“What does a liberated life mean for queer southerners and for the folks around us? When will home accept us?”

AS A CHILD IN BIRMINGHAM, I saw girls visit my masculine-presenting neighbor at night. They talked through the screen at her bedroom window. I wondered why I’d never see them enter the house, and it wasn’t until I was older that I realized that my neighbor was queer. She unfortunately passed away at a young age. But I never forgot her because I often saw myself in her. The ways she walked boldly wearing long tees, baseball caps, and Jordans. I knew I’d grow up to be like her in so many ways. I’ve always known that I was queer. Maybe not the exact term, but I knew I was different by my looks, likes, and attractions.