List of activities during composition:
When writing my nature essay I tried thinking of the last time I was surrounded by nature. I love being in the woods or on the beach (not when the suns out, ironically.) I thought we had to write about something present, not based on memory so I was going to write about the nature that surrounds my house (butterflies, trees, park), but I changed my topic. After deciding on writing about my experience taking runs through the woods and relaxing on the beach back in the Spring, I started writing. I went on memory...but now, that I am revising my essay, I'm going to take another run (regardless of how cold it is outside) and write about the difference in the woods and on the beach from then and now. I'm changing my focus slightly, but I'm still going to include my feelings about the girl I love, since she was always on my mind then and is on my mind now...and how I feel about her is opposite of the nature that surrounded me then and surrounds me now...leaves are dying, but my love is growing.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Literary Journalism
Not sure if I got the whole 'interview'ish' feel in there, but here it is:
“Just Passing Through”
I hate these god damn uniforms. I really don’t understand why they make the girls and guys wear the same thing when a girl looks pretty silly in a white, button down, collared shirt and tie. I was getting ready for work, ironing for twenty minutes like usual, trying to get every god damn wrinkle out of my thick, cotton apron. It was a Friday; I was looking forward to making some better money, hoping they’d give me a better station now that I’ve been there for about three months, but doubtful nevertheless.
Ironing was complete and I was all ready to go. I jumped in my car and headed off to work at Carrabba’s. My three minute drive up the hill and across the highway was enough time to get in a smoke and a Sarah McLachlan song I couldn’t get enough of. I parked in the back like usual, finished my tie and apron in the car, and entered through the back door. As I walked passed the back of the kitchen to the coat rack I was hoping I’d see a good station written in for me on the list, but tried not to hope too much, afraid of jinxing myself. I put my coat away, washed my hands in the bathroom, as I wished others would do before they started work, and made my way to the list that hangs on the wall by the bread machine.
“God damn it, why have I gotten this fucking station again?” I was so pissed off after seeing that I was stuck with tables forty-one and forty-two again. They sit right by the ‘window’ and computers where all the food is ran out from and all the servers hang out. No one ever wants to sit there because there’s too much commotion, not to mention, they’re tables, and everyone requests booths.
“I know, this place is so fucked up. I’m a closer tonight and they only gave me tables four and five.” This was Vera speaking. She was like me, always complaining about one thing or another because we’re never treated fairly.
I looked over the list at others’ sections and saw that Vera, Sherry, Elizabeth, Rachael Danielle, and I had the shittiest sections. Sherry wasn’t coming in until six, so I didn’t have my usual ‘complain buddy’. But there was Vera; she always complained though she did get awesome sections most days of the week. She kept trying to remind me how she was treated unfairly too, but she stuck with it, god how she repeated herself.
Immediately I was put into a shitty mood and couldn’t wipe the frown off my face. I went over to the computer and clocked in, took my beverage napkins, checked out the specials, all the usual shit. My mind floated back to the list. I was so pissed how unfair things are at Carrabba’s. It’s so obvious the favoritism they play at this place. The managers are always going out with certain employees, their drinking buddies, smoking buddies, coke buddies. It’s always their buddies that get the best sections. Sherry, Danielle, me, and the rest who aren’t in with ‘the gang’ only have two four tops on the weekends, when the ‘buddies’ have two two-tops, and one six top, or an eight-top with a twelve-top. Their sales are double or triple ours, their head count is double or triple ours, and the tips they bring home are double or triple ours. It just isn’t fair. That night was like all the other nights, when my mood came crashing down and I wanted so badly to just walk out the door. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I had bills to pay.
The clock went so slow and after getting sat three two-tops in a row I wanted to scream. Sherry finally came in and we bitched and moaned like usual. Where on one table we were making $8 tips, others were making $20 or more. I decided to go over to Rachael who was having the same problems as us, just to see if she even cared the way we did. The restaurant is wide open, with booths lining the walls. She was standing in the carry-out area, a small, separated area of the restaurant that’s never really busy. I made my way across the restaurant and met her in there.
“So you only have one-o-three, one-o-four, and one-o-five tonight, huh?” (Those tables consisted of two two-tops and one four-top.)
“Yeah, and you have forty-one and forty-two?”
“Yeah,” I said unenthusiastically, “this place sucks. I’ve been here longer than some of these newcomers. People really piss me off.”
“Yeah, I know,” she replied. “These bosses are so fucked up. Sally wants to screw Doug so I hear, and you see how every night he gets two six-tops even though he’s newer than us. And Kevin— his performance sucks, yet because he’s Rich’s buddy he always gets three table sections on the weekends.” Vera entered then, caught on to the conversation and chimed in.
“I hear what you’re saying guys. This place pisses me off. I would love to call the corporation and rat them out for being so unfair.”
I prayed that she would, for I simply didn’t have the balls to.
The night went by slow and of course I had mostly two-tops, a couple three-tops, and the only four-tops I had, the seats that I could have been occupied by adults whose totals average between twenty to thirty dollars or more, were occupied by children, whose meals only cost six dollars. I tried to pretend to be busy when I wasn’t so I didn’t have to run food. I hated the idea of working my butt off, knowing how unfair I was being treated and calculating the tips I would be taking home.
Things were slowing down and finally people had begun getting cut. I knew I’d be the next on the list, after the openers, since I went in at four. I started getting my silverware counted, and filled up my oils, anything I could do get out of there faster when my tables finally left. Walking around the kitchen, I began seeing the kind of things that pissed me off even more about this place. Some of the ‘buddies’ did their side work half fast, like they always do. Because they’re in with the ‘gang’ the closers don’t even care to check their side work, and they get signed out and leave with their assigned areas looking like shit, and only half the assigned silverware rolled. Sherry, Danielle, myself, and the rest of us were given more arduous side work like always and when it came time to get checked the closers turned into anal, power control freaks. I was so irate after seeing Kevin simply dip the trays into the water, then returning them to their shelves without scrubbing them or drying them, and getting signed out regardless. I was so irate after seeing Doug roll only about twenty silverware and getting signed out regardless. I was so irate after seeing the coffee and tea area left a complete mess, yet Alonzo, who had the area, was gone already. It was sickening.
When my customers were gone and I was finally checked out my silverware was counted and cleaned, and I made an area next to Danielle in the back of the kitchen to begin rolling.
“Do you know the count tonight,” I asked her, just trying to make conversation, especially knowing we could relate.
“Yeah, forty plus. But sadly not everyone does it; did you see Doug?”
“Yeah, I know, I thought I was the only one who notices shit like that!” I was surprised anyone else noticed or cared.
“Oh god, I notice,” she replied with a sick look on her face. “I don’t understand how some people get away with that shit.”
I explained to her how they’re all buddies, the ones who get treated like gods. I used the information Rachael supplied me with to back me up. She seemed to finally understand. Tara came back then to roll. I knew she wasn’t buddy-buddy with the managers so I tried getting her opinion, letting her know my frustrations as well. We all started to complain together.
“I know. I’ve been here since we’ve opened and yet I get sat two-tops all night. I’m forty two years old and have three kids; I think I need the money more than these kids who get all their fucking money from mommy and daddy.” Danielle and I are around the same age as these ‘kids’ she was talking about, but Tara knew she could say that to us. She knew we paid our own bills and were struggling too, though not as bad as her. “I’m going to need to get a second job; I’m telling you, this place sucks. You guys are lucky. You’re in school; you’re just passing through. Sadly, I’m a lifer.”
We continued rambling on until we finished our huge piles of silverware. After leaving that night I thought a lot about what Tara had said. She was right. I’m just passing through. I still work at Carrabba’s now, but my attitude has totally changed, and with my attitude change I’ve noticed a few other changes. Instead of complaining about my sections, I started to try my hardest not to care. At the sight of lazy “buddies” I tried to pity them rather than get pissed off; pity them that they’re as lazy as they are and sadly will turn into ‘lifers’ themselves.
Over these few weeks of changing my attitude, being more blaze or even crazily cheerful, I’ve realized that my sections have been improving, and with those better sections, my tips at the end of the night are getting higher. I’ve concluded that it’s simply one of those instances where “mind over matter” applies. There are shitty nights here and there of course, but instead of letting those nights get me down, I simply repeat to myself, “I’m just passing through.”
“Just Passing Through”
I hate these god damn uniforms. I really don’t understand why they make the girls and guys wear the same thing when a girl looks pretty silly in a white, button down, collared shirt and tie. I was getting ready for work, ironing for twenty minutes like usual, trying to get every god damn wrinkle out of my thick, cotton apron. It was a Friday; I was looking forward to making some better money, hoping they’d give me a better station now that I’ve been there for about three months, but doubtful nevertheless.
Ironing was complete and I was all ready to go. I jumped in my car and headed off to work at Carrabba’s. My three minute drive up the hill and across the highway was enough time to get in a smoke and a Sarah McLachlan song I couldn’t get enough of. I parked in the back like usual, finished my tie and apron in the car, and entered through the back door. As I walked passed the back of the kitchen to the coat rack I was hoping I’d see a good station written in for me on the list, but tried not to hope too much, afraid of jinxing myself. I put my coat away, washed my hands in the bathroom, as I wished others would do before they started work, and made my way to the list that hangs on the wall by the bread machine.
“God damn it, why have I gotten this fucking station again?” I was so pissed off after seeing that I was stuck with tables forty-one and forty-two again. They sit right by the ‘window’ and computers where all the food is ran out from and all the servers hang out. No one ever wants to sit there because there’s too much commotion, not to mention, they’re tables, and everyone requests booths.
“I know, this place is so fucked up. I’m a closer tonight and they only gave me tables four and five.” This was Vera speaking. She was like me, always complaining about one thing or another because we’re never treated fairly.
I looked over the list at others’ sections and saw that Vera, Sherry, Elizabeth, Rachael Danielle, and I had the shittiest sections. Sherry wasn’t coming in until six, so I didn’t have my usual ‘complain buddy’. But there was Vera; she always complained though she did get awesome sections most days of the week. She kept trying to remind me how she was treated unfairly too, but she stuck with it, god how she repeated herself.
Immediately I was put into a shitty mood and couldn’t wipe the frown off my face. I went over to the computer and clocked in, took my beverage napkins, checked out the specials, all the usual shit. My mind floated back to the list. I was so pissed how unfair things are at Carrabba’s. It’s so obvious the favoritism they play at this place. The managers are always going out with certain employees, their drinking buddies, smoking buddies, coke buddies. It’s always their buddies that get the best sections. Sherry, Danielle, me, and the rest who aren’t in with ‘the gang’ only have two four tops on the weekends, when the ‘buddies’ have two two-tops, and one six top, or an eight-top with a twelve-top. Their sales are double or triple ours, their head count is double or triple ours, and the tips they bring home are double or triple ours. It just isn’t fair. That night was like all the other nights, when my mood came crashing down and I wanted so badly to just walk out the door. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I had bills to pay.
The clock went so slow and after getting sat three two-tops in a row I wanted to scream. Sherry finally came in and we bitched and moaned like usual. Where on one table we were making $8 tips, others were making $20 or more. I decided to go over to Rachael who was having the same problems as us, just to see if she even cared the way we did. The restaurant is wide open, with booths lining the walls. She was standing in the carry-out area, a small, separated area of the restaurant that’s never really busy. I made my way across the restaurant and met her in there.
“So you only have one-o-three, one-o-four, and one-o-five tonight, huh?” (Those tables consisted of two two-tops and one four-top.)
“Yeah, and you have forty-one and forty-two?”
“Yeah,” I said unenthusiastically, “this place sucks. I’ve been here longer than some of these newcomers. People really piss me off.”
“Yeah, I know,” she replied. “These bosses are so fucked up. Sally wants to screw Doug so I hear, and you see how every night he gets two six-tops even though he’s newer than us. And Kevin— his performance sucks, yet because he’s Rich’s buddy he always gets three table sections on the weekends.” Vera entered then, caught on to the conversation and chimed in.
“I hear what you’re saying guys. This place pisses me off. I would love to call the corporation and rat them out for being so unfair.”
I prayed that she would, for I simply didn’t have the balls to.
The night went by slow and of course I had mostly two-tops, a couple three-tops, and the only four-tops I had, the seats that I could have been occupied by adults whose totals average between twenty to thirty dollars or more, were occupied by children, whose meals only cost six dollars. I tried to pretend to be busy when I wasn’t so I didn’t have to run food. I hated the idea of working my butt off, knowing how unfair I was being treated and calculating the tips I would be taking home.
Things were slowing down and finally people had begun getting cut. I knew I’d be the next on the list, after the openers, since I went in at four. I started getting my silverware counted, and filled up my oils, anything I could do get out of there faster when my tables finally left. Walking around the kitchen, I began seeing the kind of things that pissed me off even more about this place. Some of the ‘buddies’ did their side work half fast, like they always do. Because they’re in with the ‘gang’ the closers don’t even care to check their side work, and they get signed out and leave with their assigned areas looking like shit, and only half the assigned silverware rolled. Sherry, Danielle, myself, and the rest of us were given more arduous side work like always and when it came time to get checked the closers turned into anal, power control freaks. I was so irate after seeing Kevin simply dip the trays into the water, then returning them to their shelves without scrubbing them or drying them, and getting signed out regardless. I was so irate after seeing Doug roll only about twenty silverware and getting signed out regardless. I was so irate after seeing the coffee and tea area left a complete mess, yet Alonzo, who had the area, was gone already. It was sickening.
When my customers were gone and I was finally checked out my silverware was counted and cleaned, and I made an area next to Danielle in the back of the kitchen to begin rolling.
“Do you know the count tonight,” I asked her, just trying to make conversation, especially knowing we could relate.
“Yeah, forty plus. But sadly not everyone does it; did you see Doug?”
“Yeah, I know, I thought I was the only one who notices shit like that!” I was surprised anyone else noticed or cared.
“Oh god, I notice,” she replied with a sick look on her face. “I don’t understand how some people get away with that shit.”
I explained to her how they’re all buddies, the ones who get treated like gods. I used the information Rachael supplied me with to back me up. She seemed to finally understand. Tara came back then to roll. I knew she wasn’t buddy-buddy with the managers so I tried getting her opinion, letting her know my frustrations as well. We all started to complain together.
“I know. I’ve been here since we’ve opened and yet I get sat two-tops all night. I’m forty two years old and have three kids; I think I need the money more than these kids who get all their fucking money from mommy and daddy.” Danielle and I are around the same age as these ‘kids’ she was talking about, but Tara knew she could say that to us. She knew we paid our own bills and were struggling too, though not as bad as her. “I’m going to need to get a second job; I’m telling you, this place sucks. You guys are lucky. You’re in school; you’re just passing through. Sadly, I’m a lifer.”
We continued rambling on until we finished our huge piles of silverware. After leaving that night I thought a lot about what Tara had said. She was right. I’m just passing through. I still work at Carrabba’s now, but my attitude has totally changed, and with my attitude change I’ve noticed a few other changes. Instead of complaining about my sections, I started to try my hardest not to care. At the sight of lazy “buddies” I tried to pity them rather than get pissed off; pity them that they’re as lazy as they are and sadly will turn into ‘lifers’ themselves.
Over these few weeks of changing my attitude, being more blaze or even crazily cheerful, I’ve realized that my sections have been improving, and with those better sections, my tips at the end of the night are getting higher. I’ve concluded that it’s simply one of those instances where “mind over matter” applies. There are shitty nights here and there of course, but instead of letting those nights get me down, I simply repeat to myself, “I’m just passing through.”
Monday, November 19, 2007
Rhetorical Analysis of Publication Venues
1. Analysis of the editorial description of essays accepted
GLBTQ Online Magazine that accepts ‘coming out stories’ as well as essays on various GLBTQ subjects, book and movie reviews (on books and movies exploring homo/bisexuality), and an area where members can post journals for all to comment on. See website: http://www.oasisjournals.com/magazine
2. Description of several representative essays published in your venue:
Sample essays/stories: ”A Load Off My Shoulders” Natasha Duchenois ”I’m on a Coming Out Role” Devildog ”I Just Told My Mom I’m Gay” Disney”Major Madness’s Coming Out Story of Doom and Peril” Luke Williams
3. Subject matter
The magazine is comprised of book and movie reviews, journals, poetry, a forum, and coming out stories. My story obviously fits into the ‘coming out’ section of the magazine. This section has many different coming out stories from lesbians, gays, bisexuals, etc. from all age groups.
3. Voice:
Many different voices. The magazine accepts all kinds of stories, creative and journal-like. Many of the stories though take a comical approach to coming out, others are more somber, and ask for help at the end where they receive it in the forum.
4. Depth of discussion:
The magazine is not too picky on the length or depth of the stories. It’s there simply to let those from the GLBTQ community share their feelings and gives them a place to go to find other like them for peace of mind.
5. Form: Some of the ‘coming out’ stories are story like (like mine) with dialogue and whatnot; others are more journal like, simply telling rather than showing or going into much depth
6. Artistry: Those who submitted longer, detailed stories took a more comical approach, speaking of the penises or vaginas the authors either love or despise.
7. Niche
audience – GLBTQ members
purpose – To give members an outlet for their creativity/concerns/life experiences/peace of mind.
1. Analysis of the editorial description of essays accepted
GLBTQ Online Magazine that accepts ‘coming out stories’ as well as essays on various GLBTQ subjects, book and movie reviews (on books and movies exploring homo/bisexuality), and an area where members can post journals for all to comment on. See website: http://www.oasisjournals.com/magazine
2. Description of several representative essays published in your venue:
Sample essays/stories: ”A Load Off My Shoulders” Natasha Duchenois ”I’m on a Coming Out Role” Devildog ”I Just Told My Mom I’m Gay” Disney”Major Madness’s Coming Out Story of Doom and Peril” Luke Williams
3. Subject matter
The magazine is comprised of book and movie reviews, journals, poetry, a forum, and coming out stories. My story obviously fits into the ‘coming out’ section of the magazine. This section has many different coming out stories from lesbians, gays, bisexuals, etc. from all age groups.
3. Voice:
Many different voices. The magazine accepts all kinds of stories, creative and journal-like. Many of the stories though take a comical approach to coming out, others are more somber, and ask for help at the end where they receive it in the forum.
4. Depth of discussion:
The magazine is not too picky on the length or depth of the stories. It’s there simply to let those from the GLBTQ community share their feelings and gives them a place to go to find other like them for peace of mind.
5. Form: Some of the ‘coming out’ stories are story like (like mine) with dialogue and whatnot; others are more journal like, simply telling rather than showing or going into much depth
6. Artistry: Those who submitted longer, detailed stories took a more comical approach, speaking of the penises or vaginas the authors either love or despise.
7. Niche
audience – GLBTQ members
purpose – To give members an outlet for their creativity/concerns/life experiences/peace of mind.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Nature Essay
Morning Run
“Beep…beep…beep…”
“Ugh…” I sat up in my dark room, searching for my glasses, being unable to find the off button on my alarm clock without them. After some groping around, I found them between my mattress and bedpost. I turned off the alarm, and propped my back up against the pillows, staring out the window to the left of my bed. It was still black outside; I knew I could take my time. After a few moments of steady breathing I decided to finally get out of bed. I threw on some old sweatpants and a hoodie and made my way downstairs, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. I quietly prepared my everyday breakfast, a protein smoothie, made simply, with yogurt, organic milk, and whey protein. The silence of the house made me work, slow, but with newfound content. I emptied the small container of strawberry banana yogurt into the new glasses my mother bought the week before; I poured enough milk to fill the glass three fourths of the way and dumped a hefty spoonful of protein in. I mixed and mixed, trying so hard to be quiet; even the tiniest cling sounded like an orchestra tuning for a concert. Finally it was mixed just right and I swallowed it down, fast but steady. I suddenly grew afraid that the early morning dusk wouldn’t last much longer, so I quickly made my way out to the porch, sneakers in hand.
Upon opening the door, the chilly air awakened the last of the sleepy cells that were begging me to press the snooze button. My heavy eyes welcomed the brisk morning air. It was still, surprisingly there was no wind at this time, 5:15 a.m. to be exact. I preferred still air; for some reason the wind went right through me, I only preferred it while I was in motion, to cool off the heat that stuck between my body and clothing. I sat down on the concrete steps, putting on and tying up my worn out black and white sneakers. The sky was still dark, time was on my side.
I stretched quickly and modestly, and began my brisk walk up the street that slowly turned into a jog, until I reached the baseball fields about a half mile away. At the sight of the woods that lay beyond the fields my heart actually palpitated. I slowed my stride and approached the entrance to the woods between the last field and back of the parking lot. There was a hill I had to get down first before entering the main wooded area. I loved this hill. In the winter we, my friends and family, would come here to sleigh ride. Running down it at the beginning of my journey would strengthen my legs for all that was to follow. I stopped though before heading down, to breathe in what felt like home, homier than the home I just left. I closed my eyes and lifted my head. At this time all was still. It was my time to enjoy the tranquility of the woods before the animals awakened. I sucked in the air that was now becoming breezier, probably due to the fact that the ocean was now closer. Ah, the woods and ocean, two worlds that offered me peace of mind, so close together and so close to home. I smiled a grand old smile, thanking god for this new peace of mind. Finally I opened my eyes and darted down the hill.
The slant of the hill was interrupted here and there by protruding rocks and small cliff-like dirt and grass. I pounded the ground, foot by foot, darting around these interruptions being careful to keep my balance as the land got steeper and steeper. The hill was mostly dirt, an mix of browns and oranges. I kept my eyes on the ground until I got to the bottom and then I let me eyes wander to the trees. I loved this time of year, when the trees were regaining leaves. There is such a mix of trees in these woods. Some are tall with beginning branches so high they were un-climbable. Other trees were lower or slanted. The barks were basically all the same, a brown that resembled the skin of a Mexican, with ridges that ran up and down, some deep, others shallow. My eyes were everywhere; observing all that was around me, while still keeping up with the ever-changing ground beneath my busy feet. I saw the sky between the treetops. Though the sun was barely on the rise, it was still light enough to see. There were a few clouds, but wispy, not heavy enough to block the sunrise I couldn’t wait to catch.
As I neared the beach, the breeze started to pick up, and I heard the first bird of morning. That sound of life quickened my step. I came to a V in the path and decided to take the harder trail that I knew would take longer to get to the beach. The path was hillier and I darted along, jumping over rocks and darting trees. As I was turning a corner I saw something moving to the left of me, in a grassy area between the various paths. After taking a few more steps, I slowed down to see. A family of deer, one big, two small, were watching me. They looked so scared and froze in their journey, as they simply stood, watching. Distracted, I almost tripped over a clump of dirt and grass, but quickly regained my composure. I focused more on the path, and a strange, but beautiful feeling came over me. My legs felt stronger, my running turned into something more of leaps or pounces, my chest felt heavier but stronger, and I ran along with a new sense of strength and well-being. I felt like a creature of the woods, rather than a human. The path went on ahead of me, but instead I jumped into the grassy area where I could run more wildly. The centaur in me came out and with it a new pace I didn’t know I was capable of. The grassy areas were full of puddles, creatures, rocks, and more, but they didn’t slow me down.
Finally I jumped back onto the path at the end of the woods that emptied onto the beach. As my foot hit the sand I took a huge leap and purposely landed on my knees. The sun was on the rise. I could see the beginning of it. It turned the sky blue around it and lit the water all shades of red, orange, yellow, and blue. The beach was short; the sand only went on for about 20 yards before meeting the ocean. There was Staten Island ahead of me, and I could barely make out
I sat on the beach that morning for about 2 hours or so, just contemplating our awkward relationship, and so much more. I scribbled so much on that paper, and when I got home to make sense of it all, I was left with something like this:
Let Me
My sun has arisen,
but my Land, nowhere in sight.
Be my Land;
Let me spiLL my waves
of Light through your fLeshy hiLLs,
Let me turn your rivers bLue
and set fire in your caves;
Let’s spend noon beneath your trees
and make Love through the eve;
cooL off my embers
and set my wiLd eyes at ease.
You can hush my flames to a silent song,
relieve these pangs of passion beneath my breast
and join me in a brand new dawn.
Let me, oh
Let me…
Monday, November 5, 2007
Final Draft of Personal Essay
“A Different Kind of Phase”
By: Jamie Jenkins
“How am I supposed to take you seriously Jam? I mean you’ve been with guys ever since I can remember. You’ve talked about girls in high school and here and there, but you’ve never had anything serious, and after freshman year at William Paterson you were with Joe and then Roe. I hate to say this, but I think it’s all just been a phase. A lot of girls do this, either because they want to stand out and be different, or they’ve just met the wrong guys and assume all guys are bad...”
“Oh my god…” I cut in, mentally exasperated. “Just let it go, I don’t want to talk about it.” I really wanted to scream back to my mother, ‘It’s not a fucking phase!’
We were driving back form the mall, getting Christmas presents for whoever popped in her head. She was so bad at planning and it never crossed her mind to write lists. I brought up to her how I made a profile on Yahoo Personals and how happy I was about it, hopeful that I’d find some females because I couldn’t seem to find any my age at school or in town, one of the main reasons I stayed with Roe for as long as I did. She thought it was all a joke, bringing on that mini lecture, or what I always saw as a lecture, not a conversation. I hated when she got like that; lecturing on thinking she was right, thinking she saw through to some deeper truth, but she had no idea.
We had just left the mall when the other 20 things popped in her mind that she had to do—the drugstore, picking my brother up from CCD, stopping at ShopRite. I just sat there, quiet, letting her mind drift off like it usually did, to where, I never had a clue, and then letting my mind roam as it always did, the main reason why we barely ever communicated.
I pondered about the ‘phase’ lecture I got from her that night; that I’ve gotten from her before, that I’ve gotten from other family members and friends, for quite sometime. I’ve learned to give up on this argument. There was no being right with my family, about anything. Even though I knew I was right half the time, and with this situation, I knew how I felt. There was no getting through to them or anyone else for that matter that thought my ever-changing sexuality was a joke. I hated trying to prove myself to other people. In the past, yes, I was with guys. During that winter, yes, I was with Roe. And who would believe me when I said I was a lesbian, having a boyfriend by my side? Everyone else thought that confusion was a ‘phase,’ but it wasn’t the kind of phase they thought it was. In the end, I realized that the ‘phase’ they thought I was having with females, was really a ‘phase’ with males— my ‘desire’ for males, nothing but a phase; something I could repeat over and over, something it only seemed that I understood.
Growing up, I was always curious what my female friends looked like under their clothes; how their bodies compared to mine, and how it would feel to get close to them, much closer than a casual sleep over. At that age, I just saw it as that awkward curiosity every kid has, similar to ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’, or not understanding where babies come from. But at the same time, I felt different, because my friends never seemed to have the same curiosities as me. I always thought maybe there were too shy to admit to them, but now I realize that my curiosities never aligned with theirs, because they’re straight, and I’m gay, simple as that. After puberty my attraction for females heightened and I could instinctively tell that some of them were like me. It cracks me up how accurate I was; I guess the extreme intuition every psychic that I’ve talked to told me I have is extreme indeed.
Looking back at all those years I’ve spent with men (or should I say boys, god, I was so young), I’ve realized that I always had this intense need to show affection and be shown affection, and to please, (too bad I was never pleased in return). But I kept up the behavior, the promiscuity, anyway; it boosted my self-esteem, knowing that I was pleasing these males, and that other girls were jealous of me since all my boyfriends were older, were driving, and had already gone through puberty.
I never lost that curiosity for females though. Somewhere between the mess of males in my life, there were a few of them, in high school and freshman year in college mostly. For some reason I was just too god damn shy to make anything of it. I hated my body— I was too pale, too scrawny in the wrong areas, too fat in the wrong areas, and didn’t have the perkiest boobs in the world. The females I desired at the time obviously had the same parts as me, and being naked with them, our equal parts together would make me feel like such an ugly duckling. So, I stuck with the males, knowing they didn’t care what I looked like, all they wanted was what laid between my thighs, and I gave it to them, crying silently all the while, feeling like such a coward to have to resort to them to give me the love I so peculiarly craved.
The older and older I got, the more and more I craved the same sex, the more self-conscious I became, and so I continued with my phase, my phase with males. As an adult, there was Joe, and then there was Roe…
I was with Roe that winter, almost two years into our relationship. Before he met me I was an all out lesbian, about the fifth time I’ve tried to end my ‘phase’ with males. He knew I was gay when he met me, but after the first night of us hanging out (staying up all night long, talking up a storm in my bedroom), well I kind of fell for him, and he already had a crush on me. At first things were decent in our relationship, and I was even trying to get myself to believe my desire for women was just a phase, but then the dreams I had in past relationships with guys crept op on me again; I dreamt about women every night. Whenever we made love I envisioned a woman, and I hated sex with him, not him in particular, but I dreaded that scary thing that hung between his thighs. I would even cry sometimes during sex, knowing I didn’t want it, I didn’t like it. I wanted a woman. I craved what was between her thighs, what existed in her mind, so feverishly it seemed like a dream that would never turn into a reality.
“You knew I was like this all along. I tried Roe, I tried; I thought you could turn me around, but it’s not going to work. I can’t ignore this and I can’t lie to myself anymore, or lie to you. I’m not content, I can’t live like this.”
His tan, hairy face looked tormented. I felt horrible, knowing how hard this loss would be after losing his mother. I felt what he felt, an open wound in the soul, where everything seemed to be sucked from. He was not one to beg though, and anytime he felt awkward he would turn silent and refuse to express himself. I just hugged him though, held on for dear life, knowing after giving him time I wanted him in my life as a best friend, forever.
I had to end, permanently, this ‘phase’ with men. I just couldn’t do it any longer, to Roe or anyone else, pretend that I was into them, romantically and sexually knowing deep down inside, so deeply and strongly, that I was meant to spend my life with a woman, not a man. For two years I tried so hard to convince myself that I could be with him, and that I could just see females on the side. I knew deep down inside though, that I would be miserable staying with him, that I would be ignoring my true desires and probably fall completely into this deep puddle of depression I was already wading my feet in.
I remember every time I saw a lesbian while I was with him (mostly at my mom and sister’s softball games); it gave me this intense longing inside that is still almost indescribable. I don’t know…it felt as though my ribs were being ripped open and my heart was falling on the floor, begging for them to pick it up and give me the strength to follow them into their fold of society, putting all anxiety behind. I couldn’t turn it off. It kept me up all night and kept me drifting further and further from Roe, until that night, February 2, 2007 to be exact, when I finally broke it off with him, no longer being able to be so weak by not standing up for who I truly was and what I truly wanted.
The break up killed him, which killed me, but I had to do it, otherwise it would only hurt him even more if I dragged it out any longer. He envisioned a life for us, and it shattered his dreams. I lost him as a boyfriend, I lost the future we had planned, but I didn’t lose him altogether. I had to give him time after the relationship to adjust before being able to maintain a friendship. He was so awkward when we were together. His awkwardness made me feel awkward, and his sadness made me feel guilty about being so elated and just…free. He’s gotten better these days though, and I consider him my best friend.
Shortly after that night I made a MySpace account and made so many friends (mostly lesbians) in the next few months. I started going to L-Bar every weekend and the Colosseum which are right down the highway from my house, and Circuit in
Between then and now, I’ve had two girlfriends. I totally though I was in love with those two girls, but I think I was more in love with the idea that I had a girlfriend, not a boyfriend; that I was doing what felt right, and followed my heart; that when having sex, I didn’t have to envision anything, but only open my eyes, and a female was there; and, that I was less self-conscious of body. But, those two weren’t meant for me. Now, I’m just trying to be patient, waiting for that right one. I can picture her so clearly, and when I see her I’ll know who she is.
These days I constantly remind myself of the past as to not take my current life for granted. I remember the days when my closet door was closed and I was inside; I remember the days when my closet door was open and I peaked outside; I remember the days when my closet door swung back and forth; and now I can’t thank god enough for giving me the courage to shut that closet door forever, and stand outside of it, proud, ending that god damn ‘phase’ with men forever.
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