The righting of a wrong
In February of 2004, I flew to San Francisco on a whim. My friends decided to tie the knot, take the plunge, insert-your-own-cliché here and Gavin Newsom was the only person who brave enough to let them do it. It was a Sunday and the marriages had been taking place since Friday, so the crowds were huge. The line wound three deep all the way around City Hall and if you’ve ever been to San Francisco’s City Hall, you know this is a huge swath of land. There was an A-Line for people who had tickets to be married that day. There was a B-Line for those who might get in before closing time, a time extended by the mayor and his many generous employees, many of whom volunteered to work extra hours. And there was a C-Line—the “hopeful overflow” line as they were calling it—for those who didn’t get tickets, people who had driven and flown in from all across the United States but who were likely to be turned away. We were in that line.
Our friends managed to get in and have a ceremony because they knew someone in the DA’s office (it was all very illicit but times like this, you take advantage of any advantage). The women in front of us, a lovely couple in their mid-sixties, weren’t so lucky. They had flown all the way from Florida and they stood, their suitcases at their ankles, despondent at hearing a man on a bullhorn announce, as he paced the line, that they might as well come back in the morning and take their chances then. “But what about us?” one of them asked him. “We’ve waited for this day for 32 years. We just flew in this morning.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what to tell you except that maybe you can go to the A-Line and ask someone if they might be willing to give up their ticket for you.”
So the shorter and rounder of the two women kissed her partner good-bye, leveraged herself over a retaining wall onto the sprawling green lawn and made her way toward those lucky thousands (and their family members and friends who’d come out to witness the happy day) in possession of tickets. Forty minutes later, as we were still negotiating how we were going to be sneaked through a side entry to the building, the woman came running across the lawn, her hand raised high above her head and in it, was a little piece of paper.
“We’re getting married! We’re getting married!” She said. There were tears running down her face. The hopeful overflowers cheered and applauded and whistled and cried. The woman on the grass leaped into the arms of her beloved and they kissed. I remember they both had short hair the color of the clouded sky above us. I remember their suitcases toppling awkwardly as they heaved to pull them up and over the wall. I remember them walking away to get married, schlepping their stuff from the C-Line to the A-Line, their hearts buoyant and full.
The day was not a political statement for that couple or any of the other thousands of couples who waited to marry. It was not an agenda driven act designed to vex right wingers and the morally indignant. It was about love and commitment and a rightful public declaration of that love and commitment. It was, to this day, one of the happiest days of my life.
That a Bush One-appointed California judge overturned proposition 8 today has left me breathless. I had steeled myself for the other verdict. And in a time when each day–and the one that preceded it, and the one that preceded it, and so on and so on—is filled with so much bad news and injustice of all kinds, this clear and obviously just ruling blows my hair back.
And I’m not alone. Below are some of the status updates on my Facebook wall this afternoon:
Why you have to make me cry? It’s already humid enough over here.
“Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, the fight continues.” Amen.
I was so excited when I heard! YAY!
Yeah, well. I’m crying too. Beautifully written my dear girl. Well done.
I jumped out of my recliner chair when I heard the news on this, but my elation was followed by depression in knowing that, yes, the judge made the right decision, but he did so in the aftermath of an overwhelming majority of Californians who voted for Prop 8.
I guess, my point is, it’s cool that we have a couple of judges who are hip to equality, but that the majority of the population is not makes me sick to my stomach. That has not changed.
@Ed: I don’t think 52-48% is overwhelming. It’s disturbing but it’s far different than, say, 90-10%. Do we live amongst unenlightened bigots? Yes. Did they lose yesterday? Uh-huh. And on this issue, the 48% and the judges and the constitution are right. What will make me sick is if the SCOTUS sees fit to line up with the neanderthals among us.
See girl – keep plugging and do what you can and sometimes the right side wins! Great post. Cal
On the whole 52-48% vote–the bill was so poorly worded I think there may have been people that actually voted “Yes” when they meant “No.” I hold out hope that was the case for some of that 48%.
So very pleased!! and it’s about time. I remember during the San Francisco marriages I contacted a florist in SF and paid for flowers to be delivered to any random couple standing in line.
I am glad that the Judge wrote his brief with an eye toward its future review by the Court of Appeals – very smart.
Just beautiful, Aaryn. Thank you so much for sharing it. I was already happy about the decision, but now I have shiny tears to go with my smile!
Aaryn, your words and stories have a way of stealthing their way around my heart strings and tugging and squeezing just enough to make that lump pop right up into my throat and the next thing I’m laughing and crying at the same time! Just beautiful! I feel I was there! Thank you!