Continued from [here].
When we arrived at the 30th annual Phoenix Gay Pride Festival, it felt like home for the holidays. I'm not a fan of clubs and cliques, and "organizations", but this was different, it's about equality and humanity, and I felt empowered and enlightened just being present. There I was in my new kinda-mini-for-a-36-year-old-mom skirt, feeling at home, empowered, enlightened and pretty damn cute. I got the femme Black boys' nod-which is truly saying something. Then, for a moment the sky eclipsed,when just beyond the hill I spotted those two. My own advice came back to me as quickly as our eyes did meet; the test drive was about to go down.
I may have turned to Joe-although there was so much going on strategically and chemically between my ears that it's hard to be certain in hindsight. I was literally playing out my every move like a chess match: left foot forward, smile, don't break eye contact, shoulders up, right foot forward and again, and again, over the several feet before we all met up at the crosswalk, metal versus me.
Their engines were hardly audible. The buffoonish one may have rolled down her window, but I broke eye contact and dismissed her advances shortly after acknowledging her existence. Amidst the idling engines and random banter, I could feel my legs gain their previous level of fortitude and certainty, my brows unfurl, my pulse no longer palpable. It was safe to cross, and I did so, without incident. And, as much as I wanted to give my NYC pedestrian glare-once I knew I was safe-I didn't, perhaps next time. Winks and laughs.
If this story feels like it could have been written/told by you, you may have generalized social anxiety disorder, read more on this condition and others [here].