Surprise Party

I’m smiling.

Supa’s hand is in mine,

as I trail behind her. Surrounding us,

small reunions burst like fireworks:

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!”

“How long has it been? I’ve missed you, my heart!”

I saunter through the crowd,

thumb resting just above the pocket

of my high-rise jeans, loose against my hips.

My dad vibes are strong tonight.

Though the faces are unfamiliar,

I return their smiles warmly.

The air is a muted, multicolored haze.

Then.

I hear them before I see them:

“No, definitely not gay…”

“You think so?”

“Oh yeah.”

The first fragment

echoes 20 times at least

before I turn around.

There.

A woman in sunglasses

and her partner covered in shadow.

I can’t even see their eyes,

but their gazes are lazer beams,

scanning me up and down, side to side.

I’m stunned,

impressed even, a few minutes later,

that these two strangers would dare stare

and stand resolute, speculating on my sexuality

as if guessing the next song to be played.

I notice my palm has left Supa’s,

and I’m staring at the floorboards,

no longer knowing

what to do with my hands.

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