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rottmnt-hc · 1 year

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Entering the Bay

Warnings: mentioned kidnapping, mentioned killing, Author's Note in the end

New York had been in relative peace since (out of the shadows) the turtle brothers came into the light.

Though there was still the threat of the Foot Clan and their leader Karai, who's been planning her revenge.

Trying to find the perfect weapons to wield against her enemies, the most powerful.

She found them, in the form of children. More turtles, but different.

She lost the two she took with the most promising outcome, to a creature.

And she hates losing…

========

Far from the crazy assassin lady, were two young teens and their gruff father.

Raphael, named after an angel per his mother's request, stood proudly in his bright red hoodie. A grin on his face as he victoriously carried three bags of McDonald's, each carrying something different. He is a blasian male (all pronouns actually) that has his hair braided in the front only to stop into a puffball at the back of his head, being held by a red scarf. Standing at 6'5, he has a faint scar on his left eye, a tanky exterior and sharp looking teeth.

Walking in the dead of night with his younger brother, to a rooftop

In front carrying a suitcase was Donatello, named after a famous Renaissance artist as per father's request, walking quickly with excitement. Royal Purple hoodie and a sly grin as the two walked towards the Hudson.

Donatello was a blasian kid (they/him) with an afro puff at the back of his head held in place by a pair of custom goggles with a purple bandana. He is 5'5 with a muscular build and deep faint scarring on his back and equally sharp looking teeth.

They were curious about the so called heroes of New York but didn't seek them out, instead the two looked for a way home.

Their true home…a different dimension, their dimension.

"Raph, I'm telling you stargazing isn't going to help anyone with anything." Though the smile on his face was telling.

"Yea, but Barry is going through it and I think we deserve a break, home school is hard man." He took the lead and led his brother to a rooftop.

Once the coast was clear, Raphael summoned his Ninpo and carried the cargo to their roof.

They claimed this rooftop as their own day three of being here, noone disturbed them and they kept to themselves.

Both kids refuse to admit they needed this, their Big Brothers day…which is actually a few months but needed.

Serious talks quickly turned stupid and goofy as the days went on. Learning more about each other since their last BBD.

As Donnie set up his telescope, Raph decided to start the random questioning.

"Okay, if you had to pick, would you rather prank a soap factory or a fireworks factory?"

"What made you think of that? Fireworks, especially before 4th of July, fill all of it with either whipped cream or oil. I both love and hate them. What about you?"

"Soap, especially that one soap that dries out my hands. Look, I steal all the glitter in New York, and throw it in the soap mix. Everyone gets pranked now."

"You are by far the most evil person I know, glitter? Yep, thank whoever's listening they didn't give you the energy to commit these high acts of crime against humanity. They should've arrested you on the spot."

They laughed faintly noticing a moving shadow but ignoring it as they continued their game, "Ok, ok, how about super powers? What would you pick?"

"Flight."

"Not Strength? Dude you're a muscle guy, I would have never figured flight."

"Okay listen, I might not be able to bench press a bus, but I'd be happy zooming around in the air. What about you? And don't say super smart, you don't need twice that."

"Haha laughing sarcastically, telekinesis so I can do a bunch of things at once…but thanks for saying I'm super smart."

Raph passed his brother his bag of plain burgers and fries (he did make a fuss about the plain and got it plain), "Okay time for the moment of truth, evil villain knows where you live and what your family looks like, what do you do to him after getting him down."

"That's a hard one, on one hand…murder isn't good, on the other hand I'd kill for you. Pros, world's safe, no one else gets hurt, my family is safe…cons, that shit will live with me, might be considered a villain afterwards, still might get my family hurt, they have kids."

"....I didn't say you'd be a hero dumbass."

"Murder. That fucker messed with the wrong family."

Taking a bite out of a burger, Donnie and Raph stared at the in coming stars on the screen in silence.

The shadows behind them got closer, so Raph shifted a bit forward to look at the screen.

He always thought the galaxy looked pretty and grinned, "I think I could rock a dress in those colors." (Do you think we'll have to fight?)

"Really? I mean you could if you had the right cut." (Probably not, we'll have to wait)

"Ooh, so apparently people eat turtles…should I add that to the bucket list?" (They smell like turtle, maybe won't be attacked?)

"I don't know how to respond to that, maybe. Should we head home? I think I got a full scan." (We should leave.)

Raph stood up and started cleaning up their mess while Donnie packed his equipment and decided to walk along the rooftops.

At the corner of his eye he sees a shadow move and decided to play along, his head quickly turned towards the hiding places as a quick scan.

"Phae? What's up?" Donnie sounded monotone to everyone who didn't know him, but he sounded amused.

"Thought I saw something, nevermind I guess. Come on, let's get to populated roads please."

"I don't think you should be going anywhere that way little bros." A voice called out from the shadows.

There was a thump before a soft "ow" followed.

Donnie was the one to answer, "Oh yea? Why not?

"Uh, dangerous people? Kidnapping? Why are you even here alone?"

Raph's face morphed into confusion, "Why, you gonna kidnap us?"

Donnie narrows his eyes, "That's creepy, our kidnappers talking to their victims before kidnapping us. Bro I'm fifteen, I don't need this drama. If I'm getting kidnapped just do it."

"We're not kidnapping you-"

"That's exactly what a kidnapper would say, the suspense is killing me."

A gruff "That's not the only thing gonna kill you-"

"Did you bring an army with you!? And you're skipping the kidnapping!?" Raph managed to keep his voice even enough for it to sound hurt.

"They must know you're a tank, they need friends to take you." Donnie sounded a bit high pitched, he was trying not to laugh.

"ENOUGH!" This new voice has the two flinching and it continued a bit softer, "You kids should head home, and don't come back. Gangs like to appear here."

Raph groans, "We've been coming here for months now, no gangs!"

Though the thought did run through his head, were they being hunted?

Donnie huffed obviously perturbed, "Fine, I think I got what I need. Come on Raph."

"Wait, what's your name!?" It was the lighter voice again that Raph assumed was this world's Michaelangelo.

"The fuck are you asking my name for?" He felt really defensive all of a sudden.

There was silence before they continued, "My name is Michaelangelo, what's your name."

There were hushed scoldings before Raph huffed, "Raphael, yes named after an Angel."

"Donatello, mostly cause dad was an art dweeb." There was a gasp of air before Raph's phone buzzed.

"Dona, we gotta go. Pops is freaking out." Raph said after reading the message.

Donnie gave his brother a look before starting to climb down the building.

They started walking away when they heard a huge thing behind them.

It took everything in both their powers not to move.

A more analyzing voice, being directly behind them, spoke, "You didn't run, why?"

"Honestly, we don't know if you have guns. Besides you just said gangs like to show up here, running will just make them notice us." Donnie sounded confused so Raph picked up

"Also, we are new to New York and I wanna stop by the corner store."

"Really? You took down ten double cheeseburgers and three large fries, how are you still hungry?!"

"How do you know I didn't want something to drink? I mean I am getting some chips but I'm actually pretty thirsty."

Three more large thuds made themselves known, "Dang kid, you play sports?"

"Nope? At least not yet, but I'm kinda going to work my way into working with kids." It was true, Raph was a great assistant teacher when April needed him.

This time Donnie's phone vibrates, Barry's panicked words flashed across the screen.

The two finally turned towards their "stalkers" and did a quick look over.

They were all big and bulky, they probably have Raph beat in height but he's got them all in bulk.

With a grin Raph nods, "I can take you. Most definitely."

The red bandana, Raphael, grinned, "You wanna test that? I will be happy to give you a shot."

The analytical one, Donatello, hit his arm, "Well my name is also Donatello, I'm Michelangelo's older brother. This is my twin Raphael, don't let his appearance fool you, he's a softy."

Raphael gave a growl that sent shivers up Donnie's spine but Raphie stood his ground with narrowed eyes.

The blue mask sighed, "I am Leonardo, the leader of the group. Because my brothers introduced us to total strangers, means we'll be seeing each other again. We'll make sure you make it home."

There was a silent conversation that was missed but nonetheless they kept their word and escorted them home.

Once inside Raph pulled his little brother to the side to huff, "We literally just showed them where we live…should I be worried."

Donnie groaned and shrugged, "Probably, welp, let's face the music."

They entered the apartment to see Baron Draxum in his human form glory, he looked more startled than actual concerned.

With a sigh of relief he hugged them, "Boys, what did I say about texting me whenever you're out."

"Sorry Barry, we didn't mean to worry you."

"We got caught up in the stars, which I think I have enough data for my project!"

The old goat groaned with a smile, "Go wash up, you might be homeschooled but I want to relax this weekend."

The two washed their faces and brushed their teeth and hair.

"You finishing up tonight or tomorrow?" Raph was putting on his pajamas, a large grey t-shirt and bright red shorts, and grabbing his phone from the counter.

"I'll do it tomorrow, tonight was kinda draining. Weird encounter though, honestly I didn't expect it." Donnie was in silk purple pajamas and phone in hand.

The two went into separate rooms to sleep, unknowing the true dangers they'll be in.

A/N: Originally, Big Mama was supposed to be the one in the Bayverse with the boys, but then I would have written her joining Karai for her machine just to get double and triple crosses...

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fandom #tmnt #owl imagines #owl writes #tmnt Bayverse #Entering the Bay #rottmnt #Raphael #Donatello #Baron Draxum #Raph #Donnie #Michelangelo #Leonardo #April O'Neil #Casey Jones #crossover #crossover?

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therealbeachfox · 7 months

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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

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When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

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