"Thanks, Holly” I said sarcastically, but when I saw Susan take her hands, I meant it two ways.
With several careful maneuvers on all our parts, we were eventually seated safely on the bridge. Holly and I both took a deep breath, and Susan seemed to relax. I was not satisfied, however, and I promptly stood and peered down at Susan. “Okay, now that you're safe, you are in big ass trouble. What the hell would possess you to go walking out here by yourself? And then to—"
"Oh, chill your ass, Kate!” Holly said, glomming onto my leg and pulling me back down. “She doesn't need to be yelled at."
Thank you, Holly!I meant that one only one way.
Holly looked her squarely in the eyes and said, “Correct me if I'm wrong, hon, but I think you're just going through what most of us went through. That coming out stuff is hell."
Susan scrunched her face and tilted her head.
"Yes, most—if not all—of us did it. And most of us didn't keep our shirts on while we did it either."
There was nothing in life that laughter could not make better—even if you had to laugh at yourself. I believed that with every cell of me. Susan laughed, and as she did so, somewhere in the world a straightjacket spontaneously unraveled.
Holly continued, “It is so incredibly huge to finally be able to say ‘I'm a lesbian, and that's okay.’ It's big, it's liberating, and you have this need to scream it, to shove it down people's throats if you have to, but you don't, you can't. You sit in that small, stuffy closet, and the feelings just get bigger and bigger until it feels like they'll blow the door off the hinges. But you don't want that either. Not having the closet is scarier than having it, because the world doesn't take too kindly to queerfolk."
Susan was nodding her head vigorously. I was, too. I remembered. Sometimes I still knew those feelings too well.
"The answer's not out there, hon. It's not up on that fence either. It's in that small, stuffy closet. You're mad at yourself for being in it. Get mad at what makes you have to be in it in the first place. Hate. Prejudice. Ignorance.
It's their problem, not yours. But, it isyour closet, and chances are pretty darn good, you'll need that closet for the rest of your life, to one degree or another. So you've got to do the girlie thing and—"
I was just trying to imagine Holly doing anything that wasn't girlie when suddenly headlights came into view.
"Cops!” I yelled. “Hide!"
Like two halfwits and one half-dressed halfwit, we spread out the long way, lying down and trying to become a part of the bridge wall itself, figuring the lip at the bridge's beginning would protect us.
"It's probably a county cop. Oh please, let it be a county cop! If it's a city cop and I get hauled in, Laura will kill me."
We were laughing uncontrollably, and then the lights shone down the bridge, mere inches from our faces. I could hear Holly chanting “county cop, county cop.” All I could think to chant was, “Please, don't let this make front page of my newspaper."
Then the lights moved away. Holly loudly whispered, “Roll!” and somehow Susan and I knew what to do—as if we had done this twenty times in our law-abiding lives.
Like sacks of potatoes, the halfwits rolled. We molded ourselves into the opposing wall and waited. A couple of minutes later, we heard the squad car coming back but on the other side, the side we somehow knew to get to.
Holly eased her head into the bridge's center, stole a peek, and yelled, “Brown! It's a county cop. Thank God!"
Once the taillights were out of sight, we sat up and laughed out every smidgeon of emotion we had.
"We've got to do something about those ta-tas of yours, Susan,” I said. “We probably wouldn't have been in trouble if you had a shirt on, and we sure as hell can't walk home with you like that anyway.” I pulled my shirt off over my head.
"What the hell are you doing?” Susan asked.
"Well, I at least have a bra on. You've got nothing on! You can have my shirt."
"Put it back on! She can have mine. Here!” Holly said and began unbuttoning.
"Holly,” I yelled emphatically, and she looked at me as if she were ready to duke it out. “Holly, quit it. Your big happy girls there woulddraw traffic, not keep it sailing by. She can have my shirt."
Susan countered, “Then, Kate, give me your bra, and you keep your shirt."
I laughed. “You guys are just trying to humiliate me. My bra would be like pasties on you. Shut up and take the damn shirt!"
We all roared with laughter, and I was not sure if they were laughing at me or not, but I supposed that it didn't really matter. I was.
"And you're just going to walk home in a bra?” Holly asked.
Suddenly, the word “home” hit me rather oddly, and my stomach dropped. “Shit! We were supposed to call home when we found you. Laura's still going to kill you, Holly, and I'm not long for this world either."
"Then, call!” Holly ordered. “And make somebody bring you a shirt."
"What the hell am I supposed to say? Who the hell do I get to bring a shirt?” I asked, and they seemed like reasonable questions.
"Susan, are you ready to face Maggie? This really is nobody's business but hers. Screw everybody else."
She looked frightened by the prospect, but she nodded in assent.
We decided not to say anything about what happened, just that we were all safe. I hit speed dial and wondered how I could be delusional enough to think that Claudia would accept that.
"Hi, honey,” I said when she picked up. “We found Susan, and everything is okay.... Yeah, she really did just need some air.... No, really. Everything is fine.” I swatted at the two of them for passing on the immense urge to laugh. Claudia rambled a few more things that I could not make out. “Uh huh,” I said, not even sure if it fit. “Oh, and could you have Maggie come to meet us?"
I explained where we were and that we would start heading back home, meeting Maggie somewhere along the way. Then I was overjoyed to have a legitimate occasion to toss a whimper back at her. “Honey?” I beseeched, just as she had. “Could you please ask Maggie to bring me a shirt?” I held the phone away from my ear as she unloaded her questions. It was babble to me, and I tried so hard not to laugh out loud. “Because I need a shirt.”Oh, that was good. “Thank you, honey.”Beep.
We all burst out laughing, with Susan being quick to point out that I was indeed going to be killed by Claudia, a slow and painful death. Then I reminded Susan that it wasn't really that funny. After all, she had to explain to Maggie why I was in a bra and she had my shirt on—plus, being unable to account for her own. Holly was, as usual, off the hook. Howdid that work?
The three of us stood, and I shivered to the damp cold of a June night. We decided to make it to the entrance of the park and wait for Maggie. They put me in the middle, huddled in to keep me warm and Susan upright, and off we went.
We had only made it a few yards when Susan said, “You didn't get to tell me what the girlie thing to do is."
"Decorate!” she yelled. “It's your closet. Make it your own, chickie! Decorate!"
"I don't get it,” Susan said.
"Make ityour choice to be in there when you need to be in there. Make it your choice to come out when you want to. Mentally, just make it yours. Make it comfortable. Give it wallpaper, carpet, paintings, pillows, a ‘keep out’ sign. Make a window and hang some frilly curtains. Make it bigger. Put in a spa. A shower stall would be better. Make a plaque for everyone who is welcome to come in or is free to ask you to come out..."
I think Susan finally got it, but Holly continued on with an endless list. All the way to the entrance of the park, we rattled off things that could make something that seemed deathly into something safe and homey.
When we got back to the roadway, we again had a choice, but this time, it was of a very different nature.
"I say we go for it and head back,” I suggested.
"You're in your bra, Kate, in case you forgot,” Holly reminded.
"So? Just hide me when a car goes by. No one will notice."
"No,” she said. “Let's just wait for Maggie and your shirt."
"I agree,” Susan added. “Besides, my feet could use a rest after all that gravel. I should have asked her to bring my shoes, too.” As if we could see the bottoms of her bare feet in the darkness, she held a foot up and nearly wiped out in the process. Then she said, “I'm sorry I got you into this. I didn't mean to."
"Oh yeah, Susan, neither Kate nor I could ever get ourselves into anything similar all on our own."
We made a pact to wait for Maggie. We examined the ditches by the park entrance, looking for a safe place to hunker down, out of sight. For the life of me, I had a hard time figuring out if the thought of animal eyes staring at me was really a better deal than the red lights of a squad car.Walk fast, Maggie!
Eventually, we found a sloped, grassy area, and the three of us flattened ourselves, face up. The feel of damp grass on my bare back gave me that horrid creepy, crawly sensation. But, the sky was beautiful, and so we all gazed upward, pondering. For me, though, pondering always led to questions, and so I asked, “Susan, do you really think Maggie is a free as it seems?"
She didn't answer immediately. Then she finally said, “She's freer than me. Maybe that's all I look at. She sure has a knack for boiling things down to their simplest form and living what she believes."
"Do you think she still has occasion for her closet?” Holly asked.
"After hearing your explanation of it, I'm sure she does. She's fought for a lot of things, but I think she also knows when to fight and when to keep moving."
I thought that was a good point.
Holly recalled, “I remember a few years back and the big stink she caused with the district school board when the high school refused to put out pamphlets for the young people's GLB support group she helped start. She got them to agree to do it. She is a force when she needs to be."
"Did she really? I work for the district, how come I didn't know?” After no one answered, she asked, “How come she doesn't do stuff like that anymore? It's because of me, isn't it? Is that what you're trying to get me to see?"
"No, hon, that's not what I was doing. I was just remembering."
"AmI why she stopped? She's embarrassed by me, isn't she?"
"Is that really how you see it?” I asked, almost in utter disbelief. “You just said she knows when to fight and lives what she believes. That seems awful shallow if that's why she stopped, and personally I don't think she stopped. She's just fighting for something different right now."
She took a minute to ask, and had she not asked, I think I would have offered my two cents nonetheless. “What is she fighting for?"
"Susan, youare level three!” Holly said, beating me to the punch. “She's fighting for you, hon!"
Even in the darkness, I knew that Susan's face massively twisted into a ball of confusion.
"Get back in her skin for a minute, Susan,” I said, feeling sure that we would not have another incident. “You love someone who is struggling against something you've always fought against. What do you do?"
I could hear her thinking. She had no clue, but it would only mean something if she saw it, not if we shoved her face in it.
We returned to stargazing, leaving her to her thoughts.
Suddenly, we heard a car approaching. “Don't move!” Holly yelled.
We all held our breath as the car slowed to a near stop and then turned into the park.Shit! It slowly went down the road, and once its taillights we no longer visible, we breathed again.
"Just stay down,” Holly ordered. She rolled over so she could keep watch down the road. “Did anyone see it?
Was it the county cop again?"
"With the way our luck's been going they're probably out looking for an escaped killer,” I joked, and no one laughed, probably because it was eerily not funny.
"Well, if we're about to die, would you answer the stupid question then? What is Maggie doing? You've got me scared now, and I can't figure it out."
Holly fumbled in the darkness until she found Susan's hand. She squeezed it a good one and held onto it. “Hon,”
she said, “when you start decorating that closet of yours, I think you might want to start with a window. Who the heck do you think has been standing guard outside?"
Then Susan lost patience. “Look, guys, I've had too much to drink. Level three or fifty-three. Stop asking me questions that my stupid brain can't answer. Please just tell me!"
I thought that was a good point, too.
She started crying.
Holly then made mistake number one. She sat up, and in so doing, she abandoned the vigil on the road.
Holly then made mistake number two. She scooped Susan into her arms and started rocking her back and forth.
Sobs in the dead of night were loud, wandering things.
"Hon,” she began, “when she works with those kids who are coming to terms with their sexual identity, she doesn't kick them upside the head like there's something wrong with them. She's not embarrassed by them. She just lets them be. She loves them for where and who they are. She protects them. She waits for them while they figure it out. And she tries to make the world they have to live in a little better. She's doing the same for you.
She's just loving you, hon. When you get that window, you'll actually get to see just how much."
Susan was really sobbing now.
Mistake number three? Well, I figured mistake number three was a side effect of the rocking back and forth that came from mistake number two. Susan suddenly turned into a full-blown level four. She gacked, there at the entrance to the park that housed duck lagoon.
Holly did not move an inch away from her. She kept her arm around her and gently rubbed her back as Susan hurled both physically and emotionally. For my part, I put my hand to Holly's back, rubbing in the same supportive way.
Mistake number four? Would anyone doubt that there would be one? It was us after all.
Suddenly, there was light from two directions simultaneously. A car quickly approached on the main road, while the other one we had seen earlier made its return trip out of the park.