Blaine ThorntonDec 10, 20222 min readMy Sister is a LesbianMy sister’s laugh is truthfully outrageous. shoulders jump up and down,her hands hold her belly button, trying to stop the earthquake.her head falls back,but she has no breath left, and her belly shakes, no sound escapes. Last year, in grade 8:she shaved her head,bald. Notched her eyebrow, four times. Started wearing button-up shirts, Oversized. She pins the word lesbian to her jean jacket, without fear. fuzzy rainbow blanket tied around her neck like a cape. Because, she hasn’t grown up, hasn’t fallen in love yet. She is still waiting to hold hands with her girlfriend in public. There is no looking twice before kissing her lover on the cheek. She hasn’t been cussed at on the street, Or yelled at in a public washroom. She has yet to go to her first protest. Like being outside Palmerston library. allowed “feminist” Meghan Murphy to speak. Which means they agree with her transphobic opinions. It changes you. She watches Paris is Burning. She asks me if it’s hard being transgender. I tell her Yes, it is. I tell her, I am thankful to all the queers before me, the strong trans women who perseveredafter there friends got murdered. She reads about Matthew Shepard, asks me if people are still that angry, She sister asks me about the Toronto bathhouse raids, Operation Soap. Her eyes big, she looks at me:“Why were the police in plain clothes” “Why were they armed with sledgehammers and crowbars” And I pause, because when you grow upyou start to notice how disgusting an officer saying, “gee, it’s too bad we can’t hook this up to gas” really is. She asks me what that means.My only answer is sometimes, people will be so angry that you’re in love they will want to hurt you. She asks me if the police are still angry. I am still not sure how to tell her yes. She reads about AIDS, compares it Covid-19, asks me how many of us died. I tell her, too many. She says, even one is too many. I look at my sister and remember what it was like at her age, learning a history alone. So sister, I promise, I will knock out anyone who calls you a dykelike it’s a bad thing. I promise, I will help you stomach the heartache. There is so much light under this sun, together we will find it. Sister, teach me how to wear a fuzzy rainbow blanket like a cape, without fear. Teach me how to laugh, till our bellies shake.
My sister’s laugh is truthfully outrageous. shoulders jump up and down,her hands hold her belly button, trying to stop the earthquake.her head falls back,but she has no breath left, and her belly shakes, no sound escapes. Last year, in grade 8:she shaved her head,bald. Notched her eyebrow, four times. Started wearing button-up shirts, Oversized. She pins the word lesbian to her jean jacket, without fear. fuzzy rainbow blanket tied around her neck like a cape. Because, she hasn’t grown up, hasn’t fallen in love yet. She is still waiting to hold hands with her girlfriend in public. There is no looking twice before kissing her lover on the cheek. She hasn’t been cussed at on the street, Or yelled at in a public washroom. She has yet to go to her first protest. Like being outside Palmerston library. allowed “feminist” Meghan Murphy to speak. Which means they agree with her transphobic opinions. It changes you. She watches Paris is Burning. She asks me if it’s hard being transgender. I tell her Yes, it is. I tell her, I am thankful to all the queers before me, the strong trans women who perseveredafter there friends got murdered. She reads about Matthew Shepard, asks me if people are still that angry, She sister asks me about the Toronto bathhouse raids, Operation Soap. Her eyes big, she looks at me:“Why were the police in plain clothes” “Why were they armed with sledgehammers and crowbars” And I pause, because when you grow upyou start to notice how disgusting an officer saying, “gee, it’s too bad we can’t hook this up to gas” really is. She asks me what that means.My only answer is sometimes, people will be so angry that you’re in love they will want to hurt you. She asks me if the police are still angry. I am still not sure how to tell her yes. She reads about AIDS, compares it Covid-19, asks me how many of us died. I tell her, too many. She says, even one is too many. I look at my sister and remember what it was like at her age, learning a history alone. So sister, I promise, I will knock out anyone who calls you a dykelike it’s a bad thing. I promise, I will help you stomach the heartache. There is so much light under this sun, together we will find it. Sister, teach me how to wear a fuzzy rainbow blanket like a cape, without fear. Teach me how to laugh, till our bellies shake.
Well said very well written ❤️
Wow! Such an amazing piece of writing, a must read for all queer folk out there!