It used to be transgressive enough to be a girl who liked girls.
God, I feel ancient, complaining like this. How they’re all so young and wild and I’m so… middle-aged, except I’m not, I’m only 28. And the companionship I want is for more than just the years she’s here for college, so no, I’m not looking to be with an undergrad. Even grad students go on. They go away. I want someone who’s planning to stay here for the foreseeable future.
I’m still such a virgin. I’m new at this. I’ve been bi forfreakingever but did I act on it? I tried. Once. And she kissed like all the others. But she felt safe. She made women feel safe. I just didn’t like the way she kissed. Why did I not go on and try other girls? — Because I wanted two other guys and I didn’t meet anyone else. But what if I’d made an effort? What if I’d tried harder, not so blinded by the unattainable (before, during, after)?
The question remains: where does a girl who likes girls go to get with girls? And girls who won’t judge her for liking guys, too (or keeping one in her life)?
. . .
If they weren’t real people, I’d say Trixie and Jenny on Call the Midwife were totally going to end up lovers, especially with Trixie’s gorgeous new pixie cut. Traditional she ain’t. She’s the one who wears the most trousers. She’s also the most lipstick, go figure. And Jenny… she runs into such trouble with men, she’s so awkward except as a mother figure, but in her world of women she’s perfectly herself.
I’m a Trixie. I can handle men just fine. I’m definitely not traditional-for-the-fifties. My mother is a hell of a lot like Sister Evangelina. But I’m also a Jenny. I mother the boys I haven’t made cry. I would be at rest at last in a world of women. Elen n’ha Katarina. I can be soft and comforting.
. . .
You know, I was talking with Eleven about the prospect of going to a gay bar. Well, an all-LGBTQ+ inclusive bar. Or just Pride, this year. He said I should have a wingman; I just don’t know where to get one and I am not taking Simon again. No. No frelling way. To show up with a guy who isn’t either gay or taken (or both) invites the perception that I’m, what, trying to impress him by dancing with other girls? And if I go with a girl, what if everyone thinks we’re together when we’re just friends? I’d be going because I’m looking and I don’t know how to fucking pull short of wearing a shirt that says “I’m here, I’m queer, and I want the start of something beautiful”. I should dig up that rainbow dog tag I bought. The woman I bought it from that year said that the people who wore it ended up taken — and look at me, taken and still wanting! Is there merchandise for that?
. . .
I don’t want someone who’s going away when she’s done with school. I don’t want someone who fails to care about the world beyond this place. Where and who is the balance?