Finding Trust in Trauma
In a movie, a twangy guitar riff would have played. I was a longtime lone ranger with debilitating social anxiety after moving from New Jersey to Tokyo and back again. She was a sandy-haired palomino mare who had become a therapist for traumatized veterans. The kicker? She, herself, had suffered prolonged abuse, becoming averse to human touch. We stood tall, eyes locked. The more I wrangled for her to like me, the further she cantered away. Then, one night, I rested my forearms on the fence and she approached me for the first time, dipping her nose to my palm. — Saachi Subramaniam
Two Matts Walk Into a Bar
We met at a gay bar called Woody’s. The name says it all: cheap beers, suspect bathrooms. Amid the grime, Matt’s face was kind and honest. A smile that could never hurt me. I asked: “Is it ‘Best Legs’ night?” He said: “I don’t know.” Maybe we didn’t meet in a romantic place, but life isn’t always romantic — there are mortgage payments and Covid and grocery shopping and toilet cleaning. Yet 19 years later, we have seen the world together, had cocktails at the Ritz. His kiss still makes me happy I went out that night. — Matthew Hague
