my outstory
DISCLAIMER!---All of the words in bold are Ani DiFranco song titles. Lemme know what you think. I'm entering it in a contest about the music that influenced you to come out.
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"Their eyes were all asking, ‘are you in, or are you out,’ and I was like, ‘oh man, what is this about," because at age thirteen, I felt as though I had swandived into my first Ani DiFranco concert dressed completely out of habit. It was a beautiful night; the sun was looming lazily in the sky, while my eyes were watching the two little girls to my left, the dark-haired Angela reveling at the pixie-cut blonde whose hand was looking for the holes in the not so soft wife-beater that clung loosely on Angela’s body. Eyeing my best friend Barbara, she says, "let’s roll with it," but I stood shyly the whole night, feeling an invisible itch, anticipating the music. In their company, I should have been shameless, but rather I wondered what’s wrong with me peering down over my pink tank and flirty skirt. At the second intermission, I spotted the festival table, "work your way out," Angela said as I fought through a combat-boot rush hour. Pawing for the pricetag, she interrupted, "how old are you," my androgynous superhero asked. I turned to pull the rainbow-patched jeans on and my little skirt off, "How much for these," I modeled like a handsome musician,
"I asked you first,"
I shruged, "thirteen,"
"You’ll make a beautiful lesbian one day," then she took my hand, and placed the receipt upright with her number showing, "I’ll take a raincheck."
This the true story of what was, and as Ani played, "If it isn’t her," into the sunset, I got my first glimpse of what it meant to be free.
P.S. I’m still waiting for Susan to call.