Ophelia After All

by Racquel Marie

“It means those who love are always waiting. Waiting to be seen, waiting to be understood. Waiting to be loved back.” She sighs. “‘The lover is the one who waits.’”

He uses words and labels I recognize, and defines the ones I don’t. Gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, pansexual, asexual, demisexual, polysexual, genderqueer, nonbinary, aromantic, grayromantic, demiromantic, and on and on. Even if none of them click for me, if none sound like my experience wrapped up in a convenient label, I know they do for other kids out there. Kids who may have sat exactly where I am now and realized who they were for the first time. Today, that’s enough for me.

Important

“Ophelia was all those things too. But she also wore her heart on her sleeve. She wasn’t ‘mad’ in her final scene; she was grieving without shame. She was begging for someone to hear her desperation beneath the offered flowers.”

We share a teary laugh. “I won’t lie—I don’t understand it all. This stuff about your … sexuality? But I’m willing to be the student for once. Because I love you whether you love Romeos or Juliets or both or neither or live out the rest of your days with Dad and me and your garden. No matter what changes or who you do or don’t love, I will always love you. That is the legacy I want for you, not to be the girl who loves too much, but to be the girl who is loved more than enough.” “Thank you,” I say, a little

Cries