Vachon Imagined

Dear God, anything but a lesbian.

Be a cancer, be a mongrel, a criminal, a Trump dynasty—but do not be a lesbian. Do not be the dreams I’ve placed into a camera that only sees what I want it to see, what I tell it to see, while I hide the dreams where she kisses my lips and caresses my breasts, making me feel things he never did.

How’s that for patriarchy, she thought—a world where a woman pleases me more. How does that sit between scenes where I’m your lady and you’re my man?

Oh no, not a lesbian, she thought, as her entire life looked heterosexual: walking through grocery store aisles like Ms. Clever, only this was no Ms. Clever I had known before. No murals to her name, no great tragedies—only at least she wasn’t a lesbian.

Oh my God. Never a lesbian.