-Nikki Frankenberger
I was about a month into my first real relationship when I went out for a night with the girls. They were old friends from work, and even though I’d long since left the job that had introduced us I still tried to keep in touch. One of the downfalls of having an antisocial personality is that friends only try harder to keep you out there and active.
“We’re going clubbing.” She said on the phone. “And you’re coming too. You need to pick up.”
I didn’t really want to pick up, especially not anything that they’d be able to find. “I’ve already got someone.” I said, wondering whether I’d have the courage to tell the truth or whether I’d just lie through my teeth.
“Good on you.” She replied. “What’s his name?”
I muttered something, a masculinised version of my girlfriend’s name. “Look, I’ll tell you all about it tonight.”
I got too drunk that night. The nightclub was too loud, too dark. Every question about my ‘boyfriend’ made me want to get even drunker, despite the sick and awful feeling in my stomach that every evasive half-truth brought me.
Yes, he was in Canberra. We met on the internet. No, he didn’t have a car. No, I feel fine. Can I get another cruiser?
I broke down at about half past midnight, too drunk to dance, too sick to try and look like I was enjoying myself. The sofa was uncomfortable and the corner was almost too dark to see anything. One of my friends sat down beside me but I barely noticed.
“Are you okay?” She asked me.
I settled back further into the hard sofa. I wished I could just make an excuse and disappear, but it was too late for buses, too early for the inconvenience of a cab fare.
“Tell me about your boyfriend.” She said.
I don’t know why I never came out to my friends. I can only guess that it was part of the paranoia that came with being out in the workplace. While I worked there, I would have never breathed a word of it to any of them, and the fear of being ‘out’ still remained years after I had left my job.
I realised finally that in the grand scheme of things, it just didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t feel drunk anymore, and I didn’t feel sick. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I replied. “I’m a lesbian.”
She looked at me for a moment as if she thought I was kidding, but then she nodded. “That’s great.” She said. “I’m very happy for you.” There was nothing different in her voice, nothing mocking, nothing biased. In essence, nothing had changed.
We sat beside each other in silence for a few moments, the music pounding in our heads.
“So,” She said. “Tell me about your girlfriend.”
I turned to her and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “She’s amazing.” I said. “She’s really amazing.”