11 Chapter 11

The queens looked at one another and shrugged before VaVa unlocked the plane’s door and lowered the stairs. Her manicured index finger instantly pointed outward. “Listen to that instead, girlfriend.”

Once we were helped out of our seats, Dara and I, hand in hand, poked our heads out the door, our ears instantly greeted to the uproar, to the din of the cheering crowd. To the thunderous applause of—steady yourself—a sea of drag queens, a flock of fawning fans, the likes of which I could barely imagine in my mind’s eye.

“What the—” croaked out Dara.

“Fuck,” said I, finishing her train of thought. My head turned this way and that, trying to take it all in, to take them all in, to wrap itself around this vision of quantum queenliness. “Fuck,” I repeated in one long, deep exhale. And with lungs as long dead as mine were, that was no easy task, let me tell you.