Dormitory Dearest: A Sweet Lesbian Romance
Page 14
I trotted down the hallway happily, not breaking eye contact with her. Hosannah was beaming and I could tell she was excited for me.
“Well?” she asked eagerly as I approached her. I leaned forward and kissed her in a short burst of joy.
“It was… good!” I said. “I mean, I didn’t mess up or anything. My monologue went well, my song was great. It was totally nerve-wracking but hey… I did it!”
“You’re awesome,” said Hosannah, sliding her arm around my waist and pulling me in close. “Very brave.”
Just then, from around the corner, came Whitney with anticipatory speed. She grinned happily as she saw Hosannah and I and she ran up to us, looking like she was about to leap out of her skin.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Whitney. “How did you do?” Her face was lit up by her excitement.
“Great!” I said. “I made it through!”
“I told you it wouldn’t be that bad,” she said. “Did you do the pump up speech in the mirror?” I laughed and Hosannah looked at me slightly confused.
“Yeah,” I said. “I normally don’t cuss like that but the expletives were helpful.”
“Okay,” said Hosannah. “Now I need to see your pump up speech.” Whitney and I laughed together.
“It’s Whitney’s pump up speech that I co-opted,” I said. “I’ll show you sometime. It’s kinda intense.”
“It works,” said Whitney. “I’m gonna go do it in about half an hour to prepare for my audition.”
“You’re auditioning for this show, too?” asked Hosannah.
“I audition for every show!” said Whitney. “I don’t care what I’m in as long as I get to act.”
“It would be awesome if we both got in,” I said. “I bet it would be a lot of fun to work together.”
“Look at you,” said Whitney, flicking her finger against my arm. “I think you got bit by the acting bug.”
“Maybe,” I said shyly.
“All right,” said Whitney. “I’ve got to run. Callbacks for the show will be posted tomorrow around noon,” she said. “I can check for you and text you if you want.”
“Totally,” I said. “I’ll be on my way to class around that time.”
“Cool,” said Whitney. “See you tonight at home?”
“Definitely,” I said.
“Okay!” beamed Whitney. “Bye Hosannah,” she said with a little wave to Hosannah.
“Take it easy,” said Hosannah.
Whitney then bounced down the hall, greeting a handful of the other students waiting their turn to audition as she went.
“She’s a firecracker,” said Hosannah.
“I love her,” I said. “I can’t believe I got her as my roommate.”
“Hey!” said Hosannah teasingly, pulling our hips together with her arm still around my waist. “I’m your girl.”
“Whitney’s my girl, too,” I said, lying my head down against Hosannah’s shoulder. “But not in the same way.”
“Damn right,” said Hosannah, letting her smile show through her fake anger.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “My audition is over!”
Never would I have imagined that I’d make it this far in overcoming my social awkwardness and anxieties. The old Natasha would have never auditioned to be in a musical. The old Natasha just waited for her choir director to ask her to be in the show and she stood somewhere in the middle of the rest of the singers, playing her part, trying to remain inconspicuous. But with the help of amazing girls like Whitney and Hosannah, I was really beginning to feel like I was part of something. Or rather, like I was something.
*
Later that night, Hosannah and I sat together, both of us cross-legged with textbooks in our laps, on one of the couches in the lobby of Leopold Hall. Pretty much the entire freshmen class of ALOHA students was there with us, chatting loudly, screwing around, laughing, and generally having a good time together. In front of us was a group of boys playing a card game in a circle. Another boy had come in with a box a of cheap pizza. Some girls sat off to the side around an open laptop, talking and giggling and pointing into the screen. Hosannah looked at me and smirked, rolling her eyes. I knew she wasn’t a fan of hanging in the lobby, but I wanted to be somewhat social with my class and I was happy that she agreed to be there alongside me.
The lobby was comfortable. Warm light, a pleasant din of voices. Despite how frenetic it was, the energy was encouraging rather than draining. Being an introvert, this usually wasn’t the case for me but I certainly felt a change going on inside of me. A very welcomed change at that.
Reaching over, Hosannah grabbed my side and gave me a swift and tender pinch causing me to squirm.
“Hey!” I said.
“Hey yourself,” she replied. “So are we done with this experiment yet?”
“C’mon,” I said. “You were a freshman once too and you hung out in the lobby.”
“Yes,” she said. “And now I live upstairs.”
“Are you going to deny me my experience?” I said. Hosannah had fire in her eyes, both of us feeling feisty with each other.
“Of course not,” she said. “I’ll let you have your… fun.” With that she extended her hand and motioned to the chaos playing out in front of us. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at her. I closed my textbook and set it off to the side.
After a bit of poking back and forth at one another, Hosannah and I stopped our loving horseplay when Henry ambled up to our couch. He looked a bit disheveled, as was his style, and gave us a half-smile as he approached and ran his hand through his somewhat greasy looking hair.
“Hey girls,” he said, standing in front of the couch. Hosannah looked him up and down and I could tell from the look on her face that she was skeptical. I knew that she was a bit jealous, even though she had nothing to be jealous about, and that made me feel like I was wanted. A good feeling.
“Hi Henry,” I said happily.
“I just thought I’d come over and invite you two to come hang out with me and the guys,” he said, motioning to the opposite side of the lobby. His friends Justin and Tim, along with a few other of the ALOHA boys, were sitting on the floor in a circle.
“Thanks,” I said, looking over to Hosannah who was definitely not having it. “Hosannah and I were just about to take off, though. Maybe next time?”
“Yeah, all right,” said Henry with a bit of disappointment. I knew that even after our conversation he was still infatuated with me. I could see it in his eyes. But it was something he was just going to have to get over and get past if we were to remain friends. It would happen eventually.
“I had a good time working on the paper with you, Henry,” I admitted sheepishly. “And thanks for listening to me vent about, you know, my thing.”
“You can say it,” said Hosannah with authority. “You don’t have to hide.”
“Yeah, you can say it,” affirmed Henry with a smile.
“Okay,” I said with trepidation. I don’t know what I was so scared of. Just a hold over, I guess. I knew I was among friends. I had nothing to worry about. “My lesbian thing.” Hosannah laughed.
“You say it like you’re some sort of secret agent,” she said. “Never to divulge your clandestine mission!” Hosannah’s joke gave Henry a laugh as well, while I cracked a sly smile.
“C’mon,” I whined, feeling teased but secretly enjoying it.
“La Femme Natasha,” said Henry, smiling, waiting for us to react. He was making a reference but I didn’t get it. I looked to Hosannah and she didn’t seem to get it either. “What? It’s a movie from the 90s… La Femme Nikita?”
“I don’t know,” I said with a grinning shrug. Henry just waved me off.
“You guys are crazy,” said Henry. “The 90s were, like, the best time for everything.”
“You weren’t even born until the end of the 90s!” protested Hosannah.
“I can still appreciate the decade!” said Henry.
“Sure,” said Hosannah.
“You and him wouldn’t work out anyway,” said Hosannah as soon as Henry was out of earshot. “Dude’s a slacker.”
“I don’t know,” I said, watching Henry walk. “He’s got his act together in class. Maybe I could just try being straight for a little while—“ Hosannah interrupted me by putting her fingers to my lips.
“Nope,” she said. “You’re mine.” I giggled and kissed her hand.
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Hey,” Hosannah said with seriousness in her voice. Our eyes met and I could tell she was about to drop something important on me.
“Yes?” I said cautiously.
“Maybe, I don’t know,” she began, her eyes rolling off like she was contemplating before finally returning to me to detonate the bomb. “Maybe you’re ready to tell your mother.”
“What?” I gasped. I knew what she was asking but I was dumbfounded by it. I knew that I was coming along in my comfortability with my sexuality, and Hosannah was a definite help in that, but her request really struck me as a surprise. “I mean, Hosannah, c’mon.”
“Why not?” she said. “I finished her book and you know, there was something near the end that made me think this wouldn’t be as big of a deal as you make it out to be. Have you read her book?”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “Of course I read it.”
“How long ago?”
“I think, like, five years ago,” I said. “I read it the summer before I went to high school.”
“Tasha,” said Hosannah, being real with me. “Don’t you think that maybe, at that age, you might have been a little too young to understand it?”
“Maybe,” I agreed in a murmur, fussing with my textbook.
“Okay,” she said. “Well, you could read it again or you could just trust me. You’ve said things were pretty strict growing up, but maybe your parents were just trying to keep you safe… whatever that means in their minds.”
“That could be,” I said.
“And the thing you have to understand about a lot of Irish Catholic families is that, well, we’re hypocrites,” said Hosannah plainly. “My parents are hypocrites. I’m a hypocrite. And you’re a hypocrite.”
“Me?” I asked incredulously. “I’m a hypocrite?”
“Dude,” she said. “C’mon, you haven’t even read this book you gave me as an adult and you’re shaking in your boots about talking to your mother about your sexuality.”
“Fine,” I said. “Just tell me what the book says. I don’t really remember much about it.” I sighed. Hosannah was right.
“At the end of the book,” she began, her tone singsongy, looking at me with wide eyes. “When the estranged daughter comes back home after, like, 20 years away…”
“Yes,” I said, moving my hand in a circle to try to get Hosannah to hurry along. I was eager to know what she was talking about.
“The mother was filled with regret for not being accepting of the daughter’s lifestyle,” said Hosannah frankly. “And it was even worse because the mother did the very same thing as the daughter did when she was young.”
“What was that?” I asked guiltily, feeling bad for not remembering my own mother’s book.
“Sex work,” said Hosannah. “Prostitution.”
“Oh,” I said.
“So what I took from the novel,” said Hosannah. “Was that your mother is not dumb to ideas of acceptance and regret. So just pull the bandaid off already. I’m here with you. You’ll feel a lot better when you’re out in the open.”
I sighed wistfully. I knew that Hosannah was right. I had been building this all up in my head, making myself sick with worry about what my family would think. Maybe they would be upset. But even if they were upset, perhaps they could still accept my reality and not think their daughter was a total abomination. At the end of the day, I was still my mother’s daughter and nothing could change that.
“Will you be there in the room with me?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Hosannah. “Wait, on the phone right?”
“In person,” I said. “Actually, my mother is stopping by for a couple hours this Saturday to drop off my winter clothes and we’re going to get lunch.”
“Tasha, I mean, I don’t know,” said Hosannah. “I’d love to, but if it’s in person… I think it would feel like less of an affront to your mother if it was just you and her. I’d probably just add unnecessary stress.”
“So I’ve got to do it by myself?”
“I think you have to do it by yourself,” she said.
The reality of it all was beginning to hit me and my brain went into overdrive. I needed to start coming up with a plan.
*
The next day, Friday, the day before my mother was to come visit, my mind was stuck on what I could possibly say to her. I knew I had to be open and honest, something I’d never really been able to do with her concerning my sexuality. It was easy to blow off when I was in high school. I just played up the fact that I was focused on my studies, that I was an introvert, that I had anxiety problems. But I think it all came from me suppressing who I really was. Did I really get wound this tightly, feel this isolated, because I was denying who I was? How did I let it get this far? Maybe I’d be a completely different person if I’d come out to my mother when I was a freshman in high school rather than a freshman in college. Maybe I wouldn’t have panic attacks or feel like a nervous wreck.
While on my way to class, mind focused on the task ahead of me, I got a text from Whitney telling me that neither of us had gotten called back for parts in the musical. I could tell from her text that she was sad about it, but I have to admit that I felt relieved. Just the mere fact that I was able to audition for the show without puking my guts out and running out of the room with my arms flailing, I count that as a success. And it truly made me happy. There was something about the process that made me nostalgic and I couldn’t quite place why. I’d have to think about that later when I had some more mental space.
I found it difficult to pay attention in my Friday class, a psychology class, because I was going over every scenario in my head. Maybe my mother would be so upset she’d drag her arm across the restaurant table, knocking everything off, and run out screaming that I was going to hell. That didn’t really seem like her, though. She was a sweet woman, despite her strict adherence to all the church stuff. Maybe she’d jump up, run around the table, and embrace me, and she too would come out as a lesbian and we’d converse on the finer points of female sexuality. No, that would be just too weird. I tried to map out any conversation we could possibly have together and make sure I had my dialogue straight. It was kind of like I was preparing for the audition thing all over again.
After class, I made my way back to Leopold Hall and went directly to the basement to meet with Hosannah in the ALOHA office. I wanted to talk over some things with her, get her opinion on what I could say to my mother, and how I could say it. But once I got to the office, peeking my head in, I was surprised to find that Hosannah wasn’t there. Professor Sacco sat at the desk.
“Come on in,” said Sacco with a gracious smile. “How are you, Natasha?” Professor Sacco was such a welcoming woman, her face beamed brightly, she was happy. I wanted to know her secret.
“I’m good, Professor,” I said. “I was looking for Hosannah. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me, dear,” she said. “Maybe I can help you with something?”
I considered Professor Sacco’s offer for a moment. Although I didn’t really know her that well, she did seem like a kind and understanding person. Maybe her advice would be the key to unlocking my problems. I’m sure she’d been in my shoes before. It couldn’t hurt to pick her brain.
“Okay,” I said timidly. I slid into the office and sat down in front of the des
k, facing Sacco. She smiled at me patiently, waiting for me to speak up. “This might be a little weird,” I began. “It’s not really about college or ALOHA or anything. It’s a personal thing.”
“That’s fine,” said Sacco. “I’m all ears.”
“Yeah, all right,” I said, fussing with my words. My hands started to sweat as I held them together in my lap, kneading my fingers into each other. “Well, okay, here goes.” I looked up at Professor Sacco who was still smiling at me. “So, I’m a lesbian,” I said. “I mean, I’ve known it for a while. I’m confident that it’s true.”
“All right,” said Sacco, listening. Her face didn’t change one way or the other.
“But I’m not really… out, you know?” I said cautiously.
“Ah,” she said knowingly.
“Some people know,” I said. “Hosannah knows. Another friend in ALOHA knows. And now you know.”
“I feel privileged to be one of the first few,” Sacco said. “You know I’m a lesbian, right?”
“I do,” I said. “That’s why I feel comfortable talking to you about this. Well, as comfortable as I can feel.” Sacco laughed softly.
“Don’t be afraid, dear,” she said. “I’m on your side. Go on.”
“Well, so, I’m going to be talking about it tomorrow with my mother,” I said. “And I come from a kinda strict Irish Catholic background, so I’m just a bit worried.”
“Oh honey,” said Sacco, grinning knowingly. “You have every right to be worried. It’s a hard thing to do. But your mother loves you, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You know,” she began. “It was even harder in my day. And I’m from the south, Southern Baptist, so you better believe I was squirrelly about the whole thing.”
“How did you do it?” I asked. Sacco sighed, her face looking reminiscent.
“Not as well as I could have,” she admitted. “I have to tell you, I was kind of nasty about it. And my family was nasty back.”
“Did they hate you?”
“For a while,” she said. “It was very hard for a while. Most of my 20s, really. But I grew up and they grew to accept me. I was an angry person back then,” said Sacco, looking off, remembering. “I pushed down a lot of my feelings and my fears and it came back up as anger. Don’t be like me,” she said.