Leslie Feinberg

a novel

Stone butch blues

Clara Gauthier

I was real proud that in all those years I never hit another butch woman. See, I loved them too, and I understood their pain and their shame because I was so much like them. I loved the lines etched in their faces and hands and the curves of their work-weary shoulders. Sometimes I looked in the mirror and wondered what I would look like when I was their age.  

I just wish we had words so pretty we'd go out of our way to say them out loud.

nica

Tonight I walked down streets looking for you in every woman’s face, as I have each night of this lonely exile. I’m afraid I’ll never see your laughing, teasing eyes again.

And suddenly my heart hurt so bad and realized how long it’s been since my heart felt—anything. I need to go home to you tonight, Theresa. I can’t. So I’m writing you this letter.

The storm has passed now. There is a pink glow of light on the horizon outside my window.

The music stopped and she started to pull away. I held her hand gently. “Please?” I asked.

“Listen up now,” I pleaded, “this is serious.” 

“This ain’t serious, this is a drag show,” someone yelled.

She ran her fingers through my hair. “You’re not OK, are you?”

I was so relieved she said it out loud that I started to cry.

Peaches laughed, “You wait and see. The right girl is coming down the road, headed in your direction.”

If that was true, I sure wished she’d hurry.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I tried to explain. “I didn’t go there to hurt you. I wanted to start over. I made a mistake.”

Stone butch blues quotes

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