Becoming a Queen

by Dan Clay

“You know I support you in everything you do, but you gotta drop the Humpty-Dumpty metaphor.” “Drop Humpty-Dumpty? Again? Has he not fallen enou—”

At seven years old, I saw the dress that taught my baby gay heart how to beat.

And if someone in fifty years were to ask me when I fell in love, I’d say: on a Herschel’s bar stool while I blabbed about a dress and he asked me what color her shoes were.

“It’s actually mandatory to be queer in Portland. The mayor has quotas.”

my brother wraps his arm around my boyfriend, and they look at me with eyes that say forever.

I try to walk like a supermodel, but in my too-high heels, I waddle more like a penguin who’s late for the bus.

I think most people just kind of look at the world, and play the part. And I think it takes a lot of courage to—question … or challenge … things like that.

“And even if I live to a million years old, meet a million more people, and do a trillion more things, my favorite thing I ever was, was your little brother.”