June 26th 2013, 10 AM

Written in real time, that fateful morning in June when the Prop 8 and DOMA decisions came down.

Here I sit, working (yes, I can blog and work at the same time. Thank you hold music!) trying not to think about the SCOUTUS decisions due to come down in 45 minutes. Then, for the first time in my life, I might see the government do what it’s supposed to: work for the people.

I’m terrified.

 

My future brothers in law are gay, living together in a home they bought almost two years ago, and some of my best friends. We’ve discussed this day and when it might come since Bahamute’s brother Grizz came out of the closet years ago. His boyfriend is the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister in law, I like to joke. The idea that they could be legally married is beyond anything.

It shouldn’t have to be. It should be a normal thing. 

But there’s the other side of the coin: what if Prop 8 and DOMA are both upheld? What if the highest court in the land votes AGAINTS civil rights? What the hell do we do then? There is a judge in Michigan LITERALLY waiting to decide a lesbian couple’s marriage and adoption case based on what SCOTUS does. The law could be changed in Michigan before the summer is out!

Forty minutes.

Plans. I need plans. I’m at work. What am I supposed to do? Take the day off in protest if things go awry? Get drunk at lunch to celebrate?

I’ll be seeing Grizz tonight. Futurama night, every Wednesday for the next few weeks. What the hell do I say if it goes wrong? Sorry, but hey, Bahamute and I are still getting married next year, so buck up Best Man?

God.

God, please let these men and women be true. Let them know you well enough to know you do not hate, that you created Gay, Straight and everything in between.  Let them do the right thing. Amen.

The Daily Show will be interesting tonight, no matter what. John Oliver will handle it deftly and hilariously.

I need to try and pay attention to my phone call. How the hell can I? 

Thirty minutes.

I’ll disable the internet for a while. I can’t watch the feed and jump every time I hit refresh. There’s an apple I need to eat. That’ll take a few minutes. Trying to lose weight for the plethora of straight weddings coming up, including mine. Mmm, apple. Grizz works in the produce department of Kroger. Wonder if he’s at work today. I know his boyfriend is. Oakland University, where we both went to school. We had a class together, even. Now he works at the library and I work at a shady but effective law firm. 

What was the date civil rights were granted to African Americans? Is that a federal holiday? Someday will this be? Or will it be another footnote in history? A Brown VS. Board of Education for my generation?

What is Bahamute doing? Catching some zzzs after dropping me at work? Does he even know about the SCOTUS stuff? He doesn’t follow the news generally, aside from occasional Daily Show and Colbert Report. I don’t want to call him yet. He needs sleep.

Twenty five minutes.

Got a call from a wedding photographer a while ago. I’m gonna have a friend do it. She’s amazing. Her husband is amazing too, trying to get Bahamute a job that isn’t Game Stop. Young, veterans, and amazing actors. What are they doing right now? We’re supposed to hang out soon. What will they say about a government that has already failed them in so many ways if it succeeds or fails?

My apple is sour sweet when I burp. I can’t go home if my stomach quails. Too much of that lately.

In theater, there really are a higher percentage of gay people. Not all of us, like everyone thinks, but probably one out of every three or four guys. I’m in RENT right now. So, there’s a few I’ll be seeing Saturday. All great kids.

Twenty minutes.

I can’t eat. Water fresh from the Bobble, that’s the ticket. I’m out of Altoids, no calming mint for my stomach. Natural remedies, mm-mm.

Gotta make some more calls. Gotta manage my assistant. We talk about loans and doomed clients. Our Lawyer boss Mr. McQueen (not his real name), isn’t in yet, so we’re actually getting work done. Enjoy it while it lasts, current me. It’ll go sour soon enough. God, I hope that’s not prophetic.

Fifteen minutes.

A Clashof Kings sits in my desk. Normally I’d be flipping through it while on hold, engrossed in the world of the Starks and the Stupid Lannisters (except Tyrion. He’s epic). I couldn’t concentrate now. 

Gonna have to turn the internet on soon, which means I’ll have to stop writing. I don’t want my bosses catching me writing while I work. Flash drive comes out, internet comes back on, that’s the rule. Go me for figuring that out.

I feel sick. 

I’d like to get to a thousand words by the five minute mark. I’m a smidge OCD that way. So, gotta hurry up and finish this. In the future, years from now, I’ll look back on this. Will I see myself as worried over nothing? “Of course it got passed! What were you, stupid?” Or will I still be waiting for justice and love to win?

Ten minutes. Just under one hundred words to go.

In five I’ll wrap this up. I can’t stand it any longer than that.

Stumped at seventy five words. What great thought, what poignant bon mot can I leave for the future? What more can I say?

I’m terrified. I feel sick. I want to go home and hug my fiancée, be near Grizz, know that everything is going to be okay.

I miss my Dad. He never cared if you were gay or straight as long as you were nice to his daughter. 

Three words. 

Please, God. Please?