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Quarter-Light -- ©Brenda Carter  Rin, who has listened in silence, sighs and looks so tired that I realize how late it is, how long I've been carrying on. She says, "You might as well face it, Jill. The problem with this proposed trip to never-never land is that you won't be able to ignore the fact that this time Sandy's not going to come through for you."
That's the problem all right. Being hurt by Sandy, being failed by Sandy has changed everything. I send her an e-mail saying that I'll back off if that's what she wants and that if she doesn't hear from me for a while, it's because I need time to sort things out. *** That weekend, Rin and I take BART across the Bay for the Dyke March. Everyone knows about San Francisco's Gay Day with all its commercialism, free-flowing testosterone, and manic sweetness, but I'm partial to the night before when thousands of dykes fill the streets of the Mission. While Rin wanders off to talk with friends in the crowd, I lean back on the grass and watch the girls pour into Dolores Park. There's the hot femme in the iridescent blue miniskirt, the hausfrau femme with her hair up in curlers. Thing One and Thing Two holding hands in black T-shirts, black jeans and matching buzz jobs. Girls who can't wait to get their shirts off for a bare-breasted march, girls pushing baby strollers and carrying diaper bags. Jock girls, goddess girls, tough girls, and your andro girls-next-door, like me. As I watch them all pass by, I realize I'm searching for a particular face in the crowd - Sandy's. I don't expect to find her, but still, it feels like there would be room for her if she wanted to take it. Why not? Living with her bio-guy husband or not, my cousin is a queer. What would it mean if she could claim a place for herself here?
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