The Dog Days of Summer

4

Third quarter of school. I'm 15 years old.

I wasn't blessed with a big, birthday bash though. I don't think I was worthy of a quinceañera anyway. I wasn't meant for dresses and tiaras. I was meant for sweats and cigarettes.

Anywho. I was flourishing in my academics now that I was relieved of stress and worries. You really don't see how bad someone or something is for you until you start to notice how good you're doing once it's gone.

So.

What's a story without mentioning a little gay moment? Boo. Boring.

Growing up I was always taught to shun homosexuals. To refrain from same-sex lust and follow the word of the church. That homosexuals were loyal subjects to the devil. Thus for a long time I withheld an internalized homophobia to deny the fact that I had feelings for women.

I really don't identify as anything, I'm pretty much open to whoever I vibe with. I think anyone is capable of being loved. I don't want to labeled though so please don't tell me what I am.

Anyways. I've always been intimate with girls in a totally innocent, naive way. In elementary school, I liked holding hands with my girl friends and kissing their cheek and sharing bathroom stalls. We would buckle each other's pants and show off our training bras and talk about how we were going to marry each other when we got older. I didn't mean to encourage this behavior, I was just a little kid. It's not like anyone taught me or I was influenced by the media. This was my own behavior.

Fairly enough, a lot of moms told their daughters to stay away from me. I wonder what the big giveaway was. Maybe because I chose to wear shorts and joggers over skirts and dresses. Or maybe it was because I chose to play rough games with the boys over playing princess with the girls. I have a feeling it was because I used to rip out the bow my mom put in my hair and tie it up in a tight, headache-inducing ponytail.

Yes, I had a Glen or Glenda moment.

I loathed being a girl, sometimes I still do. I hated when my elementary teachers would ask for help with moving boxes and I would raise my hand and she would enunciate on the word 'strong'. I was a strong girl, I thought. I was capable of picking up a box and no one would see my virgin white panties when I bent over because I wasn't even wearing a skirt or a dress. But my teacher didn't associate the word 'strong' with girls.

Or when I would go to my aunt's house and I was put to cook and clean and serve my boy cousins while they got to play Call of Duty.

It was always pink or blue. Barbies or cars. Skirts or shorts. I was sick of the stereotypes. I was built for more than this lame system. I went through an identity crisis at the age of 9.

I think by the age of 12 I decided that being a girl would just have to do. But these feelings just wouldn't go away. I was ashamed of myself despite that gay rights and LGBTQ+ were finally being accepted.

15 was the age, my first gay experience. Freshman year of high school, I was still very closeted and it continued that way for the next several years.

I had uncontrollable feelings for one of my girl friends. I met her at the end of freshman year, after Loverboy had left me hopeless. She too had a lover that left her completely broken.

Oh how I adored her. How I dreamt of her so sweetly and dearly. How I wished to caress her hand. All the times I found myself wanting to plant a tender kiss on her lips. I was practically begging her to want me back.

But someone else had the honor of winning her heart before she could even look my way. I believe it was out of pity that she offered her cousin up to me. She was a stud. I agreed to get to know her only because I thought she would be more like my woman crush. But we were totally incompatible. I couldn't bring myself to like her.

I'd like to apologize to her for wasting her time or for giving her false hopes. I doubt she cares though. I could never be as cool as her anyway.

As for my unprecedented girlfriend, I was glad she found someone who truly loved and cared for her. The happiness surely outweighed the jealousy. I don't think I would have been a good girlfriend for her anyway. My parents would have never approved. They would've hated her. They would've hated me.

I just wish we tried. Because after her, there was no other girl.

Lesson 6 : You'll guarantee to fail if you never take a chance.