- Local time
- Today 4:56 PM
- Messages
- 36
- Age
- 33
- Pronouns
- she / they
I've never been to a pride parade before. My heart pounds as I approach the barricade that closes the road off, my palms sweating as I tightly clutch the strap of my crossbody bag. My eyes scan the crowd, looking for the familiar face that invited me here. Maybe that's part of the reason why I'm so nervous, because we could be something more than just friends.
As I enter the street, the crowd is dense, both inside and out of the barricades. Protesters with signs and loudspeakers make their stand against what the parade is for, many others are fighting and yelling back. Police stand by in case of any violence but don't get in the way of all the shouting. Anger, frustration, and confusion fill the air. I consider just turning back around, making my way back home, when a hand grabs onto mine. My heart drops for a moment, thinking the worst, until I see her face - my friend. "Come on," she says above the noise, pulling me forward. A woman fighting against protesters passes me a sign on a small paddle, on it in bright red letters are the words WE'RE STILL HERE.
It's not as crowded in the next area. Older queer people line the street, their children and grandchildren tagging along in solidarity. There's a feeling of warmth and comfort watching their smiling faces, in seeing small children waving rainbow flags with cheer. It smells of citrus, sweat, and sunscreen. I wonder if I belong here as I'm taking it all in. My friend is watching me with a knowing smile; this isn't her first time, but she's enjoying seeing me experience mine. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and a small child pulls my attention, placing an orange heart shaped sticker on the back of my hand.
We move forward into what feels like the heart of the festival. There's music booming, laughter echoing, dancing. Drag queens perform as confetti and bubbles fall from somewhere above, raining down on everyone. I can't help but smile here as joy radiates from every corner of the city. She grabs both of my hands and begins dancing to the music, spinning me around. I laugh and let go for the first time, dancing carefree like I did as a child. A photographer takes our photo, tells us "you look radiant", and for once I feel like it's true. From a float someone tosses my friend a yellow flower crown which she places on my head.
Laughing and out of breath, we push past the crowd of entertainers and collapse on a patch of grass. The park in the middle of the parade was a welcome reprieve from the rest of the excitement, the trees offering shade from the sweltering sun. There's small tented booths set up around the park, offering different resources and support. We relax together in comfortable silence. Across the way, I see my cousin. For a moment I think about looking away but then he catches my eye. We've never spoken about this before, though perhaps we've both suspected it of each other. I offer a smile and get one in return, and that feels like enough. Before leaving the park, we stop at a booth for a bottle of water. An older man ties a green ribbon on my wrist.
The atmosphere shifts as we continue. Banners, posters line the stone wall, while small gifts and portraits border it on the ground. Different sizes of LED candles scattered about, their flames mimicking the real ones, though staying ever present despite any breeze. This was an area of memorial, honoring those in the community lost to violence, suicide, or illness. We walk slowly, taking in all the faces, giving our silent appreciation to each one of their lives. I think of my high school best friend, the only person I could be myself around back then. He was killed in college coming home from a gay bar. Before I can stop myself I start weeping. No one looks away or questions. My friend places her hand on my shoulder, passes me a candle. I nod, close my eyes for a moment, and flick on the light - for him. I place the candle down and we move on. A woman fastens a small blue pin on the front of my shirt which reads NEVER FORGOTTEN.
From portraits to paintings, art of all kinds lines the next part of the street. People are making their mark on the city, even if only for today. The walls, sidewalks, and streets are decorated with drawings and messages, some in paint, others in chalk. There's an open mic station with people sharing their poetry and songs; everyone here is wearing their heart on their sleeve. I think about what I want others to hear, and what I've longed to hear myself. I pick a piece of chalk and an empty span of sidewalk to write my message I AM WORTHY. I finish and stand to look at my work before my friend grabs my attention. "Put your hand with mine," she says, and I can't say no. She tenderly paints my hand and we place our handprints side by side. Even after rinsing, the paint stains my hand in indigo, but I can't find a reason to mind.
Fairy lights line the final stretch of the parade, twinkling against the now dark sky. Soft music plays while people sway, winding down from the excitement of the day. I no longer have doubts about being here. I feel like I belong, like I'm worthy to exist in this space with all of these people who aren't afraid to be themselves. She pulls me in and starts slow dancing with me, joining the crowd of others doing the same. We rock to the rhythm and although I feel exposed, I don't feel scared. She leans in and kisses my cheek, her violet lipstick leaving behind a mark. I blush, and my heart is pounding again. I take the leap and lean in to kiss her.
Fireworks erupt above in the full spectrum, lighting up the sky and everyone's faces. I smile genuinely. For the first time, I see myself the same way she does - in full color.
As I enter the street, the crowd is dense, both inside and out of the barricades. Protesters with signs and loudspeakers make their stand against what the parade is for, many others are fighting and yelling back. Police stand by in case of any violence but don't get in the way of all the shouting. Anger, frustration, and confusion fill the air. I consider just turning back around, making my way back home, when a hand grabs onto mine. My heart drops for a moment, thinking the worst, until I see her face - my friend. "Come on," she says above the noise, pulling me forward. A woman fighting against protesters passes me a sign on a small paddle, on it in bright red letters are the words WE'RE STILL HERE.
It's not as crowded in the next area. Older queer people line the street, their children and grandchildren tagging along in solidarity. There's a feeling of warmth and comfort watching their smiling faces, in seeing small children waving rainbow flags with cheer. It smells of citrus, sweat, and sunscreen. I wonder if I belong here as I'm taking it all in. My friend is watching me with a knowing smile; this isn't her first time, but she's enjoying seeing me experience mine. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and a small child pulls my attention, placing an orange heart shaped sticker on the back of my hand.
We move forward into what feels like the heart of the festival. There's music booming, laughter echoing, dancing. Drag queens perform as confetti and bubbles fall from somewhere above, raining down on everyone. I can't help but smile here as joy radiates from every corner of the city. She grabs both of my hands and begins dancing to the music, spinning me around. I laugh and let go for the first time, dancing carefree like I did as a child. A photographer takes our photo, tells us "you look radiant", and for once I feel like it's true. From a float someone tosses my friend a yellow flower crown which she places on my head.
Laughing and out of breath, we push past the crowd of entertainers and collapse on a patch of grass. The park in the middle of the parade was a welcome reprieve from the rest of the excitement, the trees offering shade from the sweltering sun. There's small tented booths set up around the park, offering different resources and support. We relax together in comfortable silence. Across the way, I see my cousin. For a moment I think about looking away but then he catches my eye. We've never spoken about this before, though perhaps we've both suspected it of each other. I offer a smile and get one in return, and that feels like enough. Before leaving the park, we stop at a booth for a bottle of water. An older man ties a green ribbon on my wrist.
The atmosphere shifts as we continue. Banners, posters line the stone wall, while small gifts and portraits border it on the ground. Different sizes of LED candles scattered about, their flames mimicking the real ones, though staying ever present despite any breeze. This was an area of memorial, honoring those in the community lost to violence, suicide, or illness. We walk slowly, taking in all the faces, giving our silent appreciation to each one of their lives. I think of my high school best friend, the only person I could be myself around back then. He was killed in college coming home from a gay bar. Before I can stop myself I start weeping. No one looks away or questions. My friend places her hand on my shoulder, passes me a candle. I nod, close my eyes for a moment, and flick on the light - for him. I place the candle down and we move on. A woman fastens a small blue pin on the front of my shirt which reads NEVER FORGOTTEN.
From portraits to paintings, art of all kinds lines the next part of the street. People are making their mark on the city, even if only for today. The walls, sidewalks, and streets are decorated with drawings and messages, some in paint, others in chalk. There's an open mic station with people sharing their poetry and songs; everyone here is wearing their heart on their sleeve. I think about what I want others to hear, and what I've longed to hear myself. I pick a piece of chalk and an empty span of sidewalk to write my message I AM WORTHY. I finish and stand to look at my work before my friend grabs my attention. "Put your hand with mine," she says, and I can't say no. She tenderly paints my hand and we place our handprints side by side. Even after rinsing, the paint stains my hand in indigo, but I can't find a reason to mind.
Fairy lights line the final stretch of the parade, twinkling against the now dark sky. Soft music plays while people sway, winding down from the excitement of the day. I no longer have doubts about being here. I feel like I belong, like I'm worthy to exist in this space with all of these people who aren't afraid to be themselves. She pulls me in and starts slow dancing with me, joining the crowd of others doing the same. We rock to the rhythm and although I feel exposed, I don't feel scared. She leans in and kisses my cheek, her violet lipstick leaving behind a mark. I blush, and my heart is pounding again. I take the leap and lean in to kiss her.
Fireworks erupt above in the full spectrum, lighting up the sky and everyone's faces. I smile genuinely. For the first time, I see myself the same way she does - in full color.
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