Like a Love Story

by Abdi Nazemian

“It comes as a great shock around the age of 5, 6, or 7 to discover that the flag to which you have pledged allegiance, along with everybody else, has not pledged allegiance to you.

You can almost hear the numbers crunching. You can almost feel bank accounts getting fatter, and land being destroyed, and people being taken advantage of, and the stink of greed and death being spritzed into the air like those perfume samples in the Bloomingdale’s lobby.

“This is a gay film,” I say. “And I want things labeled as gay. Books and movies and all that. Don’t we deserve our own stories?”

“Not just me,” Stephen says, looking to Jimmy. “Us. All of us. What we did. What we fought for. Our history. Who we are. They won’t teach it in schools. They don’t want us to have a history. They don’t see us. They don’t know we are another country, with invisible borders, that we are a people. You have to make them see.” Stephen takes a strained breath. “You have to remember it. And to share it. Please. Time passes, and people forget. Don’t let them.”

“It’s not hard,” I say, quickly realizing what a lie that is. “What I mean is that, yes, it is hard, but I can’t change it.” I close my eyes for a second, wishing for eloquence. “I think what I’m trying to say is that I wouldn’t change it if I could.”