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I hear it. That music again which transports me from that place to this one. Like every morning these days, it’s one of those melancholy songs playing from the radio alarm clock. The right chords play together and repeat to make me want to stay in bed for a few more minutes, or maybe the rest of the day. A slight adjustment from the awkward position my sleeping mind left me in is my only reply.

Finally my eyes open. Shadowed morning sunlight, coming in from the small window, diffuses over the entire room. A dulled hue soaks the walls, floor and bed. Whether or not the radio alarm clock, tucked away on the second shelf to make way for pictures, candles and that pseudo hand-carved wooden fish, has just gone off, I’m not sure.

What do I have for today? Today. A groan escapes and another quarter turn tightens me further in the sheets and pajamas. Today there is work. Of course work. And then…and then there is something interesting and unknown that will break-in on this ordinary Wednesday. Tonight is the candlelight vigil in Green Bay. It’s November and a year has already gone by since the marriage discrimination amendment had been passed. “Marriage protection” as they called it I remember as my face momentarily tights. Then relaxes.

I recognize the feeling I always get when I become re-aware, for just a second or two, that a year goes by so quickly. Just as quickly as that feeling comes, it leaves. I notice the subdued colors again. There is only this moment; the boring song; the hurt; and, my cell phone which will not ring from His number anymore.

A little seed of hope that He called pushes from my heart; and is quickly smashed back by the spade from my self-protecting mind. I could look quickly. No, I won’t; it can only bring me down. But I have to know. I already know and looking will only hurt. If he called, I’ll be happy and I can get up. I’m an idiot. Get up and get dressed.

Springing from its coiled position under my chest, an arm stretches out and braces the phone in front of me. Only the time and a manufactured color scheme stare back. No calls.

Of course. I told you so. He doesn’t need me. I don’t need Him. Rolling my eyes, I push into the pillow trying harder to feel the softness all around me.

Scenes film-reel through my head. The moments we had together and the things that I had planned on doing together. Tonight was supposed to be one of them. Would He still go? Irony and desperation fuse into projected themes. The bigger the theme, the less personal it seems. I am going to represent all love being equal when I have just been dumped. My heart aches. I’ll stand alone among other couples supporting something that seems impossible for me. Another twist in the covers to wrap myself a little more.

The music again. It’s still here and has brought me back to it. A different song but still seething with minor chords that blot enthusiasm like a dense fog. A dense fog that entices with its whisper “Stay in bed.” Staring straight up now, through the low ceiling, my body tenses in its cocoon of pajamas, sheets, blankets and life. Damnf***s***! A deep breath and the eerie stillness following a major event are ignored by the song. I hurry for the dresser. I’m late.

The day passes and the sun gives the illusion of moving. Leaving work, I stop home, running inside to grab a candle. There’s a slight pause before I grab an extra one…just in case. In my head play different ways the night could go. What if hundreds of people are there? There are gay and straight people throughout the area who have strong beliefs on this issue. And it is an important issue…isn’t it? A few more realistic scenes also play. There could be only 10 people. Last year, going door-to-door for Fair Wisconsin, I was surprised by the amount of people who didn’t talk about it. Not talking. The breeding ground of ignorance. Ignorance which created fear. It was a personal fear and public fear that I don’t want to be responsible for.

But would He be there? Better not to think about him. Approaching the crowd of about 70 people, I dodgedly scan faces turned red with the cold fall air. No sign of Him. Disappointment, or is it relief, passes unnoticed on my face. Like many things, my feelings never seem to have a clear answer. My actions, however, would be clear. I can take refuge in that. After all, I’m here tonight. Although I recognize a few people, I take note that no one I had invited is among them.

A deep breath releases that disappointment, for now. At least there is a nice sized crowd. Huddling together in the cold are people of all ages, from high school age to people over 60. One speaker, and then the next, reminds everyone about the on-going struggles and successes faced by the LGBT community. Their voices occasionally rise when talking about opposing politicians. The large courthouse illuminated behind them gives the appearance that it would project their words to the world. The cold, open air seems to snatch the words before they make it past the crowd.

I can hear most of the words, but my mind wanders. The flickering of the candlelight softly dazzles my concentration. I study the faces tucked into jackets and scarves. Faces that came out in the cold to make being “out” easier for themselves and others.

Cringing, I make the awful connection yet again. Twice now I’ve been burned. Burned by my own light. Two guys I dared to care about had referred to being “out” when they broke up with me. Not directly of course. But, when mentioning how their being in the closet to family, friends or at work made the relationship too hard, I knew what they meant. To them, I was too “out” to date. For the hundredth time, I try to fathom the irony. I try to make sense of it to make it not hurt. Over the past three years, I had sought to make it easier for others. I had re-lit the light inside of me that years of a darkened closet had dimmed. Illuminated now were feelings of love, honesty, happiness, anxiety and hurt. A cesspool of feelings. Standing in a cesspool of feelings with a candle to guide me. A smirk breaks out as I think of how disappointed Hallmark would be with my self-protecting comparison.

As it ended, I walk slowly to my car alone. With one hand snuggly jammed in my pocket to protect it from the cold, I can feel the outline of the phone. I squeeze it with a scowl. I try to think of the how silly it all is again. Don’t think it. I can’t help it. The scowl gets tighter. Damnf***s***. So close.

Closing the car door, I look at the radio. A deep breath is the outward compact of an interior thought. Springing from its coiled position near my chest, an arm stretches out. The CD slides in. The mind and heart seem to agree; it’s all right to go through this cesspool, but I’ll go through it with a song.

Though I graduated with an English Literature degree four years ago, life has been busy with working in graphic design/marketing, running in marathons, traveling the world, and just enjoying the county. Life has not however, included any writing. This is my first attempt to express my thoughts and story ideas.