I silently stand among a crowd of hundreds, taking in my surroundings. A few women near the front raise their hands above them, shouting a cavalcade of “amens!” toward the heavens. In the adapted YMCA, the air smells like a mixture of gym shorts and bad coffee.
Here I am, sitting alone in another coffee shop. Well, I’m not reallyalone, of course. The shop is bustling with excitement and activity. Well-dressed strangers frantically click and type on their keyboards.
I hate goodbyes. I’ve never been good at them, they’re always uncomfortable, and they usually involve either complete emotional detachment or excessive sobbing (I tend to gravitate towards the latter). Also, they reveal one of my biggest fears. In life, I have two major fears/insecurities:
I fell in love with her during our freshman year of college. She was beautiful, intelligent, and clumsy in an adorable way. In a single conversation, she could juggle topics, often shifting from a political rant to singing Taylor Swift at the top of her lungs without a moment’s notice.
I wrote probably five different intros to this article - since this is my first one, I figured I would start with something gripping – something that would hold your attention. But, dear reader, although I thoroughly appreciate your audience, I cannot help but abstain in beating around the bush.
I was raised in a Southern, Christian, white, middle-class, rural, heteronormative family. Growing up, I was surrounded with imagery of Southern pride and instilled with stories of Biblical literalism.
It’s that time of year again. You’re just walking along, minding your own business, thinking about what you’re going to have for lunch. Then, all of a sudden, someone jumps in front of you, asking if you’ve voted.