Ch 13: Smoke and Mirrors

My first lesbian wedding opens the door to previously unimagined possibilities.

When friends invited Hope and me to their wedding, I didn’t greet the invitation with enthusiasm. It was the summer of 1980, a year and a half after I had called Mom to tell her I was “homosexual.” I now used the term “lesbian” and was becoming more comfortable with “dyke” and “butch,” although only when used by and with other lesbians. I had settled into life in Boston with Hope, found a job, and started graduate school -- just like we had planned – at least for the moment.

I didn’t like weddings. When my elementary school classmates played wedding instead of cleaning the church like we were supposed to do on Friday afternoons, I steered clear, and not just because I didn’t want to get caught—although that was a key motivator in those days. I hated the thought of wearing a wedding gown and being the focus of everyone’s attention. And even more than that, I hated the thought of belonging to a man.