With stomachs full of spiced beef, chicken, goat, and rice, Zoe and I drove up Capitol Highway. After a few minutes, we arrived at an intersection: downhill, to the right, the Portland Community College campus; uphill, to the left, Mountain Park.
I know the demographic bullet points about City Council District 4, covering the Westside and Sellwood: it is the oldest, whitest, and most affluent of the districts. However, having grown up in a corner of Southwest, I also know the area’s dividing lines. The apartment complexes which line Capitol (and other arterials) are home to poorer and immigrant families, including the Somali community, served by two nearby mosques and the restaurant Kismayo (where we had just eaten). One block in, the complexes yield to single-family homes, some new and large, others old and run-down, home to a wide range of people. And, finally, there is Mountain Park, Lake Oswego’s own West Hills, towering over all.
Turning left into Mountain Park, I urged the CR-V up steep streets, climbing into smaller and smaller circles. The homes grew larger and more ostentatious, each in an entirely different style than the rest. They made me wonder what the precise definition of a mansion was. I scoffed when we passed Bolivar street, then realized we had just been on Hidalgo. A moment later, we took a wrong turn onto Juarez. I explained why I was laughing to Zoe, and we wondered why this hegemonic neighborhood had chosen the names of Latin American anticolonial revolutionaries. She suggested that the residents here felt invincible, no matter the street names.
Finally, we arrived at the smallest circle, Nansen Summit. The narrow one-way street encircled four large homes and a small public park, with another dozen homes surrounding the street. We parked behind a Lucid Air, which starts at around $70,000, as Zoe informed me. A young couple got out of the car. I wasn’t sure if they were high schoolers or middle schoolers, though I was reminded later that middle schoolers are legally too young to drive. Maybe things work differently in Lake Oswego.
We staggered up the steep path into the park and breathlessly took in our surroundings. It was a tiny paved loop, forty yards across, encircled by a hedge maintained by the local HOA. Signs scattered along the hedge reminded dog owners to pick up after their pets. The path surrounded a circle of dry grass, pockmarked with holes of the rodent/golf ball variety. The only landmark in the circle was an off-center weather station, protected by a knee-height brown plastic fence. There was nowhere to sit besides two tightly spaced benches facing west.
We started out around the circle, enjoying the view. From here, you could see the entire Portland metro region, the view only cut off by distant forested hills crowned with radio towers. The sun was slowly preparing to set, and some sort of mist hung over the city and suburbs below. It was cinematic in an unreal way, like a video game trailer. Unfortunately, the view was disrupted by the large homes abutting the park. I didn’t really notice the most obtrusive sound — a loud, constant whir — until Zoe identified it as coming from one of the houses’ pool pump. We picked that home apart for a moment, spotting some sort of tower covered in windows, a rooftop patio with a hot tub, and a private basketball court. These minor invasions of the neighboring property owners’ privacy help to feel less small at Nansen Summit.
As it soon turned out, our decision not to claim a bench immediately had been a mistake. The couple from the Lucid Air took one bench, and another boy and girl of a similar age took the other. Apparently, this was the only place in the area for high-school couples to go. We completed the circle, awkwardly passing both benches as the boys and girls on them gazed intently at each other, performing a romantic date. The boys sat frowning in their trendy streetwear, while the girls fussed and took selfies to document the occasion. One boy gave us a dirty look as we passed.
Since there was no other path to follow, and we didn’t want to pass the young lovers every two minutes, we retreated into the center of the grass and turned away, inspecting the weather station with great interest as we chatted. Soon, another young couple came up. They glanced at the benches, then the girl gave the boy her car keys and he jogged away, coming back a moment later with a blanket. They set up on the grass, looking romantically at the bench couples’ backs. The six young lovers and the cloying romance in the air had so thoroughly colonized the park that, though a few neighbors dropped by, all of them quickly left. I soon suggested to Zoe that we do the same.
After maneuvering out from between the Lucid Air and another (slightly less) expensive car, I pulled into the street and turned my music up, rolling down the windows. It was Young Miko’s Do Not Disturb (the same album I’d listened to on my way to find the John Reed bench). We passed two older ladies in fancy hats, and I kept my eyes on the road while Zoe waved at them cheerfully. Intentionally disturbing the peace was just stupid catharsis, hoping that, by making them slightly uncomfortable for a moment, we could prove that these rich people perched at the top of a long-dead volcano weren’t invincible. I wondered later if the three young couples on identical dates had heard that dirty, queer music as we slipped out of the smallest circle, down past Juarez and Bolivar, onto Hidalgo, and out of their world.
***
After writing all of the above, I wondered if I’d been too harsh on those high schoolers. My partner asked me what, exactly, I was trying to convey.
I have a deep well of resentment not only for the rich, as I made abundantly clear, but also for the specter of straightness that hangs over everyone (including those kids, by no fault of their own). I sat on a bench too, once, looking at the lights of downtown in the dark, waiting to ask for a first kiss. I cherish that memory, but I resent the force that seeded my desires, goals, and actions over many years. When I figured out that I was a woman, I plunged into the deep end of queerness. As I’ve come to understand, queerness isn’t about your gender relative to your partners’ (and neither is straightness), but about understanding that relationships, sex, bodies, and life are clay in your hands; you can shape them any way you like. Having found this joy, it is frustrating to see that others have not, and maybe pouring that frustration into words can help someone discover it for themselves. ◧