Life would be more fun if I just could be myself. If we could just face the truth.
Harper put the pen down and closed her journal.
Pushing into the cave with eerie timing, a desert wind blew the candle out.
She sat in the moonlit darkness processing the message which had been delivered. She swallowed hard, hoping to re-ingest the secret. The knowing.
Her nose was really running now and she used her dress to wipe her face.
How could I have known, Harper thought amidst her anguish, but not known I was gay all these years?
She grabbed the matches again. Striking one twice, it caught fire at the same time she noticed the dark streaks on her arm. As the wick captured the flame, Harper looked at her clothes, and at her fingers and hands. All covered in blood.
Her nose wasn’t running, it was bleeding, dripping like paint on a fresh canvas.
Harper had tasted the truth, but not the blood as her body purged the old Harper.
As another gust killed the candle again, she scrambled for the flashlight just beyond her purse. Tendrils of blood dripped down her face and neck.
Harper heard rustling in the bushes. She needed to get down the mountain.
Grace was waiting for her at home, and she’d never needed her more. Not in the same way she’d needed her hours earlier—when Harper’s heart was an open sore, maligned by their imperfect love—but in a way Harper had never needed her before.
Harper needed the old Grace; the one she knew before they were lovers, before it got complicated.
Frightened and dismantled, Harper needed her best friend back.
“Love Bites”
Def Leppard
The front of Harper’s dress was still wet when she pulled into the Dunlop’s driveway. With napkins from the glove box, she slowed the bleeding and cleaned her face with wet wipes.
Harper had stood at the towering front door hundreds of times, but it seemed bigger, twice her size now, as she rang the bell.
The light came on first, and when the door swung open, Grace gasped at the blood. “Oh my God! What happened?”
Harper wasn’t crying until she saw Grace’s reaction.
“Are you hurt?”
As Harper shook her head, a line of blood jumped over her lip and hit the marble floor. “I can’t stop it,” she said, holding a wadded napkin against her nose.
Grace led Harper into the kitchen and helped take off her dress. In her bra and panties, Harper used a clothespin and a bag of peas to clot the bleeding while Grace wiped her down with a damp cloth.
“Where did it come from?” Grace asked, rinsing out the blood-soaked rag.
“I don’t know.”
Grace brought Harper clean clothes and warm slippers. “All
better?” she asked, coming from the laundry room.
Harper drew a long breath. “Not really.”
“What do you mean?” Grace hoisted herself onto the counter and pulled Harper between her legs. “What’s going on with you?”
Harper lay her head on Grace’s chest and closed her eyes.
In Grace’s arms, a memory she’d buried under layers of shame floated to the surface:
It was the first time Harper felt an attraction for Grace.
Since her admission on the mountain, all sorts of memories and bits of understanding were working their way to the surface.
Harper and Grace had been twelve, maybe thirteen, and had tiptoed outside to the pool house to watch the cable channel Cinemax in the middle of the night. When it warned viewers of sex and nudity, Grace turned down the volume before double-checking that her parents were asleep. On the couch together, as they watched a dirty movie, their legs touched and they were both sweaty. Like so many things, Harper had never admitted it before, to herself or to Grace.
“Whatever it is,” Grace whispered, “just tell me. It’ll be all right.”
Harper wasn’t sure. She was so afraid of the words. “I just hiked to the cave on the mountain and…” In earnest, she tried to explain.
“Mountain?”
“Camelback.”
“You just came from Camelback?” Grace leaned back and looked at the oven’s clock. “What were you doing up there?”
“Killing time. I got to town early.”
“You hiked to the cave in that outfit? In those shoes?” Grace eyeballed the bloody mess in a heap on the tile. “It’s been dark for hours.”
“I went at sunset. I had a flashlight.”
Grace looked at Harper crookedly. “Okay,” she said slowly.
“What happened in the cave?”
“I took my journal and did a lot of writing,” Harper said, easing into it. “And…a lot of thinking.”
Grace paid careful attention.
“That’s where my bloody nose started. You know how I get
those?” Harper stalled.
“Right.”
Harper took another breath. The room, again, was running out of oxygen. “And I came to this realization.”
With that, Harper began crying. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Bella, what’s wrong?” Grace was really concerned now as Harper fought to gain self-control.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that this awareness”—she grabbed her mouth and whimpered—“is something that’s really scary.”
As if unsure if she wanted to know, Grace asked her next question more slowly. Suddenly, the conversation was like a record from the jukebox playing at the wrong speed. “What was it?” she finally asked.
Harper’s knees weakened, and she leaned into Grace. “I’ve realized…” She paused, her last chance to abort. “That it’s not just you,” Harper said, holding on tighter as Grace let go. “It’s not just us.”
Grace waited for more.
“I think I’m a lesbian. And have been my whole life.”
“What?”
Harper held her breath.
“That’s it?”
Harper didn’t look up, unable to believe she’d actually said the words.
“Sweetie,” Grace said, kissing Harper on the forehead.
“Look at me.” She tucked a strand of loose hair behind Harper’s ear. “Everything’s going to be fine. I thought you were gonna say something awful happened to you up there. Don’t worry.”
Standing before Grace, stripped down to the core, Harper wanted to believe what she said. She pulled on Grace’s shirt, bringing them together. Relieved by her reassurance. The support.
“You’ve just worked yourself into a fit. Once you calm down you’ll realize you’re being silly.”
Being silly?
Harper pulled back. “I’m not being silly.”
“Harper, give me a break. You’re not gay. All this carrying on is crazy.”
Harper stepped back even farther. “No,” she said, “I’m
serious. It’s taken me a long time to finally admit it, but I’m sure.”
Grace shook her head and jumped off the island. “This is ridiculous.”
Harper watched Grace, dumbfounded. “It’s not ridiculous,”
she cried.
“It is too.” Even more emotion swelled with Harper’s defenses, and she slithered down the fridge to the floor, pulling in her knees.
“You’re not gay,” Grace said, hovering above her.
Harper pressed her teeth into the cotton pants. “Yes.” She lowered her head again, trying to be strong, hoping to hide the tears. “I am.”
“Listen to me,” Grace said. “You’re not gay.”
The more Harper cried, the angrier Grace got, and the harder it was to speak. Grace squatted before Harper and gripped her arms.
“This was just something I was doing with you. I’m not gay.
And you aren’t either. WE are not gay,” Grace yelled. “Now get off the floor.”
Harper reached up. “Gracie. Please.” Crawling closer, Harper wrapped herself around Grace’s leg.
“What is wrong with you? You’re being
so”—Grace looked down at her with disgust—“foolish. Irrational.”
“I know it’s true,” Harper whispered.
“God damn it! You’re not a FUCKING dyke!”
When Grace raised her voice, it startled Harper; it was a side she’d never seen, not even when she’d yelled at her mother.
Lying on the floor, Harper thought admitting she craved other women might hurt Grace’s feelings. But the anger, Grace’s inflexible insistence that Harper wasn’t gay, those were things she wasn’t ready for. She’d had no idea she was going to have to fight for it.
As they went back and forth, Grace’s eyes narrowed. She ripped her leg from Harper’s grasp. “Why did you even bother coming up if you were going to act like this?”
“What? You invited me. I didn’t know…”
“I invited you for a nice, relaxing weekend, not some bloody pity party.”
Kneeling beneath Grace, Harper couldn’t understand the shift; Grace had never turned on her before. Never. Sure, as her secret lover, Harper half expected the betrayal with Jamie, a knife or two in her back—Grace was, like her, just trying to survive—but she never anticipated this unmeasured rage. Where had their friendship gone? And how could they get it back? Was there no line to recross? Had the sex muddied the boundary between the two?
Apparently, it had.
“Get out of this house,” Grace said.
“What?”
“Get out of this God damn house.” Grace pointed to the door.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“We’re done talking,” Grace said, storming away. “Get out.”“Grace PLEASE!”
The alarm beeped, the front door opened. Harper stayed put, waiting in the kitchen for Grace to come back.
She did, a few seconds later.
“Didn’t you hear me? Get the fuck out.”
“Grace?”
Grabbing her arm, Grace reached for Harper’s purse and pulled her along the slick stone as Harper pleaded. “Why are you doing this? Please, I’m begging you. I NEED YOU!”
With one final thrust, Grace pushed Harper out and slammed the door.
Harper’s nose began bleeding again as she said her name one last time.
Grace.
Sitting on the doormat, Harper pinched her nose and waited for Grace to come to her senses, for that moment of clarity Harper knew was imminent.
But only a few seconds passed before the lights went off.
And they stayed off for twelve years.
Part Two
“Somewhere In My Broken Heart”
Billy Dean
2005
Portland
Oregon
“A bottle of Veuve,” Alex said. “Yellow label.”
In a faux fur coat, Harper stood next to Alex holding a shopping bag in each hand. They were saying goodbye to their friends, Sabrina and Juliet, who’d be coming over to make gingerbread houses the next night.
“And don’t forget to bring powdered sugar,” Alex added, adjusting her winter cap. Snowflakes were caught in her blond pixie hair and on her eyelashes. The snow was a foot deep in some places between the groups of people waiting for the lightrail.
“Au revoir,” Sabrina said, blowing a kiss into the air. Juliet did the same as the train doors closed. They barely squeezed on.
It was Christmastime and they’d just watched the mayor illuminate the lights for the city’s tree, a bushy seventy-five foot fir at the center of town. Harper had been late meeting the group that night; she’d been stuck at her gallery framing one of her prints for a rush order. When she arrived, Santa was dragging a sack of gifts toward a chorus of boys singing Christmas carols.
A giant menorah glowed behind them. When the jolly old man started the countdown, amidst the crowd, she could feel the building enthusiasm as he got close to zero. Until suddenly,
an explosion of light. Screams. Whistles. Flashbulbs. “O Holy Night” a cappella.
On the edge of the town square, Harper and Alex, standing arm-in-arm, waited for the train to pass so they could begin their snowy trek home. Around them, thousands of holiday revelers dispersed into the night, scattering like ants in every direction.
It only snowed but once or twice a year and locals made the most of it. A group of teenage boys were in a serious snowball fight and a little girl was doing snow angels by a cart selling roasted chestnuts.
Alex pulled in Harper. “Brrrr.”
“I know,” Harper said, fastening her top button.
In front of them, the train rang its bell and lunged forward.
Despite the foggy glass, and despite the clumps of falling snow, Harper saw on the train a face she’d never forgotten. It was Grace.
Without thought, she ripped from Alex’s arm and took off running.
Over a decade had passed since they’d seen each other, Harper and Grace—nearly a third of her life—but she ran anyway. It was instinctual, flight or fright adrenaline, her sprint along the snowy sidewalk. A mad dash.
Determined, she darted in and out of clusters of people. The buildings she burned past were old, glazed and wintry, a seeming backdrop to a Christmas Day movie, shot on some sunny Hollywood lot. Icicles—long threatening daggers—gripped the eaves above her. Her snow boots made for horrible runners and her shopping bags, one of which had split down the side, didn’t help either.
All combined, it was too much. She didn’t make it.
By the time Harper got to the next stop, some three blocks away, the doors were closing and she was left standing with the few who’d stepped off at the stadium. None of whom were Grace.
She was gone again.
Just like that.
She’d had so many dreams where Grace slipped away, it was hard to know whether it was real or imagined.
0
Walking back to her girlfriend whom she’d left standing on the corner, Harper wondered if Grace had really been there—
she was seriously questioning it now—or if she was slowly losing her mind. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, Harper doing something rash because she thought she’d seen Grace. She’d run after her once before in Los Angeles when she thought she saw her driving a convertible on Melrose. Harper talked her way out of it that time, but she wondered what she’d say to Alex now as she hurried back.
“What the hell was that?” Alex’s hands were on her hips.
“Sorry,” Harper said, breathing heavily. “I just realized I still had Sabrina’s gloves.”
“What?”
Harper set the bags down and pulled off her hat, covered in heavy snow. Her dark, wavy hair fell to her shoulders as she shook it clean.
Alex spoke softly. “You ran after the train to give Sabrina her gloves back?”
“Yeah,” Harper said, sliding the wool cap back over her ears.
She looked defiantly at Alex. “What?”
In silence, Harper and Alex made a trail, two girls wide, on their way home. The streets had thinned out, quiet and deserted, and the snow was plowed in a steep pile against Alex’s building in the Pearl District.
When they opened the heavy, industrial door to her loft, Alex’s cats, snuggled together on the couch, barely moved. Inside, all of Alex’s guitars were lined up along the wall, including the one Harper had given her as an early Christmas present.
Hanging from the exposed brick was a wreath packed with apples, pinecones and acorns. With an extension ladder, Harper had helped her thread white lights through the rusty pipes on the ceiling, remnants of yesteryear when it was an old warehouse.
Alex started dinner and opened a bottle of pinot noir while Harper changed into sweatpants and a long-sleeved Rolling Stones shirt, Alex’s favorite, which she found on a hook in her bathroom.
Before joining Alex in the kitchen, Harper let herself cry, silently, in the bedroom. She covered her mouth as she caught
her breath. The incident, seeing Grace or whoever it was, had hit her hard.
In the living room
, a fire blazed and wood popped as Harper turned on the TV. A line of white candles glowed on the mantel.
“So,” Alex said, pouring wine. “You took off running just to give Sabrina her gloves back?”
“What’s the big deal?” Harper said.
“The big deal is that it’s bizarre. We see them like every day.”“Every day?”
“Every couple days,” Alex snapped. “What’s your problem?”
“She was nice enough to lend them to me, and I wanted to return them. Simple as that.”
It was a weak alibi, and Harper knew it, but there was no turning back.
Alex sighed and leaned into the island. Her jeans were stylish, purposefully tattered at the knees. “You absolutely don’t make sense sometimes.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is just so much about you I don’t get. You’re always so secretive.” Alex pulled out silverware. “It’s hard to explain. I’ve tried a hundred times.”
Alex slammed the drawer with her hip. Her petite body could be tough when it wanted to be. Harper closed her eyes.
She hated when Alex slammed things.
“You always have a barrier up.”
“No I don’t.”
“You do. Even now.”
Harper surfed the cable channels looking for the weather.
“Me explaining why I ran after the train isn’t a barrier.”
“Will you mute that?” Alex dumped a bag of frozen beans into the wok. It sizzled. “What about us not living together?”
“That’s not fair. I just don’t want to be one of those ridiculous couples who move in after their first date.”
“Harper,” Alex sighed. “We’ve been together for two years.
You sleep here every night.”
“Every night?”
“God. Stop it!”
“I’m just not ready,” Harper said. “You know what they say: no wine until it’s time.” She turned up the TV’s volume.
“No wine until it’s time.” Alex threw her wooden spoon onto the counter. “Give me a fucking break,” she said before disappearing into the bedroom.
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