I like dissonance. It makes for a better story in the retelling. It's almost fun to say, "I was wearing a dress the night I finally came out."
Almost. Maybe it would be more fun if I hadn't been wearing the motorcycle boots and the leather jacket. Maybe it would be more fun if I hadn't been the one going through it.
It was Friday, two days before my birthday, and it was my back-up plan, my revised resolution from that night I chickened out. I had to be out to someone by my birthday. Keith was the easy choice on the last day of December and he was the easy choice that weekend. The thought of telling him was equal parts exciting and terrifying. It felt like drinking too much coffee.
I didn't tell him until after dinner. We were in the car and I used it as an excuse not to look at him when I finally said, "I'm gay." My voice cracked and faded when I said it, and the sentence felt open like a question.
I was driving, but I don't remember how we ended up parked on the shoulder. I just remember the ache in my side as I leaned across the bucket seats and the gearshift and hugged Keith, which turned into sobbing against his chest. I thought if I held on and cried long enough, he would forget what I just told him. I didn't want his reaction. I knew it would be bad and I didn't think I could take it.
But he started laughing. The son of a bitch started laughing. I didn't recognize the sound at first and when I did, I couldn't understand why he would be laughing. But then he said, "That's it? That's what's been wrong all night?"
I think I must have stopped breathing at some point in the last four months and not started again until I heard him say that. It felt so good just to inhale that I started laughing. I have never felt relief like that before - but that doesn't make me look forward to doing it again even though I know I have to.
Almost. Maybe it would be more fun if I hadn't been wearing the motorcycle boots and the leather jacket. Maybe it would be more fun if I hadn't been the one going through it.
It was Friday, two days before my birthday, and it was my back-up plan, my revised resolution from that night I chickened out. I had to be out to someone by my birthday. Keith was the easy choice on the last day of December and he was the easy choice that weekend. The thought of telling him was equal parts exciting and terrifying. It felt like drinking too much coffee.
I didn't tell him until after dinner. We were in the car and I used it as an excuse not to look at him when I finally said, "I'm gay." My voice cracked and faded when I said it, and the sentence felt open like a question.
I was driving, but I don't remember how we ended up parked on the shoulder. I just remember the ache in my side as I leaned across the bucket seats and the gearshift and hugged Keith, which turned into sobbing against his chest. I thought if I held on and cried long enough, he would forget what I just told him. I didn't want his reaction. I knew it would be bad and I didn't think I could take it.
But he started laughing. The son of a bitch started laughing. I didn't recognize the sound at first and when I did, I couldn't understand why he would be laughing. But then he said, "That's it? That's what's been wrong all night?"
I think I must have stopped breathing at some point in the last four months and not started again until I heard him say that. It felt so good just to inhale that I started laughing. I have never felt relief like that before - but that doesn't make me look forward to doing it again even though I know I have to.
