earlier i was at a quaint little café on the edge of town with my mother and was sipping raspberry lemonade when i thought –but wasn’t sure- i heard someone say my name from behind me. i turned, glanced around, saw no one familiar, and faced my mom again. then there was the voice saying my name again, only louder and more familiar. a girl’s. from the sound of it, it was some sweet girl from way back in my past when i was more gregarious and better at life.
i turned and saw her immediately. it was Wil. short for Wilhelma or something, nobody really knows. but her name is Wil. and she’s gay. and i never knew this until just today.
she had a homemade rainbow necklace on that said ‘imru?’ just like in Keeping You A Secret. i smiled brightly at it when she came up to me. she saw me staring at it, matched my smile with one of her own, and gave me an unexpected hug. i’m not really a huggy person, but i didn’t mind this because let's face it: she’s pretty and she has very comfortable arms.
i wished to god my mom wasn’t there, but she was, and this sliced important bits off our conversation. i mean, my mom knows i’m gay but we have a kind of unspoken rule about gay conversation. that is, there is none. ever. it’s more comfortable for her if I pretend i’m straight, but it’s hard for me to keep up a straight act for her when there is a beautiful gay girl trying to have a conversation with me in a café.
i met this girl at camp about 90 million years ago. to be honest, i’m not sure how we remember each others’ names. we talked about school and prospective colleges, and the café, and our jobs, and –to my probably noticeable chagrin- her significant other. all she said was ‘i’m dating someone now, and it’s amazing.’ after that, there wasn’t much left to say, so she hugged me again and then left with a freshly baked roll in her hand.
i sat down and finished my lemonade, feeling like there were probably only three lesbians in the entire town and the other two have paired off without me. this is obviously not true and i’m just being melancholy, but let me say it. i have an irrational urge to pursue her and be a homewrecker like everyone said Angelina Jolie was, but i would have to have charm and skill to do that successfully. failing at homewrecking means that not only are you depraved enough to break up someone’s relationship but you’re too much of loser to win the girl in the first place. not for me. but like Don Quixote, i can dream about it.