Notes From the Coast

The moments that have stuck with me—the lowlights still rattling around my ribcage, sweetening my dreams:

I’m always talking shit about Mal, mostly because he jumps and I try to preempt people’s reactions so they don't think poorly of ME, how's that for an admission... But everyone loved him. Sure, he was overstimulated sometimes, but he did great. It was his first time in a setting like that: four hours in the car, hundreds of people at the expo, two nights in a hotel room. Give him a little time, a few trips under his belt, he's going to do great.

One of the people who loved him? A man behind the VIP table I immediately recognized as queer family. He looked up, smiled, and told me he loved my haircut in the sweetest, most lyrical voice. He helped me a few times that weekend, and every time I saw him, my heart lifted. I hugged him goodbye at the afterparty and still miss him.

Everyone was respectful and kind to both of us. Not one person pet Mal without asking first. The hotel staff told me not to worry about his barking or whining unless it got out of hand (it didn’t). I’d braced for judgment or passive-aggression—but what I got instead was support and kindness.

I ran the marathon with a few first-timers—what a privilege that is, to pace beside someone through their first 26.2. To linger at the water station so they can catch up, to help them find their rhythm again. The first time I ran a marathon, I was lucky to have someone carry the pace with me the entire way.  This time I got to be that person - for 21 miles I was the heartbeat beside them.

But maybe what stays with me the most is that my fears were unfounded. I didn’t crash the car. Mal didn’t knock anyone over or keep them up. I had more than enough money to cover my expenses. And coming home, I feel rebaptized in competence and self-worth—something I can carry into everything else I do.

Also: the free pizza was delicious.
Thanks, Grotto's. See you next time.