Volume 1, Issue 8: Decide to Take a Stand

Birdie was hanging out with Mrs. Maria Nelson at Mrs. Nelson’s house. They were drinking coffee and Birdie was talking Mrs. Nelson’s ear off about the Halloween party.

“And she kissed me!”

“Yes, Birdie, you’ve told me the story about three times now. I don’t know what else to tell you, hon. There is just no way to know who it was unless you ask around,” Mrs. Nelson said wearily.

The two had met at Mrs. Nelson’s house for coffee to discuss her recent firing but Birdie was absolutely fixated on her Halloween experience. There was a silence and Birdie seemed to remember why they had decided to meet in the first place.

“So, can you explain to me again why you were fired?” she asked Maria.

Maria Nelson took a sip of her tea and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“I came out as a bisexual over ten years ago to my friends and family but I didn’t come out at work. I knew that the administration at Peabody Elementary School was pretty intolerant of homosexuality. Then, about one year ago, a former student of mine stopped in to visit me during a teacher in-service day. He confided in me that he was questioning his sexuality. He was now in seventh grade and had transferred to Saint Mary’s Catholic school after his parents had caught him dressing up in his sister’s clothing. They, being pretty much fundamentalist Christians, thought that he was being tempted by Satan and the only solution was to pull him out of the public school system and send him to Saint Mary’s.”

Birdie sighed audibly. Maria continued.

“His parents then targeted me at Peabody Elementary. They went to the school board claiming that I was corrupting Peabody’s students. I attended a meeting where it was determined that it was fine for me to teach there as long as people didn’t know I was bisexual. Now that people knew though, they had to let me go. There weren’t really any state protections for gays and lesbians in the workplace. No matter how hard I fought their decision, I was powerless in the eyes of the law. So, I had to resign or be fired, and I chose to resign. I work as a receptionist in a vet clinic now and try to focus on my writing.”

Maria stared into her coffee cup for a minute after finishing her story. She was still hurt and angry by the experience—it had been a year but it felt like it was yesterday.

“Well, there must be SOMETHING we can do,” Birdie exclaimed. She had never heard of this kind of discrimination in her hometown and, after recently coming out as a lesbian, this whole issue suddenly felt very personal, and very important to her.

She reached over and took Maria’s hand in her own.

“I’m going to do some research. We’re not going to let them win this,” she said.

Message #4 from Devina

Hello Kiddies,
I've been out of commission the past month (or two) due to illness. Never fear, the latest issue is to be posted directly after this note. I've got lots of more to come--it is all rolling around in my noggin'. I just have to keep focusing on my health so that I can get it all on paper.

Enjoy Issue 8 and Happy Hollerdays!!

Devina Devore

Message #3 From Devina

Hello Loyal Readers,
Unfortunately this week has had a few more speed bumps than I would have preferred. You dolls will just have to wait a few more days for the next issue. Never fear, it is near completion!!

Devina Devore

Volume 1, Issue 7: Just Like a Ninja

Georgia Smalley lived across the road from Ian, Selma, and Birdie. She had never met them before but whenever she stepped out on her porch to smoke in the evenings, she could see Birdie across the road, sitting on her patio stairs reading a book. She rarely saw Selma around the apartment and took little interest in her. Neighbor Boy and Redhead Girl were interesting to observe though.

She didn’t know how Ian and Birdie were related, but she knew that had to be kin of some sort. Brother and sister? Cousins? Fraternal twins? She couldn’t tell. Their stature, blazing red hair, and freckles made them mirror images of one another. Ian seemed like a worrier—always fretting over some thought rolling around in his head. He always walked down the road to the bus stop deep in concentration, staring at the ground with his eyebrows crinkled.

Birdie, on the other hand, was a dreamer. Georgia was intrigued at the carefree and confident way that Birdie walked. She paid attention to her surroundings but not in the paranoid, hyper-vigilant way that Georgia tended to. Birdie saw every tree, every squirrel. She felt every drop of rain and every ray of sun. To Georgia, Birdie was damn near a Buddha—always present and smiling.

Georgia was putting the finishing touches on her Halloween costume. She was dressed as a masked ninja. Once she was fully dressed, she left for the Halloween party. Every year, the theater crowd at ICU threw a big party for Halloween. Chaos always ensued at these parties. Georgia was hoping that tonight would follow suit.

That morning Georgia had gotten mail addressed to Birdie in her mailbox. Georgia, being bisexual, had a big crush on Birdie and hoped that the letter would be her ticket in to getting to know her.

Little did she know, the letter would be unnecessary in getting to know Birdie. She and Ian had also been invited to the Halloween party. Birdie looked amazing as Rosie the Riveter—a little skinny, but cute as hell. Ian was…well…Georgia couldn’t tell what Ian was exactly. She came to find out later that he was attempting to look like one of his favorite and obscure writers. No one got it. Poor, clumsy Ian.

Georgia walked towards Birdie who was chatting with a group of people in the kitchen. Birdie saw her and made eye contact. Georgia didn’t miss the not-so-subtle way that Birdie checked her out as she walked towards her. Georgia’s curvy body moved in waves under her ninja suit. Her brown eyes were all Birdie could see of her face.

Birdie excused herself and walked out to the back porch. Georgia followed her. The night was chilly, and, aside from a few chatty smokers, she and Birdie were the only people outside.

“Nice night,” Georgia commented. Birdie looked at her.

“If you hadn’t have said anything, I wouldn’t have known you were even there, being a ninja and all,” she said and then looked away, seemingly embarrassed.

“Yep. We ninjas are an interesting lot. You never know when we’ll sneak up behind you,” Georgia said, taking a long drag of her cigarette.

Georgia walked towards Birdie and made eye contact. Birdie didn’t look away.

“What’s your name?”

“Birdie O’Reilly. What’s yours?”

“Ninjas never tell.”

"I think you're sexy," Birdie said and then clapped her hand over her mouth terrified she had let that information slip. Apparently the whiskey she'd had made her a little loose-lipped.

Georgia snuffed out her cigarette, leaned in, and kissed Birdie softly on the mouth. Her mask and the tequila she'd been drinking had made her extra brave. Birdie leaned into her touch and Georgia felt a vibration on her leg.

“Shit! My phone!” Birdie gasped. It was Selma.

“I’m sorry. It’s my roommate. She was at O’Reilly’s pub a couple weeks ago and got trampled when the fire alarms went off. Her ankle is broken and I should probably see what she needs,” Birdie stumbled.

Georgia nodded and smiled.

“I’ll be inside…if you can find me,” she said and winked.

After a quick chat with Selma, Birdie went back inside but couldn’t find her ninja girl anywhere.

Message #2 From Devina

Hello Lovemunchkins,
I am currently working on a plot treatment for a novel about your beloved Ian and his experience studying abroad. I plan to develop this novel and have it written in about a year. Keep your eyes and ears open for news of its progress!!

Keep it greasy,
Devina Devore

Volume 1, Issue 6: Rescued

Selma was studying at the university library for her first exam in her victimology class. The class was really stressing her out. It was close to midnight and she had been here since she had left work at 7pm. Her stomach was rumbling. She hadn’t eaten all day. She took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat for a moment to clear her head. She needed to take a break before her brain collapsed. She locked up her books and laptop in her carrel and stepped outside with her cell phone.

Birdie picked up after three rings.

“Did I wake you?” Selma asked cautiously.

“Uh durrrr. It is almost midnight and I work at 6:30 in the A.M.” Birdie reminded her.

“I miss him,” Selma said, ignoring Birdie’s obvious annoyance.

Selma and Hassan had just broken up the day before. Hassan had dumped her because she refused to convert to Islam.

“We’ve been over this so many times. You know you can do better. You deserve someone who loves you; someone who respects you,” Birdie said.

“Ugh, I know. You know me better than anyone Birdie. You know I don’t like being alone but at the same time I’m afraid of commitment. Maybe I just screwed up with this one too. Do you wanna grab a beer? Let’s grab a beer. I need to de-stress.”

“A beer after midnight the night before your big victimology class? Not a good idea, Selma. Goodnight,” Birdie said hanging up the phone.

Selma sighed. She decided she’d go out for a drink by herself. After gathering up her things from inside the library she walked down to O’Reilly’s, the Irish bar that Ian’s parents owned. The bar was busy for a Tuesday night.

She scanned the room quickly, looking to see if there was anyone there that she knew and spotted Blake tucked away in a corner with a group of people. He caught her eye and waved her over.

Just then the fire alarms went off in the bar. A brief silence acted as a prelude to panic when all the drunk twenty something’s, rushed towards the exits—right where Selma was standing. Like a deer caught in headlights she froze as people crowded around her pushing towards the door. She tried to move to turn around but people surrounded her on all sides. Selma lost her balance and fell to the floor. She panicked—she was about to be trampled on. Someone stepped on her ankle and she heard a crack as a sharp pain ran up her leg. Selma screamed loudly, angry that drunk people were so inconsiderate and senseless.

She suddenly felt her body being lifted off the ground. Blake had picked her up off the floor as he followed the crowd outside.

Volumne I, Issue 5: Irish Dreams

Ian O’Reilly was sitting in the living room of his apartment reading through study-abroad brochures. The next semester would be his last semester of college and he was still feeling panicked about graduating and finding a “real job.” He had a wild idea that maybe if he studied abroad his last semester, he could find a job in whatever exotic place he was studying in and just stay there the rest of his life. That was Ian’s typical fear response: run away.

So far it was between Ireland (his motherland—he and Birdie were 1st generation Irish-Americans), New Zealand (hey!—that’s where the Lord of the Rings series was filmed!) or France (lots of sexy women there—ooh lala!). So far Ireland was winning. For starters, they spoke English there. Secondly, he had some distant relatives that still lived in Dublin. He was sure he could stay with him while he was there which would cut back on the financial burden of having to pay a host family. He could also stay with them for a longer period of time should he find some sort of work while there.

His parents were against the idea. The whole reason they moved to the states was to get away from Ireland and now he wanted to go back? They were irate and couldn’t understand his persistence in wanting to travel to Dublin. It didn’t matter how many stories of hardship they told him, he wouldn’t listen. Once he had an idea in his head, it was an almost impossible task to convince him to change his mind.

He grabbed the Ireland brochure and stuffed it in his backpack along with the rest of his books. Picking up his backpack, he left his apartment to head to campus for his Shakespeare class.

The bus stop was on the very corner of the road that his apartment was. While waiting for the bus he noticed the neighbor across the street was staring at him. She was slowly smoking a cigarette and looked very comfortable on the front porch glider. He checked her out from the corner of his eye. She was cute and seemed mysterious—just his type.

The screech of the bus’s brakes pulled him from his momentary trance. He made a mental note to someday get up the courage to introduce himself to this mystery neighbor. In the meantime, he planned on fantasizing about Ireland until he got to campus.

Volumne I, Issue 4: Uncommon Protections

Friday night the ICU English department hosted a poetry slam at Uncommon Grounds coffee shop. Birdie always had the pleasure of working these events. Ian and Selma had both entered the competition. Birdie eyed them while changing coffee filters. Selma had brought her boyfriend, a man named Hassan Alsinan, with her. He was good-looking but distant. They had been dating for two weeks now and he refused to participate in any kind of public display of affection. When Selma tried to hold his hand he pulled it out of her grasp quickly. Birdie didn’t like him. She didn’t trust him. She thought Selma could do better.

Blake Rogers had joined Ian at their table and every now and then Birdie caught him staring at her. Blake was really starting to get on her nerves lately. He wouldn’t stop flirting with her. Yesterday he even had the audacity to buy her flowers.

Mrs. Nelson, Birdie’s first grade teacher had come to the poetry slam. She didn’t enter the competition but was getting up to read to read for the open mic section that signaled “intermission” between rounds. Birdie couldn’t help but check her out. Although she was probably the same age as Birdie’s mother, Mrs. Nelson looked good. She read her poem and Birdie picked up some clean coffee mugs to dry while she listened:

“Skin the color of caramel surrounds me like a cocoon.
You are lips and eyes and breasts and softness.
My heart flutters like a butterfly as you caress me gently.

The mattress rolls and seems to breathe under me.
Undulating passions and a love that goes unrecognized.
Invisible to the eyes of institutions that decide.”

Mrs. Nelson sat down. Birdie held the mug in her hands. She had stopped drying after the first two lines of Mrs. Nelson’s poem. She dropped the mug back in the dishwasher and walked over to Ian. He was nervously reading through one of his competition poems. She flicked him on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Is Mrs. Nelson a lesbian?” she asked him.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear?” Ian responded. Birdie looked at him, puzzled.

“Peabody Elementary school fired her after they found out she was bisexual. I guess some middle schooler came to her thinking he was gay and wanting advice. She told him it was ok to explore his sexuality and when his parents found out they flipped. She was fired a week later,” he spat and went back to practicing for the next round.

Birdie was filled with rage. How could Peabody Elementary possibly do that? That had to be illegal! There had to be something she could do to help.

She went back behind the counter, made two cups of chai tea and punched out for her break. Mrs. Nelson smiled warmly when Birdie slid into the seat next to her.

“Why Birdie O’Reilly, I haven’t seen you since you puked on the gym floor when you were a third grader,” she said.

Birdie laughed, happy that Mrs. Nelson had remembered her.

Volume 1, Issue 3: The Game Begins

Ian was working on his latest poem:

“To be a soccer ball t’would suck.
To always be kicked all through the muck.”

He was stuck on the next line. Sitting at Uncommon Grounds coffee shop, he put his head in his hands and thought about what a terrible poet he was turning out to be.

Ian was studying English literature at Iowa Central University. He had a handful of semesters left to go and was facing the inevitable panic that most soon-to-be-graduates must face. What the hell was he going to do with a degree in English? He didn’t get his teaching certificate and he was finally coming to realize that he wasn’t a good enough writer to do much with it.

His cousin, Birdie, sat down across from him.

“On your break?” he asked her.

She nodded a response as she took off her employee apron. Ian’s friend Blake slid into the seat next to Birdie and winked at her. He turned to Ian.

“Sorry I’m late. Had to shower off after my run,” he said and stretched his muscled arms up over his head, all the while watching Birdie out of the corner of his eye.

Blake had always had a crush on Birdie and right now Blake’s manly display was really irritating Ian. Everything was irritating Ian. He and Blake were supposed to meet to proof read each others' first essay for their Shakespeare class and Blake, with his blonde hair and blue eyes was late, as usual. Ian’s jaw tensed and Blake could tell that something was wrong.

“Hey man, don’t it sweat. I’ll make it up to you and buy your coffee,” Blake said nervously. He winked at Birdie again and she rolled her eyes.

“In your dreams Blake. I’m a total lesbian,” she spat out.

The table went silent and Ian and Blake stared at her. She hadn’t told any of them yet. Ian then realized why she had been acting so strange lately. He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a high five. Somehow her announcement made sense to him. Blake wasn’t as convinced.

“Wow, Bird…never would have guessed it,” Blake said.

“You’re so girly, you know, I just…are you sure?” he stumbled on.

Now it was Birdie’s turn to be irritated.

“Feminine women can be huge lesbians, you know. Not all lesbians are masculine or whatever,” she spat at him. She went back to work even though her break wasn’t over. Work was much easier than having to put up with Blake’s useless flirtation.

Blake watched her go. He was suddenly determined to prove to her that she, in fact, was not a lesbian.

Volume 1, Issue 2: Call Me

Selma was back-to-school shopping. She was in the lingerie department rifling through lacy bras. She had looked at her course schedule earlier that day and decided that she needed a pre-term stress reliever. Her schedule was jam-packed full of courses so that she could graduate in December. Selma was getting her degree in psychology at Iowa Central University (ICU). She had high hopes of going on to graduate school to become a sex therapist.

The fall semester was going to start in less than two weeks and she was enrolled in a class taught by Dr. Marvel. Contrary to the way his fancy name made him sound, the guy was not a fun prof. He pushed his students to the breaking point claiming that it was the only way to train a psychologist. The course she was taking with him was called “Victimology”. Kind of funny when you think about it.

Selma left the mall without purchasing anything and climbed in her car. It was incredibly hot and humid, being the end of August in central Iowa, and her shopping trip was thoroughly unproductive. She decided to head to the water park one last time this summer.

On her drive home she thought about how weird her roommate, Birdie, was being lately. Every time Selma walked into the room Birdie froze up and would hardly make eye contact. Selma wished she would just come out with it and tell her what was going on. Selma didn’t like passivity; probably because Selma was about as far from passive as a person could get.

Ian was at the apartment when she arrived home.

“No time talk. Must swim,” she said as she rushed towards her bedroom.

“Rough day?” Ian asked. He knew that whenever Selma was stressed, she either went shopping or swimming.

“No, I’m just. Well, you know, school starts in about a week and I’ve got this really hard professor and I just sort of want to burn off some steam, you know?” She yelled through her door as she changed into her black bikini.

“Hey do you know what’s up with Birdie?” she asked as she threw on her cover-up.

“Nah. She’s been acting really weird though. She keeps coming up with all these reasons to use my computer even though her computer works just fine. I don’t get it,” Ian looked up from his notebook that he was filling with slanted-rhyme poetry as Selma headed to the door.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” she said and left Ian to muse over his writing.

The pool was packed but Selma didn’t notice the hordes of people. She had her eye on the man taking the pool passes. His hair, eyes, and skin were sexy and dark and he was speaking Arabic to a family trying to purchase rec-center passes. She jumped lines to go stand in his. She ignored the other tellers when they shouted “next!” even though she was rightfully the next in line.

She made eye contact with him as he took her pass. She made sure to stretch and strut and walk by the ticket booth frequently during the three hours she was there. Her plan worked. The man noticed her. When she retrieved her pass on her way out she noticed a post-it attached to the backside of it. It was a name and phone number. His name was Hassan. Selma smiled coyly. Mission accomplished. Pre-term stress relief isn’t hard to find when you’re Selma Bryant.

Volume 1 Issue 1: The Woman with the Short Black Hair

Birdie was just getting home from her job at Uncommon Grounds, the local coffee shop, when she came to the full realization that she was a lesbian. All she had to do was leave work and bam! It hit her. She loved women. She really loved women. This excited her. She felt like she was coming into a whole new space. She didn’t feel like her life was about to change drastically. Birdie wasn’t a very dramatic person. Her life would just expand bit by bit as she discovered more about herself. That’s how Birdie approached life in general. She took one day at a time and adapted to each day accordingly. Today was just another day and she had finally started adapting to a part of herself that had, until then, gone unrecognized.

She had taken off her apron and stepped out the door and had seen a woman across the street. The woman was tall and thin and her hair was black and styled in a short boyish cut. She had an air of confidence that Birdie felt was unmatched by anyone else she knew. She walked like the world was nobody’s business but hers. Unfortunately, she was walking away from Birdie. Not a bad view, though.

Birdie had just read the book Zami: A New Spelling of My Name about women who loved each other. For a moment she pictured herself and the woman doing the same. How did you flirt with a woman? How did you know if a woman was flirting with you? It was these questions that troubled her, not the ones you would assume might come to mind like: how will my family react? Will I be able to come out at work? Do I know for sure I’m a lesbian or could I be bisexual or maybe even asexual? None of these expected questions had crossed her mind, only the practical ones.

The first time Birdie had developed feelings for a woman was in first grade. Her English teacher, Mrs. Nelson with the poofy blonde hair, was the best thing about elementary school as far as Birdie was concerned. She still blushed when thinking about her. As she walked the two blocks to her apartment she was met with flashbacks about other women she had loved throughout her life. There was Francine the French exchange student, Nora the pianist, Allie the gymnast, and the list went on.

When Birdie arrived at her apartment she was happy to find she was the only one there. Her roommates hadn’t come home yet. She fell on her bed, stared at the ceiling and thought about the woman she passed on her way home. An idea came to mind: did her very heterosexual cousin and roommate have any porn? Birdie had never seen porn and was curious. No one was home so…

She snuck into his room and booted up his computer. His desk had a Victoria’s Secret catalog hidden under one of his textbooks. Birdie loved Victoria’s Secret even though she was too flat-chested to fill out any of their bras. She giggled to herself thinking about how lucky she was to have the roommates she did. Ian, her cousin and Birdie were close and had been their whole lives. They were both twenty three years old and skinny with firebolt-red hair. Ian wanted to be a poet but his poetry sucked. Selma, the third roommate was a much better poet but she was in school for psychology. She wanted to be a sex therapist and always had interesting stories to tell.

The computer was up and ready. She had just pulled open a file when she heard the door open. Selma was home.

“Birdie, is it wrong it to have sex with a teacher for an ‘A’ on an exam?” Selma yelled from the door as she hung up her purse and took off her shoes.

Birdie quickly turned off the computer monitor and walked down the hall to the living room. Selma had gotten her hair cut today. Her long, black hair was now cut a short, boyish style. Shit.

Selma was the woman she had seen walking down the street.

Fuck.

1. Hello from Devina

Helloo!
Welcome to my queer soap-opera blog. Get to know the characters and find useful, LGBT-friendly links within the text of each issue.

Keep your eyes out for upcoming novels about the characters you read here!

I'll keep you posted, lovers.

Smooches and Pinches,
Devina Devore