Tea For Two

15

But that doesn't make it easier.

I'm jerked out of my reverie when a floor board just outside the closet door creaks. I hear someone sigh quietly. Then the door turns bit by bit and the door opens, flooding my childhood safe place with noonday light from the window I so often use as a door.

One look at her face tells me that this is her last resort. She's tried everywhere else, and I wasn't there. She had nowhere else to go, and she fully did not expect to see me here.

We stare at each other for a moment. I think that maybe I should say something, but nothing comes to mind that can explain this, or any of my words or actions earlier. Nothing can explain away how I raised my voice. Nothing can make right how I insulted her. So I just let the silence hang in between us like thick fog in February.

This isn't like the silent veil that exists between my mother and I; this isn't caused by not knowing or caring. This is a quiet filled with too much understanding, too much empathy. It's almost suffocating.

Without a word, she steps into the closet. She sits down beside me and opens her mouth to begin talking. I don't look at her, so when she doesn't make a sound, I'm a little surprised. I hear her swallow loudly and then exhale through her nose.

This may be the first time she's ever been speechless around me. While I'm thoroughly enjoying this anomaly, I wish she would just say something, anything. I wish she would just let every response she held in through my tirade, and hurt me like I did her. I wish she would scream. I wish she would punch me- I wish she would do something, anything.

It takes her a few minutes, but after a handful of false starts, she finally chokes something out-

"You're right."

It takes every ounce of will power I have, every fiber of my being to not look at her in surprise. I also want to ask her in sarcasm how those words tasted coming out of her mouth, seeing as they're so unfamiliar. I do neither.

She continues, halting every few words.

"I wasn't in the closet very long. It- God, it- I don't even think it was a month. I mean, after I'd fully said to myself that I was a lesbian, not when I first started to wonder, and... well, you know. And I've always been so sure of myself, so I didn't think there was any use of staying in there, you know?"

I don't respond.

"And- you're right about this really, really not being New York. I guess I just hoped that everywhere was going to be as open and as nice. I mean- we had gay neighbors, two doors down. But when mom and Christian said 'we're moving to a small town in Louisiana', I guess I thought it would be, I don't know, really friendly. Like in the movies, or something. Like a- a massive family. And it's not."

Her words come out in small bursts, and her breathing is labored. I think she's close to tears, and I hope she isn't- I can't handle it when people cry. I know I might lose every speck of composure I have if she does so because of me. When her voice cracks on the last sentence she says, she confirms my fears. Even though I feel lower than the dirt below a worm's stomach, I can't look at her. I just can't.

"And Aug, I wish you weren't afraid, but I'm not saying you shouldn't be, 'cause I see why you are. I get it," she says, crying and staring out the open door, her head against the wall behind us. "I get it, okay? And I know you don't want to come out, and I don't care if you do or not, but I'll be here. I'll be here for you through all of it, I promise."

I surprise myself when I respond.

"Yeah? And what happens when you move away, back to your dad's in August? Where does that leave me?"