Our New Normal

“Hi there,” Tori said. “Um, is Angie here?”

  The woman smiled. “That would be me,” she replied. “Are you Tori?”

  Tori nodded and shook Angie’s hand. “This is my girlfriend, Chloe.”

  “Pleasure to meet you both,” Angie said, turning to shake Chloe’s hand. She returned to her desk, retrieving a stack of papers. “This is the info about the Center and some paperwork to fill out before the support group begins. Once you do that, I’ll get you registered, then we can go on a quick tour.”

  She handed Tori a folder, the Center’s logo printed on the front. The paperwork inside asked for basic information: name, age, address, phone number, email, employment status, education level, reasons for joining the Center, and if there was interest in volunteer work. Tori hastily filled it out so that they wouldn’t be late for group. After handing Tori a temporary membership card, Angie guided them on a tour of a facility and got them back to the group with five minutes to spare.

  The room filled quickly in the next couple minutes, the air buzzing with chatter. It seemed that many of the members already knew one another as several were catching up over the past week’s events. As she studied her surroundings, Tori hoped that she’d be welcomed into the group and could get to know everyone; as much as she loved being with Chloe, she missed having other friends to socialize with.

  “Okay, everyone, let’s get started,” a friendly male voice called as he closed the door to the room. He sat in one of the empty chairs, looking around the room to check for new members. As he reached Tori and Chloe, his stomach fluttered, and he gasped. He immediately recognized their familiar faces, and his surprised face mirrored theirs.

  Tori glanced at Chloe, her face filled with confusion. “Is that Mr. Thompson?” she whispered.

  Chloe’s mouth was slightly agape. “I think so,” she replied quietly.

  “Wow,” Tori murmured in disbelief. “I would have never thought that he was…”

  “You never know, I guess,” Chloe whispered, though a lightbulb seemed to go off in her head. No wonder he’s been so worried about Tori.

  Mr. Thompson smiled at them briefly and returned his gaze to the rest of the room. “My name is Randy, and I’ll be the moderator for this class,” he announced. “I see that we have some new members to our little group.” He nodded to Tori and Chloe. “Welcome, ladies.” He looked around the room. “As is customary when we receive new members, we’ll go around the room and talk a little about ourselves and what has brought us together. I would also like to remind everyone that what happens in this room stays in here. I know that I wouldn’t want everyone to run around telling others my business, and you should respect everyone else’s privacy as well.”

  Randy drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It was the first time that he had any of his students in his group, and his stomach twisted with anxiety. He trusted that they’d be discreet with information shared in the group—he’d heard what Tori was going through, so he figured that they were probably there for the same reason he was—but ghosts from his past haunted his mind. He shook the memories from his head and looked around the room.

  “I’ll start with myself. As I said, my name is Randy. I’m thirty-five years old, and I’ve been ‘out’ for twenty years now. My life hasn’t been easy since I came out; I entrusted my secret to someone who I thought was my friend. That person, in turn, told the school gossip. Once the rumor spread, the rest of my school career became total hell. I was ostracized. Other students taunted me and yelled slurs at me every chance they got, and I was assaulted several times by closed-minded homophobes who felt that I should be punished just for existing. The truth is, I just wanted to live my life like most straight people—I wanted to go to college, get a decent job, have fun with friends, and eventually have a family. Despite what society wanted everyone to believe, I wasn’t some pervert that wanted to attack guys in the bathroom.

  “Unfortunately, most of my peers didn’t realize this. I had two friends for the remainder of my three years in high school, and I spent most of my time hiding in the library during free periods and lunch to avoid conflict.

  “My parents, thankfully, accepted me when I came out, though I know many are not that fortunate. They kept me in school and made arrangements with school officials to keep me away from those who had threatened or hurt me. I eventually graduated, grateful to finally be away from the cruelty of those people.” He cringed as he recalled the pain he’d gone through.

  “I went to a liberal college, and the students were much more open-minded. Being homosexual wasn’t a crime there; as a matter of fact, there were student organizations dedicated to ending the hate and conflict between the LGBTQ and heterosexual communities. It was there that I met my partner, Chris, and we’ve been together since.”

  His eyes lit up as he remembered the first time he saw Chris. “We’ve had our share of ups and downs over the years, battling discrimination and stereotyping while struggling to make our life together possible. As most of you know, I am a teacher for a local high school, and I’ve made sure that my sexual preference remains a secret.” He rolled his eyes. “I still don’t understand how my personal life affects the way I teach—it’s not like I’m training the students to be soldiers in the ‘gay army’—but whatever.” He sighed.

  Tori and Chloe looked at each other, both surprised that a teacher, a superior, had similar problems to the ones they were currently experiencing. Neither of them had ever really considered that teachers had lives out of school.

  “Anyway, that’s me. Let’s continue with Denise—” he nodded to the person sitting to his left “—and we will go around the room.”

  Denise smiled meekly. “Hi there. My name is Denise, but I was born Dennis. I’m 25 years old, and I’ve been a woman stuck in a man’s shell for as long as I can remember. I’ve never been attracted to girls, though I’ve always loved their clothes.” She grinned, but her eyes remained sad. “When I was 13, my mom caught me wearing one of her skirts. She asked me why I would do that, and I said I wanted to be a woman. She started crying. Then she told my dad, and he freaked out. They told me I was a freak and that I was going to rot in hell for my sins. My father then tried his damnedest to beat the transgender out of me; I was in ICU for a week after that.” She sighed heavily. “They just couldn’t deal with having a trans daughter. They were devout Catholics, see? So anyway, my mother convinced my dad to have compassion, and instead of throwing me on the streets they put me in this center that claims it uses conversion therapy to make its patients ‘normal.’ What actually happened was that they forced us to wear gender-appropriate clothing and hairstyles—and they’d punish us for improper dress or behavior by making us stay alone in our rooms for days on end. They also made us go to seminars and recite anti-gay Bible verses for several hours a day, and they would bring in people who had supposedly ‘healed’ themselves from their sinful urges.

  “I was in the conversion center for five years, but they never changed who I was on the inside. On the day of my eighteenth birthday, I checked myself out for good, and I made sure to wear eyeliner and sparkling lip gloss when I did it; I wanted to make sure they knew that no amount of brainwashing was going to make me stop being who I really am.”

  Tori smiled, internally cheering for her.

  “Most of my belongings were still at my parents, so I broke into their house while they were at work to get anything of mine that I could use. Thankfully they never thought to change the code to the alarm system. I stole as much of my stuff as I could, then I left a note on the table telling them I was out of the center and that they’d never see me again. Though I’m not proud of it, I also stole some of their valuables—sterling silverware and jewelry, mostly—so I could sell it and have money to begin my new life; I considered it compensation for the trauma they put me through by sending me to that awful place.

  “I stayed in homeless shelters for a couple of days, wondering where I’d go or what I’d do for
money. I finally hopped on a bus and moved to the city. I found an affordable studio apartment, and I got a job as a server at a gay bar and worked there for about three years. I started talking to customers I felt comfortable with about my problems, and they directed me to Harold.” She looked over at the older gentleman next to her. “Harold is the director of a charity which helps at-risk youth in the LGBTQ community establish a life for themselves. He was my saving grace during the difficult moments—depression when thinking about my parents hating me for being different, exhaustion from working while going to school, and confusion about my life in general. He also helped me enroll in community college so I could save money on my general education credits before transferring to City College. I ended up earning a bachelor’s degree in computer networking while taking the bus to my bar job at night.

  “Once I got my degree, I got a job at CompuTech in the IT department. I was finally able to afford a car, and my heart leaped on the day I signed the papers for it!” She beamed. “I worked there during the day, hiding who I was to stay safe, and on the weekends I was part of a drag show at the Leopard’s Skin. I hated having to dress like a male at my day job, but I was saving up for my hormones.

  “Everything was great until a coworker got wind of my second job. I know I was fired because of it—though I can’t prove it—but I didn’t let it get me down. By then, I was used to dealing with close-minded people. I had a hard time with money for a while, but eventually, I used my connections through the LGBTQ community to find another IT job. The job is much more exciting, and I’m making even more money. The best part is that the company is committed to embracing diversity, and they have company-sponsored clubs for LGBTQ employees. I was able to dress in what I wanted from day one, and they didn’t give me a hard time when I legally had my name and gender changed.

  “I have a good life now, and I’ve left my past behind me without regret. I still haven’t talked to my parents, but they haven’t tried to contact me, either.” She had a faraway look in her eyes, no doubt wondering where her parents were and if they ever thought of her. Tori’s heart ached for her, relating with the pain she no doubt felt.

  Silence briefly filled the room before Harold cleared his throat to speak. “My name is Harold Brandt. I’m the director of the Gay-Straight Coalition on 131st Street downtown. I’ve been the director for 13 years now and work with the same mission as this Center: to spread awareness and understanding and to help those whose lives have been ripped apart by intolerance.

  “Though I haven’t experienced some of the horror stories that I’ve heard through the years, I know plenty of people who have. The first person was my brother, Michael. He’d always been sensitive and gentle. Our dad always tried to roughhouse with him and get him to play sports, but Mike was perfectly content to just curl up with a book on the couch or listen to classical music.

  “He’d never shown interest in women, even when his hormones flared in his teenage years. I noticed that his eyes sometimes lingered on a male in passing, but I tried to ignore it. Our family was Southern Baptists, so impure thoughts about the same gender were simply forbidden. It was when he went to college in the city, far away from our rural home, that he began coming out of his shell. When I would visit, I had a pretty good feeling that his friends were gay; they were all stereotypically lanky with feminine mannerisms. It was then I came to realize why my brother had never wanted to be with a woman, why he always sighed when they discussed the evilness of homosexuality in church, and why he had always been so reclusive.

  “It was in sophomore year that Michael met Gregory in his Calculus class. Gregory and Mike had so much in common—they were soft-spoken, kind, and intelligent. They fell in love almost instantly, and I’d never seen Mike so happy. He was more vocal, joked around more, and was always smiling.” Harold smiled nostalgically.

  “Michaels’s heyday didn’t last long, though. He and Gregory were walking out of a bar one night when they were jumped by five drunk college kids. They knocked both of them down and kept kicking and punching them while calling them offensive slurs. Thankfully someone drove by and saw the mugging; they stopped their car in the street and honked the horn while screaming for someone to call the police until the kids ran off.

  “Unfortunately the driver didn’t stop fast enough. Michael got off easy with six broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone, and a laceration that needed 30 stitches. Gregory, on the other hand…” He shook his head sadly. “One of them had kicked him really hard in the head, causing massive swelling and hemorrhaging. He was gone before the ambulance even made it to the hospital.

  “Mike was never the same after that. A year passed before he’d even considered getting back out to meet people. When he tried, though, he never made it past the first date; he’d end up having anxiety attacks every time he was out in public with anyone. It got to the point that he’d barely leave his house out of fear.”

  Harold’s eyes filled with tears. “This one night—April 15th, 1996, to be exact—he and I had made plans to watch movies at his apartment, an event that was quickly becoming routine at least once a week. He was excited for our movie night when we made the plans on the 13th; he told me he’d been lonely and was looking forward to the company.” Harold’s voice cracked, a tear rolling down his cheek.

  “I rented all of our favorite movies, bought hoagies, and headed over. I—I walked into the apartment door, calling out Mike’s name. No answer; I figured he was in the bathroom and couldn’t hear me. It was then that I noticed the bedroom door was slightly ajar. I opened the door, and then I saw him…” He buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know where he got the sleeping pills, but it was a huge bottle. Between the dozens of tablets and the bottle of whiskey…I—I don’t know how long he was laying there, but I knew he was gone as soon as I saw him.” The room filled with sniffling and somber faces. “He didn’t leave a note or anything, but I knew why he did it.

  “I moved away from our small rural town and into the city, and I buried myself in organizations to spread awareness. I eventually found the Alliance, and I’ve been there since. I’ve helped hundreds of young adults settle their lives and find people who understand them; I don’t ever want anyone to end up like Michael.” He sniffled, looking over at Denise and smiling weakly.

  The group’s attention turned to two older women next to Harold. The one with spiky brown hair cleared her throat. “My name is Karen, and this—” she clutched the woman’s hand next to her “—is my partner, Evelyn. We’ve known each other over 25 years, since college.”

  “Our boyfriends, at the time, were best friends,” Evelyn explained, “and we met through them. We were close from the start.”

  Karen nodded. “There was never any indication of any interest in one another more than on a platonic level for years. Justin and I were too involved with one another to think about being with anyone else.”

  “My relationship with Dave, on the other hand, was always problematic,” Evelyn said. “I think I had a feeling that I wasn’t meant to be with men, but back then you just didn’t act on that sort of thing, you know? So Dave and I fought all the time, and eventually we broke up in junior year. I never stopped being friends with Karen, though.”

  “Justin and I stayed together throughout college, and we eventually got married and had two children.” Karen sighed. “For a couple of years, he and I were great. But then he started working late and ignoring me when he was actually at home. I spent most of my time with Evelyn, just so I wouldn’t be lonely.”

  “By this time, I was fairly certain that I was gay,” Evelyn explained. “I mostly hung out at gay bars on the weekends and would often end up drunkenly dancing with women. I never went any further than that though; there was just something in my gut that kept telling me no. I thought that maybe I was just confused at first, that going to gay bars was just making me wish I was gay. When Karen started going with me, though, I realized who I was holding out for.” They looked at each oth
er, smiling lovingly.

  “I liked going to the gay bars because it was safer for a woman to just let her guard down and have a good time,” Karen said. “The men were usually very nice, and I never had to worry about anyone trying to get in my pants every five seconds or trying to slip something into my drink. I never really gave being with a woman any thought, though, despite all the women I’d dance with and talk to. I was just there to have a good time and get my mind off my bad marriage.

  “I wasn’t surprised when I was served the divorce papers. After over a year of constantly being ignored, I was so frustrated with Justin that I just didn’t care. He shacked up with some young, skinny chick on the other side of town. I’d heard about her through the grapevine, so I wasn’t too surprised when his stuff suddenly went missing from our house. I mainly just felt bad for our children; they were too young to understand why daddy wasn’t living with us anymore. We did the split-custody thing, though, so at least they got to see him.

  “I didn’t make enough money to keep the house, so I asked Evelyn to move in to help with bills. She obliged, of course; we both saved money in the deal. It was nice having a friend there, too, especially on the nights when I was really depressed over Justin leaving me.”

  “Though I lived there,” Evelyn began, “I never tried anything with Karen. She had enough going on with the divorce and trying to balance working and spending time with her kids. I never told her how I felt, which was particularly difficult when Justin would call to fight over stupid shit like the debt they acquired together or who would buy the kids their school uniforms. I especially struggled to keep my feelings in on the nights when she would cry and say that she’d never find anyone to treat her well or would love her like she had loved Justin.”

  “One night when the kids were with their father, we decided to break out the wine and forget our troubles for a while,” Karen said. “It didn’t work entirely, though; I started getting upset over the divorce and never being able to find anyone again. As Evelyn tried to console me, I just reached over and kissed her. Things just kind of went from there.”