Dormitory Dearest: A Sweet Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  “I’m not auditioning for a play,” I said. “Do you how crazy it makes me feel just thinking about auditioning? My hands are shaking!”

  “You’re auditioning,” said Whitney authoritatively. “You need this assertiveness, Tasha, and I’m going to help you get it.”

  I felt like sulking and so I did. But I knew that Whitney was right. I couldn’t continue on being so wishy-washy. It was causing me pain. And although I was deathly afraid of not only auditioning for a play, let alone the prospect of actually getting cast, I secretly felt kind of excited about the whole idea. There was something not me about it and it was alluring.

  “You never know,” said Whitney. “You might be the next world famous lesbian actress.” She grinned at me.

  “I think I need to go back to the dorm and puke,” I said.

  “I love you,” said Whitney, hugging me and pulling me in close. “You’re totally worthy.”

  “Thank you,” I said calmly, though feeling those uncertain vibrations inside of me. “I love you, too.”

  *

  After my conversation with Whitney, I couldn’t get the prospect of auditioning for a play with her out of my mind. I dwelled hard on it. And I would be putting it lightly if I told you it scared the shit out of me. My social anxiety was something I’d been aware of for a long time and while I liked to think I had worked on it and made strides, the fact is that I really hadn’t done either. I didn’t want to be this meek person who had trouble asserting herself. When I really examined it, I hated that part of my personality. But you can get caught in these traps, you know, focusing so hard on this perception of yourself that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. Maybe I was only nervous and anxious around most people because I continuously told myself that that’s just how I was.

  That was something to consider.

  While I often felt kind of alienated and misunderstood, I knew I couldn’t possibly be the only person who felt like this. And I knew that it wasn’t something impossible to overcome. Maybe I had to begin accepting the help of others, or least trusting in them a little bit more, trusting people enough to confide in them and tell them what was really going on inside of me, to move past this crippling anxiety and start living my life with a greater sense of liberation. God knows I could use just one day of not feeling guilty or like I wasn’t good enough. I had a voice. I knew I needed to learn to use it.

  Walking down the hall on my floor, I pushed through the door leading into the stairwell, wanting to go see if Hosannah was in her room and spend a little time with her. I was feeling a revived sense of accomplishment after analyzing my problems and I was intent to try to share with Hosannah, who had been so patient and accepting of me already. As soon as I entered the stairwell, however, coming down the steps was Henry. At first we surprised each other, but his face quickly changed from surprise to revelation. Henry offered me a silly smile before he spoke up.

  “Kismet,” he said. “I was just coming to see you.”

  “Hey Henry,” I said, taking this opportunity to be more assertive. I stood up straight and tried to keep my eyes focused on his face, without looking too intense or anything. There’s a fine line between assertiveness and overbearing intensity.

  “You got a second?” he said, standing on the stairs and leaning against the railing. I could see in his face that he was smitten by me. I had to figure out a way to let him down easy, to remain friends, and to let him know that it wasn’t anything he did wrong. “I’ve got that book in my bag,” said Henry, pulling his backpack off his shoulders and unzipping it.

  “Sure,” I said, watching his movements. “But I’m heading upstairs to see a friend. What were you doing upstairs?”

  “I’m working with a second year ALOHA student on this new group,” he said. “We’re trying to start an ALOHA weekly writing workshop. You should totally join,” he said with light in his eyes.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I feel like I’ve got a ton going on right now.”

  “Here it is,” Henry said, pulling the book out of his bag and handing it over to me. “The Spanish Tragedy. You’re going to find it very similar to Hamlet. It’s not as good, because, I mean, Shakespeare was some kind of wizard. But it’s good nonetheless.”

  “All right,” I said, taking the book from him and looking down at it. I heard the crunching sound of one of the hallway doors opening higher up in the stairwell, but my focus was aimed at the book.

  Henry stepped down off the final stair to join me as I looked into the book, turning it over to the rear side to read the description. I felt him hovering very close to me and I could feel my heart begin to beat faster.

  “Hey Tasha,” said Henry softly. Breaking my concentration on the book, I looked up to him feeling very confused.

  “Hmm?” I said innocently. Our eyes met, locked, and I suddenly felt like I was frozen there. Before I could even figure out what was going on, Henry leaned in closer to me and pushed his lips against mine. My shoes felt glued to the floor and I simply stood there, confused and flabbergasted, as Henry kissed me.

  Then I heard a sound from above. It was like an annoyed growl. My eyes darted upwards and on the landing of the next floor up in the stairwell stood Hosannah, looking down at Henry and I, her face sore and angry. I swiftly and reflexively pulled away from Henry and opened my mouth to speak out to Hosannah, but could release no words. Just as quickly as Hosannah appeared, she was gone. I could hear her furiously stomping on the concrete steps back up to the third floor, yanking open the heavy door, and slamming it behind her.

  “No!” I exclaimed as my voice returned, echoing through the stairwell. I thought I had it all figured out and then this happened. Henry stood there next to me, his face awash in anticipation, me feeling like a deer in headlights. “Why did you do that?” I cried with fear in my voice.

  “I…” he said, going silent in thought. “I just thought,” Henry continued slowly. “I mean, I thought maybe you were interested—“

  “Henry,” I said, almost begging him. “I can’t. I don’t.”

  “I felt like maybe—“ he said, his face changing into a visage of guilt. “I felt like there were mixed signals.” He was backpedaling, knowing that he shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.

  “You’re really nice, Henry,” I said pleadingly. “It’s just… I like girls. I’m a lesbian.”

  “I’m sorry, Natasha,” he said with his tail between his legs. “You did tell me. You did. It just didn’t seem definite. This is my fault. I’m really sorry.”

  “I do want to be your friend,” I said. “I do. You’re great. But—“ I said, looking up in the stairwell and remembering feeling Hosannah’s anger. “Just friends.” I looked Henry in the eyes to try to help it sink in. He bit his lip and nodded. I could tell he was sad. But I couldn’t be responsible for his feelings. I could barely handle my own.

  “I understand,” he said. We shared a sadness together.

  “Thank you,” I said. I lifted the book he gave me up and wagged it slightly. “I’ll read this. But I’ve got to go now.”

  “Okay,” he said with defeat in his voice.

  I offered him a delicate and pained smile and then slipped past him, quickly bounding up the stairs, racing up to Hosannah’s room to see if I could repair the misunderstanding as swiftly as possible.

  *

  I knocked firmly at Hosannah’s door a bunch of times, scared and impatient, hoping that she hadn’t just run off to the other stairwell. I felt ashamed that she had seen me and Henry kissing, even though I wasn’t kissing him at all. It was just the most inopportune moment. I had no interest in Henry, no interest in boys. It was Hosannah who I wanted and I had to let her know that. I couldn’t believe that my failure to assert myself, my anxious inaction, had put me in such a bind. Everything was looking so good and then this moment, this misrepresentation of my feelings, brought it all to the brink of destruction.

  Knocking again fiercely, the door abruptly swung open and Hosannah stood on the
other side, looking like her head could just blow up. I knew she felt betrayed and pissed. But I had never been in a situation like this before. I’d never had anybody interested in me, let alone two people. It was all scary and new for me and I just didn’t know how to remedy it. I felt my body click into autopilot and I just hoped that something deep inside of me knew how to figure the situation out. I knew that my brain had no clue.

  “Yes?” said Hosannah in a short, accusatory tone.

  “Hosannah,” I said. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

  “Do you know how bad that sounds?” she said. “Think that phrase over again.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said. “I mean, what you saw wasn’t right.”

  “I know it wasn’t right,” she said calmly. “Look, I told you this before Tasha: I’m not interested in getting my heart broken. I’ve seen you around with this boy a little too much,” said Hosannah, shaking her head as though she were mad at her herself more than she was mad at me. “And I don’t know if you’re a lesbian, or a ‘lesbian,” she said, making air quotes with her hands. “College can be a weird, exploratory time for people and while I’m happy to help someone who’s a bit unsure of themselves, I can’t get involved with someone who’s ‘gay until graduation’ … not again.” Hosannah looked very annoyed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, the guilt beginning to build up really big inside me. I felt it difficult to breath, I felt frozen yet shaky, I felt like I was losing control of myself. My brain was buzzing with all sorts of thoughts and scenarios, not a one of them coherent or trustworthy. I felt an intense pressure on my chest, my lungs compressed, my body aching. I wanted to run away but I couldn’t move. I wanted to speak but the words couldn’t form. I knew from past experiences that I was having a panic attack.

  My mouth fell agape and I panted, my eyes wide open and watching Hosannah. She didn’t know what was happening inside of me. All she knew was that she was upset and she needed to make herself heard. It all made sense to one part of my brain. But the other part was screaming at me. “Run Natasha, run!” it said. “Get out of there.” My feet wouldn’t listen. I was stuck.

  “I just need some time to think,” she said, disappointment in her voice. “You’re great, Tasha,” Hosannah said with a gentle bereaved smile. “But maybe I just need someone a little more mature, someone who has a better idea of who they are.” Those words hurt me. They made me feel like a child. I was pretty confident that I knew myself on the inside, but conveying that outwardly didn’t come easy. “Maybe you need to explore yourself a little further to figure out who you really are.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, looking down. I was exploring myself. I was figuring it out. And Hosannah was playing an integral part. Now it was all coming crashing down and I simply didn’t know how to operate. “It’s a misunderstanding,” I said. I felt like I was about to cry. My body was tense.

  “I know,” Hosannah said, nodding solemnly. The way she said it felt very final. “Let’s just cool off a bit,” she continued. “Maybe we did take this whole thing a bit too fast.”

  I felt really sorry for myself and I felt powerless.

  “You should go,” said Hosannah. Her eyes moved away from mine and back toward her room, like she was ready to end the conversation and shut the door between us. “All right?”

  “All right,” I heard myself say. But it wasn’t all right.

  “Okay,” said Hosannah. “Goodbye Natasha.” With that, Hosannah slowly shut her door in my face. I heard the knob click into place once the door closed, and then the swift sound of metal as Hosannah locked the door.

  I wanted to just crumble down onto the floor in front of Hosannah’s door and weep.

  THREE

  *

  I COULDN’T STOP overanalyzing everything and thinking about where I went wrong. When I worry, I really get down into a muddy pit of worry. My mind focuses on it in such an unfocused way. I think about this web and that web, stringing along chains of events, predicting possible outcomes, barely giving myself enough space to breathe. It was too much for an 18 year old to dwell on. I should be having fun, all footloose and fancy-free, but I just couldn’t stop replaying all my mistakes over in my head.

  “Enough!” I cried to myself, alone in my dorm room, looking into the mirror hanging from the closet door. “You’re a crazy person, Natasha, and you need to get over it. You’re too sensitive, you take everything so seriously. You’re afraid of living. Ugh!” I threw my hands up in the air and walked away from the mirror, almost disgusted with myself.

  Why couldn’t I just be me? Why did I have to feel afraid of everyone all the time? Maybe I was just afraid of hurting peoples’ feelings, a notorious people-pleaser. Instead of speaking up to voice my opinion, I always just backed down and cowered, tried not make waves, pretending to go with the flow when really I was swimming against the current. I had had enough of all that. It lost me Hosannah, acting that way. She was understanding and kind and beautiful and yet my indecisive nature, my inability to act, was pushing her away. I was doing all this to myself.

  “You’re good enough,” I said to myself, once more looking in the mirror. “You’ve got it very good in life. You’re a good person. You’re smart. You work hard. People want to like you, if only you’d let them. You’re pretty,” I said, feeling a rush of emotion move through me, a tear coming to my eye. I tried to remain strong, pulling my hair tightly back into a ponytail and securing it with a piece of elastic. I looked into my own eyes, then down to my nose, my pale complexion, the light freckles on my skin, pallid and thin lips. I was pretty. I was me.

  “You’ve got it good,” I reiterated. “No reason to be sad. No reason to hide. You’ve got to admit who you are, you’ve got to come clean. You’ve got to learn to love yourself, to accept yourself, and then everybody else will love and and accept you as well. Stop with all this self-destructive bullshit.”

  It was all just a series of misunderstandings, a turn of events that didn’t have to happen. Maybe I was subconsciously sabotaging myself. Like I was so wound up in my anxieties that I wouldn’t let myself have a respite. I couldn’t let myself be happy. I knew that this just wouldn’t do. I couldn’t continue on like this. There were so many free people around me there at college, other girls who were lesbians like me and could admit it. Hosannah, as an obvious example. Anna Sacco, the damned head of the ALOHA program, English professor, writer and poet, she was a lesbian. And she was an older woman, too. I’m sure she had a much harder time than I was having. Her era wasn’t as kind as the era we now lived in.

  I knew that I had to start making myself be heard and I knew that I needed action. Hosannah wasn’t going to forgive me if I just went to her, tail between my legs, meekly begging. I needed to find my courage and start living my life for me.

  And maybe see a therapist. Because all these positive thoughts of valor and action were continuously being picked at by that other part of my brain that couldn’t shut up about how I wasn’t good enough. These two voices were at odds and I knew that I couldn’t sort it all out alone.

  “You’re going to say what you mean,” I said aloud. “You’re going to believe in yourself and face your fears. You’re not just some quiet nerdy girl who can’t get out of her own head. You’re so much more. You have so much to offer this world and the world wants to listen to you.”

  Just then, the door to my room swung up and Whitney popped in with an innocent smile on her face, just a general happiness about her that outwardly conveyed an attractive warmth. As soon as she saw me, standing there in front of the mirror, she waved enthusiastically.

  “Yo Tasha!” she said. “I heard you talking in here. Are you practicing your monologue for the audition?” Her eyes lit up with excitement. Theater was her passion and I think just the mere hint of me getting involved in it gave her a huge thrill.

  “No,” I said. “I should be. I was just pumping myself up.”

  “Yeah?” said Whitney, slowly closing the
door behind her. She sashayed into the room, dropped her backpack on her desk chair, and came over to me. “Like how?”

  “Um,” I said, looking back at myself in the mirror. “I’m just telling myself that I’m good enough and I shouldn’t worry so much.”

  “You know, I totally got in the habit of giving myself affirmations before going out on stage,” said Whitney. I moved out of the way of the mirror and Whitney took over, looking herself in the eyes. Her bubbly conviviality quickly dissipated and a seriousness came over her face, a fierceness, a fire.

  “Whitney?” I said, feeling a bit scared by her sudden change.

  “You’re fucking incredible,” she said to herself in the mirror. “You’re so fucking awesome. You’re beautiful and everybody out there, everybody in every seat, men and women, they want to see you naked and they want to make love to you. They want to fuck you. They want to ravage you,” she said, her eyes focused, really giving herself an intense stare. “But you’re the one who’ll be doing the ravaging. You’re smart and you’re pretty and you know your lines and you are that character and these people are going places they never expected to tonight. I fucking love you, Whitney,” she said, holding a fist up. “You’re the best and you’ll always be the best.”

  After that, Whitney’s face softened and she turned away from the mirror, looking back to me with her usual affable smile. She quickly shrugged her shoulders and tossed her palms up.

  “Something like that,” she said. “I’ll customize it depending on the play I’m in.”

  “Wow,” I said, flabbergasted by her words. “I mean, it’s good. It’s definitely a pump up speech.”

  “You think I don’t get scared sometimes putting myself out there?” she said. “I don’t want to be the one to let the other actors down by forgetting a line or missing a cue. I take it all pretty seriously,” said Whitney, displaying a bit of uncharacteristic bashfulness as she admitted this all to me. “And when you seriously want something, when you’ve got tunnel vision, when there’s nothing else in your life you can see yourself doing… well, you better go out and do it right!”