gays? in chechnya?
my mother looks at the relatives around the decorated table with a laugh on her lips. she says “they’re fighting for homosexuality to be legalized in chechnya, i say, where the hell are they?” the table roars with unabashed laughter and i feel sick. “where do they even think the gays are?” she cackles, again and again.
i look down at my food as i feel bile climb up my throat and i think on it. i think of visiting chechnya, of the children that looked at me like i was out of my mind when i insisted ‘anyone can wear dresses!’ (yeah, they didn’t believe me)
i think of buying a lush face mask and doing it with my cousin. i think of asking her brother who was on his phone at the foot of the bed if he wanted to try, too. i think of his sister laughing and her abruptly stopping when he went “okay, sure.”
i think of my cousin grinning at me and his sister (bless her) when we gave him the face mask. i remember him saying he likes it, and smiling harder when his sister said she liked it too.
i think of how we washed it off in a panicked hurry when we heard my uncle come home early. how his sister picked out the bits in his bangs. how he rubbed at his face with a towel so hard it went bright red. i think of how i told him “next time,” anyway. and how he hugged me.
i think of my little brother asking for some nail polish. i think of my aunt buying me some. and slapping him.
i think of the girl getting married to a boy at 16, because she has to.
i think of girls falling in love with each other and dreading the day they have to be taken away by some men. because they have to.
i think of the boy listening to his brother say that he’d slit a filthy gays throat if he ever got his hands on one. how he’d do it for honor. i think of the boy seeing news where family have killed their family for being gay (it has a name, it’s called honor killing) i think if him looking at his brother, and feeling so scared he can’t eat anymore.
i think of the neithers and in betweeners looking at the boys and girls and themselves. i think of them never questioning their gender, because you just don’t. because it’s not an option. not a real thing. an illness. they bury it deep.
i think of the old woman that thinks what could've been. i think of the dead and married that think what could've been. if the wars had been more forgiving. if the country were more forgiving. if the people were, too. (maybe if they had more money and left? maybe if they didn’t get married so fast? maybe if they just ran away when they had the chance?)
i think of the girls that were stoned by their village for being found in the same bed together. i think of the man that received countless death threats just weeks ago for coming out. he got stabbed multiple times outside his apartment. his left side is paralyzed now. (my mother laughs, “his left eye, too? how is his eye paralyzed if he was stabbed?” i look at her and i don’t think i recognize her anymore)
i think of myself, listening to my sisters husband preach about how gay people are controlled by djinns, and i watch my mother and sister agree.
i think of my nieces listening intently from the living room. i tell him to stop. i get yelled at. (what? what are you? gay?)
i look at my mother
she says where are they?
relatives laugh. they sound like pigs.
and i’m sitting right in front of her
