Gaze
My first love was a man named Roger. He had a lazy eye that always seemed to focus when he was looking at me. It made me feel I could be someone. He was the first boy to ever appear a man to me.
Alas, Roger was married. An unsurprising development even back then. Perhaps I should have known by the clandestine meetings at a diner 30 minutes out of the way for both of us, or by the way he wouldn’t see me outside of very specific hours. I am no pharmacy for any man.
Roger’s wife eventually found us out. She asked me if at any point I knew, to which I truthfully said no. She appeared saddened by the revelation, realizing her hatred had to be directed entirely at a man she thought loved her and her alone.
I didn’t feel bad for her, though. I mean I should have and I do know that, but I didn’t and I still don’t. She married a successful, attractive, and normal man. It’s insulting to think other women wouldn’t want that too.
My daughter says I should try dating again. I think she wants me to feel young again, though she hasn’t once stopped to ask me if I feel old. If she did, I’d tell her I do not. Sure, I have my fair share of wrinkles. Yes, I took my sleeping pills this morning instead of my morning vitamins. But I feel alive.
Still, she may have a point. There’s a certain youth in finding love. Breaking hearts and having my heart broken, staying up late talking, finishing a bottle of wine in one night, and even waking up in a stranger’s bed in the morning all feel like foreign concepts to me at my age. It’s not because I can’t, it’s because I feel everyone else thinks I can’t. So I appreciate my daughter believing in me.
That being said, my daughter is a 33 year old in a polycule with a married couple who call each other Pookie, so I’m not sure if she’s the most reliable source.
The first time I got my heart broken was by a former friend of Roger’s. Her name was Denise. When we first met, I thought myself straight as could be. I dreamt of men, I sought after men, I pleased men because it pleased me. But Denise—she was different.
She had blonde hair that reached a color of brightness I had only ever seen in the sun. She had eyelashes that screamed to look her in the eyes and never look away. Most of all, she had a gaze. If you’ve ever loved a woman, you know the one. The one that makes you feel the future is an enthralling place to live. I’ve never felt that way since.
Denise and I met shortly after Roger and I parted ways. Roger had a few items of mine (definitely not undergarments, mind you) and I no longer wanted to see him. Perhaps Denise was a separation gift on Roger’s part, though I do not think him that kind.
Denise knocked on my door and asked to come in. I peered over at my keys to see if I had an extra set for her to move in. We sat on the couch and talked about everything. Men, women, men and women, Roger, Roger’s wife, art, being a woman. I felt so womanly. She looked so womanly.
Maybe it was my staring, maybe it was the wine, maybe it was something Roger said about me, but Denise acted without hesitation. We kissed our very first meeting.
Clumsy me told her I’d never done that before. She joked and asked what I was doing with Roger the whole time then but quickly apologized after I went red. She told me it was okay if I didn’t see her in that way and I’ve never shut a person up faster.
Our first formal date was at the same diner I used to see Roger. Denise lived in the area so it made sense, and I wanted it to be near her place so I could have an excuse to suggest drinks after dinner. One thing led to another and we had those drinks (and more) and suddenly I was in love with a woman. I didn’t know I had that in me.
Denise and I faced our fair share of hatred, but it never seemed to matter. Side-eyes, rude remarks, the occasional “accidental” spill of a drink on one of us meant nothing compared to our love. I thought it was meant to be.
One night, Denise didn’t talk at the same speed as usual. Her eyes drifted to the corner of the diner, her normal drink order turned into a glass of water. She evaded my hand when I reached for hers and her voice reeked of hesitation. She said we needed to talk.
This is the point in the story when I tell you that love hurts. I know everyone says that, but trust me. I’ve loved far more than two people, hell another person impregnated me for god’s sake. But nobody left me quite as jaded as Roger and Denise.
She said she loved me and she was sorry. She said it was a little childish fun and she didn’t realize I’d fall so hard.
She said I wasn’t worth the hate.
She said he understood what she needed.
Her gaze screamed run and never look back.
So I did.
Next week, I have my first two dates in 36 years. One is with a man named Christopher. One is with a woman named Janine.
I will do my best to give them my best.
I will do the song and dance, pretending that they will bring out the child in me. For some brief moments, maybe they will.
In the haze of glasses of wine and conversation, I will look them in the eyes. They will gaze into mine.
I will see my future.
It looks a lot like my past.