“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Anything.”
“How do you get over that little voice inside of you that says you’re not good enough?” I asked, biting my lip. “I mean, if you even have that voice.”
“Of course I have that voice, Tasha!” she said with a giggle in her throat like it was a crazy question. “I bet everybody has that voice. If you’re probably a sociopath if you don’t have that voice.”
“So how do you deal with it?”
“Everybody’s trying,” she said. “Nobody really knows what’s going on. We’re all faking it — fake it ’til you make it!” said Whitney with a laugh. “So, I think, once you just realize that failure isn’t all that bad, everybody fails, everybody screws up, and you just accept yourself for whatever failures you might make today, the power of that shitty voice really starts to drop off.”
I thought about Whitney’s words for a moment. It was an easy logical argument to follow but emotionally it was a bitter pill. My social worries, anxieties over whether or not people will like and accept me, it all stemmed from a fear of failure. She was right. Everybody fails, nobody’s perfect. As soon as I could accept that, the sooner I could start repairing all this damage in my head.
“How did I get such a great roommate?” I said, stepping toward Whitney and wrapping my arms around her. She instantly returned my hug, squeezing me tightly, holding her head against mine.
“She’s beautiful and perfect in every way,” said Whitney with a laugh. “The best roommate on campus.”
“No joke,” I said. “I was so scared to be placed with a stranger,” I began, our hug coming to an end. “But now I can’t imagine living with anybody else.”
“You’re a sweetie,” said Whitney. “You’re a sweetie that needs to get working on her audition.”
“I’m scared,” I whined, face scrunching up, eyes pleading.
“You and everyone else,” said Whitney. She walked over to the couch and picked up the monologue she’d given me to audition with, just a couple sheets of copy paper. Returning to me, Whitney stuffed the papers in my hands and then crossed her arms. “Show me what you got, babe.”
*
Henry and I sat across from one another in the quiet study room in the basement of Leopold Hall. We were the only people in the room, both of us with our laptops open, typing furiously into our word processors, a handful of books strewn out on the table between us. He had a serious face on, eyes focused on his screen, his brow wrinkled, hair messy. I peeped at him over the top of my laptop screen, letting my eyes linger, until he caught me and our eyes met.
“You stuck?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“I’ve got this audition coming up,” I said, breathing out a stressed sigh. “It’s a little nerve-wracking.” I pulled one leg up onto the chair and sat on it.
“Yeah?” said Henry with a curious smile. “An audition for what?”
“I’m so embarrassed by it,” I said, nervously laughing. “It’s silly.”
“Okay, now I really want to know,” he said, pushing his laptop away from him slightly as he eased back into his chair. “Out with it.”
“All right,” I said, feeling a bit bashful but knowing that Henry wouldn’t judge me for anything. I had already forgiven him in my heart. “My roommate Whitney is a theater major and she’s convinced me to audition for The Music Man.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Henry. “That’s awesome.”
“I don’t think I’ll even get cast,” I said. “There are plenty of theater majors who are probably better than me. But hey, at least I’m going to audition.”
“So what’s involved with that?” he asked. “What do you have to do for the audition?”
“Well, Whitney told me to prepare a short monologue,” I said. “And a song.”
“Nice,” he said. I could tell Henry was getting quite interested in this turn of events. The excitement dripped off his face. “So you can sing?”
“Yeah,” I said, looking down. “I was always in choral in school. I’m all right.”
“That’s just awesome,” admitted Henry. “I’m excited for you. I hope you get the part.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “If I get the part, I don’t know what I’ll do. Probably pee myself or something.” I laughed and shook my head. “I’m secretly excited about the possibility.”
“You’ll have to let me know how it goes,” said Henry with a comforting smile. Despite the rockiness between us, I was happy to be sitting there in the study room with him, finishing up our joint project for English class. I knew that I had to address what had happened between us, to put an end to it, to be open and honest with Henry. He was a sweet guy, a bit misguided obviously, but it was my own fault for not being as assertive as I should have been.
“Hey Henry,” I said, rubbing my clammy palms over my jeans and trying to quickly figure out my words before I let them out of my mouth.
“Yeah?”
“I just… I want to talk to you about something,” I started.
“Oh jeez,” he said. “Natasha, I’m really sorry about everything. I’m too overbearing. I’m an idiot.”
“I know I’ve been kinda wishy-washy with you,” I said. “Like I’m undecided or something.” Henry watched me intently, slowly nodding along. “But I’m, you know, not undecided. I like girls,” I said, widening my eyes, looking to him, trying to convey my seriousness. “And while I do like you, Henry, it’s just as a friend. I want to be your friend. But I can’t be anything more than that.”
“Okay,” he said cautiously. “I totally respect that, Tasha, and I’m sorry.”
It’s always been really difficult for me to say “no” to people. And in doing so, in being honest with Henry, I could definitely feel the anxiety physiologically, my fast heart, my labored breath. After the words had come out, however, I felt an undeniably sense of relief. Like it was all going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. I was fine just the way I was and there was no reason to beat myself up for being different than what people — or what I perceived people — expected of me.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “Let’s not let this dictate the way we act to each other. All right?”
“All right,” he said. I could tell he was a little disappointed. I knew it was hard to accept a “no” when you have feelings for someone. You can’t just get over an infatuation by using your brain. Your feelings operate on an entirely different level. I just had to persist with Henry, be his friend, and accept that if he couldn’t be friends because of his feelings, well, that’s just how it would be.
“Can I be even more honest with you for a second?” I said. My hands were shaking but I knew I had to open up. If I was ever to overcome my anxiety, I knew I had to face my fears and just let people inside my world.
“Yeah,” said Henry. “Of course.”
“I’ve felt like I was a lesbian for a really long time,” I said. Just as I’d felt when I’d first spoke to Henry about this in the cafeteria, I sensed something good in him like I could tell him almost anything and he wouldn’t judge me for it. Like he was trustworthy. Like he was a safe space. “I don’t know,” I continued. “Maybe, like, when I was thirteen or something. Maybe earlier. As my friends started talking about cute boys, saying things like ‘he’s my boyfriend, aren’t you jealous?’ and all that kinda stuff, I just felt… different.”
“It’s hard to be different,” said Henry.
“Right,” I said. “And it just stuffed me deeper inside my shell, unable to admit my feelings for being seen as an outcast or a weirdo or something. I was already weird enough being smart and artsy.”
“Smartsy,” said Henry with a soft grin.
“Yeah,” I said, demurring. “Smartsy.”
“I know where you’re coming from,” he said. “Well, I do and I don’t. I can understand it, but I’d be lying if I said I’d ever felt like
that.”
“I’m from a small town,” I said. “Out on the west side of the state. Small high school, small community. Being a lesbian, especially coming from a religious family, it just… made me feel wrong, you know?”
“I know,” said Henry, affirming me, the realization that we could never be together beginning to tell on his face.
“This is all really hard for me to say, Henry,” I said. “I hope you can appreciate that. I mean, I haven’t really been this open with anybody in my life.”
“I’m glad you feel you can open up to me.” Henry smiled at me.
“Should we get back to work?” I said, a sense of calm washing over me as I pulled my laptop back in front of me.
“Sure,” said Henry. We looked at each other for a moment in comfortable silence before returning to our computers to continue on in our group project.
*
Although I was slowly beginning to feel better about myself, I knew that I had to talk to Hosannah. I had to repair what I’d done and see if she could give me a second chance. I felt so silly about it all. It was a simple misunderstanding, of course, but that was only looking at it from my eyes. Every problem could be explained away if the whole world just saw things from your own personal perspective. But I had to consider what Hosannah was feeling. It was obvious that she’d been burned before by someone who dragged her along and I didn’t want her to think that I was the same way. I wanted her to like me. I wanted to be with her.
Henry and I had handed in our paper for English and after class we went our separate ways. I knew that Hosannah would be walking back from her own class at the same time and I wanted to try to intercept her. We hadn’t seen each other since that final conversation at her door. Well, that’s not true. I’d seen her in the halls but purposefully avoided her out of shame. I imagine that if she saw me coming in Leopold, she probably avoided me as well.
As I walked the path to where I knew Hosannah would be, I went over my monologue for the audition in my head. It was really starting to come together. I wasn’t forgetting any of it. Whenever I saw a play, it always made me feel a strange sense of wonderment that the actors could remember all those lines. I never thought it would be possible for me. But at Whitney’s insistence, and with practice, I found that I had vastly underestimated myself. A common theme in my life.
I mouthed the words to my scene as I walked and I stopped paying attention to the world around me. One foot in the front of the other, my head bobbing along, almost as though I were using a musical beat to work on my monologue. It felt easier that way. It was a nice shortcut, a magic trick, that helped my brain keep the words in memory. I was zoned out, hypnotized by my own recitation, until my eyes spotted Hosannah coming around the side of a building on the same walkway I was on.
Our eyes met and I could tell she was suddenly worried. I could feel that familiar anxiety rearing up inside of me but I chose to ignore it, to beat it down, to tell it that it wasn’t welcomed. I kept my feet plodding along defiantly, my body and brain struggling against one another, the fight or flight feelings beginning to bubble up. Hosannah looked to either side, as though she were looking for a way out, but then I saw a sudden change in her face like she was accepting that we were about to have a conversation.
I smiled pleasantly at Hosannah as we came upon one another, both of us stopping, pausing to chat.
“Hi,” I said, trying to convey a friendly demeanor.
“Hey,” she said. Hosannah hiked her backpack up higher on her shoulder and gave me a look of minor annoyance.
“How are you?” I asked simply.
“Good.”
“Are you mad at me?” I said. Hosannah’s face softened when I said this, like this innocent question was enough to show her that being mad or annoyed was counterproductive.
“No,” she said with a long sigh. Her shoulders slumped a bit and she gave me a dopey look. “I’m not mad. Just disappointed.”
“Can we talk about it?” I said sheepishly. I could tell that Hosannah was giving in. We had gotten so close so fast, and I knew she felt an affinity toward me.
“Let’s walk,” she said. Hosannah began walking away from me and I eagerly followed after her.
“Don’t be disappointed in me,” I said. “I’m doing my best.”
“I know,” she said solemnly.
“I know things kinda looked weird with me and that boy,” I said. “But he was misguided. He was misguided because I couldn’t tell him for certain how I felt.”
“Okay,” said Hosannah. “And how do you feel?”
“I don’t like boys,” I said. “And I was having trouble telling him that because, I don’t know, I worry what people think of me when I tell them ‘no.’”
“So you’re a lesbian?” asked Hosannah. “You’re not just pulling my leg and experimenting?”
“I’m still figuring myself out,” I said with a sigh. “But yes, I’ve felt like a lesbian for a very long time and I’ve just had a lot of trouble admitting it because…” I said, trailing off as I searched for the right way to put it. “Because it just felt, you know… wrong.”
“Wrong,” Hosannah reiterated. “You know, I started reading that book you gave me. That book your mother wrote.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“I guess I never saw it before, or it just wasn’t in her other book that I read,” she said. “But I definitely see the religious Catholic thing in the relationships between the main characters. I can see, if that’s how you grew up, that you might feel like you do.”
“I think it’s counterproductive — for me — to blame this on my family,” I said. “It’s a part of it. But I also avoided some pretty hard decisions. First and foremost, I avoided really addressing my feelings.”
“You’re really coming out swinging,” said Hosannah, offering me a slight grin. “What happened?”
“I’m just… exhausted,” I said. “I’m tired of running.”
“Listen,” said Hosannah, stopping and turning toward me. She reached out and took my hand in hers. “When I was a freshman something similar to all this happened to me,” she began. “I started dating a girl who wasn’t sure who she was. It was great, we got along so well, I was falling for her. She was a couple years older than me and it turned out, well, she was just goofing around. She didn’t feel the same way for me in her heart.”
“I see,” I said softly, nodding, following her story.
“She dumped me and started dating a guy on her rowing team,” said Hosannah, shaking her head as she remembered. “She had me fooled. But I think by the time you reach this age, if you’re a lesbian… you just know it. It can be hard to say it for some people, sure, but they know. They know inside.”
“I’m dealing with a lot of weird feelings,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt you because of it.”
“I can accept that,” said Hosannah. Lifting her hand up, she gently ran her fingers through my hair. “I can help you, Tasha, but only if you’re being true of heart with me.”
“I am,” I said. “I’m not like that other girl, I just need a little compassion.”
“Okay,” said Hosannah. “I could use the same. I can’t have my heart broken like that again.”
I took a deep breath and smiled adoringly at Hosannah. I wish I had had someone like her with me in high school. Everything would have gone a lot smoother and I probably wouldn’t have felt so alone and misunderstood. None of my friends felt like they were a partner in crime, someone who could read my mind, or ride the same wavelength, and now that I was up here at college I barely even thought of the friends from my old life. Hosannah, on the other hand, there was something so special about her. I felt like we could just hang out for hours, lounging in sweatpants, chatting about inconsequential garbage and feel okay with it, like it wasn’t time wasted. Rather, it would be intimate time well-spent.
“You look like you want to kiss me,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. Hosannah put a hand on her hip, pretending like she wa
s impatiently waiting. I smiled, I nodded quickly, and then I lunged forward and quickly placed a sweet kiss on her lips.
Reaching out, Hosannah took me by the hand and pulled me along with her, the too of us ambling together down that tree-lined concrete walkway, Leopold Hall in our sights. The tress had begun to turn colors, brown and orange leaves haphazardly slipping down from their branches, the smell of autumn in the increasingly chilly air. Campus was turning out to be absolutely gorgeous in fall, or maybe it was just my change in attitude that was beginning to give a new light to my life. I’d certainly had my struggles, and would continue to of course, but I was finally beginning to feel a sense of gratitude and happiness.
Thinking it is one thing. Feeling it was way better.
I had another shot with Hosannah and I was determined not to screw it up.
“Tag!” Hosannah called out suddenly, giving me a swat on the butt with a loud slapping sound. After that, she broke into a run towards Leopold Hall. This sharp change broke me from my reverie and I immediately chased after her, giggling happily as I tried to catch up with her. Hosannah brought out the best in me and I was hoping that I could do the same for her.
I watched as Hosannah reached he back door of Leopold and pushed hard against it. The door swung open and she disappeared inside. My heart was racing. There was excitement in the air.
*
“Yay!” said Hosannah, clapping and hooting at me. “Was that really so hard?” She tossed my t-shirt at me and I snatched it from the air. Hosannah remained in her bed, sitting up and huddled into the covers, while I stood in the middle of her room wearing nothing but my panties. Once I had my shirt, I quickly pulled it down over my head, threading my arms through it, and covered myself up.
Dormitory Dearest: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 12