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Pigtails sway as pink light-up sketchers pound on the blacktop.
Shrieks of laughter echo in the afternoon sun.
School girls are playing chase with the boys.
If she catches him, he has to kiss her cheek.
In third grade, that’s as good as marriage.
I watch from my safe space on the swingset across the playground.
Up, up, up.
Peering over the slide that blocks my view of their game, I see my best friend as she latches
onto her target’s arm.
Thundering in my chest is my heart.
Down, down, down.
My eyes close as the rusted chains bring my swing closer to the ground.
I miss the end.
Did he do it?
How easy it must be for them all, to play silly games.
Tomorrow, I’ll pick a boy from my class.
I’ll chase him around the playground.
I’ll pretend to be shy when he kisses my cheek.
At home, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I look like them, those girls.
My hair tied back in two symmetrical bundles.
Why can I not think like them?
Smiling at the girl in the mirror, I notice only one difference between the two of us.
This girl
who looks like me
thinks like me
acts like me
She wears a heart on her sleeve.
A bright red heart that appears to have never known what it’s like to rupture.
On the other end of the reflection, I touch my own sleeve.
Nothing is there when I look down.
My face warms.
My chest thunders.
My heart hides behind my lungs.
It drops to my stomach
Falling.
Down, down, down.
Mom doesn't understand why I hate school.
It’s not that difficult,
She claims.
You need to get out of bed,
She scolds.
I can’t tell her how I feel.
She can’t know.
I’m just tired,
I plead.
Can’t I miss one more day?
It’s already the third period by the time I make it.
Our science teacher arranges his seating chart by gender.
Girls sit by girls.
Boys sit by boys.
Less distracting, he told us on the first day.
He thinks no one will get work done if we have to sit across the opposite sex.
But, I fail the first pop quiz,
Because I spend more class time counting the freckles on her cheeks
Than studying volcanic eruptions.
Across the room, a boy is unhappy with his quiz score.
That’s so gay, he complains.
Laughter erupts in the room.
The other boys echo his complaint.
So gay.
They use the F slur to describe our teacher.
As if it’s his fault they spend more time talking in class than doing their homework.
I already know what they would say.If they knew why I failed mine.
So, I shrink into my seat.
Down, down, down.
It feels like I’m the only kid at my high school that doesn't go to church on Sundays.
The boys in my classes talk loudly about what the girls wore to service,
While the girls giggle over who the boys will ask to Prom.
I will not go to Prom, I decided.
Dresses and heals, makeup and curled hair.
I’m sick to my stomach.
No better than the boys, I think of her in a prom dress.
My chest is pounding.
Can they hear my heart beating?
A boy in English calls the teacher gay for having a short haircut as a woman.
He thinks that English is for lesbians.
I laugh because everyone else does.
It’s important to blend in.
I push my thoughts,
Down, down, down.
In the locker room before practice,
I change in the bathroom stall.
My teammates think I’m insecure.
Really, I’m afraid that even if I keep my eyes closed
They will find out my secret.
I know they will be uncomfortable.
I don't want to be labeled a predator,
Simply for liking the same gender,
So I let them think I hate myself,
And in a way
I guess they’re not wrong.
Most soccer goalies are lesbians,
They joke with me, unknowingly.
I laugh and shake my head.
I tighten my gloves and take the penalty shots.
Their shots are aimed well.
At me,
The walking stereotype.
Saving more than I miss,
I dive for the ball,
Down, down, down.
My roommate in college says her boyfriend doesn't care if she kisses girls.
She thinks that alcohol is a barrier between the kiss being real.
She says kissing another girl doesn't count.
I ask her if it counts when I kiss other girls.
She stumbles over her words.
You’re erasing my identity, I debate.
It’s different for me, she tries to explain.
Of course it is.
Why would it be any different now that everyone knows?
After spending my life hiding under skin that doesn't belong to me,
It feels like nothing has changed.
Something has changed though.
Me.
At night before bed, I look in the mirror
There she is
This girl
who looks like me
thinks like me
acts like me
There’s her heart on her sleeve,
Pulsating, never faltering.
Outside the reflection, I glance down.
There it is,
The heart on my sleeve.
It’s proud of me for sticking up for myself.
For having the courage to know my worth.
I think about my life
The good
The bad
From here,
It’s only going
Up, up, up.