Friday
Picture 2
SwedenSara’s Choice: both
Title:
The sound of the slamming door is still lingering in our apartment. The walls are still vibrating from the impact, and the words I shouted in anger still float around in the air. I want to take them back, but I can’t. That’s how it is with words. Once uttered, they stay out there, always present in people’s minds, poisoning their memories and obstructing your chances of ever making it right again. I crawl up in the window and seat myself on the ledge, leaning against the frame. I light a cigarette and take out my phone, typing a message for her.
Please come back inside.
I hear the beep from the staircase, and realize she’s still outside the door. She’s probably sitting on the stairs, all dolled up in her new blue dress, with tears messing up her mascara. I fiddle with my phone waiting for her answer, and look at it dreadfully as it chimes with an incoming message.
No.
My fingers move by themselves, not allowing my brain to have any opinion on what to write.
Please. I’m sorry.
Her response is too quick, too harsh, too decisive.
Fuck you.
I try a different approach.
You can’t sit on those stairs forever, you know.
I stare at the phone, the cigarette slowly burning in my hand, ash falling down in my lap, as I wait.
I won’t. I’m leaving.
My fingers are back in charge, typing away without asking my brain for advice again.
NO! Wait. Don’t go.
You want me? Come and get me.
I stare at the phone. Should I go to her? She told me to stay away from her, to back off. Now she wants me to follow? I don’t get her. These kind of games in relationships have always been my weak point. I debate my options. If I stay inside, like she ordered me to at first, she’ll probably use that against me, claiming I showed her that I don’t care about her by not coming out. If I do follow, chances are she’ll engage me in another fight that I’ll most likely lose. Either way, it’s bound to end up worse than it already is.
I light another cigarette and sigh as I look out the window, down on the kids on the playground and their stay-at-home moms. Moving to this neighbourhood was a bad idea. We should have stayed in the city, close to the night-life and the lesbian clubs, instead of moving out here to try to play ‘ordinary family.’ I miss the gay scene, the diversity in the city and the tolerance for difference. I hate this conformity, it’s a threat to everything that I am.
I don’t understand why she wanted to fit in with these people. They don’t want us anyway. I can tell from the way they look at me in the staircase and always keeps a secure distance when waiting for the bus. I don’t think she notices. She’s not as obvious with her sexual preferences as I am, with her being bi and all. I’m not exactly butch, but I’m not even close to being feminine. She is, though.
She’s pretty, with long hair, makeup and dresses, heels and purses.
I have jeans and a tee.
She likes both men and women.
I only like women.
Men ogle her when she goes out, they flirt shamelessly and try to get her into bed. The fact that she has a girlfriend only seems to spur them on, like it’s a proof of their masculinity to bed a lesbian. That is what today’s fight is about. She’s going out, without me, to a straight bar, and I know that if she decides she want one of the many men who will come on to her tonight, I have nothing to compete with. If she wants cock, I’m out of the game, because I don’t have one.
She says I don’t trust her. I guess she’s right.
She says I’m insecure, and I guess I am.
She says I’ve got penis envy, and in this case, I guess I do.
I never wanted to have a cock, until I met her. I never wanted to be a man, but now, I wish I could be both to her. I can’t, and that’s killing me. I want to be everything she’ll ever want, but that’s biologically impossible.
I think I should go to her. That’s the right thing to do. I hope she’s still out there.
I open the door and peek down the staircase. I hear heels clicking on the floor a few stories down, and the front door slams as she disappears outside.
I waited too long this time.
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