Leave the Light On

by Jennifer Storm

  The premise of the group was to bring together women who were questioning their sexuality in a safe and emotionally healthy environment. With much anticipation, I walked up to the building where the group was to meet. I felt as though I were seeing campus in a whole new way as the new me, and it was thrilling. I was careful in picking out my outfit that night; after all, I had no idea what the new, gay me was going to look like. I had already begun vastly altering my appearance just based on my own growing sense of self, but now with this “gay” identifier, I didn’t know what I was supposed to wear. My hair was still long to my shoulders and bleached blonde, hiding my natural, much darker, brown hair color peeking out from my roots. My weight was down considerably thanks to my surgery, so all of my jeans were super-baggy. I had lost fifteen pounds! I wore a pair of jeans and a blue sweater that brought out the color of my eyes.

  As I approached the building, I was nervous. I noticed a petite, bald girl with glasses wearing an oversized, red hooded sweatshirt and standing by the door, and I knew instantly that she was there for the group. Suddenly I felt vulnerable and scared as I stood in front of her. I managed to mutter out a few sentences, something like “Are you here for the ummm, you know, the ummm, group?” She smiled widely and said, “Yes. My name is Cassie and I come here often.” I laughed as the tension fell into my socks. Her smile was so sweet and inviting that I immediately felt at ease. I introduced myself and told her this was my first time, which was about as obvious as the fact that we were standing there together. She guided me into the building and up a couple of flights of steps.

  We were in the counseling building on campus because the group was led by a psychiatrist. The room was small, with two couches and some wooden therapy-style chairs in a circle. It felt comfortable because I had been spending most of my time in recovery rooms with a similar setup these days. There were already two other girls sitting there when we walked in, and Cassie gladly introduced me to both of them. Danielle and Mary were their names. They were both similar to me, and I was struck by how alike we seemed. They, too, had long, blonde hair and were on the “pretty girl” side, unlike my new friend Cassie with her shaved head and bulky sweatshirt. Cassie had that clear “I’m a dyke” persona, while the other two girls I wouldn’t have picked out in a million years. I guess I had a real stereotypical image of what lesbians looked like, although that was now challenged every time I stared into a mirror. I was relieved to see that I wouldn’t be the only “femme” girl in the group.

  As we all made small talk, a couple of other women entered the room, and then the group leader and another woman came in, closed the door, and sat down. The psychiatrist was much older, so I identified her right away. She was a nice-looking butch woman, and my heart began to pound just a little louder inside my chest as she opened her mouth and began to introduce herself and everyone else. It was clear to me in that moment that I liked the more butch women. My pulse quickened just a little bit more around them.

  Which is the total opposite of any woman I had been attracted to in my past encounters. When I was using, I was always experimental. Having known all my life that I had an attraction for women, it seemed to come out more when I was drinking. I always went toward feminine women, probably because that was all I had to choose from. I used to make out with my best friend all the time when we were loaded, and she is more feminine that I am. I had one lesbian sexual encounter in my addiction, but it came in the form of a threesome with a boyfriend on my twenty-second birthday. It was a blur because I was drunk as usual. All I really remember is being at the bar with my boyfriend, and when he asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I pointed at a hot blonde and said, “Her.” It certainly wasn’t a memorable evening. When it surfaced in my mind, I only felt shame and remorse. Like with other drunken sexual encounters I’d had in my addiction, I didn’t like to think about it. They were just painful reminders of how low I had sunk.

  Since I was taking my classes during the day now, I started spending more of my nights on campus instead of hanging out with my recovery friends. I was still going to meetings, but I was trading my late nights at Denny’s for all things gay on campus. I got some flak from my younger twelve-step crew, but I was evolving a different way, and with Lynn still being so weird with me, it was a nice break from my older lesbian crew. So I began hanging out with my new lesbian friends from the campus support group, and they introduced me to the gay world on campus. I couldn’t believe there were so many groups and activities to get involved in. Pride Week, an annual week of celebration of all things queer, was coming up and there was a slew of events on campus to attend. The prospect of going and mingling with a bunch of other gay people was so exciting to me because I knew I was ready to really try out my new identity. I was ready to have a gay experience without alcohol or drugs.

  31

  PROUD AND IN LOVE

  THE SAME WEEK I ATTENDED THE LESBIAN SUPPORT group, I went to my first gay pride rally. It was empowering and exhilarating to be around so many out and proud young gay people. Most of the students looked rather stereotypically gay. The women all had short hair and adorned their backpacks with rainbows and buttons with empowering and funny slogans like “I’m not a lesbian but my girlfriend is.” I felt slightly awkward because I still didn’t know what my gay identity looked like on the outside. The one thing I did know was that the minute I was around these gay women, I felt like I belonged, and that this group of people whom I could identify with so naturally and easily had just been waiting for me to arrive. It’s the same way I always felt when I walked into a recovery meeting, as if I was home and it was just—right.

  As I walked up to the information table to check out the various on-campus resources, I was brought to a halt by a smile so captivating that my whole body just froze. As I soaked in the image, the most beautiful face I had ever seen came into focus. Her full lips formed a smile that extended across her face like a burst of sunshine. It was almost too hard to look at, but I found my eyes glued to her face. She had super-short, shiny black, spiky hair, and while her look screamed “dyke,” she was soft around the edges. She had femininity within her masculine appearance and that immediately intrigued me. Before I realized it, she had shifted her gaze in my direction and sent a ray of sunshine out of her mouth in the form of a hello, and instead of responding in kind, I just stared blankly at her with what had to have been the dumbest look on my face. Quickly my friend Cassie interjected an introduction. “Jennifer, this is Raye. Raye, this is Jennifer.” My mouth still had no ability to form any type of sentence, and I said nothing as a blush formed on her cheeks. I felt even more stupid about my lack of action until her smile grew even wider. At that point I was certain I blushed harder than I ever had in my life, and finally I managed a hello. Before I realized it, Cassie pulled me away while someone else grabbed Raye’s attention. Cassie was laughing hard as I let out a huge breath of air, and it wasn’t until then that I realized I had been holding my breath. This outburst just made Cassie laugh even harder as she said, “Raye tends to have that effect on some girls.” I felt warm the rest of the day as I kept her smile in the forefront of my mind.

  After that, I went to a meeting and shared about my experiences that day. I had always been brutally honest when sharing in meetings. I knew that was a cornerstone of my staying clean and sober, and I wasn’t about to change that now. I had begun speaking freely in my meetings about my new identity, and while at first I was nervous and not sure how some people would respond, I knew I was in a safe place and that I had to express myself. There were no secrets anymore in my recovery, ever! Most people just got a kick out of me, the newcomer who was just discovering herself. I would elicit lots of laughter, and I didn’t know if they were laughing with me or at me, but I didn’t care because I was full of joy. I look at those same newcomers who come into meetings today and just chuckle, because I so understand the level of excitement they are experiencing. Early recovery is such a exploration; at times it can be painful when you a
re working your program properly, but then there are the times when you are so fiercely alive in your own skin that you cannot contain yourself. This is how I felt that day, and in the meeting as I shared, I knew I was practically exploding with anticipation and excitement and everything I was feeling inside.

  Later that night, I walked into the dark room and felt an odd familiarity. Strobe lights glistened from the ceiling, casting shards of speckled light across the floor and splashing the bodies dancing to house music that was thumping from the DJ booth in the corner of the room. A tinge of panic rose in my stomach as memories surfaced of the old days of walking into club after club. It was still hard for me at times to be in environments that could serve as a trigger for me. Old memories would surface, and they challenged my foundation and strength in early recovery. I would have to talk myself down in my mind, telling myself that I was safe and it was okay because that wasn’t my life anymore. These were always the times when I found the Serenity Prayer to be incredibly useful. Just repeating it over and over in my mind, while taking deep cleansing breaths, would remove the anxiety from me. I did this in my head as I walked into the room.

  Cassie was all smiles as she waved me into the room. I reminded myself that this was not a bar or nightclub, but a college dance. I shook off the panic and followed her enthusiastic lead. All around me were small groups of students gathered together, people watching or paired off dancing. There were bright, rainbow-colored balloons clustered and scattered throughout the room and several round tables with chairs off to the side. The room reminded me of the high school dances I used to attend, and in a way I felt just as I had back then—all nerves and hormones raging in anticipation of what the night would bring. Of course, back then I would have been half-loaded, as I was sure many of these folks were, but if they were it wasn’t obvious.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a girl with her arms tangled up in another girl, and I stopped dead in my tracks. It was her—Raye—and when she saw me, a smile broke across her face once again. She waved, and I waved back as the girl she was holding just looked from my face to hers with a question clearly on the tip of her tongue.

  I pulled away my gaze and rushed up to Cassie, bursting with a million questions. Cassie filled me in that Raye had a girlfriend. I stole another glance in Raye’s direction and said, “I am going to marry that girl.” Cassie just laughed and said, “Get in line, honey.”

  32

  FIREWORKS

  AFTER THAT NIGHT I FELT ELECTRIC, LIKE I HAD A NEW window into my future, and it gave me such a jolt that I almost didn’t need a cup of coffee to get up in the morning. Everywhere I went on campus, I looked for her, hoping for a glimpse of that amazing smile. I started going to as many gay-related meetings on campus as I could.

  I joined the Lambda Student Alliance, a group for queer students that focused on education, awareness, and political events on campus. It was there at my first meeting that I would meet people who would shape my life for the coming years, including one who became my steadfast mentor, the group’s advisor, Dr. Sue Rankin. She was an older butch lesbian with whom I immediately found solace, friendship, and guidance. She and I had a wonderful connection. She saw me as a young and energetic lesbian, new to the gay world, and she made it her job to gracefully walk me through all the changes that I would go through over my years at college.

  Cassie had also told me about a lesbian sorority on campus and that immediately intrigued me, especially after she told me that Raye was a sister. I wanted in!

  I had a lot of preconceived notions about sororities and what they stood for, and every single one I had was about to be challenged significantly as I readied myself to attend my first Lambda Delta Lambda (LDL) party.

  The sorority consisted of about forty women, and at that time about five of them shared a house downtown at 507 Atherton Street, but everyone just called the joint “507.” They certainly were not the über-feminine type of sorority sisters one would think of with long, cascading blonde hair. They were all thicker than your average stick-skinny sorority sister stereotype, and most of them had super-short, spiky hair. They wore baggy clothes and had that “just got out of bed” look perfected. They had style that seemed effortless but that you knew took them time in front of the mirror. I felt comfortable with them as soon as I walked in.

  On my way to the sorority party, I made sure I stopped at the gas station on the corner and purchased some green tea to take with me. I had learned from my past experiences to have my own drink in hand at all times in situations where alcohol was present to avoid the “Can I get you a drink?” or “Why don’t you have a drink?” questions that would be sure to come. The sisters were great about my decision not to drink; they were proud of the way I had changed my life. Never did any of them make me feel bad about not drinking, which was a welcome feeling.

  During the party, I saw Raye in the corner of the room and our eyes met. She excused herself from the conversation she was carrying on and confidently walked toward me and said hello. I was so nervous to speak to her. I didn’t know what I would say, but even as the panic rose in my throat, words came out of my mouth with a casual ease that took me off guard. We began the usual get-to-know-you kind of talk, and before I knew it hours had passed and Raye and I had held court in the corner of the room, talking nonstop. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk with her and how comfortable I felt in her presence, even though when our eyes met the electricity was so intense that I had to look elsewhere. I had never felt such exhilaration when looking into another’s eyes before, and it both energized me and scared the shit out of me.

  It was getting late, and I knew I had to catch the bus to get home. Raye didn’t have a car either, but said she would walk me to the bus stop and wait with me. I thought this was incredibly chivalrous. We made small talk as we made our way through campus in the dark to the bus stop in front of the student union building. I had successfully managed to avoid my past during our talks at the party. It wasn’t hard, because we mainly focused on the present, what courses we were each taking, what the sorority was like, who was sleeping with whom. She had filled me in on all the up-to-date information on each sister and familiarized me with all of them.

  But as we sat alone, with no distractions around us, the conversation took an inevitable turn toward me. She began asking more pointed questions, and before I knew it, I was spilling my guts to her. It was like water flowing out of my mouth; my deepest, darkest secrets spilled out with ease. I felt so incredibly comfortable with this woman that nothing I said held its usual hesitance or hidden fears. I trusted her implicitly, and more importantly, I trusted myself enough to know that this was my life and it was okay to lay it bare to whomever would be entering my life, whether it be as a friend or more than a friend. I was used to telling my story to those in recovery. It was kind of exciting to be speaking to someone who really had no understanding of recovery. She just sat there, holding intently to the words coming out of my mouth. I could see the intrigue and, at times, disbelief in her eyes when I got to the hard parts—the suicide attempt, the death of my mother, rehab. She never wavered, though; there was no disgust or judgment in her voice when she asked more questions or when she would just nod with incredible sympathy.

  As I spoke, bus after bus came and went, and neither of us broke from the conversation. She could have had an easy out if she had been concerned about what I was telling her by just saying, “Hey, isn’t that your bus?” But she didn’t. Eventually, I glanced at my watch and realized there would only be one more bus coming to that stop for the night. I gushed about how I couldn’t believe I had rambled on for so long and thanked her profusely for listening to me. She just smiled her amazing smile at me and said it was her pleasure. She thanked me for sharing with her. As my bus pulled up, I didn’t want to get on. I didn’t want the night to end. We just looked at each other, and I handed her my e-mail address and phone number. She said she’d call, and as I sank into my seat on the bus, I kn
ew she would. I watched her smiling face grow smaller and smaller as the bus drove away, and I felt like I was floating above the bus with glee. I was in love and I knew it. I barely knew this person, but I loved her and I felt it in every fiber of my being, from the tingle in my toes to the warmth around my heart. I laid my head down that night and dreamt of her. She called the next day, and we made plans to go on a date. A date! With a girl. But not just any girl. With Raye! I was beside myself.

  This was huge to me. I had just found a new group of friends that I knew I would cherish. I decided to pledge the sorority. And I had met and fallen in love with Raye. I had anxiety and butterflies lingering in my stomach, so I called my sponsor Rose for guidance.

  Rose wasn’t as thrilled for me.

  As I had begun to grow in my recovery and take on college, she and I had begun to pull apart a bit. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a great sponsor; it just seemed like our lives were going in such different directions that there was a tension between us now. She had been such a strong support person for me whom I spoke to daily and told everything to; but this started to feel odd, and I began to feel uncomfortable speaking about my sexuality with her, because she wasn’t really out of the closet. Even though we all knew she was gay, she had never had an actual experience with another woman and therefore never confirmed or denied her feelings. After I made my announcement and confirmation that I was gay, that was when the tension in our conversations and relationship began. I can only surmise that she had a discomfort with my newfound gay identity that I wore so freely, while hers was still tucked away, semi-hidden. She was cold when I talked about Raye, and my excitement was met with concern on her part that I was rushing into something and that I needed to focus on recovery. The unconditional support that I had come to rely upon was replaced with consternation and a bit of resentment.