19
JULES
T he glow of Harmony Concert Hall was a living, breathing thing, warm light spilling from the stained-glass windows and pooling on the sidewalk outside. The buzz of excitement hummed through the air, spilling out into the lobby where vibrant banners announced the Pride Month: Stories That Change Us Event. Tables were adorned with stacks of queer literature, handmade crafts, and memorabilia donated by local LGBTQ+ elders. Young children darted between the tables, their laughter blending with the chatter of parents, students, and community members of every age.
The room was alive with color, rainbow pins, pride flags draped over shoulders, and sequins glinting under the overhead lights. At one table, Maxie Glam, the larger-than-life drag queen trivia host from the Rainbow Taproom, stood like royalty, her family of queens and kings flanking her. Parents took pictures with her as she teased the children, slipping into an exaggerated Southern drawl. Noah Patel stood near the art station, chatting with Renzo Santiago about their shared love of queer Latinx poetry, Renzo’s quiet nods matching Noah’s animated gestures. At the queer literature table, Max O’Connor laughed with Tess Franklin and Avery Summers, who leaned in to debate the merits of a particularly colorful book. Callie Nguyen breezed by with coffee, tossing a playful remark to Harper Adebayo, whose calm presence anchored the lively scene, while Liam Carter’s booming voice at the mic kept the energy high with his quick wit. Administrators and teachers from Havenwood High, local business owners, and even a few curious older folks from the assisted living center had all shown up, filling the space with an energy I could only describe as electric.
I navigated eagerly between clusters of lively conversations, my outfit a vivid spectacle that mirrored my exploding personality, a flowing ensemble splashed with clashing, bold patterns of deep purples and vivid yellows. Clutched in my hand, a clipboard scribbled with frenzied notes was my talisman for the evening, a comforting distraction that kept my energy channeled. I paused at the GSA table, where Maya and Jayden had transformed the area into a pulsing hub of artistic creativity and heartfelt connection. Hovering above the table, the question “ What Does Pride Mean to You?” was penned in grand, flowing script, beckoning curious onlookers to engage.
“This is amazing, you two,” I marveled quietly, my eyes drinking in the living canvas before me. With a beaming smile, Maya motioned excitedly toward a continuously growing chain of vibrantly colored paper strips, her enthusiasm practically contagious. “We’ve been adding to the paper chain all night,” she explained, each strip a fragment of shared hope. Jayden, deftly snipping through more paper with practiced ease, added, “It’s a huge success.” I laughed, though my gaze was constantly darting about to take in every exquisite detail. Suddenly, the sound of my name being called drew me toward Callie, who had claimed the queer literature table like a stage. Holding court with a fresh cup of coffee in one hand and their clipboard in the other, Callie beckoned, “Jules!” with an exuberant wave. “You’ve been glowing all night. Is it nerves or just an obscene amount of caffeine?”
“Both,” I admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle, casually brushing back a rebellious strand of hair. “Also, a dash of sheer terror.” Callie’s gentle laugh and reassuring shake of the head brought instant comfort. “Relax. This is incredible, and you know it.” I managed a smile, but before I could offer a full reply, my eyes drifted across the room and locked onto someone, or something, that seized my attention.
There, at the tech booth, stood Elliot, meticulously adjusting the controls on the soundboard. Dressed in a sharply tailored, dark suit that sculpted his physique perfectly, his striking appearance nearly made me drop my clipboard. He exuded a magnetism so potent that every inch of him appeared to whisper composed professionalism, even as my mind flirted wildly with unprofessional thoughts of sneaking him into a quiet supply closet for a secret rendezvous.
“Jules, focus,” I muttered silently, shaking the daydream from my head. Too much depended on my attention tonight, and the event wasn’t going to orchestrate itself.
The program unfurled with the students taking center stage. Maya’s spoken word performance struck the room like a series of powerful, emotional drumbeats, each line a visceral punch of resilience and defiance. Soon after, Jayden moved through his monologue, causing the audience to alternate between hearty laughter and tear-streaked eyes. The air swelled with snapping fingers, heartfelt cheers, and standing ovations, as every performance built the momentum higher.
I flitted back and forth between the bustling audience and the organized controlled chaos backstage, ensuring that every transition shimmered with seamless precision. At one point, I ducked into an aisle near Elliot, where the soft glow of stage lights gently illuminated his focused face. “They’re killing it out there,” I whispered as I leaned in close. He turned, his gaze warm and soulful, and answered softly, “Because they had someone who believed in them.” His tender words sent an unexpected flutter through my chest, momentarily stealing my breath away. I squeezed his arm lightly in grateful acknowledgment before slipping away backstage, my heart drumming in a wild, hopeful rhythm.
Bathed in the luminous warmth of the spotlight, I stepped to the center of the stage. The ambient hum in the room settled into an almost sacred stillness that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. My eyes swept across a sea of diverse faces, students, parents, artists, teachers, business owners, and many others, each one a sparkling constellation in the night’s vast tapestry. For a suspended moment, I allowed myself to breathe in the collective energy, feeling its unique gravity hold me in the significance of this night.
“Okay, funny story,” I began with a playful smile curling at my lips, “I once tried to organize a protest without checking anyone else’s schedule. Turns out, you can’t march solo and call it a movement.” A warm ripple of laughter cascaded over the room, softening the tension coiled in my chest. After letting that moment of levity settle, my tone deepened into something more reflective.
“But seriously,” I declared, taking a deliberate step forward, “being vulnerable is like stepping onto a stage without a script. You never know how it will land, whether you’ll evoke cheers or stumble flat on your face. And yet… you do it anyway, because the story, the raw truth, is worth the risk.” The room hushed, every eye and ear fixed in rapt attention. My gaze flickered toward the tech booth once more, resting on Elliott’s steady, composed stillness. Even from afar, he exuded a softness that spoke directly to my soul, an ineffable quality felt in every beat of my heart.
“You know,” I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word, “each of you is not just enough, you are magnificently, unabashedly more than enough. If anyone ever told you that you’re too much, too loud, too passionate, too weird, too chaotic, remember this: it’s not a shortcoming in you, but a limitation in them. They just couldn’t handle your fabulousness.” Genuine laughter and heartfelt murmurs of agreement filled the space, but I pressed on, grounding the message in deep sincerity.
“This event, tonight, is about connection. It’s about cherishing our past while constructing a future where every story, every truth, matters. Storytelling is not merely words, it’s connection, community, courage. It’s the steadfast declaration, ‘We’re here. We’ve always been here.’ And we’re not going anywhere.” My eyes wandered over the audience, finding flickers of familiar joy, Callie’s beaming grin, Max’s encouraging nod, Tess’s gentle hand in Avery’s, each individual a vibrant thread in our collective tapestry.
“And despite all our differences, our varied histories, and even the world’s attempts to pull us apart, hear this and hold it close: you are loved. Exactly as you are, right here, right now.” The words hung heavily in the air, their weight an embodiment of shared truth. Locking eyes with Elliott one final time, the rest of the world blurred into insignificance. This message was for him as much as for the room, perhaps especially for him.
“Because when we come together, with all our differences and even our conflicts, we forge something far greater than ourselves. We create belonging. And tonight, you’re not just etched into history, you’re woven into a family. A family that sees you, a family that cherishes you.” As the applause began as a gentle murmur, swelling into a roar that cascaded through the hall, I stepped back and bowed my head, overwhelmed by a surge of profound emotion. In that fleeting moment, as I looked back toward Elliott, who was clapping with quiet, warm intensity and the faintest crescent of a smile, I dared to hope he understood. That the message wasn’t solely for the crowd, but for him, for us. In every contrast and obstacle, there was love found in the nuanced space between.
Thunderous applause filled the hall once again. Backstage, Callie enveloped me in a bear hug before I could even draw a breath. “You crushed it,” they said softly, their voice a tender reprieve from the night’s chaos. “Thanks, Cal,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a blend of relief and wonder. As the echoes of applause reverberated through the building, I found a small, quiet corner to catch my breath. My heart thumped wildly, not with fear, but with hope. A hope that, at long last, I was stepping into the full, radiant version of myself that I was meant to be.