Short Story

“What Was I Made For?”: Thoughts of a Queer Barbie

I look out over the rolling waves and allow my eyes to rest on her. She’s wearing a fitted white tank top, jean shorts, and her signature silver chain around her neck. Her dimples are on full display as she laughs at something her friend says, and her eyes capture the rays of sunlight and infuse them into her irises, brightening them beyond Technicolor. They’ve broken through to the sixth dimension, and I can’t look away, and I don’t want to look away.

A Jigsaw Puzzle Is an Act of Creation

Sometimes I look in the mirror when the angle is just right and fall in love with the sight of my chest, flat and unburdened. Like the rolling desert that I like to call home, just miles and miles of unbroken land. At this moment, no one has ever touched me there except to lay a hand flat, feel the press of my sternum against their palm, and nothing else. 

The Umbrella 

Lea was already late, running down the sidewalk like a marathon sprinter in the last leg of a race. She dodged around screaming babies in strollers, men in ironed suits in the midst of an argument, and bright yellow fire hydrants. She yelled a quick “Sorry!” or an “Excuse me!” as she weaved her way through the crowds of people hustling to enter the sanctity of their cars after work. Los Angeles at five in the afternoon was not a friendly place.

Ellos Quieren Sangre

Her shoulders drooped with the weight of her Catholic guilt as the statue of white Jesus stared down at her, telling her, I know what you’ve done. His dark eyes seemed to be in perpetual melancholy as her own peered into them. That statue always scared her, always seemed to follow her home from church; it was the first thing she’d see in her grandmother’s kitchen, a miniature version of the statue hung up in her room right in front of the doorway. She had always accepted that Jesus would be a permanent part of her life, just as she had accepted that she bore responsibilities, as the eldest daughter and the first grandchild, to fall in line with what her family expected from her.. 

Queer Next Up: Alex Penland

Alex Penland (they/them) is an author, creative writing student, Smithsonian alumnus, and linguist . They primarily write SFF (Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Speculative Fiction), but also dabble in poetry.

Umbrellas

A pair of unlikely friends caught in the pouring rain unpack a girl’s perhaps undeserved reputation.

piper&jenny

Jenny and I met in the early days of middle school, when everyone was all acne and gangly legs, and got on like a gasoline-soaked house gets on with a match. Frankly, it was a nightmare for our parents. My mom, who I know had been quietly worrying about my ability to make friends, was suddenly unable to enter a shared space in our house without me bombarding her with requests to go to Jenny’s house, stories of something funny that Jenny had said at school today, of Jenny’s new puppy that she got last week.

La Rousse

Illustrated by Christopher Ikonomou (Xe/He) This piece was originally published in our Winter 2022 Volume 2 print issue “Wanting: A Queer Beauty & Burden.“ Since checking into work that morning, Lynn had done little besides load up the popcorn machine…

Holding On to Let Go

Photo by Zoë Collins (She/Her) She felt the presence approach her before she heard the sand shifting beside her head. “This isn’t like you.” She opened her eyes to a half squint. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she responded. “Come…

Headlights

Photo by Zoë Collins (She/Her) Julia’s headlights lit up the road in front of her, darkness curling around the light’s edge and lurking behind every corner. Music was flooding through her crackling speakers, its rhythm syncing with the loud pound…