I ate my kiddie lunch perched on a chair down in the Quizno’s lounge next to B. and her chicken salad, watching the historic events unfold on the television screens with a surprisingly quiet crowd of students. I hated that Rick Warren gave the opening prayer, surprised at how much he called forth my grief and my anger; I’m not usually like that about identity-politics things. And my eyes got wet and I broke up into little giggles when Obama needed the oath repeated. Unlike the rest of the crowd, I stayed through the reading of the poem, finding it unexpectedly lovely. I hear she’s a dyke whispered B., but I think that’s just wishful thinking.

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