Emma touched my ear during Algebra. My fucking ear. I didn’t look at her, but the tingle stayed long after her finger had gone. After class, she leaned over to whisper, her warm breath dancing across the already sensitive skin. I know, but it doesn’t matter. She couldn’t know. She meant something else. Maybe that I had cheated on the last quiz, glancing casually at her paper for answers to three, seven, and fifteen. She knew. What did she know?
Later, I slammed into my house, tossing my bag on the floor.
Dad 1 offered cookies. Dad 2 offered talk.
I offered my trouble. There’s a girl. I think she might like me.
One oohed, the other aahed. There’s hope for our little Pikachu yet.
I left them in the kitchen, giggling to themselves.
I’d never been afraid of being queer, being bi, being whatever the hell I was that allowed me to love whomever I wanted to love. I grew up with the dads, after all. And my mom was in love with a man who lived with his wife and his wife’s lover and the lover’s ex-husband.
But Emma’s hair was perfect, and she wore the right clothes and when she walked into the classroom, everyone looked at her. She read Jane Austen and had perfect handwriting. She probably believed that marriage equaled one man and one woman. Continue reading “Flash Fiction – Emma’s Perfection”