YES, IT'S A CHOICE by Janelle DuBois I Yes, it's a choice a bunch of choices, really: a tapestry or mosaic or rock garden or Phil Spector wall-of-sound sort of collection of brilliant multifaceted free will moments you know? Yes, I've come to this moment through a long series of choices Come sit here next to me, and I'll tell you all about them II Some days I choose to look in the mirror and admire the sheer and sensual exuberance that radiates from my very white and smooth and pleasantly curved 42 year old drag queen body And every day I choose to radiate this exuberance into the world like a homing beacon or an Alpine St. Bernard rescue dog Tired travelers show up at my door sometimes they want to make love to me And some of them I choose to welcome into my home for a day or into my arms for an hour or into my heart, for an hour or a day or forever It's a bunch of choices, you know? III Years passed I chose wisely on some days and foolishly on others gave my body to men and women gave my body to other girls like me knelt in front of strange men in the dark some of whom helped me to my feet afterwards and kissed me gratefully and gently Yes, it's a choice, and I choose it every day IV Years go by and the choices accumulate like well-worn, well-loved stuffed animals, like barnacles, like pressed flowers, like light from distant stars that died a long time ago I chose to become a drag mother to say "yes" to a young woman-to-be to love her when she was gorgeous and wise and when she was scrawny and difficult and all the times in between I chose to hold her tight to be her devoted mother until the time came for her to leave V Years pass and the choices accumulate like a rock garden, like barnacles, like jet trails at 30,000 feet I'd ask you about your choices the wise and foolish ones the men you knelt in front of the sweet summer days when you walked by yourself through the woods the mornings you woke up sad for no reason But what if your choices are like a collection of delicate glass figurines, some proudly displayed, others packed away safe from everyone? What if our choices are as different as a game of paintball and a pressed flower? As different as a barnacle and a glass figurine? What then?