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Chapter 1:- -short story-
I surveyed the scene unfolding around me with vague interest. Happy sweet sixteen, Aliyah. We – that is, the 50 or so guests that had been invited – were lounging around the restaurant where the party was about to start in various poses of teenage cool. Except for me. I sat quietly on a chair in a corner, watching everyone. I’m a watcher. Not a wallflower, don’t make that mistake. But I’m more interested in seeing what the others are doing that participating in the madness myself. There is more than enough madness in my life.
When Aliyah made her grand entrance, she was instantly swarmed with admirers, her friends and guests wishing her a happy birthday. I got up myself to exchange hugs and well-wishes with the birthday girl, who has been my friend all the way back to the time when we were both three, and she lived in the apartment complex where I visited my grandma almost every day. While mixed up in the crowd, I saw E-beth – the real reason I was excited to be here. E-beth (real name: Elizabeth Stonewall) was here. E-beth, the definition of interesting.
I met E-beth for the first time, officially, a few weeks ago. Despite being acquainted with her older brother and seeing her around school, I’d never spoken to her before. However at a mutual friend’s birthday party, we were thrown together by a lack of seats in Nina’s living room. She got up, I took her spot, and she sat on me. After that, we became fast friends. We had a whole line of shared interests, and a total lack of interest in things like personal space (exemplified by the fact that we met by her sitting on me). That party had culminated in E-beth and me on our knees, singing old Britney Spears songs to each other. Expressively.
I ran up to her now, hugging her tightly. She grinned, hugging me back, then pulled me onto the dance floor that was now filling up with people. At some point, someone had started up the music.
It’s pretty hard to read E-beth – she’s an actress. But she always seems so excited to see me, so happy to hug me, so willing to dance with me. Maybe, just maybe…
A lull in the excitement. Food was being served. I sat with my usual crowd of friends – unfortunately one that doesn’t involve her. But I could see her from where I sat; she was feeding the chex mix from the table to Nina, who sat next to her. I bit my lip, angry with myself for being jealous. I turned to talk to my friends instead – all boys. They were making their crystal glasses ring by running a finger around the rim. Classy. I resisted the urge to bang my head on a wall and turned back to watching E-beth. This couldn’t go on. I had to know.
People were finishing up and starting to dance again. E-beth was already on the floor. I pushed food around on my plate, too nervous, too awkward, too embarrassed to get up and go join her myself. Luckily, I didn’t have to – she came over and pulled me up and towards her friends. My heartbeat quickened. She’s a good friend – better than most. And I had something brewing in my heart that might spoil it all. I had to know.
When E-beth, totally winded, took a break from dancing, I politely took my leave to go visit other friends. I sought out Chloe – my go-to expert. Chloe is one of the only open lesbians I know – and the only one I am friends with. Chloe would know. She could tell me if I was reading the signs right. Except for that meant I would have to tell her. How could I tell her that, my most preciously guarded secret? But I had to. Because I had to know.
And a whole lot of good she did me, too.
Me: Do you… Well… I was wondering. Do you know… is E-beth straight?
Chloe: No; how would I know?
Me: Well I don’t know, maybe… I don’t know.
Chloe: Well I could try to seduce her and then we’d find out, but I doubt that’s what you had in mind.
Me: She’s mine, babe, back off. (*wink*)
Chloe: That’s what I thought.
Me: So you don’t know?
Chloe: No, sorry.
And that was that. No helpful information, but I’d made it fairly clear to Chloe how I felt. Was that a good thing? I don’t know. But I still had to find out what I wanted to know. It was time to tap my resources in the gossip network. I went back to the dance floor, dancing with some of the chattier girls, listening. I said hi to every group, dancing for a bit. I heard what I needed to know; back to Chloe I went for advice.
Me: I got evidence.
Chloe: Yes?
Me: Well, she has a boyfriend.
Chloe: Oh?
Me: Yes. But – it’s highly inconclusive. Because, well, I have a boyfriend, too…
E-beth hugged me goodbye at the end of the party. I clung to her, afraid, for a moment, to let go. She finally pulled away and left, smiling and waving back at me. I got into my car, ready to drive home alone, but couldn’t. A wave of despair hit me. I live in the definition of conformity. I live in an affluent little white suburb, where everyone knows each other’s grandparents – and their business. We don’t tolerate creativity. Everyone lives in big houses with a white picket fence. And my parents? They didn’t keep up with the Joneses. They were the Joneses. They were the model of household perfection, conservative. So conservative that they stayed together even though they hated each other, to avoid the scandal of a divorce. I was going to marry a good boy from a good family and breed well-behaved, good-looking children that would grow up and get their Ivy League education.
Except that none of that mattered right now. Only E-beth mattered. Right now, I just have to know.
I surveyed the scene unfolding around me with vague interest. Happy sweet sixteen, Aliyah. We – that is, the 50 or so guests that had been invited – were lounging around the restaurant where the party was about to start in various poses of teenage cool. Except for me. I sat quietly on a chair in a corner, watching everyone. I’m a watcher. Not a wallflower, don’t make that mistake. But I’m more interested in seeing what the others are doing that participating in the madness myself. There is more than enough madness in my life.
When Aliyah made her grand entrance, she was instantly swarmed with admirers, her friends and guests wishing her a happy birthday. I got up myself to exchange hugs and well-wishes with the birthday girl, who has been my friend all the way back to the time when we were both three, and she lived in the apartment complex where I visited my grandma almost every day. While mixed up in the crowd, I saw E-beth – the real reason I was excited to be here. E-beth (real name: Elizabeth Stonewall) was here. E-beth, the definition of interesting.
I met E-beth for the first time, officially, a few weeks ago. Despite being acquainted with her older brother and seeing her around school, I’d never spoken to her before. However at a mutual friend’s birthday party, we were thrown together by a lack of seats in Nina’s living room. She got up, I took her spot, and she sat on me. After that, we became fast friends. We had a whole line of shared interests, and a total lack of interest in things like personal space (exemplified by the fact that we met by her sitting on me). That party had culminated in E-beth and me on our knees, singing old Britney Spears songs to each other. Expressively.
I ran up to her now, hugging her tightly. She grinned, hugging me back, then pulled me onto the dance floor that was now filling up with people. At some point, someone had started up the music.
It’s pretty hard to read E-beth – she’s an actress. But she always seems so excited to see me, so happy to hug me, so willing to dance with me. Maybe, just maybe…
A lull in the excitement. Food was being served. I sat with my usual crowd of friends – unfortunately one that doesn’t involve her. But I could see her from where I sat; she was feeding the chex mix from the table to Nina, who sat next to her. I bit my lip, angry with myself for being jealous. I turned to talk to my friends instead – all boys. They were making their crystal glasses ring by running a finger around the rim. Classy. I resisted the urge to bang my head on a wall and turned back to watching E-beth. This couldn’t go on. I had to know.
People were finishing up and starting to dance again. E-beth was already on the floor. I pushed food around on my plate, too nervous, too awkward, too embarrassed to get up and go join her myself. Luckily, I didn’t have to – she came over and pulled me up and towards her friends. My heartbeat quickened. She’s a good friend – better than most. And I had something brewing in my heart that might spoil it all. I had to know.
When E-beth, totally winded, took a break from dancing, I politely took my leave to go visit other friends. I sought out Chloe – my go-to expert. Chloe is one of the only open lesbians I know – and the only one I am friends with. Chloe would know. She could tell me if I was reading the signs right. Except for that meant I would have to tell her. How could I tell her that, my most preciously guarded secret? But I had to. Because I had to know.
And a whole lot of good she did me, too.
Me: Do you… Well… I was wondering. Do you know… is E-beth straight?
Chloe: No; how would I know?
Me: Well I don’t know, maybe… I don’t know.
Chloe: Well I could try to seduce her and then we’d find out, but I doubt that’s what you had in mind.
Me: She’s mine, babe, back off. (*wink*)
Chloe: That’s what I thought.
Me: So you don’t know?
Chloe: No, sorry.
And that was that. No helpful information, but I’d made it fairly clear to Chloe how I felt. Was that a good thing? I don’t know. But I still had to find out what I wanted to know. It was time to tap my resources in the gossip network. I went back to the dance floor, dancing with some of the chattier girls, listening. I said hi to every group, dancing for a bit. I heard what I needed to know; back to Chloe I went for advice.
Me: I got evidence.
Chloe: Yes?
Me: Well, she has a boyfriend.
Chloe: Oh?
Me: Yes. But – it’s highly inconclusive. Because, well, I have a boyfriend, too…
E-beth hugged me goodbye at the end of the party. I clung to her, afraid, for a moment, to let go. She finally pulled away and left, smiling and waving back at me. I got into my car, ready to drive home alone, but couldn’t. A wave of despair hit me. I live in the definition of conformity. I live in an affluent little white suburb, where everyone knows each other’s grandparents – and their business. We don’t tolerate creativity. Everyone lives in big houses with a white picket fence. And my parents? They didn’t keep up with the Joneses. They were the Joneses. They were the model of household perfection, conservative. So conservative that they stayed together even though they hated each other, to avoid the scandal of a divorce. I was going to marry a good boy from a good family and breed well-behaved, good-looking children that would grow up and get their Ivy League education.
Except that none of that mattered right now. Only E-beth mattered. Right now, I just have to know.
