Dear Beloved,
10 years ago today, I was a queer 19-year-old picking cherries in northern Idaho. I didn’t know shit about the world, except that it was big and I wanted to see it all. Idaho was never included in the “all” I wanted to see, but that’s where work sent me for a summer, and I was hungry for the world.
It was a good summer: I gleaned abundance from community gardens and bruised my fingers setting up an irrigation system at a nature center. Ate huckleberry ice cream and rode bikes around Moscow, ID (pronounced Mosc-oh, not ow - just a tip if you find yourself there and want to avoid a stank eye from locals). Marveled at the miracle of trees in national forests and the rush of green hills in the Palouse in a single day. Listening to Hozier’s “Take Me to Church” at least two times in an hour on the radio.
Idaho was also where I lost my little queer mind when I learned that drag bingo is a thing and where I found my first girlfriend. (The word “girlfriend” is generous - it was a summer fling with a girl who kicked me after sex to walk home in the dark, but I was 19 and girl-crazy.)
10 years ago today, same sex marriage was legalized nationwide. I remember exchanging smiles with a gay cashier at Joanne’s. I knew he was gay by the way he practically glowed while working retail, the meaningful way we agreed that yes, it was a good day. We basked in each other’s light, a moment of unspoken kinship and palatable queer joy.
2015 was a good year. The early to mid-2010s were an optimistic time. Progress was slow, but sometimes, miraculous things happened. Like falling asleep in a very red state one night and waking up the next morning, legally able to marry whoever I want.
Then came 2016.
You know the rest.
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