I Promise

I wasn’t even going to go to the party that night. There had been some people yelling and waving signs on the corner by my apartment this past week, the usual bigotted nonsense, and I didn’t want to deal with them. The only reason I ended up leaving was because Gemma forced her way through my front door and refused to leave my living room until I put on “real people clothes” and came out with her.

As soon as we walked into the party, I could tell Gemma was on a mission. Her eyes immediately started scanning the room and a moment later, she found who she was looking for and grabbed my wrist, pulling me through the crowded room. We stopped in front of you, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in a dress that hugged your curves in a way that I am very sure a dress had never done for anyone before. I suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, but mentally thanked my mother for demanding that I keep the dress I was currently wearing, even though it had not been worn since the day I bought it 5 years ago.

You greeted me with a hug, and as we pulled apart, the warmth in your eyes made me forget what I had been worried about. On a couch in the corner, we spent the rest of the night together, you telling me about your master’s in art history and the cat that had forcibly adopted you, and me describing my frustrating but also incredibly rewarding job as a freelance journalist and joking about how I thought your cat would get along very well with my goldfish who had been hanging on despite the universe’s best efforts. The sun rose, knocking us out of the dream that we had both been floating in. We put our numbers into each other’s phones, you writing your name as “Ella with the Cat”, a perfect match for my choice of “Maeve Goldfish”.

It wasn’t even 24 hours later and we were already making plans to see each other again. There was a small coffee shop on the first floor of my building where we decided to meet, both of us craving caffeine and the company of the other. We talked for a few hours, never seeming to run out of things to share with each other. Some weird looks were thrown our way from a few men at one point, but you brushed it off, saying that they were just mad that we got the best table by the window. At some point in the afternoon, after multiple cups of coffee and a variety of fresh pastries, you looked up at me, eyes bright and excited.

“Do you want to go to the aquarium?”

There was no way I could say no to that.

After leaving a sizable tip for the baristas as an apology for monopolizing one of their tables for the whole morning, we walked the eight blocks to the waterfront. In a brief and out of character moment of confidence I brushed my fingers against yours as we walked, attempting to be smooth but subtle about my desire to hold your hand. You responded by quickly intertwining your fingers with mine and we stayed linked together for the rest of the walk.

I hadn’t been to the aquarium since I was a kid, and with anyone else, the magic of the dimly illuminated tanks and the small touch pools would have been lost, but with you, I had that same rush of excitement and childlike wonder I had felt all those years ago. We wandered around the exhibits until the sun went down and the employees started to slowly usher the patrons towards the front doors.

While we were reluctant to leave each other’s company, we both had responsibilities to tend to the next day. We stood outside the now-closed aquarium and both did that small fidget that people do when they need to leave but don’t want to go.

“Text me when you get home?”

“I promise.”

I hadn’t had such a perfect day in a very long time, and nothing could bring me down off the high that I was on, not even the protesters still out on the corner in front of my apartment that appeared to have gained some more friends.

---

We talked almost every day over the next several months. After a couple of weeks, I noticed that I had started hoping that every phone notification was from you and that when it was, a goofy smile plastered my face.

Girl, you got it bad.

Our schedules were so busy that if we weren’t careful, we’d have gone weeks without taking any substantial breaks. Those breaks became our time together, a welcome respite from work and school.

You would vent about the guys in your art history classes that would talk over you and then just restate what you had said as if it were their own idea and I would (mostly) jokingly suggest throwing things at their heads. I would tell you about the stories I was working on, most of them falling in either the “boring as sin” column or the “this should be a parody article but surprise!” column.

Weird assignments started trickling in, odd, fringe political parties holding rallies. As opposed to the other parody category stories, you didn’t like hearing about these assignments. They reminded you of your family, a bunch of assholes that I had immediately vowed to fight when you first told me about them. Sensing your discomfort and to hide my apprehension, I stopped mentioning those stories. My editor thought that they were silly and harmless, his privilege clearly showing, but I wasn’t so naive. I suppose I should be grateful for him though, since without his fascination with these groups I wouldn't have seen the warning signs so early.

---

While the city as a whole was relatively progressive, living downtown was very expensive, so when both of our leases happened to be up at the same time, we decided to get a place together a little further outside of town. Unfortunately, the farther you went from the city, the more conservative things became. Large billboards depicting abortions, and using words that should have been unacceptable on a public sign were common. The people who lived out here were very opinionated and weren’t afraid to tell you about it. Despite the difficulty of this, we had learned to mostly ignore it over the year or so that we lived there, but we weren't prepared for when this rhetoric began to shape the government and in turn our lives.

Spurred on by the hatred they were hearing from those in charge, people began to stop hiding their true feelings. Our intertwined hands were enough to garner their disdain, yelling at us walking down the street. They followed me around the grocery store until I abandoned my shopping cart in the aisle and went home. The police no longer even pretended to use their power to protect those they thought unworthy of it, finding reasons to punish those they personally thought deserved it, rather than adhering to the law.

We watched our country change before our eyes. Hate like this had been slow, subtle, simmering just under the surface, until it overflowed into a tidal wave. Laws were repealed that offered protections for the LGBT community and people of color, medical professionals and businesses began to refuse to treat and serve people based on their sexuality, skin color, and gender, all without consequence, to them at least. It’s very sad how many people were just waiting for the go-ahead, waiting to be told that their bigotry and racism was ok, that it was “acceptable” again.

---

On the couch, you and I watched in a horrified numbness as our world crumbled a little more around us, day by day. But the day that it was no longer legal to marry you is the day that we both cried.

After a few silent minutes you got up, the sadness on your face having turned to anger, and went into the office, rummaging around for a minute before emerging with something clasped in your hand.

“I found this at an antique shop last year. I was going to wait to give it to you on a special occasion, but I’m worried we might not have too many of those left.”

Opening your palm, you showed me a small, heart-shaped locket with intricate filigree on the outside. You gently pushed your fingernail between the top and bottom and popped it open. The very small photos of two women looked up at me.

“I tried for a while to get the pictures out, but whoever put them in there made sure that they weren’t going anywhere. I figured that we could just pretend that they were pictures of us when we were older.”

“That’s cheesy as shit. I love it.”

I pulled my hair to the side and you clasped the chain behind my neck before sinking into my chest.

“We’re going to be ok, right?”

“We’re going to be ok. I promise.”

---

The next few months blurred as I lost my job, my once flippant editor now too afraid to keep me on staff, and emboldened, the police took any opportunity to flex their authority, pulling us over or stopping us on the sidewalk. By the grace of my parents and their offer to pay, we were able to stay in our home, unlike so many of our friends. Protests started to happen everywhere, but people began to go missing as they were walking home. A website was set up as a virtual wall of missing people. It all felt very surreal, like we had never left that dream we had slipped into the first night we met, it had just turned into a nightmare.

We had been reading in bed, trying to be as quiet as possible so as to not draw any attention to ourselves, when we heard the heavy footsteps come up the stairs and rush down the hallway. Fists banged on doors and muffled screams could be heard through the walls. I took a deep breath, squeezed your hand, and we began to go through the steps of the plan we had made only days before.

We pushed the table against the front door and spun the couch around so it was between us and the entryway. Grabbing the gun my dad had given me years ago after first moving out, I crouched beside you behind the couch. Heavy footfalls thudded outside the door.

I took aim towards the door as the same heavy fist that we had heard down the hallway connected with it. You squeezed my arm, your hand shaking with fear, and I looked down at you.

“We’re gonna be ok. I promise.”