We need to stick together
Matthew Shepard was murdered in Wyoming when I was fifteen. The following spring, I was sitting outside a McDonalds in my home town after dark with my best friend when a car full of men in their early twenties drove by, real slow. They did a U-turn so they could drive by again. They rolled their windows down. “Is that a girl or a boy?” one of them yelled, referencing my best friend; she was looking butch as always, with her baggy 90s grunge look, her figure lean and rangy. Laughter pealed from the inside of the car. I can’t remember what…