At 11:45, the phone rang. I had just kissed her goodnight and walked her to her car. I figured the way she drove, she’d be home in five minutes.
"Hello," I answered.
"Anne, tell Rachel good-bye for me. And that I love her."
"What?" I stammered. "Um, why, Kate? She’s on her way home. She’ll be there in a couple minutes."
"I won’t see her. Just tell her good-bye. And, Anne, I wanted to thank you, ‘cause you’ve been a good friend to her."
Yeah, right. Friend. I’m just her friend.
"Okay. You’re welcome. Um, Kate, are you okay?"
"Yeah," Kate paused, "bye, Anne."
The clock said 11:47. Suddenly the lights were very bright. I shut them off and opened the blinds about three inches. I looked out and her car wasn’t there. She’d be home in three minutes.
I slammed my back hard into my unforgiving red fold-out desk chair. 11:48, the clock glowed florescent green. I grabbed a cigarette, the last one, and crumpled the pack. I inhaled deeply, noticing how orange the tip looked in my darkened room. My nose hairs burnt a little as I accidentally inhaled my exhaled smoke. I listened to the leaves falling off the trees and dusting the ground with their faint scraping sound. It was about thirty degrees out and dropping. The wind blew in and knocked the blind around. 11:50. I picked up the phone and dialed. Let it ring eight or nine times.
Kate must have already taken the pills or she just wasn’t answering. I took another drag. This was not unexpected. I thought back to my encounters with Kate. She was crying out for help and attention. She didn’t really want to die, she just wanted us to know how close she was coming to it.
11:53. I dialed again.
"Hello," Rachel answered.
"Rach, I think you need to call 911."
"Wh… why?" I could hear her throw her keys onto the table in her dining room. She had just walked in.
"Kate just called over here. She told me to tell you good-bye and she loves you. And she thanked me for being such a good friend to you."
I could hear her smile. Saw in my mind her eyes crinkle back in appreciation of Kate’s naivete even as she was fighting tears.
"I think she really did it, but it couldn’t have been long ago. She was coherent on the phone five minutes ago."
"Shit. I’ll call you back." She hung up.
I took one last drag and crushed the filter into the ashtray. I looked at the rustling blinds, the unmade bed, the disheveled desk with the glowing clock. 11:57. I was restless and this room held no interest for me right now.
Downstairs, I did the dishes we had left in haste to run up to my bedroom. Made a cup of chamomile tea and swallowed two red and yellow gel-caps of Tylenol. 1,000 milligrams of acetaminophen served as my Valium. I grabbed a pack of Lucky Strikes from the drawer.
Midnight and I had class at 7:20 in the morning. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t sleep tonight.
Upstairs, I stuck my head under the faucet and smoothed my two inches of hair down. Took a swallow of tea; decided chain smoking was forgivable for this night only. 12:21. The phone rang.
"Yeah," I said. I knew it would be her. "Is she okay?"
"Sure," she lied.
"She take pills?"
"I guess. Yeah. They’re taking her over to Cottonwood Hospital. She’s breathing and all, she just passed out."
"You gonna call her family?"
"Not if I can help it. She’ll live so they don’t need to know."
"You want me over there tonight?"
"Can you meet me at the hospital? We’re gonna leave soon."
"I’ll be over as soon as is humanly possible."
"Thanks, Anne. I love you." It was the first ‘I love you’ in front of Kate. Of course Kate wasn’t exactly conscious at the moment.
I threw on tights and jeans, a thermal and a sweater. Took wallet, cigarettes, lighter, and clipped the reflector onto my belt loop in the back. Added hat, scarf, and heavy coat. Shut the window and kissed my kitty on her head. I sniffed for smoke, decided the house wasn’t about to burn down, and locked the door behind me. I got onto my bike and looked both ways out of habit. It wasn’t as though anybody besides the truly hearty, like myself, would be out on a Salt Lake street at 12:30 Sunday night.
It was a straight shot to Cottonwood Hospital. Spring Lane, left to 13th East Avenue and south on Highland Drive. I rode slowly in case there was black ice lurking on the roads. It was definitely below thirty by now. My head incased in the warmth of my hat and scarf, the lack of traffic, and the hour of night sent my mind to wandering.
Rachel had been here a week when I met her. Robin, her boss at Beans ‘n Brews, just Beans to us locals, introduced us.
"Hi, I’m Anne."
"Rachel," she proffered her hand. I took it.
"Could I get a cup of house coffee with whipped cream?"
"Sure," she handed the drink to me with no move toward the cash register. "I’ve seen you here a couple of times. Do you come in a lot?" she asked me. It was a semi-personal question, but it could have been completely innocent. I thought she was cute, so I wanted to read more into it than there really was.
"Yeah, I hand out here on breaks from my classes."
"Well, I have a break right now, so do you want to go outside and have a cigarette with me?"
"Sure, I’ll grab my coat." I threw a dollar into the tip jar.
"You need a cigarette?" I asked her as we walked outside.
"Yeah, thanks."
She lit up. I found out later that she didn’t smoke. We stood there in silence inhaling and exhaling for a while.
"So," she looked down at me, "where’re you from?"
"Well, here, for now. Before that, L.A."
"Oh, really? I’m from San Jose in Northern California."
"Why on earth did you move here?" Sometimes my mouth opens without intervention from my brain, and I occasionally end up sounding like a fool. This was one such occasion.
"My families’ Mormon." Great. I was too late.
"Are you?"
"No. Did I look Mormon to you."
She definitely did not look Mormon. Unless they’re now letting lesbians in the religion. And she was definitely a lesbian. The kind that mothers warn their daughters about. Probably because everyone is attracted to them. She had hair about two or three inches long, parted on the left and dangling into her right eye so she squinted. She bleached it even though she’s a natural blonde; I still don’t get that. Black jeans, dark purple button down ‘Beans’ shirt, white undershirt sticking out of her collar, which was unbuttoned, work boots, no noticeable figure. She was called ‘sir’ more often than not. She was hot. And interested.
"I’m off in an hour," she told me. An opening if I ever heard one.
"Have you seen the city yet?"
"Not really."
"Interested?"
"Sure, when?"
"Tonight," I was on a roll, "where do you live?"
"6900 South Avenue and 1300 East Avenue. On the corner in those ugly tan apartments. Number 14."
"69th and 13th. Okay, you’re just south of me. How’s six?" I noticed car keys clipped to her belt loop with a purple rock-climbing hook. "Okay if you drive?"
"Sure, but make it 6:30. I have to pick up my room-mate from work." A complication.
"Okay. See you later."
She went back inside. I went and gushed to my friends. I had a date.
At 6:15 precisely, I left my house. A strange woman answered wearing white nurse’s scrubs with little bears all over them in pastel colors. She had long, brown, curly hair, pulled back on the top with a big, tortoise-shell hairlclip.
"Hi, I’m Kate. Rach is inside. Come on in."
I left my bike by the front door. Salt Lake is an honest city.
"Hi, Anne," you said, "come in; eat Skittles if you like ‘em. On the counter in that jar."
Rachel came around the counter to give me a hug. As she passed, Kate ran her hand over her ass; Rachel shot her a look. I noticed. She let it go. I thought she was single, but I’ve been wrong before.
"Kate, check the potatoes," Rachel said.
"Hi," she hugged me, holding me a second longer than I expected. Her hand traced my shoulder to my wrist as I let go. Maybe she was single. Now I was confused.
"Okay if we eat here before we go. I usually cook after Kate gets off work."
"Sure, I’ll never refuse a meal."
I was standing awkwardly in the dining room. It had a glass-topped table but no chairs.
"Come, sit." Kate motioned to the bar- stool next to her by the counter separating the living room from the kitchen.
"What do you do, Anne?" Kate asked.
"Nothing. Well, I go to school. Up at the U."
"I work up at the U hospital. In the children’s hospital."
Rachel was staying quiet. I was confused about the status of my evening. I decided to solve my conundrum.
"How long have you two been together," I ventured.
Rachel looked at Kate and burst out laughing.
"We are not together," Kate said. A little defensive.
"Oh, sorry." I tried not to smile too big.
Rach looked up.
"Kate’s straight."
Yeah, right, I thought. I remembered Kate’s hand on Rachel’s ass five minutes sure Rach did, too.
"Food’s ready." Rachel handed us plates. We ate fast.
"Ready?" I asked when she was finished.
"Yup, let’s go."
"Bye, Kate," I said.
"Bye, have fun. Rachel, be good to my car," Kate told us.
Kate’s car had Idaho plates. I inquired about them.
"Kate just moved from Idaho. She hasn’t changed her plates yet."
"And she lets you drive it?"
"Yeah, she trusts me."
"How’d you meet her?"
"She went on her mission in Santa Cruz, Salinas, and San Jose." A Mormon mission is where all the kids go out and attempt to convert unsuspecting strangers in foreign towns. It’s a rite of passage for all girls at the age of 18, and men at the age of 21. They go for a year and a half, where they accomplish some possible conversions, but mostly meet their future spouses. Of course, there’s not supposed to be opposite sex mingling on these adventures, but the real purpose is to have everyone married off and pumping out Mormon babies by the age of 19 or 22.
I continued my line of questioning on Rachel.
"So you met Kate in San Jose when she was on her mission?"
"Yeah, I was still going to church then. Her mission sister was my girlfriend."
Too soon for ex talk. I let that one go.
"You mean Kate’s Mormon?"
"Yup." You looked over at me. I looked out the windshield and saw a reflection of myself. Hands folded in my jean-clad lap, my big brown coat still on even though the car was hot. Red headband that matched the sweater hidden under my coat held back what little hair I had. Shining eyes that reflected back eagerness. I hoped it wasn’t too obvious.
"There’s a bunch of c.d.’s in the glove. You should pick," she told me.
She smiled. I knew it was a test. I pulled out Ani DiFranco’s fifth album, Puddle Dive, and selected track 8, "Born a Lion." "Everything I do/ I do for the first time./ I’ve got a big crush on you,/ and it’s crushing my mind./ Can I just follow you home/ just listen to you think?/ Leave my lip-prints on your cups,/ leave my hairs in your sink?/" I passed the test.
I directed us to the places that would become our hot spots. The Tower Theatre where they showed avant garde movies, as in anything with a harsher word than "crap" and every now and then even some partial nudity. It may not have been the most cutting edge, but it’s Salt Lake. We drove past the Coffee Garden (a favorite local coffee and chai shop), Salt City c.d.’s (the only place in Salt Lake, other than WalMart, to buy music), Cahoots (a gay owned and operated store selling everything from greeting cards to dildos), Park Ivy (a veggie eatery), and the downtown location of ‘Beans.’ Most of this was located on 9th and 9th, the appropriately named street corner where 900 South Ave. and 900 East Ave. intersected; it was Salt Lake’s little Castro district. Eventually, we headed back out of town, south, towards where we lived, because we couldn’t decide on a destination, and ended up in what was to become our favorite spot, Holiday Park.
In the winter, only the truly hearty or horny people go to parks in Salt Lake at night. They are a favorite teen make-out spot, and not good for much else. I knew this about the parks; Rachel did not. As she looked around her that night at other cars with fogged windows rolling gently back and forth on their tires, I think she got the picture.
On the ride over, I put my hand on the armrest dividing the driver and passenger seats while Rachel’s arm was perched on top of the gear shift, even though the car was an automatic. It started with an accidental brushing of pinky’s as we rounded a curve, and that sweet electrical tingle radiated up through my arm. The touch was a brief instant, but both our hands stayed rooted there, as if bound by an invisible length of bungee cord, not touching, but dangerously close to it.
A minute later, while calmly discussing left and right turns and Salt Lake history, I felt that same tingle beginning in my hand. This time, the warm touch of her well-conditioned hand was not accidental. We explored each other’s knuckles and fingernails, mine painted red and bitten to the quick, hers smooth, cut short, and bare, as though this was the first time either of us had figured out the point of these five-fingered appendages.
We stayed chatting calmly with our hands clutching until we pulled into the parking lot of the park, and she removed her hand to put the car in park and turn it off. We did not re-clasp hands, staying apart guiltily like we had both just done something unspeakably wrong. I rolled down the window a crack, lit a cigarette, and shifted my weight so my left knee jutted out and rested against the arm-rest. She looked at my position and opted for conversation.
We discussed family backgrounds, shared musical interests, political views, and all the funny gay pride parade stories we could think of. She lifted her hand to stifle a yawn, and when she brought it back down, it landed on my knee.
"Are you tired?" I asked, as her hand smoothed the creases of jean at my knee.
"A little."
"Do you want to go home?"
"No, I want to stay with you." I smiled.
"I wouldn’t mind going back to my place and curling up in front of the t.v."
"Yeah," a grin like the Cheshire cat started a slow spread across her face, "that sounds good."
She removed her hand from my knee and turned on the car. I directed her to my house, we parked, and went in. I let my cat out after kissing her tummy and feeding her a couple crunchies from my hand, opened up a window, turned on the heater, and plopped onto my couch. Rachel was awkwardly standing by the door.
"Come in, sit down, or whatever. Welcome to my humble home."
"Thanks, um. Do you have a bathroom?"
"I have two, in fact. Upstairs or down?"
"Which ever is closest, I guess."
"Down the hall, past the washer and dryer."
She returned before I even had time to flip through every channel.
"Do you want the three-cent tour?" I asked her.
"I thought it was ten cents."
"Usually it is, but it’s a small place."
"This is downstairs, small, but home," I told her.
"It’s nice."
Upstairs, in my office, I said, "This is where I do my work."
"Nice, an extra bedroom."
"Yeah." I led her down the hall, pointed out the bathroom and my bedroom.
"This is where I sleep if I make it up here from the t.v. room."
"Nice," she looked in and left. I figured it was too soon for the bedroom. She led the way back downstairs and I perched in the middle of my couch. She sat down next to me, and I handed her the remote.
"Here, watch whatever you’d like." I rolled my head back and forth across my shoulders.
"Does your neck hurt," she asked.
"A little. It’s really just an annoying habit I picked up somewhere."
"You need a massage?"
"If you’re offering, I won’t turn you down."
"Lay down," she said. Leaving the t.v. on the home shopping channel, where a woman with horrible fake nails was peddling an equally horrible fake diamond necklace reduced to only thirty-five dollars if you just called in the next twenty minutes. She began rubbing my neck with strong, smooth hands.
"Too hard?" she asked.
"Mmmm, no. It’s great." Her hands did feel great, sending me their little shocks of new contact excitement. "If you’re tired, you can stop," I told her after about five minutes.
"No, I’m fine."
"Okay."
Her hands moved down from my neck and started massaging my back through my sweater. When she reached the waist of my jeans, her hands reached up under my sweater to knead my lower back. She moved up and down my spine with just the right amount of pressure, reducing me to a pile of boneless, almost drugged relaxation. Her massage slowly dissolved away until the pressure of her hands was just the tips of her fingers dusting my back with a feather-light touch.
"Your skin is so soft," she said it in a breathless, tired voice. I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t think of a thing to say.
"Mmmmm," was all I could come up with.
Her hands moved up again to my shoulders, this time under my sweater, and she leaned over me, half propped against the back of the couch, her lips resting on the back of my neck. Her breathing was hard, and it tickled the little hairs on my neck when she exhaled. She started giving me the tiniest, sweetest kisses on the back of my neck, while her fingertips explored the curve of my shoulders. I started shifting, turning over, and her hands left the warmth under my sweater and started exploring my face. I reached up to pull her closer to me, my arms circling her chest and rubbing the indentation of her spine. I closed my eyes and felt fingertips brush over the lids. We stayed that way, touching and exploring, for what felt like years.
Eventually, she shifted again, this time to an almost sitting position, her back resting on the arm of the couch, and pulled me with her. My hands were up around her neck, my fingers getting tangled in her short hair as I pulled and grabbed at it just a little, not to hurt her, but to tease her. My eyes were still closed, and I felt her face coming closer to mine. Her lips were warm and full, soft against mine, for those first, hesitant kisses. She pulled back.
"Is this okay," she whispered.
"Yes."
Her lips returned to my mouth, more insistent this time. We kissed for a long time, deep and breathless, and slow and soft. Finally, I curled up to her, my head on her chest to hear her heart beat. We fell asleep that way, tangled up in each other’s arms, and woke up to a crying, hungry kitty outside with the sun high. I was very late to class, but I didn’t care.
She drove me to school, went to work, and picked me up after class with a bouquet of daisies. We were inseparable for the following weeks, always at my house or her work, talking, kissing, and never getting enough sleep. We developed a routine where I’d sit at Beans for hours into the evening working on calculus or writing about Shakespeare on one of the large, black tables. I liked room.
A few weeks after we started dating, I walked in, flashed her a smile, and claimed a table near the window, emptied all necessary items from my backpack, then walked up to the counter for a hug. She came around the counter, picked me up, kissed my neck, and set me back on the floor.
"You want a drink," she asked.
"Sure."
"What would you like?" We enjoyed the customer/employee game.
"A double, white-chocolate mocha with butterscotch."
"You never just want a simple cup of joe, do you?"
"Nope. That would be too easy." I smiled showing all my teeth. Devilishness disguised as charm. She ate it up.
"Okay, I’ll make your damn coffee." I knew she loved every minute of it.
"Thanks, love." I wandered back to my claimed space.
She came up to the table a few minutes later with my drink. It was a huge to-go cup with the Beans-n-Brews logo on the side. The mountain of whipped cream that capped the concoction was accented with chocolate sprinkles.
"Why so sweet?" I asked. She plopped into the chair next to mine with a less auspicious version of what I was drinking.
"Kate’s coming in later."
"Oh, good. I haven’t seen her since that first night we went out."
"Yeah, she wants to hang out tonight."
"Okay. With me, too, or just you guys?"
"No, you, too. We thought we’d go to my place and fix margaritas."
"Okay, whatever. I don’t have class ‘till eleven tomorrow."
"Yeah, okay. Well, she’ll be here in an hour or so." Rachel didn’t seem happy about this.
"Okay. Rachel, are you okay?" She looked squirmy, uncomfortable.
"Oh, sure, fine." Which, I was beginning to understand Rachelese, meant ‘no, I need to talk.’
"Okay, well, I have to finish up reading some shit my Shakespeare class, so…" I trailed off.
"Yeah, um, you wanna have a cigarette before you start? I have a break for a few minutes." Beans was empty save us and few other regulars.
"I thought you told me a few days ago that you didn’t really smoke."
"Um, I don’t. But I know you do, and I’ll just have one, so it’s not like I’m really smoking." She grinned. I put my coat on and we went outside.
"Something on your mind?" There obviously was.
"Um, I guess so."
"Out with it." I said a little too loudly. This probably was not as light-hearted as I was making it. She exhaled loudly. Looked up at the clouds made pink by the sunset. Her breath was visible in the cold.
"C’mon, Rach," I prodded, "how bad can it be?"
"Bad." She looked grave. I got worried.
"Did someone die?" She started laughing.
"Not that bad."
"Then what is it?" I looked at my half-smoked Lucky Strike. Othello awaited and I was getting cold.
"Rachel, I need to go back in. Will you just tell me or let it go?"
"Okay, okay, I’ll just say it." She took a deep breath. "Um, Anne, I haven’t exactly told Kate we’re dating."
"Why, is she homophobic, or something? No, wait, she knew about you and Michelle." I thought out loud. "Then, why?"
"I dunno, she’s just been kind of depressed lately. You know, she’s single and all that." Single and twenty-four years old in Mormon terms meant a lifelong sentence of spinster-hood. Or queerness.
"Maybe she’s single ‘cause she’s queer and won’t admit it." I stated the obvious.
"You know it and I know it, but she doesn’t really know it yet."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, my guess is, she knows it. She’s just not ready to say it or do anything." She looked like she had more to say, but she held her tongue, and I didn’t pry.
"Okay, so is that he big deal you’re all stressed about?"
"Uh…pretty much." She shivered.
"Catch a chill?"
"Yup, threw it back." She opened the door for me and I put out my cigarette in the ashtray on the way in.
"So, I shouldn’t say anything about us then, right?"
"Not yet. Maybe we’ll tell her tonight after she’s good and toasty." Rachel giggled. I doubted it.
"Okay, Rach, whatever. I’m going to read. Have fun working."
Beans got busy and she was the only one working. But she was off in a few hours so it wasn’t a big deal. And I had time to read. About an hour later, Kate walked in. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. Kate walked up to the counter and Rachel gave her a hug similar to the one she gave me an hour or so ago. I wondered about it, but didn’t ask. Rach looked over at me to see if I was watching. I let her know with a slight nod of my head that I saw it. She said some unintelligible things to Kate, got her a cup of coffee and they came over to my table. I dog-eared my book and put it down.
"Hi, Kate, how are you?"
"Fine," she answered, "how are you."
"Fine, have a seat guys."
"I have to work for another forty-five minutes. You kids talk." Rachel walked away. Kate and I decided to go buy alcohol in lieu of talking as we had nothing to say to each other.
"Rachel, we’ll be back to pick you up when you’re off," Kate said.
We left and acquired a bottle of tequila, some margarita mix, and a small bottle of vodka in case margaritas got boring. Forty-five minutes later we picked Rachel up. She was hungry and grumpy and tired and I wondered what had happened in those few minutes we were gone.
We went back to their house and set up the alcohol on the counter. Rachel cooked us dinner, chicken and potatoes from a box. While she was cooking, she slammed vodka shots, five in a row. We all ate together around the counter in the kitchen, and as we finished, the first round of the illness began. Rachel puked for a solid hour, mostly undigested dinner, and finally crashed. Kate and I were stone sober and alone with each other. I fixed us drinks and we turned on the drier so it would be warm outside where the drier vented. We went outside to smoke and talk. I gave Kate a cigarette, without knowing she had horrible asthma. She took a few drags, started coughing, and put it out. She took a few breaths and was fine.
"Don’t smoke much, do you," I asked.
"No, I have asthma. It’s not the best idea for me to smoke."
"Then why’d you ask for a cigarette?"
"I don’t know. I like them. I just don’t know my limits that well.
We finished our drinks and made small talk for the next hour. Told each other about our families and talked about school and work. I went back inside to check on you and fix more drinks. She was sleeping like a baby. I went back outside.
"How is she?" Kate asked.
"Oh, fine. She’s sleeping."
"That’s good." She lapsed into silence.
"So, how long have you two been living together?" I knew the answer but was trying to make small talk.
"About three months now."
"You like it, living with her?"
"Yeah," Kate smiled, "It’s great. She’s a great girl."
"Yeah, she is." I wanted to tell Kate how I knew but I held my tongue.
"Do you have a crush on her?" Kate asked me.
"A little, I guess. But not really a crush I wouldn’t say."
"Good."
"Why’s that good?" I was confused.
"I like her."
"I thought you were straight."
"I am straight. I mean, I go to the singles ward at church and everything. I just like her, you know."
"Are you seeing anyone right now?"
"Aside from Rachel, no."
"Are you seeing Rachel?"
"No, I just live with her. But it’s nothing.
I mean, I can’t do anything about it. I’m Mormon and all that."
"Yeah, you’re church kind of frowns on this
whole lesbian thing."
"That’s fine. I’m not a lesbian."
"No, of course, you just have a crush on a woman." I’ve heard it before. ‘I’m not gay, my girlfriend is.’ Same old story, sure to lead to sadness.
"Exactly, but Rachel’s also just a good friend."
"Have you told her how you feel?"
"Yeah, we’ve talked a lot about it. It’s hard, you know. I don’t really know what I should be doing. Like, I’m attracted to her, but she’s my roommate and my friend, and I’m straight." And defensive about it, I thought.
"Uh-huh," I let you continue.
"Sometimes I just get really upset, you know? Like I don’t know what I want, and I don’t know what I should want. Like, I kind of want Rachel, but I don’t even know what that means. I’ve never slept with a woman. Or a man. I’ve kissed guys, though. But then, you know, work keeps me really busy, and sometimes it’s just so hard. Working with sick little kids. And I wonder, you know, like, it’s just stupid, ‘cause I don’t even have time for a relationship in the first place so why should I even worry about it. I mean, if I meet a nice guy, that would be cool, but I’m not really looking."
"That’s a good attitude."
"Yeah, you know, and Heavenly Father helps a lot too." Oi, Jesus, here we go, I thought. "I mean, I love the church, I was raised in it and all that. And my mission was great. And Michelle was great."
"But didn’t Michelle and Rachel date?"
"Well, I guess you could call it that. Michelle was just helping her get in touch with her religion, mostly." Yeah, through all night naked study courses, I thought. "But Michelle was great. I mean, I think she liked Rachel a little, maybe like me. But Heavenly Father helped her through it, and she resisted temptation."
Kate ran out of steam after that last comment and we just sat in silence for a while. I had a slight urge to reassure her and tell her whatever she was feeling was fine. If she thought she was a lesbian, it was a fine thing to be. I spoke to high school kids a lot about it, going over my own coming out story, though it’s not very interesting, and it’s almost a reflex to reassure people that being queer was not the end of the world. But it was my girlfriend we were talking about here, and I didn’t want to give her any ideas. So, I settled with,
"Whatever you decided about yourself, Kate, it’s fine. Don’t worry about your religion, worry about your happiness. If what you’re doing makes you happy, than it’s the right thing to do."
She pondered that one for a while. The dryer stopped so I went back in and turned it on. I came back outside, and we talked for a while longer about nothing. Mostly music. That’s always a safe topic after one spills their heart out. I didn’t drink my second margarita, so Kate finished it for me. We stayed outside for about four hours all told, until we started getting tired.
Walking back inside, Kate and I decided it was time for bed. Rachel and I retired to her room, and Kate took Rachel’s place on the couch. In the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom. When I walked back to the living room, Kate was sitting up on the couch, gasping for breath. I ran back to Rachel’s room and woke her up.
"Rachel, Kate’s having an asthma attack. Where are her inhalers."
"Oh, fuck." She jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. She grabbed an inhaler and went to Kate. Sat next to her and shook the inhaler. Rachel tried to insert it into Kate’s mouth but she pushed her away.
"Kate, you need this."
"No," she was gasping for air, "just… let me," she gasped, "die."
"No, you’re not going to do this again." Rachel was struggling with Kate and the inhaler.
Again, I thought, she does this often? Rachel had told me that Kate was depressed, and even Kate had mentioned to me when we were outside, but I had no idea she was this depressed. I really did not want to be in a room with someone trying to kill themselves. I had no idea where to go.
"Kate, just take the goddamn inhaler."
"No," Kate paused, struggling for enough air to finish her sentence, "just let… me go."
"Kate, if you don’t do this, we’re calling 911 and going to the hospital."
"No," Kate was screaming and choking, "just let me die, Rachel, please, just let me go." This sentence took Kate about five minutes to choke out between gasping and coughing. I was still standing around trying to figure out what to do.
"Kate, I’m serious." Rachel said. "Take this or we go to the hospital."
"No," Kate coughed.
"Okay. Anne, put on your shoes and grab Kate’s shoes from her room." I went. I wrestled with Kate’s feet as she was trying to kick me away.
"I’m not… going to… the damn… hospital. I’m an," she coughed and inhaled wetly, "adult. I can," she gasped, "make my own… decisions."
"Obviously, you can’t. So we’re going." Rachel told her.
Kate grabbed the inhaler out of Rachel’s hands, shook it, and inhaled. She repeated the process several times, until she got a clear breath. She collapsed against the couch exhausted. But breathing. We sat up with her and watched her breathe until the sun came up. When we were convinced she was really okay, Rach drove me to Beans to get my bike, and apologized profusely for the rocky evening. I had no response. I rode home, showered, and went to school. When I got home that afternoon, I called over to Rachel’s house. Kate was fine and she wanted to talk.
"Hi, Anne," Kate said.
"Hi, Kate, how are you feeling."
"Oh, I’m fine. It happens."
"Yeah, I’m glad you’re okay."
"I wanted to tell you I had a good time last night."
"Thanks, me, too."
"Good, we should do it again."
"Yeah, we should."
"Okay, well, I’ll talk to you later."
"Yeah, take care, Kate, bye."
"Bye."
I hoped we weren’t going to do it again real soon, because I needed to sleep occasionally. But it was educational. These last thoughts of Kate brought me to the hospital. The twenty-minute ride passed in a blink. It’s funny how that can happen reliving the good and bad moments of life.
My face was frozen when I walked into the ER The smell of sickness and floor cleaners and heat was almost welcome. I knew I could at least still smell. I walked up to the counter.
"I’m looking for Kathryn Joewl."
"Are you family," the nurse asked.
I deliberated a moment, "yes," I lied, "I’m with the family."
"Just a minute."
A nurse in lavender and teal scrubs walked around the counter to greet me.
"There’s a room down the hall where you can wait."
"Okay."
The nurse pushed a button on the left side of the wall and two double doors with windows at the top swung open. We turned right and the nurse opened a door to a small room for me.
"Wait here a minute, honey." She left.
I surveyed my surroundings. Two wing chairs with a pink floral print occupied one side of the room. A matching printed loveseat was across the small room. A light plastic, painted-to-look-like-wood end table next to the loveseat sported a family sized box of Kleenex. The walls were light tan with a pink floral strip around the ceiling. A low table made of real wood in between the chairs held a smaller box of pink tissues. With the door closed the room was claustrophobic. I realized this was the room they took you when someone died.
I chose the edge of the couch nearest the tissue box. As I began un-wrapping my scarf, Rachel opened the door and walked in.
"Oh, fuck." She fell onto the couch next to me.
"Is she really okay?" I wanted to know what was up with the death room.
"Oh, yeah. She’s sleeping. She drank charcoal shit and they pumped her stomach.
"Are you okay?" I grabbed her hand.
"They said her family was here. I thought I was going to have to deal with them and I was trying to figure out how they found out. Look at me," she rubbed her newly cut hair, which was now just a buzz that was almost too delightful to touch in other circumstances, "I’m sure they’d blame me for this."
"Hon, it’s not your fault."
She looked at me with tears in her eyes. At this moment she was the exact opposite of the big butch dyke stereotype.
"Will you stay here with me tonight?"
A tear traced a path down her cheek and off her chin. I put my arms around her; let her cry on my shoulder for a while. I was thankful for the multitude of tissues and used a few to dry her face.
"C’mon, Hon. Let’s go see her."
She led me down a new hallway with open doorjambs and three people to a room with the three beds separated by mostly sheer curtains. Televisions created an indistinguishable din, but most of the occupants of the beds were sleeping. At the fourth doorjamb on the left, she stopped. Peeked in. Led me to the second bed; the first one was empty.
"Hi, Katey," she whispered in childish sing-song to the sleeping form. She pushed a curl off Kate’s forehead. My eyes trailed over her slightly sweaty, puffy face, noticed a red mark that looked suspiciously like a hickey at her collarbone. Saw the wires sticking out of the hospital gown, and the huge I.V. needle and tube snaking from the inside of her right elbow. A couple of machines were beeping away at a steady rhythm. I took that as a good sign.
"Rach," I got her attention, "I’m going to go outside for a bit.
"Yeah, okay, I’ll meet you out there in a sec."
I retraced my path through the hospital corridors to the ER doors. Wrapped my scarf back around my neck and shrugged into my jacket. Walking outside, I shook a Lucky Strike out of the pack. I stared into the blackness of the early morning sky and tried to think profound thoughts. I felt nothing. Sad for Rachel, sad for Kate, sad that I wasn’t going to sleep tonight.
I turned, and Rachel was standing behind me about two feet away. Staring.
"You okay," she asked me.
"Yeah, fine," I replied honestly and shrugged. I wondered how different I’d feel if Kate had died.
"I need to talk," she said.
"That’s why I’m here. You shouldn’t deal with this shit alone." I inhaled sweet nicotine hoping the heavens weren’t gonna open and strike me down because at this moment I wanted nothing more than to be tucked into bed, not listening to a saga that I’d heard so many times before.
"No, I mean, I need to talk about us, sort of. And Kate."
"Okay." Same saga, different chapter, I thought.
"You cold?"
"No, but you are. Let’s go sit in the car."
We walked over to the light blue Camry.
"Can I have a cigarette?" she asked.
"Sure." Bad news was coming because she only smoked to look cool or because she was scared. We were over the cool stage.
She lit up. "Did you have a nice ride over here?"
"Sure, for below freezing at one a.m. It was great." Definitely scared, because she was stalling big time. Typical pattern.
"Good." She paused. "You really tired?"
"I could sleep."
"I couldn’t. I’m not even close to tired."
"I know, sweetie." She flinched at the word ‘sweetie.’
"Yeah, well…." She lapsed into silence.
"You want to get to the point, or do you just want music while you pick your words?"
"Music." She looked relieved.
I threw on Patsy Cline. It was too late for anything fast. I pulled my seat back and waited for her to get to it. This was not a new routine.
I let "After Midnight" and "Crazy" play before I started getting frustrated. I sat up, and looked expectant.
"Rach…" I waited. "Hon, what do you need to talk about? I can see the wheels turning in your head."
"Um…" she started, "It’s sort of about Kate."
"Uh-huh?"
"And us." She paused. "Can we change the music? It’s bugging me."
"Sure." I replaced Patsy with Paula Cole. She was silent. "Rach, c’mon, it can’t be that bad," frustration disguised as sweetness; I hoped it was working.
"It’s not, well, I dunno." She was stalling still.
"Rach, look, it’s late and cold and sleep is sounding better and better." This time I decided not to disguise my frustration.
"Um, you know how you thought Kate was gay?" She sounded almost like she had a point, so I decided to let her continue.
"Uh-huh," I urged.
"Well, um, she is."
"Yeah, she talked to me a little about liking women. I guess she’s in that look but don’t touch stage." Rachel looked guilty. She kept wiggling around the car seat like it was suddenly too small to contain her body.
"Yeah, um, I would hazard to say she’s in the looking and touching stage."
"And she’s touching you." I sighed and flopped back against the cushion of the car seat.
"No, no, not really." Too fast and too defensive. She took her time and chose words carefully. It was hard giving her the benefit of the doubt on this one, but I tried.
"Then what, Rach, a girlfriend? I know all the lesbians in Salt Lake. She’s not seeing anyone I know." Maybe I was stretching the truth a little.
"Well…you know her," Rachel said.
"Who?" I tried to be nonchalant, but it was either bad news or good gossip.
"She’s actually really close to you."
"My close friends are straight, in another state, and you."
"Yup," she said.
"’Yup,’ what? For Christ’s-sake, Rachel, just spit it out. I’m tired."
"Well, it’s one of the people you listed."
I decided to play along for the minute.
"Again, my close friends are straight, so that’s not it. Or they’re in another state, and Kate hasn’t been travelling lately, so that’s not it. Which leaves," I paused for dramatic effect and decided to consider the implications later, "you."
"Yeah, um, you’re right." She refused to just say she was sleeping with her roommate.
"Okay, Rachel, so you’re confessing to cheating?"
"I guess…" She started to say something, but I interrupted her.
"At three a.m. when I have class in four hours and no sleep." I was whining. "And in the fucking hospital parking lot." I sighed loudly and looked over at her. She was staring out the window.
"Why did you lie to me a few minutes ago," I asked.
"When did I lie?" She seemed genuinely innocent.
"When you said Kate was looking and touching but not touching you."
"Well, she’s not. Mostly, I touch her." I shouldn’t have pressed for these extra details. I have no patience for cheating, at least not in theory. It had never happened to me in practice before now. But the image of Rachel’s smooth, androgynously sexy hands on Kate, a woman who I don’t find even the slightest bit attractive, was repulsive. Mostly repulsive because it hurt me. My eyes filled with tears almost as an afterthought. One escaped and I hastily wiped it away with the back of my hand.
"Oh, Annie," Rachel cooed, "I didn’t mean to make you cry. Really, honey." Another tear escaped and I let it drip down onto my pants and I wiped my chin dry.
"I really am sorry." She tried to hug me and I escaped her grasp. Physical affection can’t solve everything.
I took a deep breath and turned to look out the window. This night just kept getting worse.
"Rachel," I said, turning back towards her, "how could you not make me cry? I’m tired, it’s late, we’re in a hospital because the woman who I thought was only your roommate took some pills and tried to off herself. And I left my house in the middle of the goddamned night to ride over here to help you and Kate, and instead, we’re sitting in this stupid car doing nothing for anything, and on top of it, I find out you’re fucking the woman I’m here to see." I took a breath. "Tell me, Rachel, how should I not cry? How should I not be upset? I mean, I came to take care of you and you just unload your entire conscience onto me and I just want to go to bed. Okay? So let me be upset."
She was silent. I made my point.