(OLD VERSION) Pitted Cherries

Chapter One (Della Valora)

The moment I realized I was a lesbian was in sixth grade.

    I mean, of course there'd been prior signs that I didn't like boys, considering I would constantly select a fairly feminine boy in my class and force myself to believe that I liked him, so I could join in on school girl gossip, sharing stories about boys I liked with other middle school girls. I didn't think much of this, assuming that I'd like someone for real eventually. Until, one day, I went to the park with one of my friends, a little (are you still little when you're eleven?) girl named Wenona. We were moderately close, but I'd always felt drawn to her in a different way than I had my other friends. She was taller than me by maybe an inch or two, and she had a straight, honey-colored bob haircut that was often messy. She wore tee-shirts and cargo pants every day, clearly making an "I'm a tomboy" fashion statement. She had a somewhat charming gap in her front teeth that made her talk a little funny, and she'd told her mom firmly that she would not be getting braces to fix the situation. She had a nasally voice and grey-ish blue eyes and freckles that dotted her nose and forehead and cheeks. She was kind of loud and goofy, often known as "the funny one," and I'd never heard her mention a guy she liked.

    After school on a hot day in mid-June, we were swinging together on the molten, leg-searing swings at the park across the street from our school waiting for our parents to pick us up. Gradually, Wenona's swing slowed; she wasn't pumping her legs anymore. I followed her lead and looked over, ready to say goodbye or something, thinking her parents had arrived. She looked me square in the eyes, and my stomach churned for reasons I could not place. She asked me who I liked in a hushed, very non-Wenona way. The question made my face hot, and I swear I almost vomited. Somehow, I couldn't push out my usual practiced lie of a boy I hardly knew. Her stare intensified, and I shook my head, forcing a laugh.

    "No one right now, I guess," I said, the pit in my stomach burning still, worsening the nausea. "Who do you like?"

    She kept her eyes on me, unblinking. "You."

    "What?" I asked, feeling an odd tingling of a smile behind my lips. I suppressed it, remembering all of the times my dad had told me and my sisters that being gay was a sin. The guilt and panic began setting in.

    "I like you," she said again, just as firm as before.

    I swallowed and looked at her. I dropped my hand from the dirty metal chain that held my swing to the rusting blue swing set.

    "Okay," was all I could manage, and I reached out and grabbed her hand.
    We sat there for what felt like an eternity, hardly talking, sweaty hands that smelled like the type of jewelry that turns your skin green clasped tightly together, although we did not acknowledge this action.

    At some point, her mom got there, and we heard an unmistakable 3 honks from her Kia Soul, somewhat muted by the distance. Wenona dropped my hand, face going red. "Uh, gottagobye," she said in a shaky, rushed voice before nervously run-walking to her mom's car and getting into the backseat.

    We never spoke of that day again, despite seeing each other every day until she moved to some city in the middle of nowhere because of her dad's job at the end of eighth grade.

    I kind-of-sort-of dated a girl my freshman year of high school that, again, no one else knew about. Her name was Valerie. She wore black lipstick, and she never smiled. She wore huge platform boots and spiky jewelry and black clothing that was always, always ripped. Her voice, however, was soft and sweet, and she was really quite optimistic. Her hair typically fell in one or two long, dark braids, as her Indian parents forbade her to wear her hair down; according to them, it signified a "loose woman." She was fascinated by witchcraft, and she told me she was pansexual one night as we worked on a school project for our anatomy class alone in her room. She mentioned this nonchalantly, but I could tell it was a big deal for her, and I hugged her, which was strange because I didn't know her at all, and told her I was a lesbian.