I grew up four miles out a road that’s been paved since I can remember with two parents (well-educated, professionals, conservative democrats although I’d like to think liberal) and a brother (three years younger, studious, generous) in an affluent household. From time to time we’ve had pet dogs, ducks, pigs, turtles, fish and a guinea pig; never cats, no animals in the house (except ones thwarted from adventure by the squares of chicken wire or by glass panes that must make the whole world look as if you could swim in it). I grew up in a safe place, a protected place, a place from which exposure to the world was carefully screened.
I went to public schools and graduated from college nearly two years ago. (Now I’m a graduate student in religion studying in New England.) It was in college that I fell in love for the first time–deep love, the kind of first deep love that leaves within you a forever-remnant like a gifted red blood cell that causes your heart to skip when it chances to pass through. Surprising first love with a woman.
It would take too long to try to remember all the reasons I was surprised, but in hindsight, which isn’t yet 20/20, I realize I hadn’t ever seriously considered that I might love a woman. I remember whispering to a friend Kim a question something like if she had ever thought about women being sexy or dating a woman while we were riding in the backseat of my parents’ car sometime in middle school. She said she’d thought about it but wouldn’t ever do it. Probably because she thought it was wrong. Kim and I knew each other from church. Maybe if we had only met on a playground she would have answered differently. But I don’t remember being attracted to her. I don’t remember being attracted to any woman before G.
She came out of no where. We had similar interests, were both in the Women’s Studies Student Association, took back the night every spring and ran in circles with other feminists, GLBT folk and assorted neo-hippies. She was a ringleader in the Women’s circles. I organized academic conferences, edited a newsletter, read the Times and had coffee with her once. Twice. Lunch. Went to a party at her house. Held her hand. Watched her chatting with someone from across campus or through the cafeteria’s expanse of windows. Fell in love, head-over-head confused. Surprised.
In high school I had a competitive edge, few friends among my peers, closer relationships with teachers and few dates. I went to homecomings and proms with friends, went out with a boy for 9 months of my senior year without ever wanting to kiss him, really. I don’t know what he thought, but I had more important things to do, I thought.
Not so with G. She stopped me in my tracks.
I hinted about what was going on to my mother and another woman that I respected tremendously; neither encouraged me. In fact, both suggested that I stay away from the lesbians. How can you stay away from yourself?
It can be done. It’s probably easier than you think. Last night I had a conversation with my sort-of boyfriend. (The second person I’ve ever fallen in love with; we’ve exchanged blood bank identities.) "Do you still think you’re bisexual?" he asked. Deep breath. "Hypothetically, yes. Does it bother you?" Twenty-two, four years after my first love and still venturing into hypotheticals, homophobic, willing to conform my words, alter my shape.
The answer is yes. I love you. But, yes.
He woke up early and went back to his house1. I fell back asleep and dreamed of a woman, an acquaintance in college. She loved me, held me (in public even!), and was so beautiful. At one point I looked at her and couldn’t believe that someone so beautiful wanted so desperately to be with me. Even now, remembering, I raise an involuntary eyebrow.
There’s no clean conclusion that speculates about the future, where to go from here. But it’s important to remember and see how last night is a piece in the continuum. Seeing last night as a part of an ongoing whole helps me be honest with myself, to know what makes my heart beat stop, what makes my chest light, his legs quiver, her embrace warm, my soul complete.
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1
We didn’t talk about it anymore, but it will come back up. He is accepting, open-minded, and I do need to know better what I’m doing. I don’t let myself be attracted to other people as long as I’m seeing him. So I don’t pay attention, but there is a fabulous women-tangoing scene in "Frida," if you have a chance to see it.