March 2005: But the feelings kept coming
back. One morning when I was almost 17, I woke up feeling odd. It was a feeling I’d
had before, but like last time, I was unable to place it. But as I remembered
the dream I had the night before, the description for how I felt also came to
me. Ashamed.
I
had dreamt about kissing another girl, and not just any girl, a good friend of
mine. In the latest dream, we
had been cuddling. We had hung out the night before, and the dream started out
in the same way. We had been huddled together to protect each other from the horror
movie we were watching—I’ll admit it. I had some moves even back then. Being so
close to her felt good, and I remember not wanting it to stop both in real life
and the dream. But then the dream quickly progressed beyond the events of the
previous night. In the dream, we had been cuddling and, suddenly,
kissing, in that way only dreams allow, without a clear sequence of events. No
leaning in, no talking. Just cuddling, then kissing. Good kissing. Kissing that
made me feel that peculiar feeling in my stomach when I woke up. I remember
feeling panicky and trying to calm myself down. Why the hell was I dreaming
about kissing girls? Was that normal? Maybe it was just my way of expressing
platonic affection for my friend? I rationalized the shit out of this dream.
During this time I often turned to a dream I once
had where I kissed a boy from my math class. It was my proof that I was Straight with a capital S. After all, there
was no such thing as sometimes wanting to kiss boys AND girls. Actually, I
think the thought that I was maybe bisexual gradually slipped into my
consciousness, but I wasn’t even ready to handle that. Instead, whenever I
doubted or questioned my attraction to boys or girls, I returned to that one
dream. I held onto it like a life raft. And yet, my dreams with sexual
undertones (or, let’s be real, overtones) featuring other girls
far outnumbered my dreams where I kissed boys.
August 2005: I
was about to start my senior year of high school, and I was feeling pretty damn
good about life. I had my friends, my car, and a new sense of freedom that came
with being the oldest in the school. To top it off, I was dating a boy. Take
that, gay thoughts! One night, before I inevitably broke up with him, we were watching
a movie and snuggling in his basement. I use the word snuggling loosely. We
were barely touching due to my vigilance and his timidness. Also, the fact that
his multiple brothers were stomping up and down the basement stairs the whole
night didn’t help the situation. But despite the barely-counts-as-snuggling, I
remember that my heart was beating faster than usual and I was a little
nervous. And here’s the thing, here’s how I know I was trying SO hard to be
straight: even at that point in the night, I was still
wondering whether I was nervous because I wanted Jake* to kiss me or because I
was terrified that he would.
The night wore on and neither one of us made a move. I was
both disappointed and relieved and confused. I was feeling all the feelings,
guys! I wanted to have a boyfriend, because it secured my place in my
heteronormative world. Talk about the majority culture ramming norms down
people’s throats.
He finally kissed me after walking me to my car. I smiled and
said good night, but as I got in my car and drove away, I was devastated. I
think I had thought that Jake’s kiss would be a make it or break it situation.
And it was break it, for sure. I felt trapped, confused, and utter
dread in the pit of my stomach. I even calculated how long I could date him
before it would be socially appropriate to break up with him. I wanted more
than anything to feel attached to him, to want to be with him, but instead I
just felt completely alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment