We went to bed on election night and held each other through tears.
The following morning I felt stomach knotting fear as Eric stepped out into Trump’s America.
Sitting at home nervously twisting my engagement ring, I realized that the chance for that marriage to become a reality now carries an expiration date.
I arrive at school and it’s like stepping into a wake.
All of the beautiful, undefinable, freaky, feral and fearless students are now afraid.
Is there a place for them in Trump’s America?
Faculty, staff and administration had rallied to put together free food, areas to express feelings and even engage in shared primal screams.
Our “Your creative voices and ability to express yourself is now more critical than ever!” pleas and affirmations fell on faces I haven’t seen so stunned, worried and afraid since 9/11.
The grief was thick.
And today, news footage showing protests across this divided nation has me feeling guilty as I stay at home painting our kitchen cabinets.
Are my ActUP and Queer Nation comrades astrally shaking their heads in disappointment?
Why am I not out there?!
Have I gone soft?
And then I begin to realize that this too is an act of resistance.
An act of defiance.
To build our home.
To feather our nest.
To create a loving sanctuary.
To chase our version of the American dream through this current nightmare.
Embracing the exquisite “otherness” of our relationship gives me strength.
It even gives me hope.
So I pledge this to Trump’s America-
I will be an ally and protector of all who are threatened.
I will stand up for the injustices I witness.
I will bash back.
I will walk with compassion and empathy.
I will love harder and with more visibility.
And…we will continue to have the feared and imagined sex that makes the reddest of states recoil in horror!
We must stay strong.