by Nikki Harmon
She approaches me with a tight smile and exclaims, “Deirdre! My goodness. It’s good to see you! I haven’t seen you since we graduated high school!” She gives me a perfunctory hug. The clients and stylists around us smile and nod approvingly. They love this place; it’s so full of good vibes and peacefulness.
“Shari! Oh my God! Is this your place? It’s fabulous! I was looking for a new place to get my hair done when I drove pass one day. I just had to try it out,” I lie. She smiles and turns me around in the chair so we both can see in the mirror.
“Great! I’m so glad you did. So what are you having done today, Deirdre? I love this style on you, I love the natural look,” she exclaims.
“Just a good wash, condition, and a cut. My ends are getting raggedy. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a salon, as you can probably tell. And please, call me Dee,” I say.
I knew she resented my friendship with Candace, but I didn’t know how much until she sighed, shook her head and said, “Listen, Dee, I can’t…. You know what? I’m going to turn you over to my best stylist in here. I forgot, but I just have something really important to do.”
She backed away from me and went into a back room. A few minutes later, another woman came out and did my hair. I kept hearing my sister’s words – “heartbreaker, heartbreaker” – over and over again. The woman finished my hair; she was gentle, kind and good. I looked great. I felt conflicted. I paid and tipped and then asked to see Shari.
For several long minutes, I waited. I started to think that this was a lost cause; she clearly still resented me and wanted to have nothing to do with me. Finally, she came out with her jacket on and gestured for me to follow her. We walked out of the shop and around the corner to a park bench.
“What do you want, Dee?” she asks.
“I want to find Candace,” I say. She is quiet. I continue. “I haven’t seen her since graduation and the other day, I was looking at old photo albums and I thought of her and I was just wondering whatever became of her,” I lie. I was getting way too comfortable with lying.
“If you and Candace aren’t friends anymore, that’s between you two. I love and trust Candace, and if she cut you off, I’m sure she had a good reason for doing it,” she says. I realized then that she had no idea about the extent of my relationship with Candace. We had been very good at subterfuge.
“So, you are still in touch with her? How is she? What’s she doing?” I ask desperately. I feel so close to getting answers, but the look on Shari’s face is stony.
“Look, Candace and I have been friends for a long time – twenty years, as a matter of fact. The only time we ever had issues was when you came along. Then she just cut me off. One day we were best friends, the next day, my best friend was gone, busy and everything was different. And yes, I blame you. I’m over it now, of course, but it hurt me a lot back then ... a lot.” She paused, and then continued.
“After graduation, she and I went down to Spelman like we had always planned and it was all good again. She never once mentioned you. We’re grown, she and I are still friends, and I don’t see where you fit into the picture, not then, not now.”
I have three options. Number one, I could just beg her to pass along my information and hope that Candace gets back to me, but this seemed highly unlikely. Number two, I could lie and make up some tragedy to try to get her sympathy and maybe she would help me. This also seemed unlikely, and I did not want to finally find Candace and then immediately have to admit to a lie. Number three, I could confess my love for Candace and hope that she would understand and have some kind of romantic bone in her body. This also seemed like a long shot.
I look at Shari. She is getting impatient. I notice her wedding ring and think back to the gentleness and peacefulness of her shop full of women being meticulously cared for. I plunge ahead with number three, hoping that love will conquer all.
“Shari,” I begin cautiously, “I know you don’t know me now and didn’t know me much then, but I’m not the bad person you think I am. In high school, I fell in love with Candace. She was my first love and I loved her with all my heart. Things did not work out between us, obviously, but I never meant her any harm, not then and not now. I just want to see her again, make sure that she is happy.” As this is coming out of my mouth, I see her processing, making connections, and becoming disgusted all at the same time. It’s an interesting look but not an encouraging one.
“Dee, I heard all those rumors at school and I sincerely hope that you did not try to bring Candace into any of that nastiness. It certainly would explain why Candace rejected you. My husband is a pastor and we’ll pray for you. But I don’t want you to have anything to do with my girl, Candace,” she says emphatically. “Now, I have to get back to work. Have a nice life.” And with that she left.
I probably should have gone with the lie. Depressed, I walk slowly back to my car, passing by the salon one more time. I guess I won’t be getting my hair done there either. Doubly disappointed, I get in my car and drive off.
I end up on Olney Avenue and decide to park my car outside of Girls’ High. There’s not too much activity there now; school has been out for a couple of hours. But a few girls go by with instruments, leaving band practice or maybe orchestra. How could Shari not know or even guess about us? How could Candace never tell her anything? Maybe I’m making a big mistake. Maybe the whole love affair was blown up and exaggerated in my mind. Maybe it didn’t mean the quite the same for her.
~~~
Candace and I were together through the winter and spring of our sophomore year. That summer, however, we were apart. I spent my summer working as a candy striper at a local hospital and watching my little sister and her friends. I also discovered feminism that summer and started reading more books by women, about women.
Candace always went to her grandmother’s house in South Carolina for the month of July; that year was no different. In August, she spent the first two weeks at her Dad’s house in Chicago; her mom monopolized the second two. We wrote letters and cards to each other and talked on the phone a lot. But we were used to seeing each other just about every day and it was hard to be apart.
When we finally did get a chance to hang out a few days before school started back up, we went to Blue Bell Park, a small, little used park in West Mount Airy. Getting off the bus and walking up the entranceway, we were quiet. I was nervous to see her again. It had been two months since we were physically in the same place. I wasn’t sure if things would be the same. We had chatted on the bus, but now we would get a chance to be alone. She was a little taller, a little leaner; her face looked more like a woman’s face than a girl’s. I had stopped straightening my hair and cut it shorter. I wondered if she hated it. Passing the parking lot we went to our favorite tree, a tall, vast oak tree that leaned heavily to the right. We sat under it, cross-legged, and looked at each other. I looked around; we were alone. I took her hands in mine. She sighed.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” she replied, “I missed you. I missed seeing your face everyday.” She reached out to touch my hair. “Natural, huh? I think I like it. Of course, you got that good hair so you can get away with it,” she teased.
“Shut up. You are still so beautiful. Even more, I think. Hey, you got a second hole in your ear!” I leaned in. She had a weird-looking post earring in there. “What’s that?”
“It’s a lambda.” Then she whispered, “It’s a gay symbol, but only gay people know about it.”
“Ohhhh. Cool. Where did you learn about that?” I asked.
“In Chicago. I learned some interesting things in Chicago,” she said mysteriously.
“From who?” I felt a twinge of jealousy.
“From someone I met there,” she answered, batting her eyes. I didn’t think this was funny at all.
“Who?” I said a little too harshly, pulling my hands away.
“Oh, relax,” she said. “My dad’s next-door neighbor is this flaming queen named Pierre. He is supe
r-gay, but he’s a fashion designer so nobody cares. I went in his apartment and saw all kinds of crazy stuff. And he talked, a lot!”
Relieved, I asked, “Did you tell him about us?”
“No! I just listened to him. I saw this symbol one day, and asked him about it. A few days later, I was downtown shopping and I saw it, so I bought it. I was thinking about you, you know.” She grabbed my hands back and held them. “Were you thinking about me?” she asked, looking a little uncertain of herself.
I smiled and said, “Every moment of every day.” We looked around, leaned forward and kissed. Nothing had changed between us.
Our junior year began and we were more mature, more confident in our feelings for each other, but still very cautious and careful to make sure we were never found out, which is why I was stunned when, in October, a girl I hardly knew, a girl I’d only had one class with, Vivian Dupree, whispered in my ear one day, “I know about you.”
I spun around and looked her dead in the eye, and stuttered, “You don’t know anything about me!” and I stalked off. I could hear her laughter behind me. “Oh yes, I do!” I kept walking.
That night, I called Candace in a panic and told her what happened.
“Oh no! Well, wait, maybe she’s talking about something else. She has to be. How could she possibly know? We’re fine!” She tried to reassure me, but I could hear the uncertainty in her voice.
“There’s nothing else to know about me, Candace! I’m boring; I have no drama except for that argument in Spanish club last week, which was stupid anyway. There’s nothing to know!”
I was terrified. My school had shown no new signs of tolerance and in fact was caught up in being super-feminine after some ridiculous criticisms written in the school paper. Even I had caved and worn a skirt to school that week.
“OK, let’s think. Do you have any classes with her?”
“Not this year.”
“Are you in any clubs with her or any of her friends?
“Not that I know of. I don’t even think she has friends, I never see her with anybody.”
“Maybe she’s just making a joke, or trying to get you upset for some reason. I’m sure it’s something stupid. Nobody knows how much I love you, nobody, except you.” We giggled, but I was still uneasy.
I did not see Vivian for the rest of the week, but spent it looking over my shoulder anyway. That weekend, on a warm and sunny Saturday, Candace and I went back to Blue Bell Park. Instead of stopping at our favorite tree, we walked past the fields and into the woods. We made out behind a row of fir trees. It smelled so good back there. Clean and fresh but cozy too. We had finally graduated from just kissing to kissing and touching. The first time I put my hand up to cup her breast, I just about died from embarrassment. I felt like such a boy, an inexperienced boy at that. But she grabbed my hand and kept it there. It was the first time I had touched a breast that wasn’t mine. She was fuller than me, rounder. The next time there, she lowered her hands from my back to my ass. I jumped, but she just laughed and reached up to hold my breast as well. This particular day we were making out pretty fast and furious, leaving each other breathless and yearning.
Suddenly, I heard a CRACK! We froze. I yanked down my shirt. We stepped away from each other and looked around. It was quiet. Then we heard a rustling further away, but the sound was fading. We stepped out of the woods and I saw the back of a girl walking a dog. I knew that Jeff cap. We looked around; nobody else was there. But our passion was extinguished for the day and we hurried home.
Monday morning before classes started, I saw Vivian by her locker. She had on that same Jeff cap. I went up to her and said, “Can I talk to you … in private?” She looked at me and laughed.
“Sure,” she said. We found an empty art room and went inside.
Confidently I began, “I don’t know what you think you saw, but you didn’t see anything.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dee,” she replied.
“You know what I’m talking about, and I’m telling you, you didn’t see anything!” I said.
“No, I didn’t see anything…nothing at all, except you and your girlfriend making out.” She grinned at me very satisfied with herself.
“Sshhhhh!! Vivian, I was not making out with anybody, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please….” I pleaded.
“Relax,” she said. “I’m not going to tell anybody. Your secret is safe with me…as long as mine is safe with you.” She smiled. I looked at her wondering whether to trust her or not.
“You?” I said. She nodded and raised her eyebrows.
“Me. Me, too, that is,” she said. She tucked her hair behind her ear and I saw a tiny lambda symbol in her fourth hole. I was shocked. Then I was happy and I laughed.
“You won’t tell anybody, will you? Seriously, we don’t want anybody to know,” I said.
“Of course not! And vise versa. Deal?” She stuck out her hand.
I shook it and said, “Deal!” And after that we were friends.
It was awkward in the beginning, as we didn’t really have anything in common but our interest in girls, and for me really just one girl. Candace was a little suspicious of our friendship at first, but she got over it. It ended up being educational for both of us since Viv had been “in the life” a year longer than us. And Viv, while very outgoing and assertive at school, was nevertheless skilled in the ways of deception about her private life. It took me two months to learn that her “friend” lived in her neighborhood but went to Creative and Performing Arts. They’d only been together a few months but it was Viv’s second relationship. The first had been with an older girl on her neighborhood basketball team.
I think Viv saw me as a pet project/ little sister. But for me, she was my entrée into a world I had no idea existed. She gossiped about celebrities, athletes, and teachers. I had been so caught up in my own love affair that I hadn’t really thought much about who else might also like other girls. As far as I knew, Candace and I (and Celie and Shug, of course) were the only girls who felt this way. Candace was my first gay love, but Viv was my gay tour guide. I was truly happy and relieved to have an experienced friend who I could be honest with, who I could hang out with, and who could answer my many gay questions.
~~~
Viv! I shake myself out of my reverie. Why hadn’t I thought of Vivian before? She’ll help me find Candace. She, more than anyone else, knows what Candace meant to me. But, man, I haven’t talked to Vivian in a really long time. We lost touch through my college years but then re-connected when I came home to Philadelphia. But soon after that, she moved to Brooklyn with her new girlfriend. I start my car and get moving. Her contact info is somewhere in a card in my pile of things to do.
CHAPTER TEN
At home, I admire my new hair in the mirror. Damn, she did do a good job. Ah well, c’est la vie. I grab a glass of water and look at the pile. It’s almost a foot tall and I know I will get distracted. Everything in that pile is something I should have filed, followed up on, looked up, or replied to in a timely manner. That pile is full of annoying details that I am totally not interested in right now, and it is way too much. I turn on the TV and watch the evening news instead. Then I make myself a sandwich with a salad. I eyeball the pile. Then I clean up and have a glass of white wine. I walk by and touch the pile. Then I check my email. I glance at the pile. OK, all right already. I pick up the paper on top. Right, I have to make my dental appointment! Ugh!
Two hours later I finally make it to the birthday card Viv sent me last year. It’s got a cute little kitten on the front with a Happy Birthday ribbon around its neck. On the inside Viv wrote, “Thought I’d send you a little something in case you ain’t getting any lately!!!” At the bottom she put her new address and phone number. The trick will be if she is still with this girlfriend and hasn’t already moved out.
I call the number but just get the voice mail. At least it’s her voice. I tell her to call me back; I’ve got a life or death mis
sion for her. In the pile I also find the business card from Noema, Leslie and Laurie’s artist friend. The card has an interesting design; it reminds me of the bit of tattoo I saw on her neck. Should I? Shouldn’t I? I’m supposed to be looking for my lost love, right? I should take a break from dating, right? Of course, I should. I put the card back in the pile and go to bed.
BBBBRrrrriingg! I bolt upright in bed! It’s 3:17am, must be Ananda and Anil. I answer the phone.
“Aarrrargh! Dee? It’s time!”
I smile. I love my job. I reassure my patient, get the information I need, get dressed, grab my bag, and go.
~~~
Friday night, I get home and crash. It was a good labor, but the delivery was tricky. Four hours of coaxing and calling this little boy forward. But when he arrived he was just gorgeous, and did he have a set of lungs on him! I had to admit Ananda to the hospital after the birth, but I’m so glad we were able to have the baby just like she wanted to, on her terms. I wake up late Saturday morning and get ready to go see her when I notice the blinking light on my phone. I check my messages and it’s Vivian. Excellent. I call her back immediately.
“Hey, stranger!” She sounds like she’s still in bed under the covers.
“Hey, Viv! How’re you doing? I’ve been thinking about you!” I say excitedly.
“ Oh yeah? And just what have you been thinking? And what is this secret mission you mentioned? You know I like a mystery,” she says.
“OK, I haven’t talked to you in a year, but I guess we can dispense with the catching up,” I surmise. “Well, since you ask. I know you might think its stupid, or a bad idea but … I’m looking for Candace. I thought you might be able to help me find her,” I say. She laughs, of course.