#HomeBeforeDarkContest

Spotless, brown leather loafers. With a flap on the front big enough, yet compact enough, to carry a penny around. Not that a penny would get you much of anything, but one never knew when it would come in handy. Especially with the cookies they sold in the cafeteria, which was really the only tolerable part of my day. That one penny could be the difference between tasting the melted, gooey, chocolate and dough on your tongue and..... well, not. 

Moving on. High socks that rested just below the knee, or tights. Those are acceptable as well. As long as they're the right color and aren't ripped. After all, we wouldn't want any runs, that may give off the wrong impression. That may tell other schools that ours is not an honor. To the Father. Or to anyone. 

A khaki skirt, well technically skort. No more than three, count them three, inches above the knee. Lined up against the back wall before class started, our teacher coming through with an index card measuring, as if skort lengths had something to do with how we retained information. Any shorter and you were sent home, and if you were sent home, you missed a day of school, and if you missed more than five days of school, for whatever reason whether it be you're in the hospital, you're contagious, you're on vacation, you disagree with a Catholic teaching, you weren't allowed to go to prom. Which made it awfully difficult to be tall, because those skorts just weren't made for girls like me. Accusations flew at me. She hemmed her skort to make it shorter. Actually, I was born with legs for miles, one day they'd be a blessing. 

A white collared shirt. Crisp. Clean. No stains. Ever. Collar was never to be popped. All buttons were to be closed. On top of it a black sweater or vest, from October to May, yes even when it was hot as all-ahem, down below, you know...the opposite of the eternal resting place my theology teacher oh so desperately wanted to guide us to. I'd seen so many students black out from standing far too long in mass, in a way too hot gym, wearing a much too heavy sweater. 

Bleak classrooms. The cross on every wall. Candles. Bible verses painted on the concrete. We watched The Passion of the Christ three times in one quarter. 

"And so," my teacher said, "that is why homosexuals are the devil, their actions are sin." 

I. snapped. "I disagree. And you shouldn't say that."

"May I remind you that you chose to attend a Catholic institution? We can say what we know to be true."

So can I.

"Everyone should be free to love who they want to."

And to the office I was sent. But I still raised my concerns. I still formed an LGBTQ after school group. I still had interest in who I wanted to have interest in. And I still went to prom.