” is what I tell you whenever we split up after a date. It is true. My whole world would break apart if I hear that you have been hurt. I would chase after your attacker for the rest of my days, seeking justice for what they have done to you. I would make sure they know no peace.
You used to cry in my arms many times, shedding tears filled with shame and guilt. Back then, you hated yourself for loving me. Your parents found out and reacted with nothing but scorn. You lost everyone you loved—everyone except me. It was overwhelming for you. Your tough exterior shattered like glass on that day. I hugged and cuddled you for hours on my bench. “It will all be okay,” I reassured. You did not believe me back then. You took none of my words as the truth as you soaked my dress in your tears. You remembered them, though. You wanted them to be true. It will truly be okay, my beautiful Sarah. Love may leave your life, but new love will always find you. You are a woman that deserves support and care, no matter where it came from. If your family did not accept you for who you were, then they do not deserve to love you. They do not care about you like you thought they did. You were unable to fully recover from losing your relatives, but that is okay. You may take as muchtime as you need. I will be here for you.
Our love is like a riptide, breaking surface tension of the once still lake, subtly and purposely. We can be seen disrupting the natural way of the world. Even so, we continue to exist in peace. We never cause commotion like a flood or a tsunami, we simply live and ripple in the waters we swim in. Whenever we are forced to smooth over, we protest and cause tumult; we are called unwell and mentally ill which provokes us and our community. These people do not see us as human—they hurt us and act surprised when we fight back for ourselves. What did they expect? For us to agree or keep quiet?
Our love blossoms like a redwood tree, growing new branches and reaping flowers and fruits. The coney fruits we produce may not be edible, but they spread seeds of love nonetheless. We grow taller and taller nonetheless. Crowds of people may hold chainsaws, meaning to cut us down, but our seeds will sprout into more trees despite their efforts; our species will continue on. We may have to put up metal fences and brick walls to protect ourselves, we may have to fight for our right to live. Many homosexuals like us have died for being themselves before us. We do not fight only for us, but for them, and for our community.
We are not alone, Sarah. We were never alone. Pride parades and protests made ourselves known, and told everyone that we were ready to fight for our love; our love is natural and just as beautiful as everyone else’s love. They could not ignore us; families, regular people, lawmakers—they all saw us through the countless events our community had set up. Suddenly, we were not confined in our own house. Suddenly, we could go outside to fight.
You still dress the same to this day; your closet is filled with baggy jeans and oversized shirts—you said you felt comfortable in them. Sarah, you look beautiful in everything youwear. I am glad you are happy with your style. You grew out your hair and walked side by side with me. I insisted on holding your hand, and you obliged with a smile. You seemed less scared back then—less haunted by losing your parents, less terrified of the public gaze. Of course, we still needed to be wary. At least we were more comfortable holding each other in public. At least we were slightly less afraid. Slightly.
Finally, we were allowed to marry each other in 2015. It was a silent day in June that changed our lives. Perhaps not much had changed. We would still love each other and talk about whose last name we should take…just in private. It did not have to be private now, though. I remember tears forming in your eyes as the sun peeked through the gaps of my polka dotted curtain. Your smile beamed brighter than the sun. We hugged throughout the afternoon in my bed. We went out to a restaurant for dinner. You held my hand the whole way—it was rough as always. I love feeling your skin. Imperfectly bumpy and slightly hairy; it is perfect for me.
Your family members did not come to our wedding—set in April 2016. You tried to invite them, but they refused and called you nasty things. I held your hand during the call; I knew that they would spout venom that stung deeply that day. I rubbed my fingers on your free hand’s palm; you wore red nail polish. It was slightly chapped at the edges on that day. I saw tears brimming in your shining brown eyes. I wiped them after the call. “Your family members do not deserve you, my perfect princess,” is what I said to you as I did. You smiled.
Coincidentally, the roses we chose as decoration for our wedding venue matched your burgundy nails on that day. I did not plan for that specifically, but the roses we looked at matched your nails—and the idea sprouted in my head shortly after. I smiled, I looked at you, and we chose them to line the walls. You also wanted to have yellow daffodils and deep blue tulips. “Thetulips match your eyes, Serenity,” is what you said to me. How touching of you, it made me smile.
You wore a suit. It was tight—I could see your defined muscles clearly. I wore a traditional, sleek wedding dress. My veil had a flower pattern embedded into its fabric. The day is a blur. I just remember all the happy tears we shed—coming from the love we had for each other. Our love, perfectly natural and just as beautiful as everyone else’s love.
We visit that special coffee shop every week now. You get an Americano and I get a caramel Frappuccino. When we are able to, we even sit at the same table that we sat at ten years ago. The coffee shop still had a minimalist interior—the grey inner walls were painted over to be black instead…and that was about it. The counters remained wooden and there were still posters showing images of coffee, matcha and other drinks that were popular. The world around us has changed a lot. Our special coffee shop stayed the same. Maybe they added some new drinks and increased their prices, but it seemed the same as the first time we met.
We own a home near the city. We hung the lesbian flag on the living room wall, directly opposite to the television and artwork we hung above it. We share the same bedroom. I bought polka dotted curtains to line the windows like my childhood home—except that the curtains were blue and brown, like our eyes. We have vases filled with roses and tulips resting on the windows. I have a bookshelf for my reading. There was one character in a book I read that reminded me of you, Sarah. The character’s name is also Sarah, actually. She pretended to be a man during an internal crisis just so she can be viewed as one, and just so she could marry a woman that she loved. The two women ended up together in the end in a rural American farm after leaving everything behind. They were bold and allowed their love to carry them. It reminded me of us, Sarah. We did notlose as much or move as far, but our love does carry us. Our love gave us courage.
Gay marriage may be legal, but stigma still exists in our country and the rest of the world. Many countries across the ocean do not allow their people to marry the same gender, despite the times changing and new information about our community coming out. People living in these countries protest just as hard as we had to do. They fight for their love, just as we had to fight for ours. I pray that they are able to be seen and heard like we were. I yearn for a world that accepts our community with no debate or opposition. I yearn for a future where we can live safely while loving who we want.
In this world where we are allowed to exist but not accepted wholeheartedly—we must live with pride. Right, Sarah? We must live without letting fear get to us. We must continue to speak despite the fact that people stare or judge. We must not hide in the corner—we are people too. We deserve to be seen. We deserve to love without consequence.
