- Country of Origin: Hawaii, United States of America
It all started in Wichita, the largest city in Kansas, bustling with the aircraft of Cessna, Learjet, and Boeing. Founded in 1861 as a free state, Wichita was Native American land named after the Wichita and Kanza tribes. This land had a rich, deep cultural heritage predating colonization. Filled with dewy, mystic plains and sunflowers that dance in the wind, Wichita is my birthplace.
A few Wiccan friends
Such a safe and liberal place to grow up, nestled in a place in America called the Bible Belt and Tornado Alley, Wichita had some challenges, too. For those who grew up there and were different in the 1990s and 2000s—life was lived in the tradition of “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.” It was a very heavily Christian town, and most other belief systems were suspect and not embraced. But I would notice a new kid sitting alone during lunch and instantly befriended them, so they weren’t alone. Renegade.
I had a few Wiccan friends who were social pariahs. Excommunicated from the popular crowd, they still were my friends. We would walk home from school together and meet their cats. The agnostics, the atheists, the grunge and emo people, the cosplayers; all my friends. Couple them with the Roman Catholics and devout Christians, and you have a full index book of my school associations. No one was left out. I was a friend to the friendless and a bully to the bullies. I still have friends who remind me of times I stuck up for them. Renegade.
In the spring and early summer, our memories are imprinted with drills. We had to go to the school basement, a musty and dank gym locker room with rusted shower heads and cement walls. We could hear the blaring sirens for miles. Sometimes, we would just line ourselves along the classroom hallways with our heads bent towards the lockers and our hands clasped over the back of our heads. The screaming sound of the sirens would put chills down my spine and create an immediate visceral reaction. Friends’ homes were often destroyed on the outskirts of Wichita due to the tornadoes. But this was home, and we were all used to it.
Emerging from innocence and charm
My friends and I, and many others in Wichita, were part of a desegregation bussing system. Buses went near and far to take us to Park City in grades K-12. Later to be known as the home of the BTK Killer, it still had its innocence and charm then. I sometimes saw horses, cows, chickens, even llamas on the way to my elementary school, Chisholm Trail—after Jesse Chisholm, a Cherokee merchant. Black Beaver, a Lenape trail guide and cattle rancher, and his friend Chisholm used this trail for cattle driving and trading.
Chisholm Trail was a school breaking barriers. We had a female African-American Principal, Mrs. Saundra Kaye Lyons, and other people of color as our guidance counselors and instructors. We were on the cutting edge of school programs for Wichita and quite diverse.
But in middle school, there was a “magnet school” near my house. The magnet program is another system to attract a diverse student body, a continuation of the desegregation bussing from elementary school. This is where I started to come into myself and learn who I really was.
The facts of Iife crew!
I had a core friend group with three other girls, the “Facts of Life” crew. I was Tootie, Stephanie was Joe, Leticia was Natalie, and Julia was Blair. When we were together, no one could mess with us. Stephanie was Filipino, sporty, and played soccer. Leticia was black and Panamanian, my best friend from violin class. Julia was a ginger girl who loved animals, spunky, and the first to fight if someone insulted us. When I met Leticia, I was impressed by her basketweave pattern of tightly cornrowed braids. They were immaculate like a work of art. My sister was a hair braider so I found a way to inch into a conversation. Before our conversation, when I complimented her, I had never seen her speak a word to anyone. We became inseparable. I remember one of our teachers comedically telling us to “cut the umbilical cord!” as we laughed feverishly about a picture in our textbook.
I started to have complex feelings I didn’t understand for our other friend, Stepnanie. I kept them in my diary and didn’t tell a soul until a couple of years later. I confessed my true feelings for Stephanie to my bestie, Leticia. She suggested that I write her a letter. I wrote it and put it in her locker, not sure what to expect. Maybe I thought she would be a renegade like me, we’d walk down the hallways holding hands, daring anyone to say anything. Maybe I thought we would stay the same with our flirty yet platonic relationship, but just with an understanding. I did not expect to break up our friends group.
And that’s exactly what I was doing, far too much to ask really in small-minded, bible-belted Kansas in the 8th grade. Stephanie was Roman Catholic. She couldn’t publicly associate with me anymore, and I accepted the death of our friendship.
My secret-laden diary goes AWOL
But fast forward a few months. I left my purse in a class — absent-minded teenager — where I kept my diary. The school jock decided to retrieve my diary and pass it to everyone. A fluffy, zebra-printed, fur-covered little time capsule. I somehow missed it that Friday. On Monday, a girl walked up to me with her jaw open and demanded, “Are you gay?!” I said no……? “Well, your diary is all over school now,” and she walked away as if I was the one who insulted her. I turned the corner, heart beating fast, and wondering about my next move. Then there was a group of people. “Are you gay?!” There wasn’t much I could do to fight it. “Yes, I’m gay.”
But I wasn’t free. People did not leave me alone after my confession. Mobs of people approached me at recess, lunch, and every class. Prodding at me like a science experiment gone wrong. Even some teachers were looking at me like I had the plague. Ultimately, when I retrieved the diary, it was on a teacher’s desk, as if it had been brought in for Show and Tell. Without a word, I grabbed my journal and walked back out. I accepted my new fate as an outsider, like those I had befriended. Thankfully, they were a non-judgmental group of friends. Plenty of the religious ones could no longer associate with me, however.
My grannie challenge
Being adopted by my grandmother, I had a wisdom most kids my age didn’t yet have. I knew I needed to tell her before anyone else could. I was a little woman in my own right. We were born and raised in the Baptist church so talking was going to be a huge undertaking. Grannie was the superintendent of Sunday School and an Evangelist. I was the junior secretary there. Her husband had the keys to the church, and we were the first to arrive every Sunday to unlock it. Not going to be easy.
I was nervous about this confession, but it was too late. I couldn’t put the milk back into the carton, and I didn’t have time to cry over the spill. I eventually confessed to my sisters and Grannie before the gossip. They told me they loved me no matter what. My middle sister told me she was just glad I wasn’t pregnant. My oldest sister said that she already knew. With Grannie, I became emotional. I didn’t want to be a failure in her eyes. She assured me being a lesbian didn’t preclude me from success. She told me to get myself together, and we would talk about it later. One day, I think she just couldn’t hold it anymore and exploded “I’d rather you had been pregnant than gay!” But she eventually came around and even introduced me to an older married lesbian mentor from her workplace. I am to this day grateful for my family’s acceptance, which many LGBT people never received.
Graduation howling
The last week of school, academic awards were presented in the auditorium before the entire student body. I had joined the cross-country team as a favor to one teacher. I competed in one race and didn’t even finish, but received an award. The entire student body burst into laughter at my name.
Maybe mild, it felt like outlandish howling. Hey, how would you expect Kansas teenagers to react in 2002?
It stained me. It also built character. Officially out, still working on being proud.
Manifesting what I really wanted
The next semester was high school. There were other lesbians in my school, but I still never quite fitted in anywhere. I graduated a year early and wanted to put school as far behind me as possible.
I went on to attend college to pursue a degree in Psychology. I married my wife, whom I met online in 2002, and we have been married for ten years. She is an Iraqi war Veteran turned teacher and quite amazing. We live in beautiful and accepting Oahu, Hawaii, and happy with our three chihuahua-yorkies. We are currently trying to conceive. Renegade.
I’m sure Kansas has grown by leaps and bounds since I left years ago, but this was an important snapshot of a time when things were not so easy for the LGBTQIA+ community. It may seem long ago that we were so openly discriminated against, but it was actually very recent and still sometimes happens today. I have also seen many improvements in schools regarding anti-bullying and support for the fostering of strong personalities within very different individuals. Live and let live, and always be yourself. There is a huge payout in the end, and you will manifest yourself exactly where you would have wanted to be in your teenage dreams.
Thank you to Yosef Baskin for his inspired edits on this piece.
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Amber Renée Marshall
Amber is married to an Iraqi war Veteran and adopted chihuahua-yorkies: King Kamehameha, Sienna Lola, and Lula Aolani.
