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Quarter-Light -- ©Brenda Carter  Back in the car, Rin keeps control of the wheel, turns on the CD player and accelerates into the dusk. Just past the ranch, a ginger cat sits on a fence post, poised and ready to attack something hidden below in a clump of wild iris. Then the flat, green-gray expanse of Tomales Bay comes into view, and the world seems huge and open and at peace.
Rin sings along with an old Stevie Wonder song, and I join in humming, even dare to add a scrap of harmony. "What really gets to me is not knowing why," I tell her when the song ends. We've been over this territory before, but now I'm ready to hear something in Rin's response beyond the solace of her voice. "Maybe Sandy never aimed any of that wounded-queer stuff directly at me, but she never acknowledged how hurtful it was bound to be, how hurtful it obviously was. What was she thinking?" "Sweetie, you're asking the wrong girl." I take a bite out of a Fuji from Rin's knapsack and hand it to her.
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