Pulse - Composed by Chris Ryan
I came out to my piano long before I ever came out to my family. I distinctly remember sitting at the bench, home alone, forcing myself to say those two words: "I'm gay." It sounds silly if you've never had to do it, but mouthing those words for the first time, even if to an inanimate object, is the first in a long line of very difficult things one has to face as a questioning youth. Things have changed so much since then. But then, this happens.
We've all spent the past few days intermittently sobbing, being angry, wondering why on earth this keeps happening and what we can do to fix it. I'm still trying to figure that out too. But last night, I watched a video of Anderson Cooper speaking with Christine Leinonen, the mother of Christopher Andrew Leinonen, whose life was one of those cut short far too early. And she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t searching for answers. She was smiling. Beaming with pride over what her son had accomplished in his 32 years of life. As far as she was concerned, her son’s spirit was alive and well.
If what I saw outside the Stonewall Inn on Monday night is any indication, she is not mistaken.
I wrote this piece last night. I’m wary of sharing it, much in the same way you’d feel wary of sharing a diary entry. But the piano has been my best friend through thick and thin, and I have to believe that pouring our hearts into the world is the only way we’ll get through his together. This isn’t an elegy. It’s an anthem. Because the drum beats on. We keep going. We keep fighting. We sing proudly so that one day, kids won’t have to confide in their pianos.
If you have the means, please consider donating to support LGBTQ youth in Orlando.
www.oneorlando.org/
Chris Ryan
June 15, 2016