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J.M. Redmann - Micky Knight 4 - The Intersectio...docx
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I picked up her bike rack and my duffel bag with my oh so beloved running shoes, while Cordelia managed her bike and gear. After locking up, we headed down to put the bike on her car.

“Lakeward-ho. Let’s not be late or Danny will make tacky jokes about the sex we didn’t have,” I commented as I got in her car.

We headed off, Cordelia to the bliss of bicycling and me to the joylessness of jogging.

“You know,” she said as we got caught at a light, “I wish you could go with me. I’m tired of…I don’t know. Pretense, denial. I’m not…Don’t even think that I wouldn’t be proud to be seen with you. Anywhere.” She looked at me, then back to traffic as the light changed.

“No, I don’t,” I answered quickly.

“I do mean that.”

“How about your mother?” I asked. “Would you be proud of me in front of her?”

“How about your father?” Cordelia asked.

That stopped me short. “Touché,” I replied, realizing I had an answer but not one I was sure was honest. My dad had been a wonderful, kind, understanding man. Who had grown up in a small town out in bayou country and, after the Second World War, gone back there to live. He had died when I was ten, and there was a tremendous gap between my bucolic childhood and the life I now lived. I wondered if he could have actually bridged it or if I just wanted to believe he could.

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia said. “That wasn’t fair. I have no problem taking you home to meet Mom. She suggested to me that I was a lesbian even before I knew I was.”

“Now that I think about it, Aunt Greta suggested that I was a lesbian before I knew I was.”

“Really?” Cordelia said, very surprised. She had met my Aunt Greta.

“Yeah. She knew there was something wrong with me, she just didn’t know what. I think being queer exceeded her wildest expectations.”

“That must have been so hard for you, living in that house. Sometimes I think the self-righteous do more harm than any other sinners.”

“I’ve always favored the hypocrites myself. Those and…the betrayers. Those who violate trust.”

“Isn’t that what your aunt did?” she asked softly.

“No, not Aunt Greta. I never trusted her,” I commented with a derisive laugh.

“Who betrayed you, then?”

“No one. I meant in general. Hey, isn’t that Danny’s car up there?”

“Looks like it,” Cordelia agreed.

“They seem to be holding hands,” Cordelia said.

“Elly’s head is above seat level, they can’t be doing much else,” I commented.

“Not in this traffic. It might be dangerous to even hold hands in this mess.”

“For two women, you mean.”

“Well, yeah. There are certain things we can’t take for granted.”

“Like being adults in our thirties and not able to hold hands on a Saturday afternoon,” I replied sarcastically.

“I don’t like it.”

“Proud, huh?” I nettled, a bit peeved by her slight rebuff.

“I can’t fight all the battles all the time,” she replied quietly.

“Holding hands in a car is one of the big ones, I must admit.”

Cordelia gave me a look that was partly exasperated and partly challenging, but the light changed and she had to shift again, then again to get up to speed.

“You know, Micky,” she said slowly and thoughtfully, “If those people I’m going to meet tonight knew I slept with women, they wouldn’t give me a penny.”