One Girl

I continued to stir my slushy, the green and blue colors swirling together. I could feel her eyes, still waiting for a reaction. “That’s cool,” I said lamely. She wasn’t convinced. I didn’t blame her.

I wasn’t either but what was I supposed to say? Oh great, I’m so glad you have a bloody
crush on me? Because I really wasn’t.

Actually, if horrified had a stronger synonym, I’d go with that. She looked apprehensive and as I had dragged it out of her in the first place, it was up to me to remedy the situation. Great, I was really happy, can’t you tell?

My fingers were cold, clamped, as they were, around a drink. Other people were milling around outside. It was unnerving, like they were all watching, like they could all see us.

As we rounded the corner, Holland was still standing where we had left her, looking annoyingly curious. I guess she had found out first. Who hadn’t Cece told? Believe it or not, but I get paranoid easily. I could just imagine everyone already knowing, looking at me weirdly.

We went back inside where there was still an insane amount of children eating their disgusting meals. After trying the crap they were rotting their stomachs with, I’d decided to stick with the slushy’s. They were my weird comfort food.

Not that I had needed it until now. She was watching me all through lunch, as if expecting me to bolt. I was sitting there waiting for an opportune moment to bolt.

I wasn't really homophobic. Not exactly. I was, at that moment, more Cece-phobic. She had told me in seventh, maybe eighth grade that she thought she was gay. Who cares, honestly. People love who they want to love…as long as it’s not me. I guess she hadn’t been made aware of the rule.

The second the bell rang I forced myself to leave at a normal pace, heading towards math. Holland always walked with me and I’m pretty sure she wanted to know. Well, I can honestly say, that’s not something I wanted to talk about. Ever.

I didn’t tell anyone at first. I was too…scared, ashamed? No, mostly scared. I didn’t want them thinking I was gay. I know that’s kind of petty, but I was fourteen, I never promised to be anything but.

That Saturday, I was getting in the car with my mom and I kind of blurted it out. She stared at me for a while before laughing. Excuse me while I make sure you understand, I found no comedy in this situation. This was, up until that point, one of the worst things that had ever happened to me.

I mean, I was a fourteen year old girl who was sickeningly obsessed with some guy. Some guy who I was desprately trying to impress or gain the attention of, so much so, that I told him what happened. That was a mistake. For the rest of the year he’d call her L girl and my girlfriend. Needless to say, I got over him.

Cece noticed things were up to. After I freaked to my mom I started sitting with other people during lunch. Her and Holland came up to our table today and my slushy and I looked up nervously. The people I was sitting with were looking down their noses at them.

“Can you come outside and talk to us?” Holland asked me. I shook my head, focusing on the blue mush. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to,” I snapped at her. “Just, go away.” We didn’t talk much the rest of the year. The pair of them stalked away from the table and I turned nervously back to the group of people I was sitting with.

They barely noticed the exchange. I guess it was beneath them. For the remainder of my year, my life was in constant turmoil. I dropped my free period, took up another class and rearranged my schedule. I stopped hanging out with my old friends, trying to put the whole incident behind me. I endured Drew’s taunting, throwing myself deeper into my crush. I stopped doing things I liked and tried to assimilate into their mindless group.

They were your classic group of preps. Gossipy, backstabbing, designer clothes, homophobic, closed minded jerks. And I tried to be like them, just so I could forget one of my best friends who happened to have a crush on me.

Holland started speaking to me towards the end of the year and I found I had actually missed talking to her. Lack of stimulating conversation will do that to a person. She told me once, during math, “You can stop freaking out around Cece, we’re going out now.”

I’d never actually heard someone admit to going out with a member of their own sex. Even Cece had been strangely hush-hush about the whole thing. The class wasn’t doing anything at the time and Drew had turned around, laughing. “You’re going out with L girl?” he had all but sneered. She just held her head high and glared at him. He backed down, never had much of a spine.

This event shouldn’t have been any more traumatic than anyone else having somebody like them and them not returning their feelings. It wouldn’t have been if I had just ignored it. But I couldn’t do that.

We moved away the next school year, our house being too small now that my half sister had been born. I’m not a very outgoing person and this threw me through a loop. I didn’t know anyone, I had my first sibling after fourteen years of being an only child, and my family was getting under my skin.

I spent most of the six months we lived in Danbury, shelled up in my room, obsessing in the gym, or lying in my bed, alternating between crying and praying that I wasn’t gay.

I have this weird thing where I fear I might be something and then worry about it. Like, I used to fear I had a brain tumor and obsessed over it. I still do on occasion. As I’m not dead and other than headaches, I don’t have any real symptoms, I’m pretty sure I’m safe.

I felt I had always known I’d be one of those kids who moved around in high school, and I had been right. So of course I was afraid when I started thinking that I might like girls. I mean, who wouldn’t?

It started innocently enough. I started wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t ditched all my friends during my freshmen year. Would I still have been so unhappy? Would I still have had friends who didn’t hate me or didn’t make me supremely paranoid?

These questions kept popping up in my mind. I started writing, starting out on Quizilla and then moving to fanfiction. It became a hobby, something that got be through my days at school. And then I clicked on a slash story.

It was between two males, who found love in one another, but still, it was enough to make me start to wonder and by default, fear. Cece telling me she liked me kept repeating in my head and things that I thought I had buried in my mind forever started to come to light.

How I had watched a movie of two lesbians who got together and had a child. How I felt when I watched that, like that was such an interesting life. It seemed like such a real connection and it hadn’t freaked me out in the least.

How I’d search through channels when I was sick, looking for movies with nudity. They never showed men naked and I had no real desire to see them such, even though I was attracted to them. No, I was searching for women. I had reasoned this off as natural curiosity at the time.

Or, and this I had thought I’d never remember. I had tried desperately to make it so, only to no avail. This girl, Rebecca, the popular slut of popular sluts had started spreading rumors in sixth grade. Rumors that I was looking at other girls chests.

I hadn’t been, mind you, but it planted seeds in my mind. It made me doubt myself. Maybe I had been and didn’t realize it. Needless to say, this didn’t help with my already depressed feelings.

I started emailing Holland, her being the only person who was openly gay or rather, bisexual that I knew. Well, there was Cece, but we didn’t part on good terms.

I was so vague for the first three or four emails that she didn’t even realize what I was trying to tell her. My palms kept sweating and I was terrified my mom would come in and some how see through my computer and read what I was doing.

That didn’t happen and the talks actually helped. She helped me realize there wasn’t really anything wrong with being homosexual or bisexual or just being yourself. I kept talking to her when I moved again and I started being slightly more open about my feelings.

I don’t count her as the first person I told because we kind of discovered it together. It’s not really the same thing. I remember I was talking to Megan and I told her that I had something to tell her.

For anyone who has ever come out to people, they know how touch it can be. Even if they have friends who aren’t straight or if you know for a fact they’ll support you, there’s always doubt. Those of you who aren’t homosexual and thus have no need to come out to people, I envy you.

I’m lucky we were online because I felt freaked beyond belief. I was sitting there, shaking, waiting for her to reply. It was ten times worse than when I had to read my English story aloud. And that was pretty bad, my face so hot my glasses fogged up.

After that it got easier. I made the mistake of not telling one of them because I was afraid of how she’d take it. We didn’t speak for a while because of my lack of trust but it all worked out in the end.

My guidance councilor at my new school encouraged me to do things after school. As it would get me away from my family and my frustrating sibling, I was all for it. They even had a writing club! But…at the same time, I wanted to join the GSA (Gay-Straight Alliance).

I had been wanting to tell my parents about my orientation since before I moved but never had a chance to meet with the leader of the club there.

Now was my chance. It was hell trying to tell my conservative stepfather what the club was about and I had to stress the word straight. He didn’t look happy but relented. Thank god. I could have ditched writing club for it and lied, but I’d learned lessons on lying to them in the past.

I never really said anything but I think my sociology teacher knew I was stressed. I had switched into her class for the sole reason that she was the advisor of the GSA. She was a really nice lady and was retiring that year, so I’m glad I had the chance to meet her.

The club was different than I thought. I don’t really know what I expected but it wasn’t a group of kids where it was impossible to tell who was straight and who was gay.

They were planning the Day of Silence (which is a day where students in schools around the country are silent to represent the sheer number of voices of the kids who are afraid to come out or can’t because of threats to them. It’s a day of support) and I got to fold little rainbow ribbons onto pins. It was menial work but it helped me relax.

I started talking to people there about how they came out or how they didn’t, in many cases. It was nice having people I didn’t feel pressure about because nothing left the room without permission.

It’s ironic, at least I think, that I was extremely not silent during the Day of Silence.

In fact, that was the first and only time that I ever skipped a class (even though the teacher knew). My Sociology teacher, Mrs. Brooks, and I spent the better part of two classes sitting and talking about telling my parents.

I know I made telling a friend hard but telling a family member, especially your parents, is ten thousand times worse. Just think of it this way:

You’re telling them that something they took for granted about you isn’t true and depending on their age, they may feel they’re losing something. They’re rarely rational and think they’ll never have grandchildren and you’ll be miserable because no one will accept you. It’s not comforting.

It’s even worse when you’re bisexual. It’s so hard for anyone to understand that you can actually love members of both sexes in a sexual manner. Your parents, in most cases but not all, are already grasping at straws. The fact that a girl still likes guys makes them think it’s all just a phase or she wants attention.

I didn’t mean to tell my mom, actually. At least not the way I did. We had to write poems or some other type of thing for a contest to see who got to read it when some members of the class went to see Rent. It’s some program and I’m still not clear on it.

Mrs. Brooks told me to write about my situation but I didn’t have to read it if I didn’t want to. The one I read ended up being about alcoholism, something I know nothing about. I had a moment with a good idea so I started scribbling on the back of a sheet. I’m not the most subtle person in my actions so when my mom walked in with the laundry, I hid it.

She saw and demanded I show it to her. My mom’s not one to say no to. Or maybe I’m just a pushover. Anyway, she read it and looked at me funny. I hadn’t said my name or anything and she asked something about it and I ended up blurting out that it was true. I don’t remember her question, only that it had nothing to do with actually telling her.

She had always told me she’d love me no matter what. When Tommy, my step-dad, asked if I was doing the Day of Silence because I was gay she told him to leave me alone and it didn’t matter. I still lied anyway. It was nothing short of a miraculous relief to have her really be okay with it though. Or at least, not freak out at me.

That same night I started talking to Holland and she was happy for me. One thing led to another and she asked me out. I had had a crush on her for a while, maybe helping me with my sexuality had brought us closer.

I went to the mall and we held hands and I sat on her lap and did things I thought two people who were going out were supposed to. Then I got home and couldn’t tell my mom because my step-dad was around.

I recall the moment I decided I’d tell him. It was in Target, on a Saturday, and I was having the worst possible thoughts. As I’ve said, I’m paranoid, and all the worst situations come to mind. He’d kick me out, he wouldn’t let me be around my sister, he wouldn’t let me see my girlfriend. I ended up scaring myself more than needed.

We were in the dining room and I told him to sit down, laughing nervously. “My friend,” I almost stuttered, “likes me and asked me out.”

He frowned, looking confused. “Alright, for when?” I chewed on my lower lip, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s a girl.” Silence. Dead silence. I finally realized where that phrase came form. It must be because the person who started it wishes they were dead. Or perhaps I’m biased.

The conversation that followed was extremely awkward, him telling me all the negative things and to wait for college and my mother trying to play peacemaker. I fought to keep my temper. I’m not good at that but I managed.

Over the next few days he wasn’t for me going on the date at all. But I felt better, actually having told him. Despite how awkward things were, at least we were getting somewhere.

Things were less stressed at home and I actually had friends in my new school and I had a girlfriend. It was nice. All thanks to someone I didn’t even speak to anymore.

I signed onto my old screen name a few weekends later, instant messaging Cece nervously. She responded though I bet she was really shocked. Or at least, I imagine so as we hadn’t said a word to one another, or hardly, in almost two years.

I typed in the words “I’m sorry.” She said okay and that was it. I was stunned that someone could actually get over how much of an ass I had been but maybe time heals all wounds. I had a lot to give her credit for to, this girl I hardly spoke to in two years.

Figuring out myself, getting a girlfriend, telling my friends the truth, coming out to my parents. And she wouldn’t ever even know it.