The Age of Innocence

In the summer of 1993, I proposed to my then-girlfriend while we sat in her car listening to "Plush" by Stone Temple Pilots on the FM radio. Although this was well past Stonewall, it was still long before many states would even begin pondering gay marriage. Melissa Etheridge had only just come out in January of that year. Ellen DeGeneres was still assumed to be that straight woman who loved wearing vests. And the only network that would have aired a show like "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila" would have been the Playboy Channel. So yes, in the summer of 1993, I popped the question to, as luck would have it, an extremely Orthodox Jewish girl. Do I even need to continue?

Prior to that evening, my then-girlfriend (I'll call her "FF") and I had not even identified as "lesbians." Like most newbies, we just happened to be two gals that loved each other and that also liked to kiss on the mouth and with tongue. For that entire summer, I lived this secret life and devoted every thought and action to FF. I isolated myself from all my friends and kept my entire family in the dark. FF, on the other hand, did tell her rabbi about me--somewhat. According to FF, the rabbi was really excited to one day meet her Jewish boyfriend, "Jason."

For several months, FF and I continued our charade. It was not until the night of the proposal that I finally challenged the definition of our relationship. Earlier that day, I had received a letter in the mail from the one person that knew about me and FF. In the sweetest letter ever written, Maria congratulated us for finding love and for being a really "cute lesbian couple." I loved this letter so much--I probably read it 20 times. It was the first time someone had referred to us as "lesbians" and I accepted and cherished the label immediately. Unfortunately, I never should have assumed the same for FF.

During my proposal/monologue, I seized every romantic cliche known to man to describe our love and I thought it was going well. FF was holding my hand, her head was on my shoulder, UB40 came on the car radio, and so I decided to read the letter to her. When I reached the end, I was crying. Then, I looked over at FF. She was no longer on my shoulder. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was backed up against the car door. I asked her about five times what was wrong before she finally launched into a tirade about how she was not a disgusting lesbian, how Maria had nerve for assuming that, and how I was crazy and perverted for thinking that we had any kind of future together.

I don't remember how I got home that evening. But what I do remember is the next morning and resolving myself to pulling an Anna Karenina on the LIRR train tracks (Note: I was only 18 at the time and somewhat overly dramatic). I don't know why, but when I arrived at the train station I made a bargain with myself. I said that if I could get my friend Maria on the phone, I would not do what I set out to do. Lucky for me I had a quarter in my pocket and, even better, Maria answered the phone.

In retrospect, the failure of that relationship and the homophobia that I witnessed on the part of FF made me who I am today. I went on to become a big-time feminist, supporter of gay rights, and I always made sure to never ever again isolate myself from my friends and family. Through the years, I have amassed tons of fantastic, close friends, learned to rely on my family's support, and have always made sure to have at least 5 friends that I could count on/run away to if I needed help. After we broke up, I resolved myself to do whatever necessary to become strong and confident because I was never going to endure someone else's homophobia without being properly armed next time.

When Cindy went into the hospital, I immediately drew upon the mental artillery for the courage to make it through the day. And, if not for what I went through in 1993, I may not have had the army of friends that stood by my side at the hospital and afterwards. I'll be honest, in the days after Cindy died, I did find myself making bargains like the one I made the day after the proposal. The trick I found was to dare myself to make it through the day. If I could make it through the day, I would be fine. And I've made it through lots of days--269 of them in fact. But, I am so tired of living day-to-day. I don't know what I am going through right now, but I am so sick of the advice to just get through the day. I can get through the day no problem. What I want to know now is when I get to think about my future again? I'm a 34-year old widow who wants to start her life now.