The Question

As I waited for her in the hot sun in front of the cinema, the question became harder to ignore. We had both danced around it these past days. When we were making plans for tonight, we must have both wondered if we should invite Louise along, as per usual. We silently agreed not to tell her about this evening.

I could see her through the crowd. I looked for clues in her outfit for how she had answered the question for herself. Were we hanging out as friends, or was tonight something more?

I updated the tally in my head for and against. For: She was wearing her hair down, I had never seen it out of its ponytail. Against: We were meeting on a weekday and both of us had early classes in the morning. For: I was nervous, more nervous than I had been for a long time. Against: As far as she knew, I was straight. I had not come out to her, or to anyone, never being sure that what I was feeling was real enough to share.

She smiled as she spotted me. Our greeting was a brief hug, and we immediately started chattering about our day, about assignments we were working on, about what we had read online about the film we were about to watch. Was it just my imagination or were we giggling more than usual? At the snack bar we decided to get a bucket of popcorn to share, under the guise of not being hungry enough to get individual ones.

In the darkness of the theater, I only half-heartedly followed the plot playing out on screen, too busy trying to understand where I was. I was sitting next to my friend, Maya, watching a film. Maya, who I had met at a pub crawl organized by the student union for us terrified first years. That’s where I met Louise as well. The three of us had started chatting in the Brass Monkey, a dark-paneled Irish pub, and the second stop of the crawl. We kept talking for the rest of the night, and since then, it had always been the three of us, meeting in the library to study together, going out together for coffees, drinks, and parties. The Brass Monkey became a regular haunt and the site where Maya came out to us, casually, by mentioning an ex-girlfriend while we were sharing dating stories over pints. Had she been aware at the time that it made my heartbeat quicken? Had I only imagined the knowingness of her smile at me over the sticky table?

She must have noticed the shift in me, because it led to a shift in us. After we would spend the evenings in town with Louise, the two of us would find excuses to spend a bit more time together without her. I would walk her home; she lived just outside the busy center, a fifteen-minute walk that often turned into a much longer conversation as we stood outside her front door to keep talking. The nature of our conversations also shifted on these walks, less jokey, more conspiratorial. We talked about our families, what we wanted to do after graduating, and cities we’d love to live in one day. I asked her how she knew she was into girls. She told me about how she knew since grade school, when she developed a childhood crush on her best friend. That she only found out the word for it later when it was uttered as a slur. The shock of understanding, and later the calm of slow acceptance.

The film ended and I was determined to make sure we’d continue the evening. I suggested a drink, and we made our way to the Brass Monkey. On the way there we made fun of the film, discussed the realism of plot points. The pub was full of students. I glanced around and was relieved to find that I didn’t recognize anyone.

She grabbed my hand to pull me through the crowd towards the bar, and after we got our drinks to a small table in a corner where people were leaving. We kept holding hands while they collected their things and my heart thudded in my throat. As we sat down, I crossed my legs and felt my foot bump against hers. I apologized and found myself blushing, my body and the warmth of the pub betraying me. She laughed at me good-naturedly and considered me for a moment.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked, and my stomach sank, afraid of what was coming.

“Of course.”

“Do you ever think you might be into women?”

My eyes flashed to her face, which was still smiling, then immediately down to the table. I fixated on the water ring on the cardboard coaster in front of me as the butterflies in my stomach turned into panic that rose to my throat. Why did she have to call it out? Confronting me with the question I had been asking myself for years, dissecting the way I felt about friends, the feelings triggered by some female film stars, googling tests and testimonials. The noise around me was suddenly deafening, and as someone bumped against my chair, I became very aware of all the people around us.

“Not really.” I couldn’t look at her; my eyes still fixed on the coaster. I grabbed my drink and took a large sip, only then able to raise my head to smile at her and shrug. “I just don’t think I am that way.”

If she was disappointed, she hid it well. She laughed. “I guess it’s not for everyone. Just thought I’d check.”

I felt terrible. Our conversation turned into small talk. Louise might as well have joined us at this point, as the magic of our evening abruptly dissipated. A gloom set in over me, and as we finished our drinks, I could see that Maya looked tired and a little sad as well.

We decided to call it a night. The sun had gone down, and as we left the pub the cold air hit my face. I took a deep, steadying breath.

“Can I walk you home?” I asked.

Maya looked at me uncertainly.

“Sure.”

As we left the center the streets became quieter. I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts to talk and Maya seemed to understand. This silent walk seemed like a dull echo of the ones we had taken so often in past weeks. We walked down the street where she had told me about how she had cried when her mother had asked her if she was queer. Over the bridge, where I had first noticed that she would fidget with her necklace when she got nervous.

The disappointment mixed with anxiety as I noticed that we were about to walk into her street. I saw the future I had set up for myself unfurled before me: I would leave Maya at her front door, confused and disappointed. She would never look at me that way again - like we were sharing a secret joke no one else would ever understand the punchline to. This would be our last walk alone together. I would keep asking myself the same question, never brave enough to try to answer it.

I stopped, incapable of taking another step, my legs leaden.

Maya stopped as well and turned curiously towards me. “Are you okay?”

I looked at her, a panicked, excited swirl in my chest. “I’m scared.”

Her face softened from quizzical to a sad understanding. “I get it.” she said after a moment.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the chaotic waves of emotions crashing in my chest. Not calming them, but letting them swell, letting them push the question that had been on the tip of my tongue for weeks out of my mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

A beat passed before I was able to open my eyes to see Maya’s face, smiling once more. She stepped towards me. As she brushed the hair off my face I was surprised to find her hand trembling as well.

I closed my eyes as her lips touched mine, then pulled her closer, as I finally got my answer.