I was doing some late-night grocery shopping at the Metro on Gould Street, and I noticed a significant number of Muslim families in the store doing shopping that felt, somehow, festive and joyful. Then I remembered that tonight is the end of the holy month of Ramadan. As I waited for my Uber outside the store, the first few raindrops started to fall, and the air was full of that sweetness that sometimes comes before a spring night's rain. Hurrying past me on the sidewalk was a male couple, arm in arm, both wearing beautiful, woven ivory thobes. One looked straight ahead with look of apprehension on his face. His partner pulled him closer and caught my eye, smiling nervously as he walked by. When I returned the smile—a smile of recognition and fraternity, because these two were obviously more than friends—his own smile exploded into something bright and exultant. He raised his free arm slightly in a gesture of something like a wave, or half-salute. They continued on their way, walking more quickly now as the rain began to fall in earnest. All queer people have journeys to make, some easier than others, at different points in our lives, depending upon where that journey started, and what obstacles are placed in our way, often, even with the best of intentions, by families. I feel genuinely blessed to have witnessed a minuscule leg of their journey on this rainy night of the last day of Ramadan, and their joy is still imprinted on me as I type this with the rain pattering insistently on my roof.
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