Silver Damsen
Rachel’s curly reddish-brown hair bounced in slow motion as she explained the unfairness of her parents’ insisting that she NOT come out as lesbian to her grandmother, who was over ninety, dying, and thought computers a fad—that was when she remembered they existed at all.
Yet in truth, whether Rachel’s movements were slow, fast, smooth, or jerky is for the reader to decide. What matters is that to John, Willy, and especially Lucy, her hair seemed to move in a slow-motion bounce. This truth the reader should hold closely as she or he visualizes Rachel twirling her straw, and saying to friends in a two-thirds-full hip university nightclub, “It isn’t fair. I want that liberation of people knowing exactly who I am.”
“But you’ve been married to the same man for three years,” Lucy said, as she looked down at Rachel’s ugly green shoes. “Are you sure you’re not pansexual? If you want to make it a cissexism issue on heteronormativity when you come out to your gran, you want to be accurate.”
Lucy and Rachel were both writers. During undergrad, Lucy had a few publications and minor awards for her poetry. Lucy had been considering poetry again as part of her attempt to figure out what she was going to do with the rest of her life since her PhD in English wasn’t going where she’d hoped. Rachel was an MFA in poetry, after, she said, “giving up a very high-paying job in advertising.”
When Lucy had suggested workshopping with each other, Rachel had said, “I think it’s so funny when people who don’t know how to write poetry think they can, and even try. Really, the efforts are amusing.” Lucy had been annoyed by this and took it as a “no” to workshopping. However, because Rachel and Lucy had too many of the same friends, it wouldn’t have been practical for Lucy to cut Rachel off. Thus, Lucy remained cordial but searched for opportunities to make Rachel look bad to their clique.
“Sorry, I’m just an old-fashioned lesbian. My husband is the only man I’m attracted to.” Rachel’s head seemed to be moving at normal speed now, but she was still swirling her straw. “You’re such a cisgender to try and force these distinctions, Lucy.”
John, whose major attention had been focused on an attractive man across the room, rather than Lucy or Rachel, had still been paying enough attention to say, “Orientation is independent of current choice and gradations are highly fluid, but regardless—both of you are cisgenders.”
“Perhaps then omni- pan- or bisexual?” Lucy said, staring at Rachel’s annoyingly skinny arms.
“What kind of question is that? I’m certainly not any of those. I’m lesbian. My husband is the only man I’m attracted to.”
John nodded at the man across the room while Rachel stared defiantly into a corner. In this moment of conversational silence, Lucy recalled that Rachel’s only lesbian relationship had ended badly, Rachel’s hatred of this ex-lover seemingly boundless. According to Rachel, one or both of them had put, or nearly put—Lucy couldn’t remember which—a restraining order on the other. Thus, the ex-lover seemed an unlikely object for sexual fantasy, at least from Lucy’s perspective. Was it then random women that Rachel lusted after? Singers? Actresses?
Lucy then wondered if Rachel lusted after Lucy herself. Could Rachel’s rudeness be a sign of attraction? Lucy shook her head and convinced herself that it was highly unlikely. Besides, for Lucy, it was more than an issue of pride or prejudice, she truly disliked Rachel. So, for Lucy, the only relevant question was whether Rachel’s grandmother needed to know that Rachel had sexual fantasies about Adele, Pink, Taylor Swift, or Sophie Turner, or whomever else it might be, but with no likely opportunity to act on these desires?
Hadn’t John’s ex-boyfriend said he’d have sex with Kate Upton? And yet affirmed that he wasn’t queer or bisexual. And Lucy thought if Emilia Clarke showed up in her bed with that deliciously long white-blonde hair and a dragon, then it would be impossible to resist. But this was more emotional than physical and had nothing to do with reality, so Lucy didn’t think she was bisexual—even if she was emotionally attracted to other women and often said she was genderqueer as a statement of solidarity.
But did anyone’s grandmother need to know of these dragon’s teeth distinctions? Did one approach one’s grandmother and say, “I’m asexual and aromantic,” which would have been congratulated in earlier times and labeled as “spiritual” or “practical,” depending on the manifestation and career path of said individual—but only now would seem odd in this time of hyper-expression of sexuality?
What did a senile grandmother gain by being informed of distinctions she didn’t understand about what or whom a grandchild did or did not want to have sex with? But Lucy, rather than vocalizing the center of such a view, summarized its edges with, “But if she’s dying, and it would upset her to know?”
“That’s exactly why I need to tell her. She’s my favorite grandmother and I don’t want her to go to her grave with a lie,” Rachel said.
If the lights had been brighter Rachel might have noticed Lucy’s eye-roll. However, it was harder to miss the silence that descended on the conversation until John said, “It sounds like a difficult choice, Rachel. You know it will upset your family, but you want to be true to yourself. Let’s dance as you think.” John stepped back while reaching for Rachel’s hand, and then spun her in an inside turn. As Rachel was spinning, the man John had been flirting with joined them on the dance floor.
Lucy turned to Willy, nineteen and without a shirt, in shiny red vinyl pants, holding an accidentally, but nonetheless interestingly, coordinated red Solo cup, and said, “How many people here do you think are fully out?”
Willy laughed. “You mean fully out as in all their friends, family, work, school, and Facebook per the minutia of the Gender Unicorn? I think about half. Did you hear Tim’s story about his father?”
“There is no way Tim is fully out.”
“He isn’t. The story about his father explains why. If you can get him to tell you, it’s funny.” Willy was debating between staying and talking to Lucy, dancing, or cheating on his boyfriend who wasn’t at the club that night, and decided on continuing the conversation with Lucy—at least for the moment.
“He tried to come out freshman year at some holiday event, Thanksgiving, I think.” Willy continued, “Tim told his father he thought he was gay and his father told him, ‘Think again! If you’re gay I won’t pay for your college. Are you sure you’re gay?’ Tim, the pragmatist, said, ‘I’ve thought some more. No, I’m not gay.’”
“Hmm … I also heard that Tim wants to go into politics, not kidding,” Lucy said.
Tim walked over and put his arm around Lucy and said, “Hey, gorgeous,” did a grind on her leg, winked at Willy, then continued, “I heard my name.”
“Willy just told me the story about your dad. What a villain. Didn’t you say that he’s coming to town again?”
“Yes, in two weeks. It will be a big event. I will get out my very best ‘Dancing Bear’ routine. I might even want to introduce you as my girlfriend, Lucy.”
“If you need me to do it, it might be entertaining. Can I pass for twenty? Or will you say I’m an older woman?” Lucy was thinking that being a beard at a family gathering would make an interesting story to retell, as well as … a publishable story.
Tim laughed, “Ohhhh … so very entertaining.”
“At least he pays your tuition,” Lucy said.
Tim raised his eyebrows. “Don’t forget my rent and new computer.”
Lucy decided to take the opportunity to backstab Rachel. “What do you think about Rachel wanting to tell her grandmother she’s lesbian?”
“It’s only her fantasy life. She isn’t cheating on her husband, and she won’t consider the queer and pansexual options. What ninety-year-old needs to know about the sexual fantasies of her granddaughter? It’s relevant to talk about queer, pansexual, and gender-fluid with people who understand, but an ‘old-fashioned lesbian’ who just happened to marry a man—that is a lot of information for someone born before World War II to understand.”
Lucy smiled and tilted her head, “Would you say that to Rachel’s face?”
“Would she want me to?” Tim said. Then Tim pulled Willy and Lucy onto the dance floor. “Let’s dance on the platform in front of the mirrors.”
Silver Damsen grew up in Southern California, where she attended University of California, Riverside and California State University, Long Beach. Currently, she’s working as a global drug treatment reform activist and living in Illinois. “Dancing Bears” is her first short story publication.
