EMILY PRATT SLATIN

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She/Her/Hers Lesbian

Retired Career Fire and EMS Lieutenant-Specialist, Writer, and Master Photographer, living in Vermont.

My Fall From Grace

November 3, 2026—Buffalo, New York (Amelia's House)

Amelia and I went to the Walden Galleria Mall today, where our first stop was the LEGO Store. I bought three train sets, which we carried out to my Ford Bronco before heading to Fair Trade Games.

I had never owned a Nintendo 64. Today, at forty-seven years old, I finally acquired one, along with several games from the James Bond 007 series. I also purchased an original LEGO castle set, complete and already assembled, and an Xbox 360 for Amelia, along with several games.

Apparently, the two of us have reached a point in our lives where we can walk into a vintage video game store, purchase whatever strikes our fancy, and leave without having to explain ourselves to anyone. I like that.

Amelia was interested in a Sega Genesis and asked the owner about it. She told him she would be coming back, which I suspect means that our collection of vintage gaming consoles is going to continue expanding.

The owner seemed to think Amelia and I were pretty cool. While he was helping her, I found myself standing there, surrounded by the various things we'd purchased, watching the woman I married.

I looked up toward the ceiling.

"THANK YOU GOD.”

Amelia is unbelievably perfect for me.

During the first two weeks we were together, we discovered that we shared the same favorite planet, Saturn. The same favorite color, blue. Even the same favorite dinosaur, Stegosaurus. I thought the coincidences were remarkable then, and I still do.

I know she loves me. She looks at me with the little crescent moons in her eyes, and all I see is love.

I have spent much of my life wondering where I belonged, whether the people around me genuinely cared about me, and whether the future held anything worth looking forward to. With Amelia, I don't have to question whether I'm loved. I just know.

After we finished shopping, we returned to the Bronco with our vintage gaming equipment and headed to P.F. Chang's for dinner.

The food was disappointing, although the service was excellent. Unfortunately, Amelia became ill after eating egg drop soup that appeared to have been cross-contaminated with something. She took Benadryl, which was an unfortunate conclusion to an otherwise wonderful afternoon.

I was driving us back to her house in my Bronco when she asked me what I was so happy about.

"I married the right girl for me. Fuck yeah."

I thought about it for another moment.

"FUCK YEAH."

I couldn't have been more serious.

Yesterday morning, Amelia had mentioned that if we followed a particular road through Buffalo, it would eventually take us back to the boarding school I attended as a child. She brought it up again on our way back from the mall.

I cringe whenever she brings it up.

I spent four consecutive years at that school, from 1994 until 1998. Those years were among the worst of my life. I was sent away to a place I never needed to be, while relatives who lived nearby could have helped me but didn't. What happened to me there was horrible and inexcusable. The fact that it continued happening, while the adults responsible for my well-being failed to intervene, made everything considerably worse.

I was ultimately denied graduation.

When I finally left, I told people that I had survived four years at an all-boys boarding school. I wore that accomplishment like a badge of honor, as though merely making it through was sufficient proof that I'd accomplished something extraordinary.

In retrospect, perhaps it was. There were children I knew who didn't survive. I came frighteningly close to becoming one of them.

I've sometimes wondered how different my life might have been had I never been sent there.

I was raised to be a proper, well-spoken, well-educated child who would eventually attend college, pursue a respectable white-collar career, and occupy a particular almost enviable position in society. The expectation was that I would receive an excellent education, acquire the necessary credentials, and become a successful professional.

I had opportunities to pursue such a future. And yet… I didn't.

By the time I left boarding school, whatever faith I still possessed in the modern post-industrial American educational system had been completely destroyed. Four years of being subjected to an institution that was supposedly responsible for my education had eliminated any remaining desire I had to attend school.

I wanted nothing more to do with it. So I left. Sometimes I regard what followed as my fall from grace. I find it rather extraordinary that an institution entrusted with preparing children for higher education could so thoroughly destroy one child's interest in pursuing it.

A small part of me wants to drive past the school again, sound the horn on my Bronco, and scream "FUCK YOU" out the window loudly enough for everyone on the property to hear me.

(Again.)

I fucking love my life.

I used to drive the roads and never ask where they go. I lived a hard life, gave it my all, and somehow I made it through.

Amelia, Makayla, Maddie, and Nora have given me numerous reasons to live life to the fullest. They are women I love deeply, whose presence has changed my understanding of what it means to be loved, and with whom I want to share as much of my life as possible.

I have plans to spend November on the West Coast with Makayla. She wants to learn how to be a race car driver. I told her I wanted to photograph those adventures. We're going. That was essentially the entire discussion.

I find something wonderful about having reached a point in my life where someone I love can announce that they want to share some extraordinary experience with me, and my immediate response is to figure out how we can make it happen.

I think that's fucking fantastic.

Amelia and I eventually returned to her place, where she took a nap. I was left thinking about everything we'd done, everything we'd purchased, and the fact that I had spent much of the afternoon feeling an almost ridiculous amount of happiness.

The day hadn't been perfect. Dinner was disappointing, Amelia had gotten sick, and the mention of my former boarding school had brought back memories I would gladly live without.

Nevertheless, I was happy.