Andie stuffed the last storage bin in her car and closed the door. she was relieved a sliver of visibility remained from the driver’s seat through to the back window.
after driving for only a few moments, her phone began buzzing. when she stopped at a gas station and glanced at the texts piling in, her suspicions were confirmed: her friend since childhood, her flatmate Bethany, had adopted one of the small feline siblings of Andie’s grey kitten, Pepper. she smiled to herself and went to pump gas, hearing the phone jingle with new messages even as she closed the door.
the gas station building was tiny so she was grateful the afternoon was a quiet one. only as she had finished paying and was leaving did another customer come in.
as Andie drove, questions flittered through her mind. she wondered what Bethany would name Pepper’s sibling; why the driver of the SUV in front of her had failed to signal their intent to merge into her lane before doing so; what it was about the person who had entered the gas station as she had left that made her feel clunky. the last question lingered as she reached the toll highway and paid the amount to continue her journey toward Levettport.
at seventeen, her residential summer job was forty-five minutes away; the moon.
forty minutes too far.
just like her town, ten minutes from the district high school;
five minutes too far;
who’d travel such a distance?
can you imagine a commute that long everyday?
an increasing number of respected psychological associations worldwide denounce “therapies” aimed at “changing” an individual’s sexual orientation. one of their reasons: sexual orientation is not able to be changed. practices developed to achieve “change” normally involve an element of disgust toward anything outside heteronormativity. due to such an extreme bias, the “therapy” is tainted, placing it permanently outside professional therapeutic standards.