In Honor of National Coming Out Day
Coming out for me wasn't hard--I was never "in," by which I mean closeted. I could never see the point. I mean what was the point--you just had to look at me to know; I've discovered that people see what they want to see so if someone didn't know, it wasn't my fault. I didn't see the point of hiding. I mean, sure people might dislike me because I was gay, they might even try to hurt me, but the same could be said of me being black—just look at the number of black people being hurt and killed by the police—the very people they are supposed to look to for protection. So was I supposed to hide myself away? never leave the house lest I walk into a store and be followed as a potential shoplifter? Or wrestled to the ground and tasered for asking, “What the fuck are you following me for?”
Nah. Besides, at seventeen when I left for college, I knew I’d never find a boyfriend if I remained hidden, ashamed, in the shadows. I realize, even now, my story is not the norm but I have no doubt that will change.
On their way out, the woman stopped by our table. “God bless you,” she said. “My husband and I have been watching you. You’re a very handsome couple—”
“Thanks,” Willow said, “but we’re not a couple. He’s gay.”
The woman looked at me more closely, with a mix of curiosity, and suspicion. “You are?”
“I am,” I said.
After she left, Willow threw back her head, and laughed. "You see how easy that was? You just have to say that to Jose, ‘Yes, I am,’ and see where it leads."
--from Unbroken
Comments
Post a Comment