The Space Between Them

Chapter One

Some people believe it's cliche to have two lesbian mothers and be gay, which to me is everything except cliche. To me, being a homo among homo's is a portrait of the perfect family being dragged through a thunderstorm and then slapped at the end of a rainbow, and speaking of rainbows, I am swarmed with them. They are like the bees and wasps of San Francisco in the midst of spring. Instead of sneezing as a result of allergies, people throw slurs and commit hate crimes as if it was the national "fags must burn in hell" competition, and whoever gets closest to the death penalty wins.

My mothers, named typical-lesbian names are called Gloria and Jillian. I like to call them "The Misfit Lesbians." Gloria, my masc mom is more of a man than I will ever be. I wished she passed down some strength when I was shoved up into her reproductive system. Instead, she passed down her gorgeous cocoa skin and her sense of utter humor in humiliating moments. I would've never imagined her to end up with Mom. She and Mom are complete opposites.

Jillian, my other mother is the definition of white macadamia. She is the ideal American mother figure. She wears an apron when she cooks. A fucking apron. She passed down the flamboyant-ness to me among choosing the sperm donor. I blame her for my sexuality. Well, not blame, instead I realize it was her plan this entire time when she chose her gay best friend to be the sperm donor for her soon-to-be wife at the time. I call Jillian "Mom" and Gloria "Bam." The names stuck when I was younger and it got confusing for them both to be Mama or Mom or Mommy. So, they compromised and Bam and Mom stuck.

It surely wasn't hard admitting to my parents I was gay. It played out like someone admitting a secret that everyone knew already, which was what actually happened. It was in eighth grade when I realized that the reason I was uncomfortable around the straight guys when we would all change in the locker rooms was not related to the fear of them seeing me naked. Instead, it was the urgency for me to see them naked. This was strange to admit to myself, better yet, to my parents. We were sitting on the couch one night and watching Glee whenever I felt something come across me when Blaine broke out into "Its Time." I was wearing lounge pants, as I specifically remember running to the bathroom, nearly tripping and falling on the way there, and freaking out because I just got an erection in front of my moms. The same mom's who are unattracted to penis, and knew that Darren Criss was my celebrity crush at the time.

Now that I think about it, I never really said the words "I'm Gay" to them. They both one night came and sat on my bed and each one of them grabbed one of my hands and told me that they love me and they love me for whoever I love. My little thirteen-year-old mind didn't necessarily comprehend that those words meant "Hey son, we know you like dick," but hey, its what I got and I wouldn't have it any other way. Now that I am nineteen and living my best life hundreds of miles away from home in North Carolina studying whatever I need to succeed in life at NC State, I don't think I have to tell them I am gay. They have always known.

My college roommate sits across from me on his loft bed hung-the-fuck-over from drinking with some chicks from the other dorm last night. He invited me to come along, but I gladly rejected his invitation. I miss Mom and Bam. I managed to survive my first full semester of college without em' and I doubt I can manage the other half without getting double hugs and laughing every time Bam tries to cook dinner for us. I haven't laughed that hard in a while. I am having Triple M Syndrome. Missing My Mothers.

"Elijah. Can you please go and get me a smoothie from down the street. I want to die."

"Not happening. It's not my fault you decided to get shitface drunk last night and came crawling back to the room at two this morning. Some of us actually have class."

I jump down and my feet hit the floor. My desk, resting under my bed is covered in textbooks and pens and shit I will more than likely never need or use again once I get my degree. When I get my degree, I am sashaying my gay ass back home to the queer capital of the world. Bam already said I could move back in if I wanted to, but only for a little bit until I get my shit together. I love them, but not live-with-them-the-rest-of-my-life love them. I am becoming a therapist. I want to help people get mentally un-fucked. I want people to trust me with their deepest and darkest secrets about their personal, love, or work life.