What is reality? What is fiction?
Isn't all writing ultimately autobiographical? At least, shouldn't good writing seem that way?
In the end, does it matter as long as it's a good story?
My wife and I made love this morning, and afterward she brought me a cup of coffee in bed. (Have I ever mentioned that she is wonderful?)
While we snuggled together, we talked about our young loves and the hopes and dreams of our youth.
After she got up, I picked up my computer and my fingers tore this story out of my heart.
The idea of "finding one's place" is one of my favorite themes (as you can tell from my other stories), and this is about one young woman's search.
I hope it doesn't seem long-winded, but young Kate had a lot to sort through. Be kind to her-she did her best.
Kate
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Over the years, I have learned to ignore most of the bullshit that comes from being gay, but it still bugs me when people ask, "When did you become a lesbian?" I usually reply, "about the same age you 'became' straight," which leads either to awkward silences or interesting conversations.
The important question for me was, "When did you stop trying to pretend that you weren't a lesbian?" That moment came in 1990 in Vienna, Austria when I was 23 and living away from a lot of influences that kept me closeted. My Christmas present that year turned out to be a remarkable woman who compelled me to stop lying about who I really was.
One might say, though, that I came by my dishonesty honestly.
I was raised in a conservative, southern, Christian family, and was taught to be a good, morally-conscious, Christian girl by a loving-but-very-controlling mother. My father died when I was young, so mother took on the role of raising me and making a career for herself (and this in the 1970s when it was much more difficult). She did this successfully enough that she became noted in our small town and a leading figure in our church.
I had two aunts who I adored who also helped raise me. Aunt Kathy, my mother's sister, was my "real" aunt (our family has great fondness for variations of the name Katherine). She lived with "Aunt" Gail (who was no relation), and they were inseparable. I loved being around them and they delighted in my visits—I even got to spend the night a few times. But mom never really wanted me to have too much to do with them.
The "aunties" were welcomed at all of our family functions, but were treated somewhat coolly—nothing overtly unwelcoming, but there was clearly a distance between them and other family members.
In retrospect of course, I know that Aunt Kathy was gay. The concept of "two aunties" was our "Christian" family dodge that kept her and her partner marginalized without actually disowning her. Kathy and Gail, however, were unfailingly accepting of everyone and everything, and always seemed to be at peace. Their small house was immaculately maintained and they had excellent careers. They were, in fact, an embodiment of the "Christian family values" that were so highly prized by the rest of the family. I admired them and wanted to be just like them. Who could have known?
I went to an all-girls Christian school, and was one of the jocks. I had always been a tomboy and understood neither the fascination with clothes and makeup nor the feverish conversations about boys. I did try to play up, though, because of the venomous whispers about a few girls who were suspected of being "lezzie."
The worst insult imaginable was to called "Lizzy Lezzie." I never thought being "lezzie" was such a horrible thing, but I certainly didn't want to be "mistakenly" identified that way—it was the fast track to becoming a total outcast. I only knew that I loved sports more than romance.
I went away to college. Getting to a more cosmopolitan place was good for me, and I began to become more open and relaxed about many things. I soon realized that I was not a person who cared to live with all of the "thou shat nots" of my childhood faith; though I held on firmly to my Christianity, I began to focus it on spiritual matters rather than on church-going and rule-following.
I had always been comfortable being "one of the guys," and I loved to hang out and watch sports and drink beer with my male jock friends. Eventually, with the help of some beer, I began having bumbling "petting sessions" with a few of them. I think I held up my end decently, but between lingering Baptist anxiety, their clumsiness, and my overall lack of interest it wasn't very thrilling for me and I remained a virgin.
As my senior year wound down, though, I had a couple of nice encounters with men and finally bid my virginity adieu. From then on, I started to think more and more about "being with" someone. The prospect of having a mate who was a good friend seemed like a worthwhile thing, and I was confident that, although I was not very highly sexed, I could handle the physical part of marriage well enough to keep a man happy.
But before I worried about a family, I had some career ambitions that I wanted to fulfill.
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I had a professor who took a real interest in me (it took several years to realize how "interested" she really was...but I digress), and she put me onto the opportunity to do an internship in Vienna before starting law school.
She also helped me find a place to live with some friends of hers, Jan and Janneke, a Dutch couple who lived in a great part of the city. They had an extra room in their house and needed some extra money to take care of their newborn baby.
I didn't have any money, but I got a small grant, and Aunt Kathy and Aunt Gail gave me a "graduation present" by funding the rest of what I needed. So, after thanking them profusely, I packed myself off to Vienna for a year to see the world and to seek adventure.
I arrived in the early fall and spent a couple of weeks getting settled in my new digs and getting used to living in a foreign country. Jan traveled a lot with his work and Janneke stayed at home with their newborn son, Julius. She had a year of paid leave from her job, and they were taking full advantage of it. A student lodger was therefore good company for her as well as some extra money.
They were incredibly understanding and helpful to me. Even after four years at a prestigious university, I was still a hick from small-town America in many ways. I never would have adjusted as well or as quickly to my new lifestyle if it weren't for them, and I am still very grateful for their help.
They constantly asked me, "What do you like?" as though life were just that simple. It took me a long time to realize that they were right: life really is just as simple as "what do you like?" But finding that simplicity requires honesty. And honesty requires courage.
Finding courage is what is difficult.
I loved Vienna, and spent hours walking around sightseeing and trying out my German. I also enjoyed helping Janneke with chores around the house, and we settled into a comfortable routine.
After a couple of weeks, I began my duties at the Vienna International Center—a fascinating gig in the UN Office for Drugs and Crime. I loved going to work there and was energized by the work and by the interesting people I worked with.
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One day not long after I started, I went into the research library needing a book on international law. I found one that seemed perfect, but it was in German. I could speak the language decently and could sort-of-read a newspaper, but a legal textbook was quite a challenge. It was, however, the best I could find so I grabbed it and headed back to my desk.
On the way, I decided to turn my life upside down.
She sat at a table in the library, petite and effervescent. With her flat chest, trim hips, and short, dark hair parted on the side like a boy, Sabine could easily have been mistaken for a young man. But she was obviously a woman. Maybe 10 years older than me, and so—captivating. As soon as I saw her, I knew that I had to get to know her. I have never before or since been so struck by someone. She was mesmerizing.
She wore a blue V-neck sweater over her button down shirt and had neatly pressed jeans and clogs. She was absent-mindedly chewing on the earpiece of her glasses as she pondered something she was reading, then she wrinkled her nose (in a most adorable way!), scowled and started scribbling on the pad next to her.
She saw me standing in front of her and looked up. She took one look at my American clothing and awkwardness, and a smile crossed her face.
"Hallo," she said in German-accented English. She chewed her glasses as she regarded me.
"Hi," I replied nervously. "Um. I'm Kate. I'm a new intern here, and I—er—well, was looking for a book..." my voice trailed off uncertainly.
I stood there, stupidly, holding a book I couldn't really read—and looking at a person that I couldn't really read, either. Of course I should have just continued on to my desk—but I couldn't. Something about her rooted me to the spot.
Sabine chuckled and leaned back in her chair, putting her hands behind her head like a man. "It seems to me that you have found a book," she said softly, gesturing toward the tome in my hand.
"I—er. Well, I did find a book" I managed to say. "But—I can't really read it, so it won't do me much good," I said, feeling like an idiot.
Sabine laughed out loud. Then she stood up, walked over to me, took the book and scanned the cover. She chuckled and looked into my eyes. It seemed like she could see straight into my soul. Her manner and her gaze were severe and intense, but her voice was gentle and kind.
"Kate," she said gently, "My name is Sabine, and I can read German of course. I would be happy to help you if you like." For some reason, I felt very happy being near her.
"I would like that very much," I said, smiling. Sabine took my hand and led me to her table.
"I think will like this very much too," she said with a little smile. "Now. What do you need to know?"
We worked together for the rest of the afternoon. I was afraid that she was neglecting her work, but she pooh-poohed that and we huddled together over the book, working on my project. She was smart—quite brilliant actually—and insightful, and more importantly we hit it off immediately. Before we realized it, it was late in the afternoon.
"Mein Gott," Sabine exclaimed, looking at her watch, "I am going to be late for an appointment. I'm sorry, Kate, but I must leave."
