l'amertume croissante (bitterness rising).

from the heart of the fountain of delight
rises a jet of bitterness
that tortures us among the very flowers.
-lucretius

i made a mistake in french class today that had nothing to do with gender, pronunciation, liaison, exceptions. i made the mistake of thinking their minds to be machetes, their silence to be sacrilege.

i do this a lot.

that's the first problem. everywhere i go, i assume every building is a church--its bell and steeple denouncing the heathen (i.e. me). i assume church is mortar and brick and exclusion instead of community and this-very-inhale-this-very-exhale. when they reach into the lining of their suits, i assume they're revving to crucify me with their crucifix and their christianity, of which christ is no crucible.

my professor to my classmate: "ask rachel her husband's name."

my stomach rots and i think it might show on the outside. i don't want to come out. not here, now, in this way, to these people i've only just met.

"quel est le nom de votre mari?" what is the name of your husband?

he waits.

i wait.

i have to. this is adult education but i feel as helpless as a child.

"n...n...non mari." no husband. i am suddenly defensive and the nasal sound carries too much force and my professor notices.

"NO." (she's very emphatic when in white-out mode.) "NO. non means 'no.'"

and that's when it happened. i am fury, my face heating, my hands clenching, my heart pounding, pounding, pounding. because when your mouth can't form the words, your body still will speak them. karen, the woman sitting across from me, has become my mother. the man to the left--jerry--my father. the others: the friends who had nothing marked on their calender for july 2, 2011. that's the second problem. transference. i redirect familial rage towards inanimate things or, worse, people who aren't family.

"non." i insist. "non. FEMME. woman."

"ah...femme..." she says.

it's the hardest thing, i'm always learning, about being gay : letting go of bitterness and (NECESSARILY) expectations of how this life and these people must look. if i don't : this fountain will dry up and i'll soon forget love and bitterness cannot coexist. maybe bitterness really is the devil's foothold (ephesians four : twenty-six / twenty seven).