We ran around outside playing tag.
Eventually, we tired, and we fell into chairs on her porch.
We talked about being gay.
Mostly my friends explained the alternate meaning. In the 90s, it was primarily a word we used to express dislike.
Most of us didn't know there was another meaning. Let alone that it revolved around sex.
So, to our friends who did know, it was a juicy, scandalous bit of information to share.
Tag resumed, and I was "it".
I thought it would be funny to say that I was gay.
And I don't know how to explain it exactly, but the flavor of the game changed.
Before, we'd just been running around the yard.
But now, when I tried to tag them, their eyes got wide, and they were willing to hurt themselves to get away from me. They even tried to hurt me.
"Stay away. She's gay."
Exhausted, I flopped down on this classmate's porch swing and cried.
Slowly the girls gathered around me.
Theresa told me that she was sorry, but I shouldn't have said I was gay. It was wrong.
YOU ARE READING
What My Mother Forgot
Non-FictionBefore reading this, you should know... This is not a happy story. There is no happy ending. Simply put, this is a chronological account of the abuse, neglect, and bullying I suffered at the hands of loved ones from birth to 17 years old. It does no...
