Isabella's mad at me, Sarah announced to no one in particular, and to everyone within earshot, which in a basement bar meant everyone.
Again? Ezra called from the beanbag.
Still. Different mad. Same Isabella.
What's the taxonomy of Isabella's anger? That was Keira, voice dry as the book she wasn't reading. You make it sound like a classification system.
https://thistleandmoss.com/p/some-things-just-never-change
#trans #queer #lgbtqia #fiction #reading #writing #author
Kirsten cooked. Isabella opened wine. Things were said about a Netflix documentary that should never have been started after ten PM, and now there's a disagreement about who fell asleep first and who left the kitchen light on.
That's what she's mad about? Brandon called from the end of the bar, pen frozen mid-word, writer's instinct overriding his social awareness. A kitchen light?
https://thistleandmoss.com/p/some-things-just-never-change
#trans #queer #lgbtqia #fiction #reading #writing #autho
Kirsten cares about every goddamn detail, Sarah said, and for one half-second she looked at Keira with something I couldn't decode — a frequency check, the way musicians tune to each other before a set.
Details are how you know someone's paying attention, Keira said. Flat. Factual. Like reading a definition from a dictionary that happened to be about love.
That's what Kirsten says, Sarah remarked.
https://thistleandmoss.com/p/some-things-just-never-change
#trans #queer #lgbtqia #fiction #reading #writing #autho
Isabella's deal is that she experiences everything at full volume and then gets furious when the world doesn't match the intensity of what she felt. She cried during that documentary about the coral reefs. Not a little. Ugly crying. Mascara on Kirsten's pillowcase level crying.
I'd cry about coral reefs, I said, and it came out softer than I meant it to.
https://thistleandmoss.com/p/some-things-just-never-change
#trans #queer #lgbtqia #fiction #reading #writing #autho
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