When I Knew
I don't know why I feel so compelled to talk about her, but I do.
I've always known I was different. I knew from the moment I was kissing my best friend and being her "husband" when we played house when we were little kids. I just never stopped wanting to kiss girls, long after she moved away.
But I did stop accepting it for a while. And her name was Leslie.
Leslie moved to my school our freshman year, and she was, in a word, hot. She was loud and boisterous and told you exactly what she thought, and for Homecoming, her date was... *gasp!* A woman! Could Leslie really be... bisexual?
Now I had thoughts that I was, but I was in high school, that time in life when labels mattered and you didn't want to associate with anything that was different. You often heard phrases like "that's so gay" floating around, and you knew, deep down, that gay wasn't something you wanted to be. If nothing else, what you didn't want to be was different.
Leslie and I had gym class together, we had lockers right next to each other. I can only imagine how many times she caught me stealing glimpses of her, but she never called me on it, bless her heart. She knew me better than I knew myself, and quietly let me think I was a straight girl with a bi friend. (Straight girls don't buy rings for their bi friends.)
I dreaded our swimming class; seeing her in a swimming suit made me blush. But Leslie, who was never one to keep her thoughts to herself, stepped right up to me and said, "God, you're hot in that suit. Come shower with me." I just about died.
She was my partner throughout that class; she quickly "adopted" me, probably sensing I wanted to pair up with her but didn't have the nerve to ask. She laughed louder than anyone I know, and it shook her whole body; when Leslie laughed, she meant it, and it was infectious.
We started hanging out more, holding hands in the hall, kissing each other on the cheek... it never seemed to bother Leslie that I didn't call her my girlfriend, even though she introduced me as hers. By rights, I was. I did everything with her that a girlfriend would.
We went to a gala together to benefit Alzheimer's charities, and Leslie was my date. She did my makeup and hair before hand on her bed, and it was the most intimate thing that had happened in my life up to that point. I can't go into details... it's too much of me to put out in the open.
I was approached at the gala by a young man from Deforest who wanted my number. We'd been hanging out playing pool most of the night, Leslie and I hanging on each other like the ditzy girls in love that we were. But his last line?
"Ditch the lesbo."
Ditch the lesbo? I could have cracked him upside the head, and it was as close as I'd ever come to screaming, "EXCUSE ME, BUT I LOVE THE LESBO!" Needless to say, he never got my number, and I never said anything to Leslie, either. Even though I know she would have just brushed it off and not given a shit, I couldn't put her through that. I didn't want him ruining the casual intimacy we had by bringing up that "L" word I refused to use in reference to myself. I was bisexual, at least.... it's not like we were really *serious* about each other... right?
So why was I so devastated when Leslie moved on and started dating a man? I don't know. I'd like to think it was because it took away from the time we had as friends, but I know better. I know the real reason I was crushed; I loved her.
Leslie moved to California after graduation for college and "chasing life," as she had put it. She wrote a lovely entry in my yearbook, telling me she loved me and to call her anytime I needed her. I still read that sometimes and think about dialing the number, wondering if she's still there, waiting for me to call.
But I bet she's not.