Through the Lens | Dodie Clark

16

trigger warning: gay slurs

She didn't realize the power of a single kiss, its ability to spark a fire. Not the kind that fuels the love we crave, but the flames of hatred that burn behind strangers' eyes, reducing our world to ashes.

/346 days/

I fixed the camera on Dodie. I knew it would capture all the small details so I could pick them out when I'd rewatch it later, but I tried to take them in in the moment anyway.

She laid on her back on a small hill sat beside a small park as she looked up into the sky. I was on my side, facing her. I admired the way her curled hair intertwined with the surrounding grass and the sporadic dainty yellow flower, and how the clouds reflected off of the oversized glasses that she didn't really need.

"What do you see?" I asked.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn't bother checking; I already knew who it was. The calls were becoming more frequent, but I still couldn't bring myself to block the number. There was a finality to it that repelled me from doing so.

Dodie hummed. "A bone. Like one that a cartoon dog would chew on." She pointed.

The tendrils of clouds curled and rearranged for her, carrying themselves with an elegance I could only dream to achieve.

The swing set screeched as it desperately needed oil, but the kids swinging didn't seem to mind the screams of protests from the chains as they pushed each other. The laughter of two little girls could also be heard as they played tag.

"What's the point of recording this beautiful day if you're not capturing the clouds?" Dodie glanced at the lens briefly and gestured at the sky.

"The clouds are impressive, but you've got it all wrong, darling. It's you who makes the day beautiful."

"When did you get so smooth? Where's my awkward Evie who fumbled over her words? Now you sound like Shakespeare." She leaned in a little, looking at my lips with a feigned subtlety.

I grinned, setting down my camera. "I guess you could say I have an inspiring muse." I brushed my nose against hers and sweetly kissed her.

Across the park a man shouted as we broke away from each other. At first I passed it off as a father yelling at their child for one reason or another. It was only when he began storming our way when I realized it was directed towards us, my ears picking out slurs. I hurried to turn my camera off, not wanting the footage tainted by ignorance.

I began to frantically gather the things we brought with. The man was now in clear hearing range. "There are children here! Go be fags somewhere else!" He had his fists clenched, and the previously unaffected and uninterested children stopped playing to watch the scene unfold with confusion.

Dodie didn't move. Her eyes were wide like a deer in the headlights, stuck on the man. I tugged on her sleeves and pulled her to her feet, pleading her to move. She finally snapped out of it.

We ran.

---

She was shaking all the way to her house. I tried to comfort her and rub her back, but she was unresponsive and stayed silent. I draped my jacket around her shoulders even though it wasn't cold, and she clung to it with a white knuckle grip. I wanted to talk to her about it, but I wanted to let her process it first.

We reached her new flat. She was almost settled in, and got along with her flat mates well. She paused before she opened the door. "I think I'm going to take a nap before I have to go to work. You can head home." She avoided eye contact with me, sniffling.

I waited a moment, just in case she wanted to say something more, but she didn't. ". . . Ok. I'll see you tomorrow?"

She nodded, then dragged her feet as she walked inside, slowly shutting the door behind her.

I sighed, immediately regretting letting her go. I timidly knocked on the door. "Dodie, can I come in? We need to talk about this." I pressed my ear up to the door. Her shuffling stopped, and all was silent for a moment.

The lock clicked as she let me inside.

I made her a cup of tea. Earlier she'd praised me for my smooth talk, but my words fell flat when it really mattered. So I let the noise of the kettle fill the silence that I should have.

Dodie received the mug with a nod. "I never had to think about it when I was with Charlie. You'd get people who didn't approve of PDA, but I was never made to feel guilty for loving him." She took a seat across from me, and I was made painfully aware of the space she put between us.

She swirled the milk into her tea with a tightly gripped spoon and continued. "I feel ashamed. And I also feel ashamed to be ashamed. I'm screwed either way."

My face mirrored her's of melancholy. It didn't hit me that she never had to experience it before. I bit my lip, trying to shove the pity away. "I don't want to tell you to grow thicker skin, because that's not how it should be. But that's what I've had to do, and it's what all openly queer people have had to do. If we give into the hate, more hate will take our place. And you can cry, but please don't clam up. I hate that people feel the need to make their own problems into ours."

My mind meandered back to my childhood. I had a friend, pretty by any standards, who was gay. It was a time when even I was unsure of my sexuality, but she was so confident, and she wouldn't hide it for anybody. All the guys wanted her despite this, and repeatedly insisted that she just hadn't found the right guy. One self-proclaimed hero took advantage of her at a party, determined to help her 'see the light'. She moved away not long after, and we lost touch. Since then, I'd experienced harassment enough for it to become a normal occurrence for me.

"You're right." She said slowly and sadly. She glanced at the clock, letting out a long, drawn out breath. "I should get ready for work. I'll see you tomorrow?"

---

It was nearing midnight, and Margo and I were both sitting in our respective rooms playing Words with Friends. She was kicking my ass. My phone buzzed, this time not the unwanted caller.

from dearest darling dodie:

sleepover?