Coming Out

ff 1st, no sex

©Sister Innocenta

Zelda lay on her bed for some time, wondering how on earth she was going to cope with this one. In front of her, still open at the incriminating article, was a popular women’s magazine—the same one she bought each week—and a half-eaten bar of chocolate.

The chocolate’s unusual survival was the result of the enormous shock dealt to Zelda’s system by the contents of the article. Innocent enough, it was another True Life account of a middle-class family harbouring a terrible secret: a gay daughter.

“Shame,” thought Zelda, reading the introductory blurb, “right under her nose, too.” She was about to turn the page to read her horoscope, when she noticed a quiz at the bottom of the page—Telltale Signs To Watch For In Your Daughter. Zelda halted, entranced. She had always wandered about Rosemary. There was something very boyish about her, almost butch. “Let’s see,” she mused with interest.

Answering question after innocuous question, Zelda felt very disappointed. “Is that all?” she groaned. She could have answered “yes” to all of those questions herself. Which is, more or less, when the penny dropped. With a stone in her stomach, she recoiled. “Is it possible? Surely…” But the damning evidence was there in black and white before her. She, Zelda Jacobs, was a lesbian.

Still clutching the magazine, it was not altogether surprising that her response took on the form of a follow-up article, to be published in a future issue: “I was an unsuspecting lesbian,” confesses teenager. Well, “teenager” sounded a little sensationalistic, seeing that she was nineteen and not fifteen but that did not alter the fact of her aberrance. “Guilty!” screamed the magazine. “Guilty!” screamed her mother, reading the magazine miles away in another town, another life. “Guilty!” screamed her teachers, friends, and everyone who had known her at school. “Guilty!” screamed the minister who had confirmed her just the previous year. The whole congregation wept in shame and pity.

Plucking up every drop of her courage, she decided to go down to dinner. She realised now that it was probably so obvious that there was no point in trying to hide it. Except, of course, for what people would think. And say. But then, it was only a matter of time. Rather let them think she was untouched by their contempt anyway. Taking care not to look in any way “unfeminine”, she put on her most delicate of skirts, added a little colour to her ashen face and went down.

Entering the dining hall, Zelda could feel the eyes of the entire hostel boring into her deepest secret with accusation, turning away in reproach. She dared not meet their eyes. She was sure they were all looking at her, talking about her—so caught up was she in her projections, in fact, that she did not hear her name being called just a little way away. Looking up, startled, she found herself surrounded by a group of seniors, awaiting a response. Getting none, one of them smiled warmly at her and explained, “We were just remarking on how lovely you look.” “For a lesbian,” Zelda added silently for them, feeling their embarrassment. They laughed. “Has no one ever taught you how to take a compliment? Say thank you.” Zelda mumbled her mortification and gauchely wheeled out of the circle to the safety of her friends.

Sitting in her usual place at her usual table, Zelda mentally prepared herself for the questions she was about to be asked: Does it feel any different, being a lesbian? How long have you known? Or maybe—maybe they will be terrified of her, afraid that she will try to make a pass at them and will avoid her completely. Zelda steeled herself for the worst.

Her friends, however, continued their conversation about tests, lecturers, boyfriends—potential or otherwise—and plans for the weekend. Zelda ate her food in silence, waiting for the inevitable remark, the questions that were burning. When they never came, she felt worse. “They’re probably being polite,” she thought, “not wanting to raise such a sensitive issue. They’re probably waiting for me to say something…”

Which she did, after what felt like æons. She asked, innocently enough, if anyone had read the article. “Oh, that,” someone remarked. “About the mother, poor thick thing, didn’t even know…” “Mothers are usually the last to know. They think they know you so well, they never even suspect. Just put it down to a stage you’re going through, or something. I bet some mothers never find out.”

Zelda felt immense relief at this; the longer she could stave off that confrontation, the better. The scenes she had imagined of going home to her small, conservative home town for the holidays, to be greeted with shame, rejection—she hoped fervently that Julia was correct.

Lesley, meanwhile, had raised a different point. “It’s no crime, anyway,” she objected, “Imagine if that poor girl is gay, having to deal with judgmental attitudes like her mother’s. She’s the one with the real problem.” Zelda was a little suspicious of her roommate’s defensiveness. Was Lesley referring to her? As her roommate, she may have felt obliged to stand up for Zelda.

Zelda watched her closely, yet her behaviour gave nothing away. In fact— Zelda felt her stomach tightening into a knot—it seemed as if her friends had missed the point. Could it be—they hadn’t made the same connections that she had? Suddenly that possibility seemed worse to her than their knowing, for now she was faced with telling them. The conversation returned to marks and money and men. Zelda, after a token effort at participation, returned to her room.

Re-reading the article, Zelda began to draught a letter in reply. She picked up Lesley’s point about the mother having the problem, but found that she could not bring herself to defend something she would only this morning have denounced. “Maybe the article is right. I’m sick,” she thought. “Maybe it’ll get better if I get some counselling.” Before resorting to that, she thought it may be better to read up what information she could in the library.

The library was full of students preparing for tests. Zelda snooped around the shelves, peering into the books as she took them out, rather than returning to a table with them. If discovered, she decided she would claim that it was for a sociology essay her roommate was writing, she was just helping out. But none of the books could tell her what she wanted to know. Full of speculation about the roots and origins in dysfunctional families, reversed role imprinting, etc., they were strangely mute about the experience of being gay and what to expect and how to tell people.

An opportunity presented itself in an unexpected form. Rosemary, studying hard for a chemistry test, strolled over and asked Zelda if she would like to join her for a cup of coffee. She really needed a break. Nervously, Zelda accepted, although her relationship with Rosemary was based on little more than chance encounters on the staircase and gasped phrases on the hockey field. Sitting down at a table in the students’ union, Zelda fixed her eyes on a used coffee cup, since become an ashtray and rubbish bin, and haltingly began. Embarrassed by the publicness of the place, Zelda spoke around the issue at length, never directly getting to the point but then, surely, because Rosemary was also gay, wouldn’t she…?

But somehow, Rosemary didn’t. She missed the point completely. In response to Zelda’s worried circumlocutions, Rosemary assured her that it was okay, she need not feel guilty. “I also went too far the other night. Benno and I… There’s a Family Planning Clinic at the Methodist Church Hall on Fridays. I’m going tomorrow, if you want to come with me.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Zelda began, falteringly. Rosemary nodded knowingly. “Still, it’s better to be safe, you know. Maybe it happens next time and then it may be too late to do anything about it. If you change your mind…” Zelda nodded weakly and mumbled about having to get back to the library. Once there, she felt everyone’s eyes upon her, watching as she searched among the dusty tomes for guidance. Finding none, she went back to the hostel and reread the article.

She felt utterly alone. Her one potential confidante turned out to be straight as a poker and, beyond Rosemary, she could think of no one else. Was she the only gay woman on campus? There were some men, she knew. The rugger buggers always joked about them in the union and kept a wide berth from them in case people assumed them also to be gay.

Was that to be her fate too? Zelda pictured her roommate, explaining to housemother why she wished to change rooms—she may even be expelled from the hostel. People would talk, her parents would find out. She could think of nothing worse. Lesley had been sympathetic at lunch. Perhaps if she were really careful not to offend her, not to give her cause for worry. Perhaps she could just keep out of her way…

Zelda went off to the bathroom to change, in case Lesley should arrive back before she finished. She climbed into bed and switched off the light, pretending to be asleep as Lesley entered the room. She kept her head hidden under the covers as she heard Lesley undress. She felt her roommate’s eyes blazing through the covers. “I know you’re not asleep,” Lesley had a serious tone in her voice. “I think we need to talk.”

Zelda sat up, blushing furiously. Lesley walked over to Zelda’s desk and picked up the open magazine. “I see you’ve been reading.” Zelda froze, her stomach in her mouth, shivering involuntarily. Her blush intensified and she felt rushes of hot, cold, sweat and chill. Lesley sat down at the foot of the bed. “Well, you know I’m gay. You seem to have a problem with it.”

Zelda mumbled, and then realised what Lesley had said. “What?” She stared at Lesley, incredulously. However was she going to explain this?