I'm From Driftwood

by Andrew Reynolds

Even though it was really 1987, it was still the 1960s in the heart of our teacher, Mr. A. That’s why Mr. A had us arrange our chairs in a semi circle in front of the hot seat.

Moving around the semi-circle, we each had to say one complimentary thing about the person in the hot seat. Sarcasm was forbidden, although faint praise was allowed, “I like his shoes,” or, “He always seems really well prepared.”

I heard lots of kind things when I was in the hot seat.

“He’s funny.”
“He says weird stuff but he’s nice too.”
“He’s cool.”

And then it was your turn to speak.

“He’s the most erotic person I’ve ever met.”

“Uhm, Dan I think you might be thinking of the word ‘eccentric,’” Mr. A. suggested.

“No,” you said, looking me in the eyes, “I mean ‘erotic’.”

Here’s my guess—that was so far out of the bounds of what could be normal that everyone just shrugged it off—there wasn’t any teasing or joking or comment at all afterwards. It was so completely implausible that it must not have happened.

We went on a date, if you could call it that. We walked around the supermarket because even then I thought it was fun to look at package design. You were such a good sport, even coming up with an anecdote about going camping in Vermont and noticing how all the brands were different in the grocery stores there.

Today I know this story should end with me inviting you back to make out in my parents’ basement. But I didn’t know that then.

“I don’t wanna go home,” you said as I dropped you off, “I don’t wanna be alone.”

“I hear you man,” I replied, as if you had complained about Mondays or the rain, something out of my hands, “see you later.”

You were the erotic one. Me? God, I barely had the word *gay*, I certainly didn’t have the word *bear*.

Here’s my guess—you were so far out of the bounds of what I imagined was possible (for starters, you never auditioned for a single musical) it never occurred to me to, you know, ask.

I was a senior and you were a junior. We’ve lost touch and the Internet hasn’t helped. I hope you’ve found a home where you aren’t alone. And thanks for being so brave in class that day. I really needed it, even though I didn’t have a clue what to do with it once I had it. 

-(Share your story with us!)

by Ed Smith

(TRIGGER WARNING: Wishful thoughts of death)

I was at my friend’s apartment and we were all drinking and waiting for people so we could go to a party. We were finally on our way to the party and everything seemed normal. Unfortunately when we first arrive at the party I see a guy that I have slept with. I frantically go through my phone trying to find his number. I finally find it and send him a text that said, “Please do not tell anyone about me bc im not out.” I thought I was in the clear and that my secret would be safe until I was ready to come out. I then confronted him because he never answered my text and said, “Hey, please don’t tell anyone we were together.” He told me that he already told someone.

I was hoping that he told someone that I didn’t know, so I asked him who. He said the girl with the lip ring. My world begins to fall apart at this very moment because the girl with the lip ring is one of my good friends, Jamie. I thought, though, that sometimes Jamie gets too drunk to remember anything so I found her and asked how drunk she was. She said she’s not that drunk. Now I realize that I have to talk to her.

We walked outside and then I just said it: “I’m bisexual.” I immediately started crying unlike I ever have before. She accepted me and comforted me. I asked her to please not tell anyone because I am not ready to come out, she agreed and we went back into the party. I take out my phone so I can vent my anger to a guy I used to date. I saw a text that asked how the party was, so I responded saying it sucked and there was a gay kid there that outed me to one of my friends. Then once another friend came to the party I realized that I texted the wrong person and told a huge gossiper that I was gay. After that all of my friends knew. I literally did not want to live. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I hoped that I would just fall asleep and never wake up. The next morning a car almost hit me as I crossed the street and I wish it had just so I could be put out of my misery.

-(Share your story with us!)

by Alex G.

My first kiss wasn’t on my fifteenth birthday. It wasn’t with my girlfriend in my bed. It was on the last day of Reading Buddies in second grade.

I was partnered with a first grader, and I can’t remember her name now. We were all saying our goodbyes, and I felt this overwhelming want. I didn’t know that it was wrong, that it was taboo or abnormal. I had always been an affectionate child. All I knew was, I really, really wanted to kiss her. She was adorable, from what I remember. Blond hair, a big bow, a happy laugh. I pulled her over to the side, both of us giggling. Then I leaned down, and kissed her. I don’t think anyone saw, we were out of the line of vision of the PTA crowd. Later, circa third grade, my next door neighbor and I played doctor (with my new doctor set). I was listening to her heartbeat, and I wrapped my fingers around the tiny stethoscope to feel her pre-pubescent breast. She pushed me away and called me a word that I had never heard, and didn’t know what it meant.

“What’s lesbian?”

“When a girl wants to kiss another girl. It’s a sin.”

-(Share your story with us!)

by Anonymous

I’m seventeen years old. I’ll be eighteen in a few days, and nobody but my closest friends know that I’m a lesbian. It’s the National Day of Silence, an event I’ve been participating in since middle school, but this year, my last year in high school, it’s been different. This year, I’ve been dating. I’ve “come out” to myself, and fallen in love with this beautiful girl, who is everything I could ever ask for. This year, when I spend the school day sitting in silence, responding to questions with printed explanations on index cards, I have a real reason. On one card, my primary one, is the default paragraph from the Day of Silence website. On another, one I’ve been keeping in my pocket all day, I’ve scrawled, “I take part in this day because I live in silence rather than living without my better half.” Taped to the back of this card is a photo of me and my girlfriend, leaning into one another, smiling at the camera. Not a care in the world. All of my friends have seen this card today, but I’ve just been handing the generic one to teachers.

It’s last class of the day, U.S. History. The teacher is a man I greatly respect and admire, but I know he’s very spiritual; he signed my yearbook last year with a Bible verse. As I’m leaving class, he notes in passing that I was very quiet today, and reflexively I hand him the little generic card. As he reads it, I suddenly feel nervous and begin to watch his face very carefully. Much to my surprise, he hands it back to me with the warmest, most sincere smile I have ever seen. “It’s a noble thing you’re doing.” I smile back, and in that moment, without really knowing what I’m thinking, I reach into my pocket and pull out the card with the photograph. I hand it to him, giving him a searching look as he takes it and reads it, then flips it over and appraises the picture. I feel a lump in my throat until he looks up again, and what he says nearly knocks me flat:

“She’s beautiful. You’re very lucky. And you should never, ever let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m honored that you chose to share this with me, and proud to know someone so brave. You have a beautiful life; don’t ever stop cherishing it.”

With tears in my eyes, I take my card, hastily shove it back into my pocket, and try to convey to him the gratitude and affection flooding me with a last fleeting smile. I turn and run off into my afternoon, to my locker, my car, and my lover, waiting for me at the coffee shop. I can’t wait to share my story with her, and to spend the rest of the day cherishing every second and wondering at how love and empathy come from the most unexpected people, at the most uncertain times.

Looking back on this day, many years later, I still tear up a little, and I still live by my teacher’s words. I am extremely grateful for every day I’m able to live in the shelter and company of the ones I love, and I always will be.

-(Share your story with us!)

I was fifteen when I realized I was in love with my best friend.

I’d never had much interest in boys, but I tried to feign interest so I could feel included in the other girls’ slumber party chitchat. I’d never had a friend like this one, though. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but that wasn’t what kept me drawn to her. There was just…some kind of magnetism between us. We needed each other. She was the earth, the sun, the sky, the air to me. We were teased often by mutual friends about the closeness of our relationship, and we always laughed along, waved it away. It didn’t occur to me that she could be anything other than my best friend - that I could ask or even hope for more than her continued presence in my life. That was all I needed, anyway - for her to be there, tying me to this planet. There was no more gravity, only her face, her touch, her scent, the warmth of her body next to mine as we sat closer than “normal” friends on the sofa, watching movies. Just looking at her was enough to choke me, to overwhelm me with desperate love. Her pain was my pain, her joy mine as well. I would have sacrificed my life on the spot to protect her, to make her happy. And despite all of this, neither of us said a thing. We just carried on, spending as many days together as we could manage, hours on the phone every night, long lazy days picnicking in the park.

It was on one of these days, as we sat contemplating nothing on the shore of a secluded pond at the edge of the woods, that my life changed. Sitting next to me in silence, she sighed contentedly, leaned into me, and dozed off. Without even thinking, I wrapped my arms around her and settled her into the curve of my body, holding her gently, reverently, terrified of breaking the magic that had fallen over the little bubble of the universe where we lounged, frozen in an infinite moment of something so close to perfection that I could barely breathe. Carefully, but somehow almost unconsciously, I leaned in and rested my head in the crook of her neck, feeling her short hair tickle my face, inhaling slowly, taking in the scent that was uniquely hers. In a gesture that needed no thought, that felt more natural than breathing, I pressed my lips to the soft skin of her neck and just lingered there for a moment that felt like eternity. In that instant, something like warm light flooded every inch of my being.

Ecstasy. Enlightenment. Love, pure as the driven snow and fierce as a tiger. I had attained Nirvana, and nothing would ever look the same. I wanted to leap up, to shout, to run, flip, tumble head over heels down a grassy hill. I could have flown, if I’d been able to tear myself away from her. But I wouldn’t have moved, wouldn’t have ended that moment prematurely for anything in the world.

After a while, she stirred, eyelashes fluttering as she yawned and stretched. It was now or never. I swallowed hard, tried to will my racing heart under control. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth… and she stood up. Taking my hand, she said, “It’s getting dark. We’d better get home.” As usual, I was knocked off balance by her warm smile, and so without another word, I smiled back and nodded, sliding an arm comfortably around her waist as we headed back to the car.

I could still feel the light – electricity running in my veins. As long as she was there, I knew it wouldn’t go away. As long as she was happy, I could wait.

-(Share your story with us!)