Mommy I'm gay

This story explores the depths of understanding, acceptance and love. When Deborah finds out her 7 year-old daughter might possibly be gay, her entire world is put into perspective.

My world is reeling. I sit on my bed with my head between my knees inhaling deeply pinning for oxygen. One deep breath; a slow exhale escapes my lips. Two, deep breath; remember to inhale through the nostrils. Slowly release the air through your lips. Three, deep breath; my head is still spinning. Make it stop I scream.

My vision blurs before my eyes I fall back on my comforter and I’m asleep. I have a dream.

My 7-year-old little girl is dancing in my arms. She smiles back at me with her toothless mouth as she tries to avoid stepping on my feet. Just the way her father taught her. Her dark auburn hair bounces off her shoulders and glistens in the setting sun. We’re in a field and she’s laughing with me. We try to keep our balance but the dance is moving too fast for our feet to keep up. We fall among the wildflowers in unison. Larissa, my child, leans over and plucks a daisy. She tucks it in my hair. “Pretty mommy, I love you.” I roll over and grab her little body and hug tightly, “I love you too,” I say and plant a kiss on her pudgy cheek. Giggling while wiggling out of my hug she sits up, “Mommy,” she begins, “I need to tell you a secret.” Leaning on an elbow I look at her deep brown eyes, “What is it?”

“Mommy, I’m gay.”

In a flash I’m awake again with a pounding headache and stare blankly at a room of memories, each fading away while a dark haze clouds the room. I fall again into that dark hole of slumber. It’s noon on a summer Sunday and already my sun has set.

Day 2.

It is 8:45 on a Monday morning and I have been absent-mindedly washing the same glass for 20 minutes. I look at my hands and notice I’ve left my wedding ring on. I quickly remove my hands from the water. My body collapses onto a stool. My daughter loves to sit on this stool when we bake cookies. She helps to crack the eggs and won’t leave the kitchen until her face is covered with batter from licking a bowl clean.

Playing with this piece of gold wrapped around my ring finger I think of my daughter. She won’t be able to wear something like this. It isn’t likely she will have the chance to dance with her father in a wedding dress while trying to avoid his feet. Is she going to be picked on at school? Will I ever have to meet one of her girlfriends? Will she have a girlfriend? Will her brother try to secretly date her girlfriend? Oh God, why me? I’ve supported gay rights since the fight has begun, why does this need to happen to me? Shouldn’t this happen to those hypocritical a******s that try to ban gay marriage, while filing for their own divorce? I can’t do this. I’m a good person.

I notice the water is still running as it leaks over into the neighboring basin causing a disturbing draining sound. I understand this sound as it resembles my very soul; life washed away taking anything in its path with it. Standing, I turn the water off and leave the kitchen. I have errands to do and can’t focus on this right now. This room is filled with too many innocent memories of my little girl, untarnished memories.

I need to leave this house.

Grabbing car keys I slide into the driver seat of my Santa Fe. Breaking into a sob I notice Larissa’s Barbie doll sticking out of the back seat. Maybe I should have been buying her action figures so she’d like boys. I can’t drive like this, I’m not even thinking straight. Remembering there’s a local shop three blocks away I grab my earth-saving reusable bags and begin my trek through the neighborhood.

The breeze feels good against my hot skin. I welcome the annoying bird chirps and ruffling leaves; they block any intruding thoughts. I’ve never appreciated summer for its treasures; its scolding heat has always blinded my judgment. But with a beaming sun raised high above my head the animals come out of their winter hibernation to sing as if welcoming your steps. As my feet beat a steady tempo on the pavement my mind revisits yesterday’s dark Sunday.

I’ve always insisted that a family that prays together stays together. For this reason I’ve been rather persistent in dragging my relaxed family to church each Sunday. Most often they follow willingly, unless a birthday party, vacation or sporting event stand in the way. This Sunday hadn’t posed any obstacles and so everyone busied themselves to prepare for the service. I was in my daughter’s room helping her to pick out a dress while she were coming out of the bathroom wrestling with a brush in her tangled wet curls.

“Mommy, why can’t I cut my hair?” She grudgingly spat out while wincing as her brush tugged loose a clump of curls.

“Because you’ll miss all of the fun things we do with it once it’s tangle free. Besides you like it long.” I tell her.

“Okay, you’re right. I do like the loops and how we pile it on my head to make me look taller. I just don’t like brushing it.”

“Come here, let me help you.” I patted a cleared spot on the bed next to the dress I had just plucked out of her closet. “I think you’ll look very pretty in this one today, what do you think?”

“Um, it’s okay. I like the color. Pink is my favorite because it’s your favorite.” She beamed up at me when she said this showing the gaping space where her two front baby teeth had been a week earlier.

Lightly tugging the brush through her stubborn curls I asked, “So, how was the sleepover at Ashley’s last night? Did you girls have fun?”

“Yeah! Ashley’s mom made chocolate chip cookies from scratch, not like the kind that comes in a box. We had to measure out the flour and other ingredients. She even gave us a spoon to clean out the mixing bowl. She didn’t think it would be very, um sanitary or something, if we used our fingers. We had to wash our hands before leaving the kitchen too. She likes her furniture chocolate free. That’s what she told us.”

I laughed as her wet hair slipped through my fingers. My precious little girl and her easy life; I’m happy it is a good life. This was my thought at that moment.

“Mommy, I have a question.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Mommy, how did you know you liked Daddy?”

“Because he wouldn’t leave me alone, which made me think I didn’t have any other choice."

“That’s it?” At this moment she turns to look at me puzzlingly. I realize she wants a serious answer.

“No, that wasn’t it. I suppose it was when I knew your father would do anything in the world for me. That he loved me unconditionally and would stand by my side through thick and thin.” Through thick and thin, huh? I wonder how he’s going to take this news.

“So that’s it, that’s what makes a person know they are in love?”

“Yup, just that. When you know your life would a bit sadder if that person weren’t present at your side. You understand what I mean?”

She nodded her head in agreement and sat chewing on a thought. This caused me to prompt further questioning. I began to think, why would she bring up this subject? Was a boy teasing her at school? Did someone say something? She’s not at the age for “the talk” about boys and girls.

“Why do you ask Larissa?”

“Because I like someone.”

“Who? Do I know him? Is he in your class?” I can’t believe I instinctively use the pronouns him, he. What does that say of me?

“Her name is Rebecca. She’s really nice and smells like strawberries. We play together during recess. She’s not in my class but she is in the other second grade classroom. She says she likes my long hair and asks to play with it. She has darker skin than me, and her hair is soft when I touch it even though it doesn’t look like it. I told her that and she laughed, she says she thinks so too. We held hands yesterday during the movie Ashley’s mom let us watch.”

My hands sat numbly in my lap as she continued to go on. I don’t even realize I’m not moving or saying anything until Larissa, is standing in front of me shaking my arms.

“Mommy, are you okay? Mommy, Mommy? Daddy, help!” Larissa runs off to fetch her father.

Picking myself up I walk to the door to calm whatever clamor I’ve just caused. I need to keep calm and rationalize everything my 7 year-old daughter has just told me. Seeing my husband being led down the hall by a frantic child I give him the sign we’ve developed between the two of us that says, “You need to step in, I need a moment alone.” I hear him soothing away the recent stress I’ve caused in Larissa’s life with gentle words then ushering her to get ready for church. Needing to sit and stop I head to the car to wait for my family to join.

Patiently I sit for 23 minutes. My mind is a blank mess. How odd of a contradiction. How can something be blank or void yet still a mess? Well that was me, a contradiction. Giggles and other welcoming sounds fill the car, I try to respond easily. My husband can sense something is off. The children can’t. I’m thankful for that. Watching the neighborhood pass by my translucent reflection in the passenger window I close my eyes and wait for the next thing.

The service at church was a disaster. My mind continued to come to the same recurring thought, God I don’t want to know if you agree or not. She’s my little girl. I began telling myself: God never abandons his children, no matter their age or other life characteristics. He loves us all equally. Where in the Ten Commandments did it say, “Thou shalt not be homosexual?”

Unable to reassure my overwhelmed mind I excused myself to sit in the visiting area. I could hear the Pastor overhead coming through the speakers. The words “remove thy twig from thine own eye… love unconditionally,” is heard. Or maybe it was my own thoughts thinking this is what should be preached. I should have paid more attention now that I think of it.

Eventually we drive home. Mitchell, my husband, takes the kids out for the day after I tell him I have a headache and need a rest. I climb the stairs of our quiet two-story colonial home and slip into the darkened bedroom I’ve shared with my husband these past 12 years. Sinking into the plush comforter I try to find my breath. And that is where I found myself on a dark Sunday.

Continuing my walk I look around my shinning neighborhood wondering if any of my friends will go through the same thing. I try to surround myself with liberal thinkers. Free spirits as they are often called. What would they do? Have they had to do it yet? Will they ever? What is my role in all of this? Oh, dear Lord. Did I do something to make her like this? My hands grab hold of my body in a desperate search for some physical malformation when I suddenly freeze thinking what I must appear to the neighbors. Shaking off the feeling of wrong doing on my part I remember to tell myself, nothing is wrong with Larissa. Nothing could be done to prevent this. It just is.

I find myself in front of the local grocery store. Stepping forward and grabbing a cart I try to find my normal routine. Life just is and will continue to move forward. I can’t find a pause button. Keep moving.

Day 2 continued.

“I can’t believe you called me out of the office for this Deborah.”

“Well I’m deeply concerned, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“So I’m supposed to be the bad parent here?”

Sighing deeply, Mitchell looked me over and resigned to answer, “If our daughter is gay, why should it matter? You haven’t asked her directly whether she was speaking of liking a friend or something more. Suppose she is? I’m actually proud to have a child that has such a strong sense of both personal identity and confidence; especially in this day of age. I don’t want my child thinking she needs to be an outcast, or that she’s an oddity. She’s a little girl who is beginning to understand herself. I’m going to support her in that. And if you are the woman I knew you to be 12 years ago, the woman I fell in love with and chose to have a family with, you will support her too. She’s your daughter. You don’t give up on family.”

“What am I supposed to do,” my voice broke as I was on the brink of tears.

“Talk to her, and listen.”

With that he bent over kissed my cheek, pulled out two twenties for lunch, and left for his office.

Chills were running over my spine. We were at an outdoor bistro with the Arizona summer heat beating on our heads, and I was perhaps the only person shivering in need of a cover.

Day 2 continued.

Leaving the bistro I decided to take a drive. I didn’t have a destination in mind and yet somehow found myself in front of my mother’s home. Why here? Before this question had a chance to finish its flash across my mind, I instinctively knew the answer. Was I prepared to do this finally? I hadn’t talked with my mother since the incidence happened five years back. And she would be home too…

Turning the Santa Fe’s engine off I closed my eyes and tried to bring back the memory of it all. Poor Dad.

My mother and father were married 27 years. It was something to look up to. They were role models. As a married woman I admired their commitment to each other. It takes work to make a marriage work. That said, it took only a single day for the marriage to dissolve. Another woman came into the picture and left my family crushed.

I can’t recall a single day in my life that Dad mistreated Mom. Maybe it was just that she was unhappy with her life. I don’t know what. The local library held public readings of random literature once a month. My mother saw a flyer posted in a nearby grocery store of these meetings and decided to go for a listen. Soon she began to make this a regular habit. After the second month she began meeting a group of women each week for a book club. Kate was a member.

My father loved it. He saw Mom’s personality changing before his eyes. She would come home after one of her meetings with the gals and my father would be able to keep her laughter all throughout the night. I noticed it too. She even increased the frequency of her visits with Larissa and Cole, my infant son. She would take them out to the park or for ice cream, perhaps a trip to the mall. She called it “mommy time”, and I was grateful. She had finally begun to show us a personality I had only dreamt of.

This particular day she had taken them to the zoo. I didn’t think she would be able to juggle a 6-month old and two-year-old but she insisted. I couldn’t refuse the offer as I really had been looking forward to spring’s approach, and since it was here I could finally tackle the garden. Also, Mitchell was off for the day. We would finally have a chance to be alone. It was a treat I didn’t want to miss out on. I even purchased an expensive Merlot for our garden date.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a friend along to join me at the zoo. She’s a grandmother too, so you shouldn’t fret any.” Mom told me when I greeted her with a kiss on my doorstep that afternoon.

“I don’t mind at all. Is she from your book club?” I asked remembering my mom hadn’t many friends and so this would be the only place she could have latched onto anyone. I stretched my neck around my mother’s shape in the doorframe looking for the mystery woman.

“Yes, and she has been such a wonderful companion recently. I think we find ourselves talking each day on the phone. She’s tidying up the backseat for the kids’ car seats.” My mom had a blissfully happy expression written over her face. I just took it as a blessing thinking she had finally found a friend to open up with. My mother’s always been rather recluse.

“Okay, well, let me grab up the babies.” I said turning around to look for the children, gathering their items together as I moved. “You should remember Cole is transitioning from breast to bottle right now so he might be a bit fussy during feeding time.”

“Oh, I remember that time. It’s always such a hardship for both the mother and the child to go through. The physical separation, it’s a toughie.”

Hearing an unfamiliar voice, I turned around and straightened up. Standing in front of me was a slender woman in what appeared to be her late 60’s. She was pleasing to the sight, having mastered her makeup, a challenge for most elderly women, and knew how to select a choice of clothing that suited her age. Her manner of speech was delicate yet authoritative and sparkled with sophistication and wit.

“Hi, I’m Kate.” She said with a flash of white permanent teeth. “I don’t believe your mother has introduced us yet.”

“Oh, it’s very nice to meet you. My mother has really come out of her shell since meeting you and the other women at the book club. We’ve always said there was a real Beverly hidden in there somewhere. And thanks for helping with the kids today. Since having Cole in September it’s been difficult to do anything around the house. It feels good just getting outdoors. My husband and I intend to take care of some early planting out back.”

At that moment the man just spoken of presented himself for introduction with the children bundled in his arms.

“You must be Mitchell. I’m Kate. Beverly has spoken of you two nonstop these past few months that I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.” Generously shaking my husband’s outstretched hand with a firm grasp, she continued in my direction, “And it’s my pleasure to help with the children. They are such darlings from your mother’s tales. I look forward to many more visits. Your mother and I have grown rather close over the past few months that I’m sure I’ll see you again.” Kate threw Mom a glance of familiarity, one that I saw but refused to think twice about. What’s a look between two friends?

Watching Mom and Kate load the children into the car and drive away, I wonderfully ignorant to anything outside of the norm, dove into my husband’s attention and garden.

“That was odd, don’t you think?” Mitchell began, stepping off the backyard patio grabbing a few gardening tools.

“What was?” I asked pulling my gloves on kneeling over a mound of earth.

“That women, what was her name? Kate? The way she was looking at your mother. Didn’t you notice anything, perhaps, off?”

Laughing, I shook off my husband’s statements providing a simple answer, “Friend’s look at each other all the time. Older women are especially fond of sharing intimate gestures with friends than younger women.” Straightening my bent back and balancing on my knees I thought out a more critical answer, “I think it has to do with the feeling of separation our generation has been exposed to. People nowadays want to remove themselves from physical intimacy with a fellow human being and remain solitaire. It didn’t used to be like that. Let’s vow to never fall in this trap of separation, okay? I don’t want Larissa or Cole to develop that increasingly mindless habit.”

Half a bottle of wine later with sinking earth covering buds and seeds, Mitchell and I were laughing our way to a romantic interlude when the phone rang. Dancing to the jazz styled music coming through our radio’s speakers I headed for the phone in the kitchen, just beyond the outdoor patio we had been lazily reclining on.

“Hello,” I began, greeting the person on the other end of the line.

“Hello, may I speak with a Ms. Deborah Michaels please?”

“This is.”

“Ms. Deborah Michaels, daughter of Beverly Rawls?”

“Yes, this is. What may I ask is this call about?” My buzz hadn’t begun to wane yet, but remembrance of my children’s location linked with my mother’s name reminded me to pay attention.

“Ms. Michaels this is Pauline Jones calling from Scottsdale Healthcare Shea Medical Center. Your mother’s friend, a Ms. Kathryn Deets, brought your mother and children to our facility. Ms. Michaels, it seems as if your mother had suffered a mild panic attack. We have tried to contact her husband, Mr. Vincent Rawls; however, we do not have a contact for him. Ms. Deets did not know his phone number. We will need to send her home with a relative and I’m sure you will want to come for your children. You might want to contact Mr. Rawls to inform him of these happenings.”

“Oh, my God! Of course. We’ll be right there, thank you.” Without waiting for a reply on the line I tossed the phone back onto the receiver and nearly ran into the closed glass door separating my frantic voice with Mitchell’s splayed out frame on the patio.

“Mitch, how much wine have you drunk?” I yelled as my hands fussed with the car keys I jingled out of my purse.

“Not as much as you, my sweet vixen.” Mitchell hadn’t been updated on the news and was still in “play” mode.

“Well you’re driving,” I threw the car keys at the confused man and ran to the car. “Let’s go! We need to get the hospital immediately. I’ll update you on the way.”

What am I doing thinking of this? I can’t do this yet. I glanced at my mother’s quiet home once more. Then, with a flick of the wrist the car’s engine came to life and I fled. I needed a friend to confide in, someone that wouldn’t judge what I was going through; a neutral person. But who?

A talk with Luc

Lucy had always been my most trusted friend. Easy to talk to, quiet and open minded, yet stubborn with her personal beliefs. My hands were shaking at the thought that she would ever judge Larissa. But why would she? Because of the comments she made about Mom? No never… Lucy and I go way back. My children adore her and vice versa. We’ve been best friends since grade school. If ever I needed a friend she would be the person. Remembering not to build up an imaginary scenario of a fight, but rather focus on Lucy’s friendship I decided to put it to the test.

“Deb! Ah, how great it is to see you. I wasn’t expecting you until Wednesday’s movie night. Are you trying to escape the family early?” She smirked at me with this comment.

Before she had a chance to release her budding smile, the smirk instantly retreated in wrinkles of deep concern. “What’s wrong? You’re as white as a ghost. Deborah, I’ve never seen you like this. Come in quick, take a seat and breathe. I’ll grab a glass of water. Do you need a phone to call Mitchell?”

Stretching out her arms to bring me in the house I stopped her with a raised hand.

“No Luc, I’m fine. Please, don’t mother me. I just came by because I don’t know where else to go or who to talk to.” Dropping my grief stricken face into my splayed out palms, I buried my face in their shelter.

With this gesture Lucy moved through my weak resistance and wrapped her arms around my shoulders leading me inside. Her heels clicked on the mahogany stained cedar panels lining her floors. Those heels led us past a living room filled with asymmetrical cream colored furniture to her most prized room, an ornately decorated oaken embellished kitchen smelling of cinnamon and lemon.

“Luc you’re such a mom. Stop. I’m fine. I just need a seat and maybe some coffee?” Remembering Lucy’s urge to busy her hands as a way to steady her mind I gave her a task.

“Sure, of course. Take a seat Deb.” Thankfully we were able to keep the familiarity as the room filled with the looming uncertainty I dragged in.

She waited patiently for me to begin. She knew it was futile to push me for answers and so the silence built.

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“The beginning is always best.”

“Luc, please.”

“Sorry.”

Looking at my friend I wondered the best way to approach the situation. “I think Larissa is gay.”

Halting her actions with her back facing my direction, she allowed a 2 second delay before resuming her tasks.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.” She replied slowly.

“And?” I demanded.

“And what,” she retorted.

“Does it bother you?” A sigh escaped my chest.

“Should it?” She asked, shifting her weight while keeping her face hidden over the countertops.

“Come on. Don’t you remember how you responded when I told you about Mom?”

“That was different; she was an adult and should have known better. Larissa is a child.” She straightened her back with this last statement.

“What’s that supposed to mean Lucy?” I felt my blood heating.

“I mean, children can be fickle-minded, you shouldn’t take what they have to say to heart.” She kept her back to me while speaking this way.

“What are you trying to say?” I asked, standing, pushing my stool out from behind me as I did.

“Deb,” she said, turning with a hot beverage now between us, “you have to relax. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, and you probably misheard her. Maybe, it’s best you clear the air with her, get a better understanding.” She put the beverage down and reached for my shoulder.

Instinctively I pulled away.

“Come on Deb, you were the one that was shaken up over this. You were the one that came over here pale as a ghost. What are you thinking in your head? I wouldn’t worry. All hope isn’t lost yet. Listen, you can come with me tonight to my prayer group. We’ll put in a special request for Larissa. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

I stilled my itching hand from reaching her mouth as if it were the only way to silence her words. Why would she say this? What else did I expect? Why did it anger me if she said this, even when I was hoping her words were the truth?

Turning quickly I ran from the house, all the while hearing Lucy calling out to me to come back.

Jumping into the car, I sped as fast I could without concern of pedestrians. How could Lucy say that all hope isn’t lost yet; that children are fickle-minded and unable to recognize fundamental principles of themselves?

What ifs…

Five years ago, life was easy and uncomplicated. Mom and Dad were still married. I had celebrated my fourth year of marriage to a wonderful man I met during my sophomore year at Auburn University. He proposed shortly after we graduated. It was easy to say yes to him, knowing I could make a marriage work. My parents had, at that point, more than 20 years of marriage between them. And they were my role models. Sad thing is, had Mitchell and I met after Mom left Dad for Kate I would have said no to him.

I try to think about my mother some times. It’s hard. I remember rushing to the hospital looking for her, the kids, Kate… I saw the way Kate was holding Mom saying it was time. It was time for her to stop hiding who she was. It struck me as odd that my mom would hold Kate’s arm in the same manner as she would my father’s. I stood back watching with the kids under my arms, watching as Kate kissed my mom’s cheek and kept saying it was time; soothing her hair as she spoke. Kate’s words for my mother were that she shouldn’t be afraid. My mother looked up at me at that moment afraid. I saw it. She tried telling me afterward about her own mother’s reaction when she found out Beverly was gay.

Grandma had caught Mom in her room with a friend from school. They were both in high school. The two girls were holding hands and sitting very close to one another when Grandma walked in on them. She began yelling at the girl. “Get out of my house you Harlot! You’re not welcome here! Leave now!” She grabbed the girl’s arm bruising the flesh causing a raucous between the girl’s parents and Grandma later that night. Grandma kept yelling over the telephone line that their infested daughter wasn’t allowed to visit her daughter any longer. After the telephone call was finished Grandma continued to yell at Mom throughout the night. She was saying she knew it all along, and how she was going to call Dr. Philips first thing in the morning to schedule a psychological examination. He would be able to fix her. Grandma refused to hear a word from Mom. The next day, instead of a doctor’s visit Mom was handed a plane ticket to Arizona to stay with family. Mom hadn’t seen or spoken to Grandma until she was laid to rest 43 years later in Montana.

Forty-nine years later, I walked out of that hospital doing exactly what Grandma did. I shut Mom out of my life. Was I about to do the same to my own daughter?

Time to wake up

                Feeling a vibration from my purse, I pull out my phone and answered without checking the caller ID.

                “Hello?” I asked, sniffling tears away from my face, trying to hide the clamor that must be noticeable in my voice.

“Deborah, are you there?”

                Recognizing my mother’s voice I shakily reply, “Mom I can’t talk right now.”

                “Deborah please don’t hang up. Larissa is here. She ran away from school this morning.”

               

“Mommy, I’m sorry.” I looked up from the salad I had been chopping to see a swollen faced little girl recently finished from a crying session.

Dropping the knife and lettuce on the kitchen island I immediately stooped down to see my daughter face to face.

                “What exactly are you sorry for Larissa?” I question.

                “I’m sorry I ran away from school today.” She says staring at the tiles beneath her bare feet.

                Reaching out to her, I lift her small face. “Do you know what could have happened to you? Do you understand you scared all of us? Larissa, I was so worried.”

                She burst forth with a new set of tears.

                I pull her in close for a tight hug.

                “Mommy, I love you. Please love me too.”

                It was too much to take in.

                “Larissa, what are you saying? Why would you think I don’t love you?” I asked, holding her at arm’s length scanning her face. I pray she doesn’t know.

“I made you mad yesterday and that makes me sad.”

Oh God, what I am doing to my child? How selfish of me to put her through this.

“What makes you think you made me mad sweetie?” I try to remain calm, for her sake.

“Because you didn’t pack me a lunch this morning. And you didn’t come to tuck me in last night. Are you mad Mommy?” She sniffled her way through this last question.

“Never in a million years. Never, never, not ever. You got it?”

I watched her head nod in agreement.

“I love you Larissa. And I should be the one to apologize. I have been very confused recently and need to think some things out in my head, okay? I love that you’re my daughter. I wouldn’t ask for another, that’s why you have a brother instead of a sister. You get it?”

She giggled lightly and my heart sank. Wiping her tears away she asked if she could help bring the plates to the table and butter the dinner rolls. I happily let her. God, this isn’t going to be easy.

I watched this tiny girl barely understanding the world while learning more and more every day, perform her nightly rituals. After a dinner of silly antidotes of homework and friends preparing for soccer tryouts, she sleepily lounged on the couch next to her father. Those two are so alike in every way. I’m grateful Mitchell can help me get through this. I don’t want to feel separated from my little girl.

Glancing at my watch and realizing the time, I remembered where I needed to be.

Coming back to the past

                Here, we go.

                An echo bounced around the walls of the house shielded by the oaken door of which I knock. I step back and adjust my clothing, smoothing each tiny wrinkle and fussing with my purse. The door moves inward as someone pulls the door ajar.

                She’s shocked to see me on my own accord that much is for sure.

                “Deborah, we weren’t expecting you. Did Larissa leave something behind?” Kate asks me, still too stunned to extend an invitation to enter.

                “No,” I say clearing my throat. “I’m here because I wanted to speak to you both.”

                Forgetting herself, she steps backward, “of course, of course. Please excuse me. Do come in.” She’s still shocked at my presence. I can’t blame her, from the way I spoke to her years ago and my refusal to permit her attendance to family gatherings. It only serves me right.

                “Bev!” She calls upward along a staircase, “Bev! Do come down. Deborah is here.”

                My mother is heard above hurriedly gathering her things. We stand worlds apart separated by 3 feet. We haven’t exchanged pleasantries yet, I decide its best we try.

                “I love what you’re doing with the place. The new flooring is rather nice.” After the divorce Mom moved in with Kate. I hadn’t been to this house much, but could still recognize a new detail now and then.

                “Thank you Deborah. Please come in and let me have you coat.” I let her take it from me. Our hands touch during the exchange causing an uncomfortable silence to descend upon the room. My hand twitched slightly. She noticed.

                “Your mother sure can take her time getting ready,” Kate jokes.

                “Would you care for a cup of tea?” I can tell Kate is genuinely trying to make an effort.

                “Please. Thank you.” I state.

                “It’ll be just a moment then.” She disappears behind a corner and begins clinking glassware.

                I begin nervously picking at my nails, an old habit my mother has scolded me for years over. Perhaps I continue at it in a small way to rebel. I hear footsteps on the staircase.

                “Well this is a surprise, Deborah.” She says crossing the room to my chair, folding her arms over her chest as she does. “To what do we owe the honor or your company?” My mother has learned to stand her ground since coming out. I’m too accustomed to her timid nature that I’m taken back a bit.

                “Mom, please. I didn’t come to start a fight. I need to talk.” I hang my head in a manner of shame. My mother takes notice dissolving her cross manner.

                I can hear Kate taking her time in the kitchen humming an easy tune, giving us space. I’m grateful for the next few minutes.

                “Mom, Larissa ran away from school this morning because of something that happened yesterday. Did she tell you about it?”

                “No. She only said she didn’t want to go to school today and decided to come here because she knew I’d be home.” My mother took a seat across from me.

                “What happened yesterday?” She asked quietly.

                “Larissa told me she liked a girl in her class.” I watched my mother’s unchanged face locked into its deep parental concern think about this statement.

                “And how did you respond?” She asks easily.

                I’m irritated by her comfortable demeanor, “you didn’t prepare me for this! I didn’t know what to do. I just got up and left. I left my little girl. I made her cry when I should have comforted her. I can’t believe it but I did. I felt done. Like everything I’ve worked hard to put together over these past 9 years had been in vain. My daughter isn’t my little girl anymore; she’s become someone else that I haven’t met yet.”

                My mother was eerily silent.

Tears were pulled from my eyelids as I continued, “I honestly feel as if I am now somehow disconnected from the beautiful creature God gave me. I couldn’t even drive the kids to school this morning. Mitch had to take them on his way into work. Up until dinner, I hadn’t seen or spoken to Larissa since it happened yesterday morning.”

Heaving and brushing away the tears onto a nearby napkin I looked at my mother for something; a shred of decency after hearing cruel words; anything. She was steadfast in her silence.

            “Mom I don’t know how to look at her again without thinking she’s diff…”

            “Stop right there.” It was Kate that spoke this time, quietly; controlled; collected. She halted her activities in the kitchen and stood before us. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say who’s different and who’s not. That isn’t right. And it isn’t your place.”

I’m too stunned to speak. Kate hasn’t spoken to me in all the years I’ve known her except to exchange pleasantries from time to time.

“You are speaking against your child and on a matter that for years you have refused to acknowledge.” She continued. “Deborah, you need to take time and come to terms with what has transpired.”

            Raising my eyebrows and gapping my mouth I stared at Kate. How dare she intrude right at that moment? Coming to my senses, I manage to speak up. “You’re not a part of this conversation!”  It was all I could think to say.

“I am trying to say how I honestly feel. I love my daughter. I just need a coping mechanism, someway of accepting this. I am searching here. I came here to talk to my mom.” I turn to my mother for an answer oblivious to anything Kate might verbally offer next.

            At last my mother spoke up, “Look Deb, you know that I refuse to preach, but if you’re asking for help then I’ll give it. Larissa is your child. She is a child. That is the very word you should remember. She needs you. You are her guide in life. Like it or not this is now something she will need your help with. You will tell her that she is perfect in every way. That God loves her and made her exactly as she is today, regardless of what others may or may not tell her in later years. That is exactly what you will tell her next time you see her. Or perhaps the very thing you will tell yourself to deal with this.

                “Now, as to another matter; I love you. Please accept that first and foremost. You are my daughter and I would give my life for you. That said hear this, you are not welcome here if you believe I am different or that Kate is different. We are gay. It’s just like saying I’m right-handed. I’ve been this way since the day I was born. It’s not a choice I’ve selected over the years, hell it wouldn’t be the choice I’d ask anyone to select seeing how others are apt to treat us.

“You are well within your rights to hate me for what I did to your father. It was wrong. It was awful. I should have told him who I was up front, but I was scared. I was running from the truth. I refuse to do that any longer. And he has since forgiven me; he understands. We loved each other, honestly and truly, and I am so happy we spent the years together that we did. He helped me to come out of my shell and speak about Kate. He has helped me to realize I shouldn’t be ashamed of myself.”

                She fell to my knees at that moment and cradled me in her arms. “Deborah, I love you. Forgive me for hurting you and your father, but do not feel you need to treat me differently because you can’t understand who or what I am. I am your mother. That is all you need to know. I raised you with good Christian morals, and that is to love. And love unconditionally.”

               

I am choosing to finish this story here because it is with this last line that I love. We do not need to have a resolution as to whether or not Larissa is or is not gay. We do not need to know how Deborah responds to her mother, or whether she will ever accepted Kate as a member of her family. We need to remember love is necessary. When understanding fails, when judgment comes to mind, love replaces all. Love is and will always be

Reviews

[Trigorin]

You have a fairly good story here, although some of your dialogue is a little stilted, but I do think you ought to increase the daughter's age a little. 7-year-olds are not emotionally developed enough to understand their own sexuality, as a rule, and it's difficult to take the story seriously if the audience is being asked to accept that someone that young knows they are gay already.

[Melissa Hoover]

Thanks for the heads up on the dialogue. I love describing, and am comfortable with it. Dialogue is brand new for me. Seven years is the age of reason for the average child. I'll think about increasing slightly; possibly. I meant to elude to the possibility of the child being gay. The story isn't intended to focus on that. Rather, how will Deborah handle this as a possible reality. Perhaps it needs work before going to a publisher. Thanks again for the feedback. It is greatly appreciated.

[Trigorin]

Even though it is the age of reason, it's still not the point where a child has matured enough to know for certain about that sort of thing. At present, it makes the main character look like an overreacting, panicky caricature instead of a real, believable person. I would say ten or twelve at the very earliest.

[Melissa Hoover]

With your most recent comment, I suppose you have a point. Thanks for the tip.