Meeting Susan

And then walking away

Photo by Uriel Soberanes on Unsplash

After haircuts by the fabulous Tyler last night, Julie and I stopped to grab dinner. My body was begging for something green, so we went to our favorite local restaurant with the best salad and salmon. A woman about our age—let’s call her Susan—and her husband sat beside us at the bar, and Julie and Susan struck up a conversation. Turns out they knew each other from way back when and had lots of mutual friends and stories in common.

Susan was hilarious. Witty, loud, fun, energetic, engaging. She had a chic haircut and a cute outfit and a whole lotta rizz. We laughed as we talked about hemorrhoids and colonoscopies and hot flashes and the overall joys of aging. She showed us pictures of her beautiful daughter who was recently married. She introduced us to her husband of ten years and told us the story of divorcing her first husband of 23 years. Two of their neighbors joined them at the bar.

Susan offered me a taste of her peach cider.

I was excited about the prospect of potentially having a new friend—especially one with such a big and interesting personality. She complimented Julie on her new haircut. I told her about my forthcoming book and gave her a business card. She texted us the number of her hemorrhoid doctor. As the evening went on, we learned that she taught middle school history.

“I love it,” she said. “It’s such a gift to be able to teach these kids about how lucky they are to live in this country with all its freedoms.”

That was the first moment my hackles went up. The wording just felt a bit … off.

It was a pretty big blanket statement to present to a group of kids from all different walks of life. Did her black students experience the same freedoms and privileges as her white students? How about her queer kids? Her Hispanic students?

But we were all drinking and laughing, and I just brushed it off and enjoyed my salmon.

That is, until Julie mentioned another mutual friend, and Susan said dismissively with a flip of her hand, “Well, he’s a Democrat.”

I laughed awkwardly, thinking that maybe she was kidding until I realized she wasn’t kidding at all. The silence was palpable. Thick. Filled with the weight of the unspoken.

“Well, I don’t really care if you’re a Democrat or a Republican as long as you’re not a Trump supporter,” I said nonchalantly, trying to reclaim some of the lightheartedness of the night.

Susan threw her head back and yelled merrily, “I LOVE TRUMP!”

I was shocked back into silence.

Julie said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“Listen, girls,” she said. “In addition to teaching, my husband and I are small business owners. And you should see my 401K right now!” A smile spread across her entire face.

I was so uncomfortable, I didn’t know what to say. The tension was undeniable, and Susan obviously sensed it. She doubled down.

“Small. Business. Owners,” she said with emphasis, waving her hand at her husband and herself. “That’s all you need to know.”

“We’re lesbians,” I said, even though I’m pretty sure she wasn’t listening any more.

“He’s gettin’ it done,” she said. And I didn’t want to ask what “it” was. There was no mistaking who “he” was.

My brain was in a state of disconnect. I wanted to say, “Human. Beings. That’s all you need to know.” But as an A-Team Conflict Avoider, I just sat in silence, my face reddening with anxious discomfort.

While I shoved salad greens into my face, I thought about babies in cages and transgender people fighting for their lives and brown-skinned people being thrown into unmarked cars and fishermen being shot in the middle of the sea and bombs raining down on Gaza and young girls being abused on Epstein’s private island and pussies being grabbed by the famous just because they’re famous and healthcare being stripped away from children and quiet piggy and… and… and…

I don’t want to break bread with anyone who supports white supremacy and Christian Nationalism. I don’t want to share a drink with people who think other people are somehow “illegal.” I don’t want to open my home to someone whose bank account balance is more important to them than children having food in their bellies. I won’t share a meal with anyone who thinks degrading women is just “locker talk” or “telling it like it is.”

That’s not a difference in politics. That’s a difference in souls.

It was nauseating to sit in such cognitive dissonance. To realize that these people with such conflicting world views still walk among us, masquerading as potential friends, laughing at hemorrhoid jokes, acting like someone you might want to invite to dinner, until you learn who they really are. A core of greed and selfishness. Because if what matters most to you—in light of all the horrifying things that are being unleashed upon our country—is whether your stocks are up or down, you cannot be a truly good human at heart. You simply cannot.

I mean, it’s fine to care about your money. If it means that much to you, love it, snuggle with it, protect it, invest it, hide it under your mattress. Whatever. But it’s not fine if you care about your money at the expense of other people. It’s not okay if money matters more to you than human lives.

I’ve drawn so many lines around this administration. I’ve cut so many people out of my life. It breaks my heart to think about choices I’ve had to make in response to what’s happening in our country. But I know that I am not safe around people who stand on the opposite side of this particular line.

No one is.

Except, perhaps, for the wealthy white. And even then, the leopards will most likely eat their faces until only the biggest, wealthiest, last leopard and his chosen few remain.

If money matters more to you than kindness and humanity, we are not the same. We will never be the same. And I cannot choose to have you in my life.

It’s the most important line I’ve ever drawn.

Oh, and just to drive the story home, Susan, her husband, and the neighbors that joined them at the bar all held hands and said a prayer before they ate their meals.

That tracks so hard.