Volunteer Explorer

After she helped me attach the rainbow flag to the corner railing of my balcony, Stacy said, “Now everyone’s going to think you’re gay.” I was so surprised to hear her say that. It’s not that I’m surprised about the rainbow flag being associated with the gay community – of course I’m not. I had spent Saturday morning volunteering at the Equality March check-in site in Highland Square and the bulk of the afternoon at Pride Fest. I’d worn a rainbow-striped hat, sports bra and tank top all day while hanging out with lesbians and drag queens. Stacy and I had held hands and kissed frequently at the event. How much gayer could I get? What surprised me was that Stacy could still default to such cautions about public opinion. She makes no bones about her own identification. At the volunteer training a couple weeks ago, we were given name tags that had a place for one’s name and then, “My preferred pronouns are…” When she filled out her name tag at the training – and again...

I stood on the balcony and leaned my head back as far as I could. It had been a volatile, rainy day, and a deck of clouds moved rapidly across the nearly midnight sky. The urgent sound of late-August crickets strung its way through the thick, humid air. When I looked straight up, the quick traversing of the clouds made me keenly aware that the planet beneath me was moving. Thick white puffs turned quickly into shreds of vapor along the inky universe beyond, which became apparent in the occasional glimmer of a faraway light – perhaps a star, perhaps an airplane. The longer I stared upward, the less I felt rooted to my balcony. I fancied myself on the deck of a ship riding through an ocean of foamy stars. When I turned my gaze earthward to rest my neck, the street seemed cartoonishly small. The cardboard apartment house across the way looked lit from within as if by AA-size batteries. Pedestrians on the sidewalk were clay-mation figures from an early episode of Mr. Rogers...

Karma would not stop jumping on me. Her bright, blue eyes implored me as her tongue flickered toward my face and her long skinny legs reached for my shoulders. “She’s a new dog,” Donna Webb said, trying to get Karma to stay down and behave. I was passing her studio and noticed the door propped open, a rather rare occurrence, so I seized the moment and walked in. I was sweaty from my walk in the humid heat, but the un-airconditioned studio was just slightly cooler than the street. A box fan atop an old school desk moved warm air through the dusty room filled with colorful ceramics. As Donna and I chatted, Karma eventually turned her interest to a plastic bottle that needed a good chewing. I introduced myself to Donna, referencing the magazine I work for and our intern who had recently interviewed her for the upcoming arts issue. She spoke freely about her latest project, “Strange Particles,” which seemed to be everywhere in the studio: layered in boxes on the now-empty ...