by Aimee Herman
“Nothing to tell,” I said abruptly.
“I just know that this has been a challenging school year so far. Things are changing. Things are always changing, but—”
“Did Flor say something to you?”
“What? No. Is there something she should have told me?”
I stared at Shirley, trying to read her face. Maybe this was a sign to just tell her. I did feel kind of bad that I told Flor before Shirley, but it was different with Flor. She was gay, she understood.
“I guess maybe I do want to tell you something? I . . .” Deep breath, Eleanor. You can do this. And anyway, Flor said that the hardest part of coming out is the first time. It doesn’t always get easier, but we grow stronger. I don’t really understand that, but maybe I will later on.
“I’m.” James, that was all that came out for at least five minutes. Really. Shirley stared at me, while I stared at my fingers, trying to locate a nail that was long enough to bite, but my nervousness these past months has really abliterated obliterated them.
“I’m . . .” I tried again, took a deep breath, then continued. “I’m gay.”
My heart jumped out of my chest and flung itself out the window.
“Okay,” Shirley said, plainly.
“Okay? Are you . . . are you mad? Are you disappointed? Are you . . .”
“Eleanor, you’re my daughter. I can’t fathom a world where you did or said anything that made me feel differently. Also, I . . . I had a sense.”
“You had a sense that I was gay? You knew? How’d you know? Did I say something? Is it because I cut my hair?” James, it’s like all of my thoughts were threaded together and I couldn’t disconnect them.
“I can’t really tell you what it was, but I just had a feeling. Regardless, it means a lot that you shared this with me. I imagine it’s not easy.”
“Not easy to tell or . . .”
“Flor and I have had so many conversations about this. Not about you being . . . just about her experiences in this world being gay. Not being gay myself, I can’t even imagine what it’s like to experience such hate from people for something that you can’t help.”
“You make it sound like it’s a terrible thing to be.”
“Oh, honey, no. I just . . . never want anyone to hurt you or make you feel anything but loved and some of the stories Flor has shared with me helped me to see that it’s not always easy to be different.”
James, is this what stopped you from living? I hate thinking about you holding all of this in. Having no one to tell. Your letters . . . what you’ve written about Brian and how he just tried to ignore you away. I’ve thought about saying something to him. I’ve seen him in the halls. Or at least, the Brian I assume you are talking about. We have a bunch in our grade.
“Eleanor?”
I shook my head and realized that Shirley was still talking.
“Sorry. What?”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“Just you and Flor. I want to tell Gret and Dad, of course.”
“Is this . . . is this the reason you and Dara aren’t talking anymore? You’ve been friends for so long, I just don’t—”
Suddenly, we heard the front door open. We watched as Flor walked in with a giant turkey still in its plastic packaging. Not like covered in feathers or anything like that.
“Hiya! I earned this bad boy. Eighteen pounds.”
Shirley grabbed the turkey from Flor. “Thanks so much. I knew I wasn’t going to make it this month.”
I was confused. “What do you mean . . . make it?”
“Oh,” said Flor. “At Food Town. Spend two hundred and fifty dollars or more in a month and you get this turkey for free.”
“They’re just giving away turkeys?” I asked.
“Well, I wound up spending more last month than I probably would have, so I basically bought it,” she smiled. “Did I . . . did I interrupt something?”
Shirley and I awkwardly smiled at each other.
“I just came out to Shirley,” I said.
“Oh, Eleanor! I’m so proud of you!” Then, Flor looked at Shirley and said, “And? May I ask?”
“Did you expect anything else but a warm response?” Shirley said to both of us.
“Well, maybe a few dishes flying, but that’s probably because I watch a lot of TV and everything is pretty dramatic,” I said.
I looked at Flor. “Is there a difference between a lesbian and a dyke? Not every lesbian has short hair, right?”
“Right. Although, we’re much easier to find for some reason when there is less hair attached,” Flor laughed.
“The thing is . . . I don’t know what I am. I said what I said because I know that I’m attracted to girls. I like girls. I . . . it’s not like I’ve done anything. Oh, gosh. This is weird.”
“Eleanor, it’s all right,” Flor smiled.
“But the thing is that it’s more than that. I’m more than a lesbian. I’m . . . maybe . . . maybe I just haven’t found my word yet. Could that be it? But I didn’t cut off all my hair to make a big statement.”
“Audre Lorde said something really beautiful about that,” Flor said. “A different book than what you’re reading. I’ll have to give to you. She talked about the words we don’t yet have and the power of what happens when we find them.”
“So how do I find my words?”
“Keep reading. Keep searching. You and your words will find one another,” Flor said.
“Is Dara not being accepting?” Shirley asked. “Was she mean to you about this?”
“She hates my hair. She is definitely not comfortable with me being . . . gay. She’s just being super weird about it all. And now she’s dating someone and completely ignoring me. It’s like she’s become someone else. I guess we both are. I don’t know. It’s really disappointing, but I’m trying to be okay with it. I just don’t understand what the big deal is that I’m gay. There’s probably a lot more in my school . . . gays, I mean . . . and maybe if I said something, more people would—”
“Eleanor,” Flor interrupted, “I understand what you’re saying and it’s my age that reacts more realistically than idealistically, but—”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we just want you to always feel safe. I would never, ever want to stand in the way of you coming out and being yourself, but. Not everyone is going to be as accepting as we are.”
The thing is, I know that Flor is right. I don’t really know what kind of reaction I am going to get from other people at school, and even if there are dozens more people in my school just waiting to come out or maybe just one, I could be risking my safety. If classmates couldn’t handle my hair, what would they say if they found out I liked girls?
James, remember when Jackie came out as bisexual? Some people taunted her, made kissing noises each time she walked down the hall. I always thought it was so strange that people reacted in this kind of way. Who really cares?
Two people in our grade have already gotten pregnant—one had an abortion (I think) and the other actually gave birth. I think her mother or grandmother babysits when she’s at school. When we were in seventh grade, Mark Culiano, who was in my math class, supposedly raped a girl. Did you hear that one, James? After that rumor went around, he kind of just disappeared. There’s a rumor going around now about this girl who’s a junior who slept with Mr. Fiorentino, the English teacher.
I feel like rumors are like pimples. For like a day or so, they are huge. It’s all anyone can talk about and then, without any notice, they just go away. Eventually, of course, they are just replaced by another. And another. Some pimples, I mean rumors, explode. Pick at them enough and they pop, causing a fight of some sort.
In eighth grade, Tiana Ruiz and Kelli Johns started fighting over some rumor, which included a boy, a look, and kissing behind the bleachers. Tiana pulled out Kelli’s weave—I only know this from the thick clumps left in the hallways afterwards. Kelli, in turn, ripped out Tiana’s giant gold hoop e
arring with her name on it. Tore it right out of her ear, slit it open. There must have been blood, but only hair remained as evidence of the rippedapart rumor.
The thing is, if I announce it myself, if I don’t wait for someone to do it, but instead take the control, it’s not a rumor. I’m claiming it. I’m—
“What makes you want to tell all your schoolmates?” Flor interrupted.
“I don’t know. Because they probably think it already. Because maybe others will want to say it too.”
“Eleanor, you can’t expect that. And you certainly can’t force it.”
“I know, I know. I just feel like I’ve kept a lot in. I’ve kept all of this in. Until now. And it feels really good to say it out loud. To be heard. I think . . . I think if someone else in my school announced they were gay, maybe I’d . . . well, maybe I’d want to say something too, since I’m already feeling it. No one ever admits to things. No one ever wants to be the first on the dance floor, you know?”
“I don’t—”
“You know, like the music is playing and it’s playing for people to dance, but everyone is so shy to be the first one. Then, someone makes the first move and suddenly everyone is doing it. I saw it at Heather’s birthday party last year. We were all in her basement and she made this really great mixtape of all our favorite songs. Even asked everyone ahead of time what songs they liked best. But as each song came on, everyone kind of just stood there—talking and eating—but never dancing. I wish I had been the one to just start moving.”
“Are you expecting everyone to follow you, Eleanor?” Shirley asked.
“No, though that’d be pretty amazing. Like some sort of movie.”
“Eleanor, this isn’t a movie,” said Shirley.
“I know. It’s just that . . . we all talk behind each other’s backs and everyone knows. Everyone hears. But no one ever says: ‘You know what? You’re right.’ People have called me dyke so many times since I cut my hair. And you know what I say? Nothing. It’s like afterward, I’ve got all these things in my mind that I could have said. But in the moment, I’m just speechless. Kind of shaking. Kind of angry. Part of me just wants to be like, yeah, I’m a dyke. So what? I looked up that word. Dyke. It’s like this wall that stops places from flooding. So, basically, they are calling me . . . a . . . a solution. Something that fixes a problem! And you know fag is a cigarette. Like, where do they come up with these words, which are fine by themselves, but then kind of ruined.” I felt myself getting angry, just thinking about the words suddenly replacing my name at school.
“You can’t be expected to stand up when you aren’t ready to,” Flor said.
“I know. But that’s what I’m trying to say, Flor. I’m ready.”
DEAR ELINORE,
LAST YEAR FOR MY BIRTHDAY, MY UNCLE (THE ONE I LIKE, NOT THE ONE I HATE WHO ALWAYS MAKES ME FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE) GAVE ME A PRESCRIPTION SUBSCRIPTION FOR ROLLING STONE. IT’S AWESOME BECAUSE I CAN LEARN ABOUT NEW MUSIC AND SEE PICTURES OF MY FAVORITE BANDS. KURT WAS ON THE COVER LAST YEAR WITH THE REST OF NIRVANA. I LIKED HOW HE INSULTED THE MAGAZINE BECAUSE IT’S SO CORPORATE BUT ALSO LIKED BEING IN IT AS WELL. HE DOESN’T TRY TO BE COOL, HE JUST TALKS AND EVERYTHING COMES OUT LIKE A SONG. SOME PEOPLE SAY HE DOES DRUGS, BUT I DON’T WANT TO BELIEVE THAT. I TRIED WEED ONCE BUT I COUGHED SO MUCH I THOUGHT MY INSIDES WERE GONNA COME OUT. I DIDN’T LIKE THAT IT MADE ME FEEL ALL BLURRY AND TIRED. I FEEL THAT WAY WITHOUT DRUGS. KURT JUST WANTS TO MAKE MUSIC. HE DOESN’T WANT THE FANCY STUFF. BUT I GUESS ONCE PEOPLE CALL YOU FAMOUS, IT’S DIFFICULT TO ESCAPE. I NEVER WANT TO BE KNOWN. I’D RATHER BE ALONE THAN HAVE EVERYONE TALK ABOUT ME AND BOTHER ABOUT MY LIFE. THAT’S WHY I WANT TO BE AN ASTRONAUT. I JUST WANT TO TRAVEL INTO SPACE AND STAY THERE. BE SOMEWHERE WHERE NO ONE ELSE GOES.
Wednesday, November 24
Dear James,
In homeroom, Aggie and I talked about Thanksgiving plans.
“My dad and I go to my aunt and uncle’s in Long Island. Uncle Filip and Aunt Aurora. My cousins are younger, but we get along pretty well. The food’s always good because my aunt is Italian and, mixed with Polish food from my dad’s side, it’s all my favorite things! Pasta and eggplant parmesan and kielbasa with sauerkraut.”
“Do you still have turkey?”
“Yeah, and my dad makes my mom’s potato bread that she always used to make. We also have a dumpling-off.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We make kopytka and Aunt Aurora makes gnocchi,” I watched as Aggie licked her tiny lips. “How about you?”
“All the regular stuff. Plus Shirley’s chicken soup with matzo balls. Gret’s coming home. Flor will be there, and did I tell you James’s parents are coming too?”
“Wow, that’s crazy. So you’ll finally get to see what his dad is like.”
In English class today, we read a poem by June Jordan that was really intense. I didn’t understand all of it, but she basically talked about how her rights had been taken away, and the importance of naming herself.
I wonder what kind of student you were, James. Were you failing? Did you get As?
Then math class happened and everything went downhill. We had a sub, so of course everyone was acting like idiots. We were given a packet of equations to work on. The teacher said we could work in groups, and most people took advantage of that. I don’t think anyone was really doing any math and the teacher didn’t even seem to care. He just sat behind the desk and read some book he brought with him. I couldn’t see the title, but he looked really into it.
I don’t know what compelled me to do this, James, but I decided to approach Dara.
“Want to work together?” I asked, nervously.
Dara looked at me as though I asked her to inspect a rash on my body.
“Uh, no thanks,” she said.
“Is this really how we’re gonna be with each other?” I asked. “I’m willing to be the bigger person and just forget everything. This has become so ridiculous. Why are we even fighting?”
Just then, Damian walked in and went right up to Dara. He’s not even in our class, James. He looked at me and said, “Fuck off, lesbo.”
It was like the night you pushed me. All of my words were frozen. I couldn’t move. Every possible comeback I could have possibly said was tangled up inside me.
Damian whispered something to Dara, which I couldn’t hear, and she laughed.
“You’re not even in this class,” I finally said.
“Eleanor, just forget it, okay?” Dara said.
“You friends with this weirdo?” Damian said to her.
And she just looked at me and stared. I used to be able to read her thoughts. It’s like we spoke a silent language to each other. But all of that has changed.
“No, definitely not,” was all she could say.
I worked by myself and finished only three equations. I couldn’t concentrate. What’s more important, James? Being yourself or having friends? Do we have to choose one or the other? Can’t we have both? I am myself with Aggie. I don’t have to pretend away any of my parts. It was in that moment where I realized my friendship with Dara was over.
Thursday, November 25
Dear James,
Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday because it was all about eating and being loud with family. Aunts and uncles and more cousins than I ever knew I had all around the table eating food that Shirley took days to prepare yet took us minutes to gobble up. Enough social studies classes and I started to change my mind about things. I started to realize that it was just about people stealing land that didn’t belong to them and spreading diseases and how did turkey carving and cranberry sauce come from all that?
When Shirley and my dad split up, it just wasn’t the same. We started having two Thanksgivings and it wasn’t as loud or crowded. I always felt bad because we were already tired of turkey and leftovers by the time we went to my dad’s, yet Gret and I had to do it all over again. I guess nothing is quite the same when you start to understand the meaning of it.
This year, of course, was different because your parents came. They left about an hour ago and I think they had a good time. Your dad is definitely hard to read. I could tell that Shirley ran out of ways to try and engage him. For a pastor, he doesn’t really talk much, does he?
When they arrived, Shirley was still in the kitchen cooking, so Shirley suggested I give your parents a tour of our house. I thought that was kind of weird, since our house isn’t anything special, but it did give me some time alone with Helaine. Your dad was uninterested, so he just stayed behind in the kitchen.
“How are you doing, dear?” your mom asked as I introduced her to the family room.
“Alright. I did better on a chemistry test than I expected. And my best friend—ex-best friend—and I are no longer talking.”
We walked into the dining room and Helaine complimented the china Shirley had put out on the table.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Any chance for reconciliation?”
“Probably not. Turns out she’s a homophobe.”
James, I wasn’t exactly planning on coming out to your mom, but it just popped out. I immediately panicked because your dad is super religious and what if they up and leave because they don’t want to eat food prepared by someone with a gay kid?
But Helaine just looked at me and said, “That’s a real shame.” Then, she took a deep breath and I watched her necklace rise from the inhale of her chest. “I imagine you’ve read James’s journal.”
I knew it! I knew she knew!
“Yes, but I’m trying to treat it like Halloween candy and make it last. I limit myself to only a few pages at a time. Sometimes only one.”
“I found it the day after he . . . and I’d like to tell you that I thought long and hard about opening it, but I didn’t. I sat on his bed and read it straight through. I had no idea who Eleanor was, thought maybe it was just a made-up person. He never mentioned anyone by that name. But after reading it, I knew I couldn’t show Burt. He does not approve. He . . . he’s a . . . he’s a homophobe too.”
“How did you know it was me?”
