Feminism, Gender & LGBTI Spaces
Humidity
By: Natalie Hanson
It’s not like it is in the North; it’s heavy and thick, almost stifling. Every breath is like sucking in water. But it’s not just breathing; you can feel it surround your arms, your legs, pressing against your face as you exit the plane, like a blanket. Walking feels like swimming, wading through an invisible pool. You trudge through it, following bags and backs that look vaguely familiar, hoping like hell there’s air conditioning in the customs building.
Your hotel room offers the lone respite. The air conditioner is turned up to the maximum setting. Your roommate isn’t the biggest fan of humidity or heat either. The air conditioner stays on for the next ten days.
Showering and a change of clothes at midday quickly become the norms with most of us in the group.
There are other things you’re not used to besides the humidity such as the free-roaming dogs and cats that seem to be everywhere (you continually resist the urge to stuff one in your bag to take home). Coffee and beer so cheap, you make sure to have one or the other whenever possible (because when will you get coffee or beer that costs less than $2 again?).
But there are things you are used to, dynamics you are familiar with. Kids playing in the street; workers repairing crumbling buildings; people drinking and eating together.
Laughing
But it’s not just the humidity. It’s something else that weighs on you all the same. It’s the way people interact with you.
You feel it, the assumption, the automatic default. The almost palpable surprise when you discuss LGBTI rights.
They don’t know you’re gay.
You shouldn’t be caught off guard when you realize you need to come out to the group, but you are.
It’s been a while since you’ve had to have this talk with anyone, so blatant. In the past, you would simply start talking and making it blatantly obvious. But this is different, this is like how it used to be, when you had to be deliberate, be careful.
It’s not bad, coming out. After the initial surprise, it is accepted. There are others within the group who identify with an LGBTI label, and you realize you’re not the “token lesbian” for once.
You’re relieved.
But you’re still careful. The group, you know they’re ok, but beyond them... You already know what would happen if you attempted to rebuff any advance towards you with “I’m gay”. So you shrug it off, ignore it. Luckily, the majority of the attention is not towards you, and proves to be more amusing than anything. You’re relieved, but feel guilty as the others seemed to have become a buffer. But they take it in stride, and laugh it off. It continues to work for the rest of the time; traveling in a group seems to work for the best.
You’re fine with it, being in a group; you’ve become friends.
And their goofiness and humor make the trip that much better. You spend the majority of your days laughing and joking, enjoying the company, finally comfortable and able to be yourself.
You don’t really have any awkward encounters for the first part of the trip, and you’re fine with it for obvious reasons.
Until you go to the Malecon with Stevie and Nathaniel.
Sitting on the wall, you start passing around the $4 bottle of rum that tastes likes beach trips and summer, enjoying the night and the one time you don’t feel like you’re being weighed down by a giant humid blanket. As you sit there, you start talking and then.
Nestor approaches.
The humidity is what you notice first.
You probably should have known better. But he spoke with Nathanial and Stevie first, so why on earth would you have to worry, right? Clearly you were safe, you didn’t engage with him at all, and let’s be honest, the girls to your right were way more attractive.
How did you get into grad school?
You try to be polite, engage a little, but not too much. This is what you like about traveling anyway: meeting people.
Nestor is apparently a gym teacher, and staying with his family super far away. Or at least that’s what you think…
The conversation is halted, choppy, because he doesn’t speak English very well and none of you really speak Spanish. He brings up baseball, you bring up softball, because you like to talk baseball and who doesn’t know that stereotype?
Apparently Nestor.
A few more minutes and he turns to Nathaniel.
“Your boyfriend?”
So much for being buddies.
You haven’t spoken about this with Nathaniel at all, and try to avoid making it awkward by going for a middle of the road answer, hoping it will be enough where Nestor wouldn’t try anything without sticking Nathanial in an awkward spot.
“Brother?”
You see the eyes light up and immediately realize you should have just gone with it and said boyfriend.
No no no no no!
You try to salvage the situation, staying polite, keeping your distance, destroying any encouragement.
Yeah, that doesn’t work.
He sits down beside you and starts talking. A box of rum is passed around. It burns worse than anything you’ve had in a long time.
You start referencing a boyfriend back home as a hail Mary.
He starts calling you beautiful.
You start wondering if you should talk about how Scarlett Johanson is on your laminated list, or Kate Winslet, Abby Wombach, and Emma Watson.
Bad plan, you don’t have a taser if he gets the wrong idea.
“My boyfriend and I..”
“Beautiful!”
“Boyfriend”
“Beautiful!”
Crap.
You hear Stevie snickering and you want to throw something at her, but you don’t because frankly all you have is the rum bottle, and you never waste rum. Well, unless you get to yell “Why’s the rum gone?” afterwards, but have a feeling you can’t do it justice without a pirate hat.
Eventually, you realize Nestor isn’t leaving and you don’t have a smoke bomb, so it’s time for drastic measures.
“Ok guys, ready to go?”
Smooth.
They look at you; both are barely resisting the urge to laugh.
“You sure?”
Really?
“Yes please!”
You extricate yourself quickly, avoiding Nestor’s attempt to get your number, and sprint walk in the opposite direction.
It takes all three of you less than a minute before the laughter begins. You don’t stop until you find another spot to sit down, far from Nestor and his boxed rum.
You plop onto the seawall, noting the concrete digging into your thighs. You see the lighthouse looming out over the bay. You hear the dark waves hitting the wall below and taste the saltwater in the air. Tears are still streaming down your cheeks from laughter.
You start laughing again and at some point music comes on; it is bluesy and rough. You bring out the remaining dregs of the cigar you smoked the other night, and share it with Nathaniel (Stevie doesn’t do cigars).
You feel a weight.
Then you realize, the heteronormativity is what you notice.
It’s not like it is in the U.S.; it’s heavy and thick, almost stifling.