“Have you talked to Evie yet?” My mom asked me as she drove me home from work. It was dark out, and the night was quiet.
“I haven’t seen her since…” I answered.
She wasn’t the only one who seemed anxious for this conversation. If I was remembering correctly, all three people I had told had asked me the same question in the last three days… as if I would have needed reminding to give them an update.
“Do you still think you’re going to tell her?” She asked, feigning indifference.
“Yah.” I said, already a little annoyed. “I don’t want to feel like I need to keep things from her.”
“Do you think it will make things weird?” She asked, turning on the blinker and exiting the freeway.
“Maybe. But I don’t think it will help to keep things hidden. I’m just going to tell her what happened so that at least she knows.”
“Why, you don’t think I should tell her?” I asked, more for her sake than my own. I knew she wanted to say something, but was keeping quiet out of respect. It was getting old, fast.
“I just think it might make her feel weird.”
“Well… she told me before, so I think I should be able to do the same.”
We continued on in that general loop as the drive continued. Her, hinting that my confession might compromise my and Evie’s friendship; and me, talking about honesty and how I like to have things out in the open, even if doing so makes things a little uncomfortable.
Eventually, I capped the conversation off by saying something like: “I don’t think it’s worth it to keep things to yourself just so you can have a comfortable, fictitious friendship.”
And we were home.
Over the last few days, I had felt calm, relaxed. I had made it through the initial freak-out of the first two days, the ones that immediately followed my little “sexual revelation” and the worry and fear I had experienced seemed to be behind me. I had absorbed the shock, I had told everyone I felt compelled to tell – Suzy, my brother (through his reading of this blog) and my mom. I had worked it over in my mind until there was nothing new to contemplate, examining it from every angle, looking for anything I may have missed. By putting it aside, I had achieved a kind of distance I appreciated. I was able to stand apart from the situation, as an outsider, glancing back occasionally to wonder at its meaning.
Free of analyzation, I began to uncover truths that I had missed in my panicked state. I realized that, even though I had experienced an attraction to my female friend, I didn’t feel bi-sexual. The curious sexual excitement I had sometimes felt for other women – strangers – seemed to disappear as well. It was as if, through my concentration on this one event, I had thoroughly exhausted any curiosity I ever had about being with another woman. Which was strange, because I didn’t feel as though being with a woman would be anything to be ashamed of. I just had absolutely no desire to go there.
Still, I knew things could change. I hadn’t seen Evie for a while, and I didn’t pretend to know if my attraction would return when I did. So when my mom asked me whether or not I was going to tell her, I felt annoyed… closeted.
I was aware that this was not a topic my mother was completely comfortable with. No doubt the last two days since my confession had left her more than a little confused. If I were to decide to be with Evie, this discomfort would only grow. I knew that. But, for once, I didn’t want to talk about it.