Radar

Some people spend every minute of their active days noticing the people looking at them. Maybe it is the touch of makeup he is wearing or maybe she is paranoid because she is still so closeted and uncomfortable, or maybe because the danger of being gay is still so very real in our society. But they walk down the street and they worry.

I don't ever think about watching, because no one looks twice at me. Some days I stop to peer into the faces of passers by with a broken heart, wishing that someone would recognize me for what I am. Some days I long for a kindred spirit, for a judgemental glare, for some sort of reaffirmation that someone else can see in me what I see in myself.

A gay woman.

But they all keep walking, so absorbed in their lives. I'm not pretty enough to turn heads, nor odd enough to attract attention, and so I am invisible to them as they talk on their cell phones or rustle up their children or dig their keys from pockets and purses.

And I spend long afternoons with my boifriend's head on my lap or our fingers interlaced and my heart swells with joy. Our eyes meet and there's so much between us and I know someone is seeing me, really looking into me.

I'm so glad someone else can see it. I'm so glad I can have this loving, caring relationship with someone so wonderful and beyond my wildest imaginings.

But I also can't help but wonder sometimes what's wrong with me, that everyone else pings on the radar, and I don't.