For The First Time, Out Loud
It is ten in the morning. I am in Oregon, the sky outside my window the usual coastal grey. It has been two weeks since everything stopped: sent home from work and told everyone was to lock down in their homes, no one leaving except for essentials. Trapped, inside my house, inside my room, inside myself.
I am nineteen, and I have finally acknowledged what’s been circling around my brain for months.
I am standing at my window, shaking, biting my nail as I press call and hold the phone to my ear. It is hard to know when Charlie will pick up; she is often unwell, with her being chronically ill. This does not bother me, but right now I am drowning in myself, and I really need her to pick up.
My eyes glaze over as I watch the sky drizzle and listen to the phone ring, thoughts racing around an endless circular track. Dreams don’t mean much to me, but when it happens over and over and over again, in different ways, there comes a point when the excuses start to wear thin.
One dream you brush off. Two, an odd repetition. Three, and you start to worry. Start justifying it to yourself, starting simple and spinning them out into extensive and unreassuring explanations. It starts to leak into real life, intruding into my thoughts no matter how many times I put them to the side. I bring my memories under a new microscope, peer at them from different angles, and the evidence becomes harder and harder to ignore.
My heart leaps up into my diaphragm and starts crawling up my throat as I hear Charlie’s voice in my ear. “Hello?”
“Hi.” It comes out quick, rushed, like a sigh and a gasp both. I am light and I am caged, my chest so full it’s hard to speak. Full with fear, with glee, with excitement, with dread.
“Hi! What’s up?”
I don’t say anything for a minute, and when I take a breath, it’s short. “I, uh. I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.” Charlie’s voice is measured, and I am grateful for it. “Is something wrong?”
“No?” I say. But that’s not quite right, and I correct myself. “Yes. I mean, yes, but no?” I pause, and then in a rush, my voice quiet. “I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.”
Charlie’s voice is still measured, but I can hear the undercurrent of excitement in it. “Okaaaaaayyyyyy. How are you feeling about that?”
I take a step back from the window, rubbing my forehead as I look around the room. The walls are a warm, oppressive grey that eats up the light from the window and the single lamp I have turned on by the doorway. I keep my voice low as I say, “Excited? Nervous? I feel kinda sick too.” The caged, fluttery feeling in my chest intensifies, and I let out a slow, choked breath. “This is going to make my life so much harder.”
Her voice is soft, and reassuring. “I know.”