To the grandma on the metro in the pink kitty cap, thank you. Thank you for smiling and nodding at me across the train as if we were sisters, because we are sisters.
To the middle aged woman who looked at me on the street corner, thank you. Thank you for asking me if I was a “nasty woman” and replying to my, “absolutely,” with a, “me too.”
To the waitress where we had lunch, thank you. Thank you for asking me if I was at the march yesterday and telling me your story about not being a citizen, and not being able to vote, and watching the march, and feeling American anyway.
To the lady with the green jacket, thank you. Thank you for offering us your food vouchers in the airport when you went to board your plane, and telling the waitress we were with you, because we were with you, because we all agreed we shouldn’t still have to be doing this, but we’ll do it as long as we have to.
To my mom who made the trip to DC with me, thank you. Thank you for marching for the first time in your life with me, by me, for me, as me, because you have seen this before and want to make sure that the future me, who is you, as a mother, doesn’t have to do this again.
And to the teenage girl at the museum who said she liked my pin, and the father who smiled at his son and said, pointing at my jacket, “she is part of the rebel alliance,” and the park ranger leading the suffragette tour past the Trump hotel, and the alternative fact writing, “Christy” reading, “Men’s March,” calling, “Great” hat wearing American people, thanks too, because you make me stronger.