“Strange and unnecessary,” Einar says.
Auður nods. “Right. But I think that because Iceland isn’t like the experiences you guys were telling us about. That’s not to say there aren’t incidents, but… I can’t imagine being surrounded by that much hate.”
“It’s clear why places like RDU are important,” Einar agrees.
“My situation is a little different,” I admit. “I didn’t apply because ofthat. It really was about football and the kind of scholarship I was awarded. Not to mention the coach there had a reputation for sending more players to the NFL than any other university in the state.”
“So you’re a straight guy then?” Auður says.
“How is that on a queer campus?” Einar asks.
I press my lips together as I think about this. “Actually, I’m not sure. I—sexuality isn’t big on my mind, you know?”
“Only football and libraries,” Einar says.
“Well, yeah. Football and my studies.”
“Are you asexual?” Auður asks.
“Not that you have to answer,” Einar adds. “This is personal, and we don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We’re just curious about, well, so much after listening to you guys talk. It seems that most of Iceland is much like your little pocket of RDU, so it’s strange to us.”
“It’s one thing to see and hear about the gross things that happen in the world, but in a way, it feels like a different world, right? We’re removed from it. It doesn’t affect us. It doesn’t happen here. It’s not difficult to find yourself thinking that it doesn’treallyexist. It’s just a story,” Auður says.
“I can think of better stories,” I say and glance around. I miss the monuments. There’s something beautiful about the snow, but I also miss the grass. “I don’t think I’m asexual. I guess I don’t think about sex much but…” This isn’t an easy conversation.
“Are there straight people on campus?”
“Oh, yeah.” I nod. “One of my good friends and teammates is straight. He has a girlfriend on campus and everything, though I think she’s bi. Horace and Nicole have been together for a while now.”
“So there’s no disgust or anything from Horace toward the queer guys?”
I smile. “Nope. He’s cool. I guess if you choose to go to a school like RDU, you’re already not an asshole toward queer people, you know? Attending RDU is a choice. You can choose to go elsewhere.”
“Such a difficult concept to grasp,” Einar says, rolling her eyes.
“Is this place much different from RDU?” Auður asks.
“You mean besides freezing to my bones?” They laugh. “Yeah. RDU is vibrant. There are symbols of all pride everywhere.”
“All pride?”
“Yeah, not just those that you think about when hearing LGBTQIA+, but like, polyamory, for example. There are also other kinds of pride, like kink and BDSM. Leather lifestyle. And also the newer labels that are coming out, like uranic, saturnic, and ninsexual.”
“I’ve never heard of half those words,” Auður says.
“I hadn’t either. But as younger kids grow and find their voices, they’re creating new spaces for themselves and people like them. Every time a new flag is introduced, there’s a ceremony. There’s a week of educational festivities to help everyone understand how the new term looks for different people. Everyone experiences some things differently, you know? Like, even something as simple as being bisexual isn’t just liking two or more genders. Maybe you like all women but only softer men. That kind of thing,” I say.
“Huh,” Auður says.
“Do these festivals happen often?”
“Oh yeah. Well, no. We have a festival every year, and part of that is educational. We open it to the town. It’s gotten so big that next year, it’s even going to be spilling into the town. There’s an entire road that will be closed for the festivities.”
“That’s so cool,” Einar says.
“It’s like Pride month year-round,” Auður notes.
“Kind of. But why not, right? Why can’t we be proud of who we are year-round? It’s not like we stop being queer eleven months of the year and only turn it on for June,” I say. “Oh, your campus lacks statues and monuments.”
