Page 35 of Maybe Some Other Time

Chapter fourteen

Even God Loves You

T he pounding drums drowned out the cheers of the growing crowds on either side of Hollywood Boulevard, where Thelma, Megan, and Emma watched that year’s Pride Parade.

I’ve never seen so many colors together at once.

She quite liked the idea of rainbows being used to represent those who followed the beat of a different drum.

So many colors! Thelma didn’t even mind the dry heat as she stood with a small parasol that wouldn’t hit the people around her.

Her cotton sundress with spandex shorts beneath helped her blend into the crowd, but both her granddaughter and Emma were decked out in crocheted tops that represented their respective sexuality “flags.” For Megan, that was a mesh of dark pinks, purples, and blues, while Emma was smashing in bright pink and orange.

They held onto each other while the parade passed, hollering as they were handed stickers, beads, and other small trinkets from groups representing local markets, volunteer groups, and “queer friendly” shops and services.

At first, Thelma was smitten with the idea of the neighborhood market where she now bought most of her groceries, showing up with employees dressed in rainbow-themed uniforms who handed out 10% off coupons like candy.

Then there was a local union showing up.

A lesbian choir? Who knew! Watching muscular women in leather ride by on motorcycles certainly awakened something in Thelma, although she wasn’t sure what to make of one young lady with spiky orange hair and more piercings than she had ever seen in her life.

“Come on, you’ve gotta wear one!” Megan called over the roar of the crowd as she handed her grandmother a rainbow-colored star sticker. “Just put it on your cheek like this!”

How fun! Thelma pulled the sticker off its sheet and gently pushed it against her skin. The trash was tucked into her green purse, and she insisted that the girls hand over their bits of paper before they ended up on the pavement.

In the end, Thelma handled a Pride Parade well.

While the concept had initially left her mind an utter wreck as she attempted to conceive it—despite photographic evidence from past events—once it began, she got into the groove of things.

Technology and social mores had advanced enough that she was neither surprised nor put out by the smoke machines or topless women exerting their First Amendment rights.

Why shouldn’t they? The only time Thelma balked was when a man with his rear hanging out of his leather chaps and a giant, metal penis hanging around his neck approached with a rainbow-colored rose.

“Oh… my. Thank you.” She kept her eyes averted from the rest and focused on the man’s hefty mustache and dark sunglasses. He tipped his hat to her and went on his way.

“You’ve been blessed!” Megan shouted.

As the parade died down, the girls escorted her to the festival grounds, where a stage had been erected for performances and vendors opened booths to promote their local businesses.

The grounds were so crowded, though, that Thelma had to put her parasol away and wrap her arm around Megan’s to keep them from being separated.

“There are so many men dressed as women…” Thelma observed as another “drag queen” brushed up against her. While it wasn’t her first time seeing such a thing since coming to 2018, she had never seen so many at once, and up close? Absolutely not!

“Wait until you see the gals dressed as guys,” Emma said with a giggle. “My fave.”

“’Cause you’re a slut,” Megan candidly said.

“Megan!” Thelma gasped. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Relax, Thel. It’s a compliment.”

The only reason Megan got by with calling her grandmother “Thel” was because they looked about the same age and because… Well, look at us. It would be ridiculous for Megan to call her “Grandma.” I’m certainly not old enough to be one!

The girls were mostly interested in booths by small businesses, which Thelma also found charming, especially those trending toward the fiber arts, including a large presentation of something called an “AIDS quilt.” While Thelma admired the stitchwork and enjoyed the colorful joy threaded through the fabric, the people around her whispered about its meaning and how, “That’s why they put the L first, you know.

” Thelma didn’t know what that meant, but when asked to make a small donation to a local charity, she was happy to drop in a five-dollar bill now that she had divorced her preconceived notions about a dollar’s worth.

After you spend enough money at the market, you rewire your brain a bit.

While Megan and Emma crowded into a soap and other sundries booth, Thelma waited between it and the next booth over, which sported leatherwork.

“How lovely…” She picked up a handmade wallet at the front of the booth, engraved with a double-Mars symbol.

Aside from what it represents… because even I know that…

It was exactly the type of thing she would buy Bill or Robbie as a birthday gift or as a souvenir from the desert.

The sign above the basket of wallets described the seller as originating near Palm Springs.

It’s been so long since I’ve been there… She wondered what it was like now.

Thelma stepped farther into the booth after confirming that the girls were still smelling soaps next door. After her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she came face-to-face with….

Well…

My goodness! She might not have been na?ve, but she was still underexposed to the more open sides of people’s sexualities. And that included “kink,” which was on full display in the form of whips, floggers, and handmade handcuffs. The dog-bone shaped bites were just the icing on the crazy cake!

“Anything you looking for?” A woman with frizzy red hair and a T-shirt advertising some sort of rock band poked her head out from the back of the booth.

“We’ve got just about everything a newbie or more advanced connoisseur might be looking for!

All homemade by my husband and me, right here in SoCal. ”

Thelma kept her hand against her cheek so she wouldn’t show off how embarrassed she was. “I’m… I’m fine. Just browsing.”

“No worries! Let me know if you have any questions!”

I have so many questions! Yet Thelma waited for the woman to retreat behind her small table before glancing at the wares again. My. God. Sweat beaded on her brow and dripped down her spine. She wasn’t turned on as much as she was just confused.

“Hey, uh…” It was Megan, standing respectfully a few feet away. “You know what you’re looking at, right?”

Thelma lowered her hand and marched out of the booth as if nothing could faze her. “I’m aware, thank you. Do you not think we had this back in the ‘50s?”

“Um, yeah, that’s exactly what I think.”

Thelma scoffed. Just because Megan was right that such things would not be sold out in the open—let alone where children walked by!

—didn’t mean she would indulge in such stereotypes.

I get enough of that as it is. Even some of her fellow time travelers made jokes about the ‘50s.

As if that one decade defined my life. While her third decade on Earth perfectly lined up with the ‘50s, there was still her childhood during the Depression and her adolescence during World War 2. She would not begrudge the things Megan had seen in her life—over the weeks, Thelma had learned all about 9/11 and how some of the young men in Megan’s neighborhood died overseas, including a boy who used to babysit her when the parents were out of town.

“Back then,” Thelma explained, “we did not know what our neighbors did in their bedrooms. People did not make it anyone else’s business.”

“Because they could get in trouble,” Megan pointed out.

Thelma bristled again. “Because it was the polite thing to do! In this century, you’ve got so much surveillance.

Where is the freedom of privacy? Where is the ability to walk down the street without anyone knowing?

Back when I disappeared, nobody saw it happen because it was late enough that everyone was inside their homes. There were no street cameras. I swear…”

“Come on, Thel…”

“No, no,” Emma interjected, “she’s got a point. 9/11 broke our brains.”

“Like you remember 9/11!”

Megan’s outburst was loud enough to be heard above the music blasting from cheap speakers and the other rabble around them. She apologized to a middle-aged man with a shirt that said FREE DAD HUGS before hauling her grandmother and girlfriend farther down the walkway between booths.

They all agreed they were peckish, especially Thelma, who had not had anything to eat since eggs and fruit earlier that morning.

Emma offered to wait in line to buy them all pizza from a food truck, a concept that Thelma thought utterly delightful.

But the line was quite long, leaving Megan and Thelma to hang out on the far end of the booths where, luckily, the awnings made everything quite shady.

“I’m gonna look at the books here.” Megan pointed to a local bookstore’s booth that featured all sorts of “LGBT” related books.

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and… Transgender.

Thelma hoped she got the T correct. The last time she openly said “Transsexual,” she was berated for old-fashioned language, and she was so tired of it. “How about you?”

“Think I’ll wait over here for Emma to return with our food. Maybe I’ll scout a place for us to sit and eat.”

Megan glanced at the open grass areas near a large tree. “Okay. Look, I don’t mean to sound like a mom or that you’re a kid or anything, but…”

Thelma softly smiled. “Don’t worry, Meg. I shan’t wander too far.”

“Oh, good.” Megan sighed. “Shan’t, though?”

“Shall not.”

“I know what it means.”