“Oh? That’s it?” She scoffed, then muttered, “‘Oh,’ she says.”
Recovering more fully, I laughed at myself, then said, “Well, I mean, girls don’t do it for me, but hey! I guess we never have to worry about fighting over the same guy.”
“Never.” She shook her head and widened her eyes. “Danny Ashland? Barf.”
I jumped to my feet and grabbed a pillow from my bed, swinging it at her head, “Hey! Danny is gorgeous!”
“And dumber than a box of rocks.”
“He’s not dumb, just quiet.”
Struggling to stand while still under heavy attack, she crawled to my bed and pulled herself up by the eyelet comforter, almost laughing too hard for me to understand her when she retorted with her arms in front of her face, “Because he’s too busy listening to the sound of his brains rattling around up there.”
After the third swing and hit across her chest, she grabbed the pillow and wrenched it from my hands. Her short hair standing in a static-induced spike, she grinned at me. “Did you say your mom got chips?”
Not much later, Rae came out to everyone. Looking back, I’m honored I was the first person she told. At the time, though, as a stupid, selfish teenager, it was a burden I’d have rather not shouldered. Every time she told an adult or one of our distant acquaintances, they’d ask, “Did you know this? Why didn’t you tell me/us?” How do you answer that? As a nearly thirty-year-old, with the benefit of hindsight, I can think of plenty of ways, some of them not polite. Back then, I was stumped and chose the non-answer, “I thought everyone already knew.” It got me off the hook and shut people up, because nobody likes to admit they’re clueless. It made me look like I wasn’t.
Then, of course, came the ignorant questions from some (mostly male peers):
“Are you a lesbian too, now?”
Because it’s contagious?
“Do you and Rae… you know?”
Because being gay means being attracted to and unable to resist everyone of the same sex, and the targets of their attraction are powerless to stop it, you know? They’re trying to take over the world!
“Are you still going to be friends with her?”
Because she’s no longer technically a human now, right? So you can cast her aside.
Of course, Rae’s news wasn’t news to most people close to us. I might have been the person she chose to formally come out to first, but I was far from the first person to know. Nobody in our group of friends was shocked. Suddenly, it made sense why she and I were being pushed out. Which pissed me off. But I wanted to hear it straight from them. I wanted them to admit that was the reason.
After months of mustering the nerve to ask, I approached one of them. Kimi confirmed my suspicions. “Rae’s weird. She says things that make the rest of us uncomfortable, and she doesn’t like boys, so she rolls her eyes when we talk about them.”
I laughed. “Okay. But that’s all about Rae. Why don’t you guys invite me to hang out anymore?”
Kimi fidgeted when she answered, “You two are kind of a package deal now, right? You’re always together. Like you’re a couple, or something.”
While that was factually inaccurate, I could tell by Kimi’s wrinkled nose that if I were to deny her implication, it would somehow get back to Rae that I was disgusted by the prospect, and that would hurt her feelings. Not because she had romantic designs on me—she didn’t and still doesn’t and never will—but because she was constantly being rejected for who she was, by friends, family… everyone. I refused to let her think for a second she could add me to that list.
So I gracefully bowed out of the larger high school social scene (who wants to be friends with people like that?) and concentrated all of my friendship efforts on Rae. We went to UMKC together and were roomies for most of that time, after we had a choice.
After graduation, I bought my own place, deciding it was time to at least pretend to be a grownup and live on my own. Although I was the one who moved out, Rae’s much more grown-up than I am, still. She has a career, after all, while I have a placeholder job that pays my bills and funds my silly movie hobby.
Living alone has meant that I’ve widened my friendship base to include people like Colin and… Okay, just Colin. Still, that’s a one hundred percent increase in friends, which is pretty dramatic for me.
Dating has been easier, too. Not that I’ve done much of it or have been successful at it. But when I have dated, I’ve found that not having someone to answer to at home makes things less complicated. Rae never stood in my way of dating, obviously, nor vice versa, but when we lived together, it seemed like we felt the need to vet each other’s potential partners, which could get dicey, considering she’s never approved of the guys I’ve liked.
“Why do you always pick the dumb ones? I don’t get it! Is it so you feel smarter, by comparison? Because you’re plenty smart, Mo. You could date a real brainiac and still be the smart one. Stop dumbing it down so much. What do you even talk about with these bozos? And don’t say, ‘movies.’”
But that’s usually the answer. Because the dumbest person on the planet—and despite what Rae thinks, I’ve never come close to dating men of that description—can talk about films. They may not delve into the deeper meanings behind shot composition and selection, but they can at least pinpoint their favorite films and say why they like them. I’ve found that a good discussion about movies is a decent way to get a feel for someone’s personality.
And while I’m not a cinematic snob, there are some red flag responses to, “What’s your favorite movie?” It’s
