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.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
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.
“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.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, August 14, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
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
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
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