This is the day the Lord has made....

Do you remember where you were in 1990 when Mandela was released from prison in South Africa? Do you remember where you were when Obama won the 2008 presidential election—the first Black man ever to become US president? Do you remember where you were when the New York State senate passed same-sex marriage?

On Friday June 24th, 2011 at approximately 10:25pm, the unexpected happened. I remembered exactly where I was and what I was doing when New York State senate passed same-sex marriage. I was on my couch with my partner turning up the tv volume above the whirring fan that worked to keep us cool in the smothering heat in our apartment. We were writing up invitations cards for our wedding. Of course, we had already set a date two months ago with the intention of getting married in Washington DC. We had already begun making preparations for the big day, hiring a wedding planner, dress shopping, selecting our bridal party, etc. But when the news hit the airwaves on CNN on Friday night I sprang to my feet and ran around the room like a mad woman. “We can get married in New York!” I shouted. I stomped my feet, clapped my hands and shouted, “Hallelujah!” like a church lady catching the holy spirit.

In this state of immense joy, my common sense sometimes disappears and irrationality sets in. When Mandela was released from prison on February 11, 1990, I had hit two glass bottles together that shattered to pieces, spilling remaining oil on my dress. My mother had grounded me, leaving me to express my joy facing a wall. Nearly two decades later when Obama had won the presidential election on November 4, 2008, my partner and I ran through the streets of Harlem shouting “Yes, we did!” We didn’t wear our jackets and I’m not sure if my partner had on a scarf. The only thing warming our blood and exploding in our brains was the victory and joy we felt when our voices had the potential to be heard. Same with Mandela. I was only eight years old, but somehow I knew his victory was mine. I knew it had meant that justice was finally on our side; that a once divided nation had come to its senses and was closer to brushing off its sleeves of Apartheid.

Of course, my joy in both instances was far from being contained. So can you imagine how I expressed this joy on Friday June 24th, 2011 when New York Senate ruled same-sex marriage as legal in the state? My first instinct was to smash two glass bottles together and get grounded again by my mother who would’ve heard the commotion all the way in Jamaica, reach across the ocean and hold my ears (Just kidding!). I intended to do something a little less daring, but daring nonetheless: I was tempted to run around my Bedstuy, Brooklyn neighborhood with my partner holding a rainbow flag shouting “We’re getting married!” Already, there were clappers (or were they?) bursting in a far distance on the street corners. Perhaps there were gay gangsters, Bloods or Crypts, who were just as happy as we were to finally express their love or long suppressed desire for each other. The whole world was love that night. Even stars took the shape of hearts, and for the first time I confessed to my partner how much I love America.

I pulled on some clothes and my running shoes. “Come, we’re gonna run around the block,” I said to my partner, my heart thumping inside my chest and making its way to my throat. “We’re just gonna run?” She asked while slipping on a pair of sandals. “Where’s your rainbow flag?” She asked. I looked around the apartment. Shit! “I left it at the office.” We stood there and stared at each other, a smile making its way across our lips like the dawning of a new day. After hours of putting stamps on our wedding invitations and trying to figure out the correct spelling of our guests’ last names, we decided that we were exhausted. Who knew that planning a wedding could be so physically taxing? We decided to express our joy that night by holding each other.

The next day, we spent the day at Harlem Pride celebrating the victory with the rest of the community. Our celebration trickled into Sunday’s Pride parade and celebration, which was bigger than I’ve seen it since I moved to the city. We celebrated every moment of our new found freedom dancing the day away, convincing ourselves that this isn’t a dream; it’s a reality, just like Mandela being freed was a reality and Obama winning was a reality. However, this reality belongs solely to us, close enough to grasp it with our fists as two women in love, two women who have endured the stares and rejections as we fight for what we believe in….the day, this day when we can be pronounced wife and wife in our own state.

Nicole

Share |