No two generations are the same, but each is informed by the ones that have come before. In order to secure a brighter future, we must strive to create a society of inclusion and tolerance by sharing experiences with those around us.
Man feeding a tiger, man drinking a Slurpee, man on a motorcycle, man holding a gun—swipe left.
Man cradling a guitar—swipe right.
Man holding freshly baked bread—swipe right and it’s a match!
Calla slinks into my room and I notice she has that mischievous glint in her eye.
“What are you up to?” I ask her reflection in the mirror, as I am too caught up in trying to shove a silver hoop into my hot, pulsating lobe.
I can sense that she has something to say but is just dithering. When I turn around I notice that her eyes are studying my tacky snow globe, which imprisons a miniature Taj Mahal. She is deliberately avoiding my quizzical glance.
“Why are you so dressed up, Melody?” she asks, and now it is my turn to squirm.
I am still on the fence about dating apps. Growing up, I had to look no further than the schoolyard or library to get my kicks. Depressingly, now, in my mid-twenties, I look to my phone to find love.
“Got a date,” I say nonchalantly while clamping my spider eyelashes with a curler.
Calla brightens. “Who is he?”
She could take for granted it was the guy who had the pleasure of seeing me later. It was in that moment I realized I could not always presume the same for her. As of a week ago this was a new revelation for my parents, but I had an inkling. I was caught in the crossfire.
“Did you know about Calla and Zenia?” my parents demanded.
“I don’t understand why they are so shocked,” Calla whimpered, puffy-eyed, following their confrontation.
“Oh, just some guy from Tinder,” I say, then add, “It’s grim out there in the dating world. Take it from your wizened older sister, you’re lucky to have found someone you genuinely like and who likes you back.”
I notice her flinch for a second. It is all still so new and scary.
“Anyway . . . what have you planned?”
Calla puffs out her cheeks and shrugs.
“It’s Valentine’s Day—you better be doing something with Zenia! Mom and Dad mentioned that they are going to that fancy new French restaurant downtown, so they’ll be out late.”
Calla smiles, appreciatively.
“Now get out so I can put on this little black dress,” I say, closing the door with a wink.