Words

    Samantha swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She could do this. She could do this. She couldn't do this. Why couldn't she do this? It was so easy. She just had to say the words. But the words stuck in her throat like needles, dying on her tongue before they could even escape her mouth. Her mom sat opposite her, giving her a worried look. She was worrying her. She was worrying her because she couldn't get the stupid words out of her stupid mouth. She just had to say it.

    She forced the words out that formed the lump. She forced the words out that stung like needles. She forced the words out that were worrying her mom.

    She was gay. She forced out the words. She liked girls. The words came out in a croak, almost unintelligible. Silence settled over them like a lead blanket, slowly choking Samantha with anxiety. What if she hated her? What if she yelled at her? What if she kicked her out? What if, what if, what if. The words filled her mind, swirling around with confusion and worry filling her body.

    Finally, her mom spoke. Soothing words chased away the anxiety, the confusion, the "what if"s. She didn't hate her. She didn't yell at her. She didn't kick her out. The lead blanket lifted slightly, the choking feeling lifting with it.
    The anxiety wouldn't ever really leave. She'd always wonder if her mom really hated her, if she hated every girlfriend she introduced to her.   

    But, right now, everything is okay.