The weightlessness of coming out is still there most days. Sometimes I confuse it with the weightlessness of actually being out, of everyone knowing and everything being OK. Then things happen to remind me I'm not out in any meaningful way, that the one person who knows is so far removed from my every day life he doesn't even count.
Case in point: Paul asked me to the prom. The words were forming on my tongue, but then I realized I'm not ready to say, "No thanks, Paul, I'm gay." Maybe it would feel good to let him know. It might even be safe to let him know - there is probably a certain amount of shame in saying to your MCJROTC buddies that your girlfriend dumped you for another girl. It's not exactly the truth, but Paul is nothing if not good at distortion.
I could just say no and leave out the gay part. I should just say no. (Nancy Reagan would want me to, and I do everything Nancy Reagan tells me to.) But I feel bad about the abrupt way I broke up with Paul and, I admit it, I can be such a girl: I want to go to the prom. I want the stupid dress and the ridiculous hair and the corsage that isn't quite fresh. Going to prom holds roughly the same appeal as Halloween - for one night, I want to be someone else. I can take one last shot at being straight. I can make sure I'm not wrong. And maybe I can ride in a badass limo and go to a wicked after party.
I told him I'd think about it. So this is me thinking about it, and concluding that I should have said no before I had time to think of 26 reasons to say yes.
Case in point: Paul asked me to the prom. The words were forming on my tongue, but then I realized I'm not ready to say, "No thanks, Paul, I'm gay." Maybe it would feel good to let him know. It might even be safe to let him know - there is probably a certain amount of shame in saying to your MCJROTC buddies that your girlfriend dumped you for another girl. It's not exactly the truth, but Paul is nothing if not good at distortion.
I could just say no and leave out the gay part. I should just say no. (Nancy Reagan would want me to, and I do everything Nancy Reagan tells me to.) But I feel bad about the abrupt way I broke up with Paul and, I admit it, I can be such a girl: I want to go to the prom. I want the stupid dress and the ridiculous hair and the corsage that isn't quite fresh. Going to prom holds roughly the same appeal as Halloween - for one night, I want to be someone else. I can take one last shot at being straight. I can make sure I'm not wrong. And maybe I can ride in a badass limo and go to a wicked after party.
I told him I'd think about it. So this is me thinking about it, and concluding that I should have said no before I had time to think of 26 reasons to say yes.
