It was early 2008, February-ish. Me and the folks had gone up to Washington D.C. for my grandfather’s burial. That night, all of us (my whole dad’s side) filled our reservation at a restaurant (that more than half of the people contracted a stomach flu from, including me and my dad—that’s for another time, though). Being fourteen, I was forced to the kid’s table.
While waiting for the food, I decided to work on a sketch I’d started earlier in the day. My cousins had obviously been partially observing me (when you draw in public, who doesn’t?) and the one, younger than me by a few years, asked what I was drawing. I was a little irritated by knowing I’d been watched, so I replied a little sharply, “Something you probably wouldn’t want to see. Yaoi. Guy/ Guy.”
I didn’t see the look on her face, but our table went quiet and they stopped glancing over at my sketchbook.
If only they knew the things I draw now.