Room of dead names

He sat there, interrogating me, asserting his authority, periodically flirting while questioning my motives. The entire exchange reeked of chauvinism and the establishment of hierarchy. But after I sufficiently placated his curiosity and allowed him his moment of superiority, he finally relented. He stamped the letter and handed it to me. I took it with a quiet sense of victory. One more step in my journey toward self-naming, toward becoming who I truly was.