Joy

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 178 of 299 · 20 per page

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Ed stopped coming to the Malibou soon afterward. I asked Grant what was up, but all she said was that Ed “had a chip on her shoulder” ever since Malcom X was killed in New York City. I wanted to call Ed and talk to her, but Meg told me not to. She told me the butches at the auto plant said Ed was real angry and it was best to just leave her alone. That didn’t feel right to me, but the advice had come down from the old bulls, so I listened. It was springtime when I finally ran into Ed at the diner. I was so happy to see her I reached out my arms to hug her. She eyed me guardedly, as though examining me for the first time. I feared she wouldn’t like what she saw. After a moment she opened her arms to me. Hugging her felt like coming home. 56 Leslie Feinberg Ed started coming back to the Malibou. Out of the blue one morning she said, “I thought about it.” Funny how I knew exactly what she meant— about me going to the club with her. “TI didn’t know how Id feel about taking you, you know? But next Saturday night is an anniversary party for two women. One of them is white. I don’t know, I thought if you wanted to go...” I did. We decided to take Ed’s car. On Saturday night Ed picked me up late. We rode in silence. “You nervous?” she asked me. I nodded. She snorted and shook her head. “Maybe this was a mistake.” “No,” I told her. “Not for the reasons you think. I’m always scared before I go to a new club, any club. You ever feel that way?” “No,” Edwin said, “Well, yes, maybe. I don’t know.” “You nervous, Ed? About going to the club with a white butch, I mean.” “Yeah, maybe a little,” she said as she checked the rearview mirror. Ed stopped at a red light and offered me a cigarette. “I like you though, you know.” I looked out the car window and smiled. “T like you too, Ed. A lot.” I realized ?’'d hung out on the edges of the Black community with friends after school, but I’d never been deep in the heart of the East Side. “Buffalo is like two cities,” I said. “Pll bet a lot of white people have never even been to this city.” Ed laughed bitterly and nodded. “Segregation is alive and well in Buffalo. That’s it?’ Ed added, pointing to a building. “Where?” “You'll see.” Ed parked the car on a nearby side street.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  flow immensely therapeutic, but it will also yield uncannily creative results. For the time period that the actress Ingrid Bergman was engaged in a particular film project, she poured every ounce of her energy into it, forgetting everything else about her life. Unlike other actors, who gave greater importance to the money they earned or the attention they received, Bergman saw only the opportunity to completely embody the role she was to play and bring it to life. For this purpose, she would engage with the writers and the director involved, actively altering the role itself and some of the dialogue, making it more real; they would trust her in this, because her ideas were almost always excellent and were based on deep thinking about the character. Once she had gone far enough in the writing and thinking process, she would go through days or weeks feeling herself fuse with the role, and not interacting with others. In doing so, she could forget about all the pain in her life—the loss of her parents when she was young, her abusive husband. These were the moments of genuine joy in her life, and she translated such peak experiences to the screen. Audiences could sense something profoundly realistic in her performances, and they identified unusually intensely with the characters she played. Knowing she would periodically have such experiences, and the results that went with them, kept her moving past the pain and sacrifices that she demanded of herself. Look at this as a form of religious devotion to your life’s work. Such devotion will eventually yield moments of union with the work itself, and a type of ecstasy that is impossible to verbalize until you have experienced it. The Lure of False Purposes The gravitational pull we feel toward finding a purpose comes from two elements in human nature. First, unable to rely on instincts as other animals do, we require some means of having a sense of direction, a way to guide and restrict our behavior. Second, we humans are aware of our puniness as individuals in a world with billions of others in a vast universe. We are aware of our mortality, and how we will eventually be swallowed up in the eternity of time. We need to feel larger than just the individuals we are, and connected to something that transcends us. Human nature being what it is, however, many people seek to create purpose and a feeling of transcendence on the cheap, to find it in the easiest and most accessible way, with the least amount of effort. Such people give themselves over to false purposes , those that merely supply the illusion of purpose and transcendence. We can contrast them with real purposes in the following way: The real purpose comes from within. It is an idea, a calling, a sense of mission that we feel personally and intimately connected to. It is our own; we may have been inspired by others, but nobody imposed it

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Anne, Hazel, and Ruth hovered as I tasted the first bite. I slapped my chest. “I have died and gone to heaven. This is the best pie I have ever eaten in my whole life.” Anne beamed. “Robbie, you take a couple of my pies home with you.” Ruth shrugged. “Dll make her my own pie, Mama. I’m going upstairs to pack. Then we gotta go.” Anne called up the stairs after her. “Honey, look in my cedar chest. Your grandma’s apron is in there. You might want to take it with you.” Hazel went out back for wood. Anne struggled to get up from her kitchen chair. “It’s not easy getting old,’ she told me. I stood up when she did. “I’ve actually been thinking about that. To tell you the truth, I never expected to live this long.” Anne came close to me. “It'll come soon enough. But you got the whole rest of your life ahead of you. You can’t waste time worrying about it.” Her smile faded. “You’re a gleaner too, aren’t you? Just like my Robbie. You know what a gleaner is?” I shook my head. “When the farmet’s done with the harvest, he lets the gleaners come pick through whatever’s left. I wanted more for my child than that. I expect you deserve mote, too.” 320 = Leslie Feinberg I shrugged. “Well, we’re doing it with all the dignity we can. And Robbie—Ruth—she’s real loved in New York City by her friends.” Anne nodded without smiling. “She’s real loved here, too. Folks may not understand her, and they may not always know what to say, but they know she’s one of us.” Ruth came downstairs. “Ready, Jess?” Hazel and Anne hugged and kissed and fussed all over Ruth. Anne called me. “Jess, you get over here now.” She put her arms around me. Touch is something I could never take for granted. “You come back here anytime, you hear? And [ll make you another grape pie that'll knock your socks off” I blushed. “Thank you.” “Take good care of my child,” she whispered. I squeezed her shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.” Ruth and I rode in silence through the vine- covered hills. I could smell grapes, the aroma of home for Ruth. “You need help driving, Jess?” she asked sleepily. I nodded. “Soon, I think.” “Then P’m gonna need some coffee. We should have filled up the thermos before we left.” I looked at her nervously. “You think we should risk stopping at a restaurant?” She sat up and sighed. “We need coffee. Pull over to that diner. Let’s live dangerously.” I laughed. “Yeah. Like we don’t already.”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  I answer that, By sin, man loses a twofold dignity, one in respect of God, the other in respect of the Church. In respect of God he again loses a twofold dignity. one is his principal dignity, whereby he was counted among the children of God, and this he recovers by Penance, which is signified (Lk. 15) in the prodigal son, for when he repented, his father commanded that the first garment should be restored to him, together with a ring and shoes. The other is his secondary dignity, viz. innocence, of which, as we read in the same chapter, the elder son boasted saying (Lk. 15:29): “Behold, for so many years do I serve thee, and I have never transgressed thy commandments”: and this dignity the penitent cannot recover. Nevertheless he recovers something greater sometimes; because as Gregory says (Hom. de centum Ovibus, 34 in Evang.), “those who acknowledge themselves to have strayed away from God, make up for their past losses, by subsequent gains: so that there is more joy in heaven on their account, even as in battle, the commanding officer thinks more of the soldier who, after running away, returns and bravely attacks the foe, than of one who has never turned his back, but has done nothing brave.” By sin man loses his ecclesiastical dignity, because thereby he becomes unworthy of those things which appertain to the exercise of the ecclesiastical dignity. This he is debarred from recovering: first, because he fails to repent; wherefore Isidore wrote to the bishop Masso, and as we read in the Distinction quoted above (OBJ[3]): “The canons order those to be restored to their former degree, who by repentance have made satisfaction for their sins, or have made worthy confession of them. On the other hand, those who do not mend their corrupt and wicked ways are neither allowed to exercise their order, nor received to the grace of communion.” Secondly, because he does penance negligently, wherefore it is written in the same Distinction (OBJ 3): “We can be sure that those who show no signs of humble compunction, or of earnest prayer, who avoid fasting or study, would exercise their former duties with great negligence if they were restored to them.” Thirdly, if he has committed a sin to which an irregularity is attached; wherefore it is said in the same Distinction (OBJ[3]), quoting the council of Pope Martin [*Martin, bishop of Braga]: “If a man marry a widow or the relict of another, he must not be admitted to the ranks of the clergy: and if he has succeeded in creeping in, he must be turned out. In like manner, if anyone after Baptism be guilty of homicide, whether by deed, or by command, or by counsel, or in self-defense.” But this is in consequence not of sin, but of irregularity.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  ORIGEN. (in Matt. 26:18.) But I think that the man who meets the disciples as they enter into the city, carrying a pitcher of water, was some servant of a master of a house, carrying water in an earthen vessel either for washing or for drinking. And this I think is Moses conveying the spiritual doctrine in fleshly histories. But they who follow him not, do not celebrate the Passover with Jesus. Let us then ascend with the Lord united to us, to the upper part in which is the guestchamber, which is shewn by the understanding, that is, the goodman of the house, to every one of the disciples of Christ. But this upper room of our house must be large enough to receive Jesus the Word of God, who is not comprehended but by those who are greater in comprehension. And this chamber must be made ready by the goodman of the house, (that is, the understanding,) for the Son of God, and it must be cleaned, wholly purged of the filth of malice. The master of the house also must not be any common person having a known name. Hence He says mystically in Matthew, Go ye to such a one. AMBROSE. Now in the upper parts he has a large room furnished, that you may consider how great were his merits in whom the Lord could sit down with His disciples, rejoicing in His exalted virtues. ORIGEN. (ut sup.) But we should know that they who are taken up with banquetings and worldly cares do not ascend into that upper part of the house, and therefore do not keep the Passover with Jesus. For after the words of the disciples wherewith they questioned the goodman of the house, (that is, the understanding,) the Divine Person came into that house to feast there with His disciples. 22:14–1814. And when the hour was come, he sat down, and the twelve apostles with him. 15. And he said unto them, With desire I have desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer: 16. For I say unto you, I will not any more eat thereof, until it be fulfilled in the kingdom of God. 17. And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and said, Take this, and divide it among yourselves: 18. For I say unto you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine, until the kingdom of God shall come. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. As soon as the disciples had prepared the Passover, they proceed to eat it; as it is said, And when the hour was come, &c. BEDE. By the hour of eating the Passover, He signifies the fourteenth day of the first month, far gone towards evening, the fifteenth moon just appearing on the earth.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  of the island. Ruth made me promise not to come home until late afternoon. It was time to discover my surprise. I knocked on my own door and waited for Ruth to answer it. She wiped her hands on a cloth and led me into my bedroom. “Close your eyes,” she urged. “Remember you told me I could do anything I wanted to to it?” I smiled and nodded. “OK, open your eyes.” I looked around and then up at the ceiline—there it was. I sat down on my bed and fell back to look at the ceiling. Ruth had painted it velvety black with pinpoints of constellations I recognized. The darkness softened to light around the edges. I could see the outline of trees against the sky. Ruth lay down next to me. “Do you like it?” “It’s just incredible. I can’t believe you’ve given me the sky to sleep under. But I can’t tell if its dawn or dusk you’ve painted.” She smiled up at the ceiling, “It’s neither. It’s both. Does that unnerve you?” I nodded slowly. “Yeah, in a funny way it does.” “T figured that,” she said. “It’s a place inside of me I have to accept. I thought it might be what you need to deal with, too.” I sighed. “T really do have trouble not being able to figure out if what you’ve painted is about to be day or about to be night.” Ruth rolled toward me and rested her hand on my chest. “It’s not going to be day or night, Jess. It’s always going to be that moment of infinite possibility that connects them.” Ruth’s face was very close to mine. We became aware of the symmetry of our breathing. She slid her hand slowly along my body from my chest to my stomach. She dropped her eyes. “T’m afraid,” I answered the question she hadn’t asked out loud. “Why?” she asked. “Because I’m neither night nor day?” I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew I would lose her if I wasn’t honest; I knew I might lose her if I was. “Yes,” I told her. “That’s part of it. Remember your geometric theory? More than double the trouble?” Ruth rolled onto her back. “I’m not suggesting we do it in the road.” I stared up at the sky. “You know what I mean. But that’s only part of it. If I really have to be honest, it’s because I’m afraid not to be with someone who is night or day. I guess I felt like the femmes I was with anchored me. It was the closest to normal I’ve ever fel. Ruth curled up into my arm. “Were you her dawn or her dusk?” I smiled sadly. “In the beginning I was her dawn. By the end I was her twilight.” We both sighed.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  “T’m coming,” I shouted, grinding out my cigarette. “T'll be right there.” Everyone stopped and stared as I walked in the door. “You look good enough to eat,” Peaches said, smoothing my lapels. Georgetta clasped her hands in front of her. “I think I’m falling in love.” “Yeah, she says that after every blow job,” Justine muttered. Cookie went over the program with me. I chewed at my thumbnail as she spoke. ?’'d spent my whole life wishing I could be invisible. How was I going to climb up on a stage, with a spotlight on me? When I got up on the runway it was dark in the club. After the spotlight hit me, I could hardly see the crowd. “Sing something,” one of the butches shouted out. “What do I look like, fucking Bert Parks?” I yelled back. “OK,” I began to sing, “Here she comes, Mis-cell-an-eous.”’ “Boo!” “Listen up now,” I pleaded, “this is serious.” “This ain’t serious, this is a drag show,” someone yelled. “Yeah,” I said. “This is serious.” I realized what I wanted to say. “You know, all our lives they’ve told us the way we are isn’t right.” I heard some murmuts, “Yeah!” “Well, this is our home. We’te family.” There was a tipple of applause from the audience. “You’re goddamn right,” one of the drag queens behind me shouted. “So tonight we’re going to celebrate the way we are. It’s not only OK, it’s beautiful. And I want you all to make our gorgeous sisters in this show feel how much we love and respect them.” The crowd roared in approval. Justine and Peaches ran out and kissed me and then ran backstage to await their cues. I flipped through the index cards Cookie had given me. “Will you please welcome tonight, Miss Diana Ross, singing ‘Stop in the Name of Love.” The music swelled, and I stepped aside. Peaches’ dress shimmered as the spotlight illuminated her. What a breathtakingly beautiful human being. Stop in the name of love, she grabbed a fistful of my tie as she sang, before you break my heart. Her lips were close to mine. I gasped, caught up in the power of her performance. The applause was thunderous. “Get the kid a towel,” someone yelled as I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. “Will you please welcome Miss Barbara Lewis, singing “Hello Stranger.” Justine walked straight toward me—slow, absolutely steady on her spike heels as the music rose. Hello stranger, she draped one arm over my shoulder, 7# seems like a mighty long time. 1 could get to like this. The next performer was Georgetta’s boyfriend, Booker. Pd never seen Booker try on drag before. Stone Butch Blues 63

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Annie got up and walked to the stove. ““There’s one catch,” I added. She didn’t turn around, but her entire body clenched like a fist. “What?” she said over her shoulder. “We have to go on my Harley. It’s the only wheels I got.” Annie took off her apron, threw it in the sink and came over and sat on my lap. She kissed my mouth so sweetly. “Nine o’clock,” she said, “not a minute later.” I got near her place at 8:30 actually. I turned off the engine a block away and rolled it in front of her Stone Butch Blues 209 house so I wouldn’t wake the whole neighborhood. I sat on her porch, smoking a cigarette, until I heard her door open and Annie said, “You comin’ in or note” She looked me up and down appreciatively. “You look real handsome, darlin’.” My blush visibly delighted her. “I gotta finish gettin’ dressed. I made coffee,” she called out from her bedroom. “Tl get it,’ I yelled back, “you want some?” She came to the door of her bedroom, holding the back of her dress together. “Yeah.” She smiled. “Help me zip my dress up first.” She looked back at me over her shoulder as I did. I kissed the side of her face. Her hair was swept up and held in place with bobby pins. I kissed the base of her neck. “You keep that up and Ill never get ready, darlin’,’ she pulled away from me. I got two cups of coffee and brought them to her bedroom door. The door was ajar, but I knocked on the doorframe. “Your coffee’s out here.” When she came out moments later I sucked in my breath and let it out slowly. She smoothed her dress. “How do I look?” I sighed. “Like I died and went to heaven.” She made a face and lifted her arms to wrap them around my neck, but I pulled back and handed her an orchid corsage I bought the night before. 210 = Leslie Feinberg She blinked back tears. Then she sounded angry. “Whadya go and do that for?” she scolded. I smiled at the powerful woman who stood before me. Her face softened and she smiled back. “Where’s Kathy?” I asked her. She scowled, “With Frances, from the restaurant. My ex-husband might be skulking around the wedding.” I didn’t understand, but I let it drop. The wedding was a formal church affair. Pd never been to a wedding before. Everyone in the audience looked so teary-eyed and melted by the ceremony. Annie’s sister honestly had to promise to obey this guy for the rest of her life before the priest would proclaim the two married. I thought it was kind of feudal. The reception was held outdoors. There were tables and chairs set up all over the lawn. Drinks and food were served under a huge striped tent.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  BEDE. This sentence admits of two meanings: Either for this reason shalt thou be thrust down into hell, because thou proudly resisted My preaching; that in truth she might be understood to have raised herself up to heaven by her pride. Or, because thou art exalted to heaven by My dwelling in thee, and by My miracles, shalt thou be beaten with more stripes, since even these thou refusedst to believe. And that no one should suppose that this interpretation applied only either to the cities or the persons who, seeing our Lord in the flesh despised Him, and not to all also who now despise the words of the Gospel, He proceeds to add these words, He that heareth you, heareth me. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. Whereby He teaches, that whatever is said by the holy Apostles must be received, since he who heareth them heareth Christ, and an inevitable punishment therefore hangs over heretics who neglect the words of the Apostles; for it follows, and he who despises you despises me. BEDE. That is, that every one indeed on hearing or despising the preaching of the Gospel might learn that he is not despising or hearing the mere individual preacher, but our Lord and Saviour, nay the Father Himself; for it follows, And he that despiseth me, despiseth him that sent me. For the Master is heard in His disciple, the Father honoured in His Son. AUGUSTINE. (Serm. 102.) But if the word of God reaches to us also, and appoints us in the Apostles place, beware of despising us, lest that reach unto Him which you have done unto us. BEDE. It may also be understood as follows, He who despiseth you, despiseth me, that is, he who shews not mercy to one of the least of My brethren, neither shews it to Me. But he who despiseth me, (refusing to believe on the Son of God,) despiseth him that sent me. (Matt. 25:40.) For I and my Father are one. (John 10:30.) TITUS BOSTRENSIS. But at the same time He herein consoles His disciples, as if He said, Say not why are we about to suffer reproach. Let your speech be with moderation. I give you grace, upon Me your reproaches fall. 10:17–2017. And the seventy returned again with joy, saying, Lord, even the devils are subject unto us through thy name. 18. And he said unto them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven. 19. Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you. 20. Notwithstanding in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  “Shh, I know.” She held my face in her cupped hands. “I love you too, honey.” Ruth pulled me close against her body. We hugged as though we’d never let go. “Ooh, let me have some of that,” Tanya said. “Come in here, boy.” Ruth smiled and shook her head. “Jess is a B-girl,” she told Tanya. I hadn’t heard that word in many years. B-girl—the old code word femmes used in public to refer to butches when they were afraid of being overheard. There was so much about Ruth I still didn’t know. “Ooh, honey,” Tanya looked me up and down appreciatively. “I could swing for you, girl.” Ruth introduced me to Esperanza. “Mucho gusto,’ Esperanza whispered in a voice as complicated as Ruth’s and mine. Esperanza blushed as I kissed her hand. “We’re trimming the tree. You want to help us?” She handed me tinsel. I smiled shyly. “I never did this before.” Stone Butch Blues 291 Esperanza frowned. “You never decorated a Christmas tree before?” I shook my head. “You didn’t have Christmas when you were a child?” I shook my head again. “Too poor?” I laughed. My jaw clicked as I answered. “Too Jewish.” Ruth offered me a cookie she’d just decorated. “Tt’s still warm so it’s soft. It’s gingerbread. Try it. Just a bite.” I rediscovered taste. “We’re making cookies to take to friends who are stuck in the hospital with AIDS.” Up until that moment I had felt as though the epidemic was taking place a million miles away from me. “Can I go with?” I asked. Ruth sighed heavily. “Yes, if you want to.” Tanya offered me a mug, “This is Tanya’s killer egeonog. If this don’t give you the holiday spirit nothing will.” Ruth wiped her hands on her apron. “Take it easy with that stuff,” Tanya made a face at her. “Don’t listen to het. Just ’cause she’s a friend of Bill W’s doesn’t mean we all have to hang out with him.” “We're going out to a drag club later tonight. You want to come?” Esperanza asked. I looked at Ruth. She smiled and shrugged. 292 = Leslie Feinberg “T’ll teach you to bump and grind on the dance floor, honey,” Tanya said. I laughed. “Tl show you a thing or two on the dance floor.” “Lord have mercy,” Tanya fanned herself with her large hand. “Kill me now.” Esperanza smiled. “Pll teach you an old dance, the merengue, the dance of the enslaved.” I remembered Ruth’s present. “Ill be right back,” I said. When I lugged the heavy rectangular present into her living room Ruth sat down heavily on the couch as though she’d been hit with bad news. “It’s for you,” I smiled. “Open it, girl,” Tanya urged. Ruth chewed het lip. “You shouldn’t have.” All my love was in my smile. “Oh, hush.”

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  I’d resigned myself to never getting a date, didn’t consider myself worthy of having a date. But now I was going to the matric dance with the most beautiful girl in the world. Over the following weeks we went down to Hillbrow a few more times to hang out with Babiki and her sisters and her friends. Babiki’s family was Pedi, one of South Africa’s smaller tribes. I liked getting to know people of different backgrounds, so that was fun. Babiki and her friends were what we call amabhujua. They’re as poor as most other black people, but they try to act like they’re not. They dress fashionably and act rich. Amabhujua will put a shirt on layaway, one shirt, and spend seven months paying it off. They’ll live in shacks wearing Italian leather shoes that cost thousands. An interesting crowd. Babiki and I never went on a date alone. It was always the two of us in a group. She was shy, and I was a nervous wreck most of the time, but we had fun. Tom kept everyone loose and having a good time. Whenever we’d say goodbye, Babiki would give me a hug, and once she even gave me a little kiss. I was in heaven. I was like, Yeah, I’ve got a girlfriend. Cool. — As the dance approached, I started getting nervous. I didn’t have a car. I didn’t have any decent clothes. This was my first time taking out a beautiful girl, and I wanted it to be perfect. We’d moved to Highlands North when my stepfather’s garage went out of business, and he moved his workshop to the house. We had a big yard and a garage in the back, and that became his new workshop, essentially. At any given time, we had at least ten or fifteen cars in the driveway, in the yard, and out on the street, clients’ cars being worked on and old junkers Abel kept around to tinker with. One afternoon Tom and I were at the house. Tom was telling Abel about my date, and Abel decided to be generous. He said I could take a car for the dance. There was a red Mazda that we’d had for a while, a complete piece of shit but it worked well enough. I’d borrowed it before, but the car I really wanted was Abel’s BMW. It was old and beat-up like the Mazda, but a shit BMW is still a BMW. I begged him to let me take it. “Please, please, can I use the BMW?” “Not a fucking chance.” “Please. This is the greatest moment in my life. Please. I’m begging you.” “No.” “Please.” “No. You can take the Mazda.”

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  she slid into a deep bass B/we Moooonnn. I emerged from behind the bar. It was the look on Theresa’s face that gave me the courage to raise my voice: You saw me standing alone. My voice cracked and pitched with embarrassment and emotion. Theresa chewed her lower lip and cried. Do-wah-do, my friends backed me up. Peaches stood behind me, waving the painted blue moon back and forth in a wide arc over my head. But then you suddenly appeared before me, | extended my hand toward Theresa. And when I looked the moon had turned to gold! Peaches flipped the moon to the gold side. Everyone cheered. Peaches curtsied and continued swaying with the moon. Theresa reached for me. I finished the song dancing in her arms. I realized it was true, I wasn’t alone. I had love of my own. Do-wah-do, the chorus was soft and smooth. I pulled the handkerchief from my breast pocket and opened it carefully. Theresa lost it when she saw the ring. I cried, too. The moment really was perfect. I slid the ring on her finger. I had a speech all prepared about how much she meant to me but I couldn’t remember the words. “I love you,” I told her. “I love you so damn much.” “You're the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Theresa whispered. She took my left hand in hers and ran her thumb lightly over the scar on my ring finger. “I want you to wear a band, too.” I shook my head sadly. “I thought about it, but I'd be too scared. I think if the cops ever took that ring from me I'd just go berserk.” Theresa touched her cheek. “If you’re afraid to lose what you love, you’ll never be able to let go and feel it. Pl put all my love for you in a ring if you'll wear it. And if someone ever takes it from you, all they'll be able to steal is a metal band. Then Pll go out and get you another ring and put all my love in that one. That way you'll never lose it, Jess. OK?” I nodded and buried my face in her neck. Do- wah-do, everyone in the whole bar sang to us as we swayed to their music. It was the sweetest moment of my life. Stone Butch Blues 143 THE POLICE REALLY STEPPED UP their harassment after the birth of gay pride. Cops scribbled down our license plate numbers and photographed us as we entered the bars. We held regular dances at a new gay bar, using police radios to alert everyone when the cops were about to raid us. We heard about weekly gay liberation and radical women’s meetings at the university, but Theresa was the only one in our crowd who knew her way around campus. It was still another world to the rest of us. Everything was changing so fast. I wondered if this was the revolution.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  The greenhouse looked like a grownup’s playhouse—a self-contained world. Humidity fogged the glass inside. I opened the door and stepped over the threshold. My boots sank into the wet straw strewn on the floor. I took a deep breath and inhaled the good smell of damp earth. Jan bent over a crate of violets. I recognized her strong, broad shoulders. Her hair had turned to silver. She rose and looked at me. Her glasses rested on top of her head. She slid them down to her nose. “Am I getting so old I can’t trust my own eyes?” she asked. “Ts that really you, Jess?” She wiped her hands on a towel and welcomed me into her arms. Jan stroked my hair and kissed my head as I cried. “I’ve thought about you so many times,” she whispered. My lip quivered. “TI didn’t really believe I lived in anyone’s memory except my own.” Jan patted my cheek. “I could never forget you. You were one of those baby butches I knew Pd grow old with. How long you here for? Where are you living? How’d you find this place?” “Manhattan,” I answered. “Frankie told me about your shop. There’s something I need to find out while Pm here, if I can. I want to find out whatever happened to Butch Al. I want to find out if she’s still alive.” Jan rubbed her face and sucked in her breath. “Well, if anyone could find out, it’s Edna. Did you see Ednar” I watched Jan’s face as I nodded. “Edna’s still in touch with Lydia, whose butch worked at the auto plant with Al for a long time.” My voice rose. “Do you think Lydia knows?” Jan shrugged. “She might. And Edna knows how to find Lydia.” I took a deep breath. “Would you ask Edna if she’d find out?” I watched Jan’s face as she said, “Sure, I’d be happy to.” That’s when I knew for sure Jan didn’t know Edna and I had been lovers. “Tell you what,” Jan smiled, “what say we all get together tonight for a drink?” It sounded excruciatingly painful, and unavoidable. I nodded. “Maybe Frankie would want to come too?” Jan slapped me on the shoulder. “Good idea.” She wrote down the address of the bar. When Jan opened the greenhouse door, the chilly air startled me. Her pick-up truck was parked in the garage behind the store. Next to it was an old Triumph motorcycle. Jan followed my eyes to the bike. “I haven’t ridden it for a long time but I keep it running, You want to use it while you’re here?” I smiled and nodded emphatically. It had been years since I straddled a motorcycle. Jan grinned as the bike sputtered to life. She squeezed my shoulder. “You are a sight for sore eyes. It’s good to see you, kid.” I waited till she was back inside the flower shop before I whispered out loud, “I’m not a kid anymore.” 307

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  We all turned toward the group of scabs who were near the plant door. Without a cordon of police for protection they scurried like rats. Several of them ran inside the factory and attempted to hold the door shut. Some of the strikers pulled at the door, struggling to get at them. Others chased scabs down the street. The police pulled back across the street. We set up a picket line right in front of the plant doors. “Contract! Contract!” We all cheered ourselves. “We won,” I shouted to Duffy. “We won!” He shook his head. “We won this battle. Tomorrow will be even rougher.” What a spoilsport, I thought. I saw Jan trembling. I signaled to Duffy that I was going to get her out of there. Jan and I walked a block away to her parked car. She leaned against the car door and heaved her guts up. Her hands were shaking so bad she almost couldn’t light her cigarette. I pulled out my Zippo. “I was scared back there,” she said. I nodded. “Me too.” “No,” she grabbed me by the shoulder. “I mean I didn’t think I could take it—not alone, not without Edna to go home to.” I flushed at the thought of going home to Edna. I pushed the thought back down. “I know, Jan,’ I whispered. “When you got busted, I suddenly remembered things I didn’t want to think about, like they were happening to me all over again.” She looked up at me and smiled gratefully. “You understand,” she said. I nodded and dropped my eyes. Jan crowed. “I can’t believe you guys got me out. It was unbelievable. I thought I was a goner and you guys got me out! Unfucking believable!’ We laughed until tears streamed down our faces. “T’ve gotta go back now,” I told her. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest.” Jan nodded. “Tomorrow morning? 7:00 A.M.?” I smiled and turned to go. Jan called to me, “You're a real friend, you know that?” If she only knew how I felt about Edna, she’d understand what a traitor I really was. I was sound asleep that night when Duffy called. “You were right,” he shouted. “We won it at the table tonight! And we got management to agree that Jack is out!” I tried to climb from the depth of sleep. “What? What did you say?” “Jess, we won!” he laughed. “The ratification meeting is tomorrow night. I want you to organize all the butches to come to the union meeting to vote, you got that?” “Sure,” I mumbled and hung up.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  The highway sliced between our projects and a huge field. It was against the rules to cross that road. There wasn’t much traffic on it. You'd have to stand in the middle of a lane for a long time in order to get hit. But I wasn’t supposed to cross that road. I did though, and no one seemed to notice. I parted the long brown grass that bordered the road. Once I passed through it I was in my own world. On the way to the pond I stopped to visit the puppies and dogs in the outside kennels connected to the back of the ASPCA building. The dogs barked and stood on their hind legs as I approached the fence. “Shhh!” I warned them. I knew no one was supposed to be back here. A spaniel pushed his nose through the chain- link fence. I rubbed his head. I looked around for the terrier I loved. He had only come to the fence once to greet me, sniffing cautiously. Usually, no matter how I coaxed, he’d lay with his head on his paws, looking at me with mournful eyes. I wished I could take him home. I hoped he went to a kid who loved him. “Are you a boy or a girl?” I asked the mongrel. “Ruff, ruff!” I didn’t see the ASPCA man until it was too late. “Hey, kid. What are you doing there?” Caught. “Nothing,” I said. “I wasn’t doing anything bad. I was just talking to the dogs.” He smiled a little. “Don’t put your fingers inside the fence, son. Some of ’em bite.” I felt the tips of my ears grow hot. I nodded. “I was looking for that little one with the black ears. Did a nice family take him?” Stone Butch Blues TN The man frowned for a moment. “Yes,” he said quietly. “He’s real happy now.” I hurried out to the pond to catch pollywogs in a jar. I leaned on my elbow and looked up close at the little frogs that climbed up on the sun-baked rocks. “Caw, caw!” A huge black crow circled above me in the air and landed on a rock nearby. We looked at each other in silence. “Crow, ate you a boy or a girl?” “Caw, caw!” I laughed and rolled over on my back. The sky was crayon blue. I pretended I was lying on the white cotton clouds. The earth was damp against my back. The sun was hot, the breeze was cool. I felt happy. Nature held me close and seemed to find no fault with me. On my way back from the fields I passed the Scabbie gang. They had found an unlocked truck parked on an incline. One of the older boys disengaged the emergency brake and made two of the younger boys from my side of the projects run under the truck as it rolled. “Jessy, Jessy {?? they taunted as they rushed toward me.

• From In an Unspoken Voice (2010)

  These are almost imperceptible and are sometimes referred to as “premovements”). In this way, Steps 4 through 7 link together. Step 8. Restore self-regulation and dynamic equilibrium A direct consequence of discharge of the survival energy mobilized for fight-or-flight is the restoration of equilibrium and balance (as in the previous example of the spring). The nineteenth-century French physiologist Claude Bernard, considered the father of experimental physiology, coined the term homeostasis to describe “the constancy of the internal environment [milieu intérieur] as the condition for a free and independent life.” 57 More than a hundred and fifty years later, this remains the underlying and defining principle for the sustenance of life. However, since equilibrium is not a static process, I will use the term dynamic equilibrium instead of homeostasis to describe what happens when the nervous system becomes hyperaroused in response to threat and is then “reset,” only to be aroused and reset once again. This continual resetting both restores the prethreat level of arousal and promotes the shifting state (process) of relaxed alertness. Over time this contributes to the building of a robust resilience. Finally, the interoceptive experience of equilibrium, felt in viscera and in your internal milieu, is the salubrious one of goodness: that is, the background sense that—whatever you are feeling at a given moment, however dreadful the upset or unpleasant the arousal—you have a secure home base within your organism. Step 9. Reorient to the environment in the here and now Trauma could appropriately be called a disorder in one’s capacity to be grounded in present time and to engage, appropriately, with other human beings. Along with the restoration of dynamic equilibrium, the capacity for presence, for being in “the here and now,” becomes a reality. This occurs along with the desire and capacity for embodied social engagement. The capacity for social engagement has powerful consequences for health and happiness. As young children we are wired to participate in the social nervous systems of our parents and to find excitement and joy in such engagement. In addition, fascination with the face of another person generalizes to the environment and to the wonder of “newness.” Colors become vibrant, while one perceives shapes and textures as though seeing them for the first time—the very miracle of life unfolding. In addition, the social engagement system is intrinsically self-calming and is, therefore, built-in protection against one’s organism being “hijacked” by the sympathetic arousal system and/or frozen into submission by the more primitive emergency shutdown system. The social engagement branch of the nervous system is probably both cardioprotective and immuno-protective.

• From On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (2019)

  Because being knocked down was already understood, already a given, it was the skin you wore. To ask What’s good? was to move, right away, to joy. It was pushing aside what was inevitable to reach the exceptional. Not great or well or wonderful, but simply good. Because good was more often enough, was a precious spark we sought and harvested of and for one another. Here, good is finding a dollar caught in the sewer drain, is when your mom has enough money on your birthday to rent a movie, plus buy a five-dollar pizza from Easy Frank’s and stick eight candles over the melted cheese and pepperoni. Good is knowing there was a shooting and your brother was the one that came home, or was already beside you, tucked into a bowl of mac and cheese. That’s what Trevor said to me that night as we climbed out of the river, the black droplets dripping from our hair and fingertips. His arm slung across my shivering shoulder, he put his mouth to my ear and said, “You good. You heard, Little Dog? You good, I swear. You good.” — After we put Lan’s urn in the ground, polished her grave one last time with cloth rags soaked in wax and castor oil, you and I return to our hotel in Saigon. Soon as we enter the dingy room with its choking air conditioner, you turn off all the lights. I stop midstride, not sure what to make of the sudden dark. It’s early afternoon and the motorbikes can still be heard honking and puttering on the street below. The bed creaks, you had sat down. “Where am I?” you say. “Where is this?” Not knowing what else to say, I say your name. “Rose,” I say. The flower, the color, the shade. “Hong,” I repeat. A flower is seen only toward the end of its life, just-bloomed and already on its way to being brown paper. And maybe all names are illusions. How often do we name something after its briefest form? Rose bush, rain, butterfly, snapping turtle, firing squad, childhood, death, mother tongue, me, you. Only when I utter the word do I realize that rose is also the past tense of rise. That in calling your name I am also telling you to get up. I say it as if it is the only answer to your question—as if a name is also a sound we can be found in. Where am I? Where am I? You’re Rose, Ma. You have risen.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  She sighed, opened the paper carefully, folded it, and put it aside. When Ruth took the cover off the sewing machine she gasped. I could tell by the way her fingers trailed across the machine how happy it made her. “I'll make you a suit,” she whispered. I beamed. “Really?”? Ruth nodded and bit her knuckles. She stood up and walked over to the half- decorated evergreen. “This is for you.” She handed me a flat package. It was a book called Gay American History. My hands trembled as I leafed through the pages. “Look,” Ruth took the book from my hands and turned to the index. “Remember I told you about what I read in a drag magazine about how people like us used to be honored? Look at this whole section about Native societies. But, wait, look at this.’ She flipped the pages. “This whole part is about women like you who lived as men.” Tears clouded my vision. Esperanza looked at the title and shook her head. “I wish we weren’t always lumped into gay.” Ruth changed the subject, as was her way. She handed me a package wrapped in red tissue paper. “Open this.” Inside was a watercolor of a face filled with emotion, looking up at a host of stars. It was a beautiful face, a face ’d never seen before. It was my face. “Let me see that, honey,” Tanya reached fot it. “Ooh, Ruth. That’s nice. That looks just like him.” “Ruth,” I chewed my lip. “Do I really look like this?” She nodded and smiled through her tears. “When I thought you might die, I started to sketch yout face. I wanted something more than my memories of you to remain. Your eyes were closed, but I could shut my own and remember the way the color of your eyes changes in the light.” Ruth sat down next to me on the couch. We put our arms around each other and rocked. Esperanza and Tanya sat on the floor near us. My chin ached and trembled. “You know,” I told them, “I’ve been searching for you all for such a long time. I can’t believe I’ve finally found you.” I squeezed Ruth tightly in my arms as we both cried. Esperanza rested her hand on my thigh. “Do you know what my name means?” I shook my head. “No, but it sure is pretty.” She smiled and looked at me with a sure, unwavering expression. “Esperanza,” she explained— “it means hope.” Stone Butch Blues 293 IT WAS THE FIRST DAY of spring, when everyone who lives in this city agrees to feel good at the same time—a day when it seems as though every woman, man and child is flirting with my difference. I browsed at the farmer’s market in Union Square, killing time. The sun dipped behind the buildings to the west

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Justine shrugged. “This one you’ve got to figure out on your own.” “Thanks a lot.” Edna walked in the door. We couldn’t pretend to be casual. She held my eyes as she walked over to me. She smoothed my lapels and kissed me lightly on the lips. My heart was thumping. Edna led me by the hand into the backroom. I put my drink down on the table and started to sit down, but Edna pulled me toward the dance floor. This was a moment P’d dreamed of. The pleasure of the dance was so exquisite, I almost couldn’t stand it. I only opened my eyes once while the music was playing. I saw Jan watching us. Although she was only silhouetted, I recognized her jealous rage. In an instant, she was gone. Edna pulled back and looked at me. “What’s wrong?” she asked. My eyes brimmed with tears. She put her fingertips on my cheek and drew me closer. “Did I do something wrong?” I couldn’t explain that I was afraid I'd just lost Jan, too. Edna led me back to the table. “Edna,” I began. She shook her head. “TI don’t like the sound of that. You don’t have to explain,” she said as she gathered her purse and coat in her arms. “Wait,” I told her. “You don’t understand.” She dropped her coat wearily. “I want you so much, it’s driving me crazy. It’s just doesn’t feel right.” Edna didn’t say a word. This was my job to try to explain. “T can’t stop thinking about you.” She leaned forward and rested her hand on my uninjured arm, but she still didn’t speak. “Remember something you told me, about people having seasons? You just broke up with Jan and you’re hurting. I love Jan, too—she’s my friend.” Edna dropped her head and then raised it. Her eyes were filled with sadness. “I thought you were going to tell me I was too old for you.” “T don’t think you’re old at all, Edna. I think ’m a little too young for you. Pm not really talking about age, so much, as about being grown-up. Sometimes I imagine walking into the bar with you and being an instant elder because you’re on my arm.” Edna still didn’t speak. She sure wasn’t making this any easier for me. “And sometimes when I get so confused about what to do, I think you could make sense of the world to me.” Edna smiled gently.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  We talked all day long too. The owners only rented our hands, not our brains. But even talking had to be negotiated when it was on the bosses’ time. If we seemed to be having too much fun, laughing and enjoying ourselves too much, the foreman would come up behind us and hit the solid wooden worktables with a lead pipe while he growled, “Get to work.” Then we'd all look at our hands as we worked and press our lips together in silent anger. I think the foreman sometimes got nervous after he’d done that, sensing the murderous glances he recetved moments after he turned his back. But he was assigned to keep us under control. That required keeping us divided. We came from many different nationalities and backgrounds. About half the women on the line were from the Six Nations. Most were Mohawk or Seneca. What we shared in common was that we worked cooperatively, day in and day out. So we remembered to ask about each other’s back or foot pains, family crises. We shated small bits of our culture, favorite foods, or revealed an embarrassing moment. It was just this potential for solidarity the foreman was always looking to sabotage. It was done in little ways, all the time: a whispered lie, a cruel suggestion, a vulgar joke. But it was hard to split us up. The conveyor belt held us together. Within weeks I was welcomed into the citcle, teased, pelted with questions. My differences were taken into account, my sameness sought out. We worked together, we talked, we listened. And then there were songs. When the whistle first blew in the mornings there was a shared physical letdown among all the women and men who worked between its imperative commands. We lumbered to out feet, stood silently in line to punch in, and took out places on the assembly line—next to each other, Stone Butch Blues $1 facing each other. We worked the first few moments in heavy silence. Then the weight was lifted by the voice of one of the Native women. They were social songs, happy songs that made you feel real good to hear them, even if you had no idea what the words meant. I listened to the songs, trying to hear the boundaries of each word, the patterns and repetitions. Sometimes one of the women would explain to us later what the song meant, or for which occasion or time of year it was sung, There was one song I loved the best. I found myself humming it after I punched out in the afternoons. One day, without thinking, I sang along, The women pretended not to notice, but they smiled at each other with their eyes, and sang a little louder to allow me to raise my own voice a bit. After that I started looking forward to the songs in the morning, Some of the other non-Native women learned songs, too. It felt good to sing together.