Coming Out, Going Home was first published by Paradise Press – inside their 'Flash Dances: 100 Little Queer Stories' anthology in November 2024.
Coming Out, Going Home
An uneven clack shattered the stillness of the night. One heel had snapped off in the skirmish, leaving Lottie in an unstable state – now limping her way back home.
She found herself unconsciously clutching her arm, the feel of the officer’s fingers still fresh in her mind. She had been near the back of the crowd, able to slip away almost unnoticed.
Yet he had clearly taken exception to her. Perhaps her height had marked her out immediately? Lottie had always considered The Stonewall Inn her second home, a place where appearances didn’t matter. Yet to have been forced out so unceremoniously – to be bullied and harassed into silence – was to have that sense of self torn from her very soul…
The lopsided steps which now defined her presence continued to resonate throughout the street. Yet she refused to let herself sob, to vocalise the void where she had suppressed her inner pain. She had made enough concessions to the world tonight.
Finally, her hand came to rest on the front door of her home. The apartment block appeared only vaguely aware of her arrival, with scant few lights flickering to life.
None of her neighbours would listen to Lottie if she decided to recount her story. They weren’t the support that Stonewall had been, they barely acknowledged her existence.
This wasn’t the home which affirmed her.
Stonewall was.
She found herself unconsciously clutching her arm, the feel of the officer’s fingers still fresh in her mind. She had been near the back of the crowd, able to slip away almost unnoticed.
Yet he had clearly taken exception to her. Perhaps her height had marked her out immediately? Lottie had always considered The Stonewall Inn her second home, a place where appearances didn’t matter. Yet to have been forced out so unceremoniously – to be bullied and harassed into silence – was to have that sense of self torn from her very soul…
The lopsided steps which now defined her presence continued to resonate throughout the street. Yet she refused to let herself sob, to vocalise the void where she had suppressed her inner pain. She had made enough concessions to the world tonight.
Finally, her hand came to rest on the front door of her home. The apartment block appeared only vaguely aware of her arrival, with scant few lights flickering to life.
None of her neighbours would listen to Lottie if she decided to recount her story. They weren’t the support that Stonewall had been, they barely acknowledged her existence.
This wasn’t the home which affirmed her.
Stonewall was.
