you need a sign

wait, you do creative writing?  yes.

really? yes.

creative writing works with philosophy? yes, very well.

do you write poetry? yes.

anything else? creative non-fiction.

how is non-fiction creative? it just can be.

so, like, what can you do with that? what do you mean?

like, what do you do? work, mostly.

ok, so what's your work? i'm a barista.

if i gave you a million dollars... please don't...

what would you do? i don't know.

c'mon, what would you do? pay my debt.

that's it? travel?

great! where? somewhere different.

why different? to learn something.

what do you want to learn? new points of view.

like identities? yeah, sure. like that.

oh, i know all about identity politics. wait, what?

you ever listen to sam harris? no.

i think you would love his podcast. oh.

he talks about politics and identity. ok.

he also talks about meditation. cool.

i think you would benefit from that. the podcast?

no, meditating! ok.

on his last episode, he was talking about the 2016 election, and the role sexism played in that outcome. i listened to that and have just been thinking about how it’s not fair that i am supposed to feel guilty for voting for bernie sanders in the primaries just because i’m a woman. like, just because i’m a woman doesn’t mean i have to be team hillary. women shouldn’t support women just because they are women. you know, the same is true for anybody. like, everybody wants to make everything about race these days. or gender. race and gender. race and gender. they'll basically say vote for people that look like yourself when you know we should all just support each other because we are human. like, don't get me wrong, i voted for her in the general election, but caring about our identities only tears us apart. i mean, i'm sure you understand as a lesbian, or like, i'm sorry, what are your pronouns?

you pause, deliciously, as she squirms in the silence, but you yourself are anxious, too. she said so much, but you only respond to the question posed.

they/them.

you utter.

oh. so did you vote for hillary?

you’re not sure if she means the primaries or the general election with this question, but you think you know, and you know how one vaguely simple answer to this vaguely simple question could present an opportunity to escape this circumscribed fusillade. you turn your body toward her and look her square in the eye for the first time since she started talking to you. you make a face, as if her suggestion of voting itself were an affront to your god.

no.

she gulps. she is silent. that's it. smug you thinks you’re free. instead, she raises her hand for a high-five.

i knew you would agree with me.

you extend yours on impulse. years of conditioning let it linger a moment too long before realizing this performative act of mediocrity. she makes brief contact as you make a sweeping sort of motion to move your hand away. you must do some backpeddling so that she doesn’t think you agree with her. you tell her you think of identity along the lines of amartya sen. you explain that he says individual and collective identities are necessary, but identity politics restricts a multifaceted view. you tell her that it is singular identities that become divisive and limiting. you explain that when people understand their identity as plural, they are empowered by the histories and knowledges of several points of view, not just one. you offer that with an understanding like this, people are not so easy to divide. you have to be sure she understands. you're worried she didn't understand, so you say one last time that you believe the identity informed by the unique everyday experiences of an individual must be seen, but that the limitation and manipulation of these plural identities for political, social, or financial gain must be stopped. now you worry that she stopped listening entirely, and you ask if what you’re saying makes sense. she just nods her head and turns her back to you. you feel saturated and consumed and realize several people in the room are now looking at you because your heart and your hands just won’t quit. you've stood now in the same place, minutes lapping by, but you can’t stop thinking and shaking and thinking and swaying and thinking that you could have said more, or maybe less, or maybe just a fuck you. you can't take it anymore, and your skin feels like it is about to rapture off your body, so you grab the woman you came with, whose name is not brian, and

you leave the party instead.