So, I do the thing I know
always helps me
get me out of my head.
I pull on some joggers, a fleece
my running shoes.
I grab my EarPods and then I bolt
down the hall and out the door
past Mom and Mama Alice
who are yelling so much
they don’t even see me.
Outside, it’s dusk
and a whopping 13 degrees
but when the cold air hits my lungs
I’m elated.
Every muscle and fiber of my body activates
as I jog toward downtown and the tree.
Christmas lights always cheer me up
reminding me of what’s possible.
This will blow over, I say in my head
as my legs pump forward.
This will pass.
They’ll find a way back to one another.
They always do.
I am nine. Mom and Mama Alice are getting married in a small ceremony off Lake Shore Drive by the water. It’s June, and Mom is wearing a flowy white jumpsuit and a crown of lavender and eucalyptus around her long red-brown locs. Mama Alice is in a white linen shirt and shorts set, with a sprig of lavender pinned to her front pocket, her curly blond hair pinned up in a messy crown of braids. I am the flower girl and ring bearer extraordinaire. I’m wearing linen lavender short-alls, carrying a basket full of flowers and herbs. I’m beaming at my moms as they joinhands surrounded by close friends and chosen family and vow to love one another forever. Gay marriage is finally legal in Illinois. They’ve been a family since way before I was born, but this is a special day because now it’s not just a commitment ceremony but a marriage on paper and written into law. Nothing much will change except that our family will be even more connected, protected too. When Mom and Mama Alice kiss, sealing their vows to one another, the whole circle cheers and Mom and Mama Alice wrap me in a big hug. The rest of the wedding guests head to our favorite Mexican restaurant for a reception, but the three of us walk down the beach together holding hands, taking a moment for ourselves. This is my whole world: the lake, my moms, the sun beating down on us with a warmth so thick it coats us in shimmer. This is where I belong, this is my pack, and no one can tell me it will ever be any different.
“We love you so much, Junie,” Mama Alice says, squeezing my hand as we walk.
“You’re our moon and stars and everything in between,” Mom adds.
The house is silent
when I get back from my run.
I enter the empty kitchen
an abandoned cutting board on the counter
