A Bedtime story by A. Magiluna Stormwriter
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It's definitely a tick when I see you, your dress smoothed over invisible knees, tick the way I feel you know me. I've danced with girls before, swaying lightly back and forth, just on the edge of what it means to fill my body, of being poured in like wet cement. - from Charlie Brown In the Dead of Night by Melanie Jordan Rack
Rating: R for language
Dear Donna,
I can't believe I'm doing this. It's been two years since you walked out on
me. Not that I necessarily blame you anymore...and I don't. You had every
right to be angry with me. It's not like I was exactly thinking straight at
the time. But you could have cut me a little slack. My parents had just
disowned me, for goodness sake. Their opinion meant a great deal to me.
Still does.
But that's beside the point, isn't it? Did you know they finally forgave
me? Took my father having a heart attack last year and scaring the hell out
of my mother and me to do it. Dad and I still have some issues, but Mom
didn't want to end up alone if he was gone, so she and I have forged a
tentative alliance. They're finally grudgingly accepting the fact that I'm
bisexual.
Yes, Donna, I said bisexual. No, I didn't go back to men after you left me.
A part of me thought about it, but it wasn't what I wanted, what I
needed...what I was. And still am. I'm not as blatantly out as you are.
Don't know that I'll ever be that self-confident, to be completely honest.
I'm not sure I could ever make that such a defining part of my personality.
But then again, that's one of the differences between you and me, isn't it?
You've been out for so long, made it a part of who you are. For me, this
has only been a part of my life since I met you. You changed my life in so
many ways, Donna. Good and bad. And I appreciate every last moment of the
time we spent together. I did love you, you know. Still do, if I'm
completely honest with myself. But then, they say you never forget your
first.
But that's not why I'm writing you this letter. Not the sole reason anyway.
I'm writing this because I needed to tell you something. I don't even know
if I'm going to send this to you, but I need to get this off my chest and
tell you anyway. I've been following your career ever since you left. I've
seen every one of your shows. I even tried to talk to you after a few of
them. But you always had someone on your arm. Some beautiful woman was
always at your side then. Part of me, the jealous part, thought you were
doing it to spite me. That you'd known I was coming to your shows, wanting
to talk to you, and that you wanted to find a way to keep me from doing
that. Whether that was your intention or not, it was a successful maneuver.
I never tried to speak to you, not even when you made eye contact with me.
Or at least I'd always hoped you'd made eye contact with me. Maybe hoped is
the wrong word. Assumed is more pragmatic, isn't it?
For the longest time, I hoped and prayed that you'd change your mind. Call
me. Come to see me. Think of me. Did you think of me, Donna? Ever? Even
just once? Maybe it's pride, maybe it's wishful thinking, but I'd like to
believe that you did think about me. You and I were together for a long
time. I know you loved me. You wouldn't have stayed with me if you didn't.
Not for that long. And I kept promising you things to keep you, but I never
followed through in time, did I? And I lost out on the greatest love I ever
knew...all because of my own fear and inadequacy. And I'll never forgive
myself for that.
But I can't allow that to control my life, now can I? I did for nearly a
year. But then I realized that it just wasn't productive. It was consuming
my life, almost obsessive. I turned into one of those stereotypical jilted
lesbian lovers. I did what I could to find out anything and everything
about you. Spent the money to have a seat at every single show of your
various productions, whether you were directly or indirectly involved. Fell
into a seriously debilitating depression. Took an extended leave of absence
at one point. I didn't have you. I didn't have my parents. I didn't have
anything but this guilt, fear, and need. And I very nearly plunged off the
deep end then. But I couldn't do it. I had the whiskey and the sleeping
pills right there in front of me.
And then Dad had his heart attack. I remember when Mom called to tell me
Dad was in the hospital. That she wasn't sure he'd make it. At first, I
was terrified to go to the hospital. I didn't want to see Dad like that,
but at the same time I didn't want to lose out on a chance to talk to him
one last time before he died. I didn't want my last conversation with him
to have been him disowning me when I finally came out to him. So I went to
the hospital and saw him. He looked so fragile, so frail, and I couldn't
continue down the path I was on. So I walked up to the psych department and
found myself making an appointment with one of the psychiatrists. And the
first thing I did when I made that appointment? I told them I needed
someone who was lesbian-friendly. I couldn't hide it anymore. Or rather, I
couldn't hide from it anymore.
I was lucky enough to find a wonderful woman to talk to. I'm still seeing
her in fact. My life is completely turned around now, Donna. I'm back at
work, but I'm also taking more time for me. I'm still working through some
things, but for the most part I'm in a much better place. It took a lot of
work, don't get me wrong. But I'm glad I did it, that I went through what I
did. I needed to do this, needed to find myself. And I needed to let go of
you, of that obsessive need to have you back in my life. And I have, Donna,
I really have. This is something I've been meaning to do for a long time
now. Writing you this letter, I mean. It's taken me this long to find that
inner strength and resolve required to do this. I had to find that part of
myself that's been missing, in order to let you go. And I think I finally
have. I don't think I could write this if I hadn't.
And you know, part of me wants to send this your way. To know what you
think of what I've said. And that tiny part of me that will never forget my
first female lover still hopes that you'll read this and decide to take me
back. But I'm working on that. As much as I'd love to have you back in my
life, I don't think it's conceivable for either of us. We were too
co-dependent at the time. And I don't know that I'd ever be able to remain
this self-sufficient if I were with you again. Friendship? I think that's
up to you. I would like it, obviously, but at the same time I think that
cliche about lovers and friends is far too true, particularly for first
loves. And that's both a shame and a blessing, depending on how you look at
it.
But I do want to wish you well in your life. As I said, I've kept up with
your career, and tried to see your shows when I've had the chance. But I've
contained myself to one performance per production since I started my
therapy, no matter how much I like it. And I definitely don't try to stick
around afterward to find you. It's not healthy and I'm seriously trying to
keep to my promises to myself that I won't fall back into those old
obsessive habits that nearly destroyed me.
I've been thinking about trying to date again. At least make myself some
friends in the lesbian community. I won't be completely out, but I won't
hide who and what I am either. If that makes any sense. I don't know that
I'm ready yet to date again. I made a lot of mistakes with you, and I don't
want to go through that again. Or perhaps I mean to say that I don't want
to put another woman through the same things I put you through. That wasn't
fair of me, and for that I sincerely apologize. I only hope that you can
forgive me one day.
And on that note, I think I should close out this letter. I could go on and
on for pages about how sorry I am for what I did to you, to us. But that
doesn't accomplish anything, does it? All it does is send me spiraling
backward, and that's not conducive to my therapy. I won't pressure you into
anything, Donna. It's up to you if you want to do anything about this or
not. I'm simply content to know that I've finally gotten this off my chest.
And I certainly hope you're happy with your life, Donna.
Take care and be happy.
Liz
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