When I was 15 or 16 years old, I had a falling-apart relationship with a boy who wasn’t at my school, a really close best friend whom I adored, a crush on another boy who’s now a good friend, and a (now very occasional) sex-buddy who was a girl.
Quite possibly at this time it was a toss-up who was more important to me – my boyfriend or this best friend of mine. He was waning and she was waxing, and I definitely worshipped at the altar of her. Still do, to some extent.
She was utterly straight and very homophobic. (She’s stopped with the homophobia now.) She used to say that these two sisters who were a year behind us were fans of my various studenty activity because at least one was a total lesbian. She had a crush on me like I wouldn’t believe, said my best friend. I said, heh, um, heh, no, why would she even know she’s, i mean, it’s scary IimagineIdon’treallyknow you know to say um heh really?
At school, there was also a couple, classic butch-femme dichotomy, who flaunted their lesbianness and didn’t give a fuck about anyone. Someone said (I think it was Boy I had Crush On) that they’d ben seen in the back, making out; and someone else said they’d been seen having sex; and someone else said; and someone else said.
I talked such trash about those girls. I would roll my eyes along with everyone else, laugh at all the disgusting jokes, the whole nine yards. My heart slammed in my chest every time they came up in conversation, or walked by when we were all sitting together.
It’s no fun pretending you’re not something you are, and it makes you act like an abominable shithead.