Like A Secret Being Told

Well, while Colleen had been busy mutating into Martha Stewart, I had apparently devolved into the world's biggest crybaby. But, I was absolutely bound and determined not to start wailing and blubbering. I had wasted enough of the past however many months with that.

But not today.

So, why, if I was so resolved, had Colleen's face gone blurry and who the hell was making that terrible sobbing sound?

Fuck.

I was so focused on not doing what I obviously was doing, that I hadn't even seen Colleen move to get the box of tissues she handed me. Guiding me to sit at one end of her sofa, she then took a seat at the other end.

Hands in her lap, she patiently waiting for me to pull myself together.

When my torrent finally ebbed and my dabbing at my face and nose had nearly halted, Colleen spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, Alejandra."

I wish I could've emulated her apparent serenity, but, not a chance. "Then why'd you do it!?" I exclaimed. "Why'd you dump me!?"

I'm ashamed to say I took some satisfaction in seeing her calm expression slip just a bit. She looked down at the hands in her lap, seeming to study them, as if they might contain the key to maintaining her composure.

When she looked up again, Colleen made sure she made eye contact before she said, "Alejandra, I'm gay..."

What was that I said about 'emulating her serenity'? I have got to learn to think before I act. Before I knew it, I had closed the gap between us and slapped Colleen in the face. Hard.

"That's it!?" I wasn't exclaiming now, I was yelling. "You abandoned me because of that!? Why? Why couldn't you just talk to me? I mean, did I EVER... even once... say or do something that was homophobic? You should've trusted me. Instead, you shut me out like I was a stranger. Do you think I would have EVER done that to you?" This all tumbled out in a breathless rush.

Colleen got to her feet quickly, glowering at me, "I love you, Alejandra, but I won't be your punching bag. Please don't do that again."

We stood, still and taut, until I took my seat on the couch again. "Well, at least I got you to say you love me. That's something."

Smiling at that, Colleen sat down too, and not so far away this time. "If you hadn't interrupted me by trying to take my head off," she admonished, "I was going to say 'I'm gay... and... I'm in love with you'."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'."

After a moment of awkward silence, I asked, "How long?"

"Years."

It took a moment for that to register and sink in. "Years?" I whispered hoarsely, "Jesus, Colleen... years? I... I can't imagine what that must've been like for you. Holding something like that inside, unable to share it with anyone for all that time."

But, then the question occurred to me, "But, why? Why wouldn't you confide in me? All those years I poured my heart out to you, told you every damn little thing that was going on with me. I trusted you with my deepest secrets. Why didn't you trust me?"

Colleen placed her hand on mine, "You're looking at this all wrong, sweetie. It isn't that I didn't trust you. I didn't trust myself."

My confusion must've been reflected in my expression, because she tried to clarify. "When we were in ninth grade, I had a dream about you." Colleen's cheeks colored faintly and I'm sure my own complexion deepened by a shade or two. "In the dream, we were kissing... and... um... well, you know... doing other stuff."

I couldn't resist giggling at her discomfort. She shot me a mock scowl.

"At any rate," she went on, "it was a pretty intense dream. I had never had one like it. It scared me. I was just in junior high, for God's sake. I wondered what was wrong with me... dreaming about another girl like that... and not just any girl, but my best friend."

"I still don't understand why you couldn't talk to me about it." I repeated.

"Oh, c'mon, Allie. Have you completely forgotten what it was like at that age? I mean, most of us are walking bundles of hormonally charged confusion and insecurity, anyway. And here I was, thinking there was something seriously wrong with me. I was terrified I was some kind of pervert. Don't you remember how our classmates used to refer to 'girls like that'? Dykes. Queers. Rug-Munchers."

"But, you should've considered the source, Colleen. Just a bunch of fucking mental defectives who were scared shitless of anything that didn't conform to the norm,"

"Yeah, well, of course I know that now, but back then, I was desperate to fit in, just like everyone else."

"Don't you remember Candace Ruggiero," Colleen continued, "who was a year ahead of us at Roosevelt (that was our high school)? She had the audacity to be openly gay and man!... they heaped shit on her for the entire two years we were there with her. I'm sure the year before we got there was no picnic either."

"Well, none of that for me, sister. No, thank you. So, I just kept my head down and tried to get my mind right. Tried to convince myself that I wasn't really 'like that'. Did my damnedest not to think those kinds of thoughts. You've gotta understand, Allie. I drank the Kool-Aid. I truly did believe there was something deviant inside me and I had to monitor it constantly. Keep it tamped down."

"Worst of all were the nights," Colleen went on, "when those teenage hormones over-rode my self control. Nights when my lust for you got the better of me and I would furiously masturbate with images of you burning in my head. And afterwords, I'd be unable to sleep for the shame that was eating me up inside."

Unbidden, my imagination suddenly provided an intense vision of Colleen's naked form sprawled across a bed, writhing in self-induced ecstasy. I nearly had to shake my head to be rid of it.

"The fact is, sweetie," Colleen took my hand in hers, "that you were actually the very last person I would've confided in. Your opinion mattered to me more than anyone's. I was so in love with you, I couldn't have endured it if you were repulsed by what I was."

I stood up and pulled Colleen into my arms. "Oh, honey, I would never have... "

"Yeah, I realize that now. But, back then... back then, I was in a state of constant terror that someone would find out."

"Christ, Colleen. You should never have had to go through that on your own. It hurts me to even think about it. I wish I had known. I'd have done anything for you." My tears spilled onto Colleen's face as I kissed her cheek and squeezed her tighter. Too little comfort, given too late.

"No sense fretting about what's done." Colleen said. She returned the kiss on the side of my face and sat back down on the sofa. "Thanks for the hug, though. I've missed that more than I can say."

"Anyway," Colleen resumed, "things got a little better at college. There was a lot more tolerance of gays on campus. There was talk of gay pride, for Christ's sake! I even had a few cute girls ask me out from time to time."

"But... though you and I weren't at the same school anymore, we were still spending most of our weekends and evenings together. And by this point, I had matured enough to know for sure that it wasn't simply a schoolgirl crush or lust I felt for you. I was in love. And I knew exactly why. I had truly come to appreciate what a rare and wonderful person you are and how fortunate I was to have you for a friend."

"Thank you. I feel the same about you."

"I didn't say it to flatter you. I said it so you'd understand. Hell, it would never do for you to actually see yourself through my eyes. Your head would be so huge, your neck couldn't support it."

We both chuckled at the absurd image her words had conjured.

"At any rate," Colleen picked up where she'd left off, "so long as I was completely head-over-heels about you, no other girl stood a chance with me." Colleen's eyes seemed to look off in the distance. She murmured, almost as if to herself, "When the sun is in the heavens, no other star can be seen for its brilliance."

"Is that a quote from somewhere?"

"No... no... just me... waxing poetic, I guess. My goofy way of saying that I couldn't see anyone else while you were near." The faraway gaze vanished as she fixed her sight on me. "The thing is, I knew, from your occasional reports of your dating experiences, that you weren't gay. But, I told myself that I could deal with the whole 'unrequited love' thing. That it was worth it, just to have your company... to be close to you."

"And I did deal with it. For quite some time, in fact. Oh, you were still providing the fodder for my masturbatory fantasies. And I can't tell you how many times I came this close," Colleen held up her thumb and index finger so they were nearly touching, "to risking everything by taking you in my arms and kissing you."

As soon as the words fell from her lips, they fashioned an image in my head of Colleen and I locked in an embrace, kissing passionately. Again, the force of it took me by surprise.

"For the longest while I obsessed over that. Playing the scene in my head over and over. Dying to know what you would do; how you'd react."

"But, ultimately, of course," Colleen sighed, "I was a great, big fraidy-cat. Well... in a way, that's not fair to myself. I was genuinely afraid of losing your friendship. I couldn't take that chance."

"It never would've happened." I asserted. "No matter what."

A smile of genuine pleasure animated the faint freckles on Colleen's cheeks and nose. "Thank you for that."

"I should've trusted you." Colleen agreed. "I should've confided in you. But insecurity had me by the short hairs. The constant pining for someone I thought I could never have was making me crazy. So was the desire for romance and sex. I finally figured the only way I was ever gonna find someone was if I got you out of my system. I hoped I could make it up to you later and win your friendship again, after I'd dated other people. Hence, the melodramatic, angst-ridden break-up"

"Hence?" I teased. "Am I like company now, so you break out the formal language?"

"Fuck you too, Alejandra. That informal enough for you?" she giggled.

"Oooohh!" I shot back, "Is that some kinda proposition in dyke-speak?"

Colleen rose to her feet again, putting her hands on her hips, with an ersatz look of defiance on her lovely features. "Don't get cocky, girl. I can still kick your ass, you know."

"Still? What planet have you been living on? Since when could you ever kick my ass? Everybody knows all you artist-types are a buncha pansies."

"Make up your mind, smart-ass." she retorted. "Am I a dyke or a pansy? Which is it?"

"How about a dyke with the fighting skills of a pansy?"

At that, Colleen fell back on the sofa, laughing so hard that tears began to stream down her freckled cheeks. I joined in for a moment, then just watched her, elated to have 'my' Colleen back.

When she had collected herself, my next question couldn't have been more serious, "Now what, Colleen? It's been a year and a half. Are you over me now? Can we be friends? Or am I to be banished again until you're ready?"

"Banished, huh? Wow, you make me sound like some kind of tyrant."

"You may as well have been. You took my best friend away from me and never once asked me how I felt about it."

She lowered her head, a look of genuine contrition passing over her features. Her voice was uncharacteristically meek when she said, "You don't fight fair, Alejandra."

"I'm sorry, hon. I'm sure not trying to extract any guilt from you. I just want you to realize that your actions have consequences beyond just yourself." I got off the sofa and knelt in front of Colleen, taking her hands in mine. "I am not above extracting something else from you, however."

"Oh?" she eyed me suspiciously.

"Yes." I pressed my forehead gently to hers. "I want you to promise me that you won't EVER do anything like that again. If you have a problem, come talk to me. Don't shut me out. I couldn't bear it."

"I promise, Alejandra."

"Good." I kissed her on her cheek and lifted her chin, playfully chiding her, "And what's with 'Alejandra' this and 'Alejandra' that? I tried for years to get your lazy ass to use my full name and now, all of a sudden, you're saying it every other sentence. What's up with that?"

Grinning mischievously, Colleen giggled, "Maybe now I'm more interested in pleasing you than teasing you." She covered her mouth with her hand as if to put the words back where they came from. "I can't believe I just said that out loud."

"Oh, lighten up, sweetie." I admonished, though I'm sure I was blushing every bit as much she was. "Relax and remember... it's only me."

The very last thing I wanted was for Colleen to get the idea that I was uncomfortable with her. But until I'd had some time to digest her revelations, I wouldn't have minded steering the conversation to safer shores. And to tell the truth, I hadn't had lunch yet when I ran into Colleen's mom at the mall, and here it was, well past dinner time. "Wanna continue this somewhere we can grab a bite? I'm famished."

"Would you mind if we ate in?" Colleen asked. "I'd be happy to rustle up something."

I couldn't resist giggling, "Dear heart... your mother raised a good woman... a thoughtful, sensitive woman... a truly lovely woman... but she sure as hell didn't raise a chef. Why don't you leave the cooking to me?"

"Hey!" Colleen's voice carried a feigned indignation, "I've gotten better." When I responded with a raised eyebrow, she shot back, "Seriously. I told you, that year and a half of solitude was spent productively. I bought some nifty cookbooks and tricked out my kitchen with all kinds of cool new gadgets... " When I gave her an even more exaggerated look of skepticism, she rolled her eyes, threw up her hands and said, "Fine. Fine. Whatever. Don't trust your best friend, then. Go ahead and do your Julia Child thing."

Ideally, I would've liked to prepare Colleen's favorite dish, Cajun Skillet Beans. Before the rift between us, it seemed as if she used to beg me to cook it for her every other week. History, though, led me not to expect to find much in the way of ingredients in her kitchen. I have ridiculed her many times over the years for how poorly she maintains her pantry.

Imagine my surprise upon discovering that she actually did have black-eyed peas, fresh onions and garlic. But I was in disbelief when I found bell peppers and celery, as well. In fact, all of the ingredients I needed were there. Brandishing the celery in her direction, I asked, "Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Colleen Hughes?"

She just stuck her tongue out at me and cracked, "Toldja. You just don't listen."

Once I had a pot of brown rice boiling on the stove, I began dicing celery, onions and garlic. Sauteing those ingredients in olive oil filled Colleen's small kitchen with a zesty aroma. While I was chopping tomatoes, Colleen crept up behind me and rested her chin on my right shoulder. "God, that smells heavenly," she said quietly.

It felt so good to have her near again. I turned my head to tell her so and found myself caught in the blue depths of her eyes. I don't think I've ever held anyone's gaze so long. As if hypnotized (See! It's not my fault! I was mesmerized), I leaned over and pressed my lips to hers. The kiss held for a moment, soft and warm, but the instant I pulled away, I regretted what I had done. In fact, I was furious with myself. Once again, I had acted impulsively, thoughtlessly. God knows, I didn't want to lead Colleen on when I didn't know my own mind yet.

To hide my momentary confusion, I turned away, reaching into one of her overhead cabinets for herbs and spices. Adding the tomatoes to the pan, I also mixed in dollops of honey and mustard. Thyme, oregano, basil, cayenne pepper, salt and black pepper followed. All the time, I was intensely aware of her proximity.

When I finally worked up the courage to look at Colleen again, questions were obviously on her lips, but she had mercy on me and asked none of them.

Black-eyed peas were the final ingredient. Once they'd been stirred in, I put the top on the pan, left it to simmer and began to toss a salad.

Colleen was always so appreciative of my cooking, that I loved preparing meals for her. It was easy to tell when she was enjoying her food, because her feet would rock in a subtle rhythm and she couldn't help wiggling her toes with delight. I was pleased to note that as we ate and chatted, she couldn't keep still for an instant. She put me in mind of an overactive little girl with an ice-cream cone.

As always, our conversation rambled over a wide range of subjects. But, as we were finishing our dinner, I asked how her work had been going.

In case I haven't mentioned it, Colleen is a successful freelance illustrator. I can't draw a straight line, but I had an interest in illustration even before I met her. It's one of the many reasons we hit it off so well. So, even though I can't do it myself, I do actually have an educated eye for color, composition and draftsmanship (if I do say so myself). And I can say, honestly and without bias, that Colleen is one of the good ones. Astonishingly good when you consider how young she is.

"As I mentioned," she responded, "I've had more free time than ever for the past eighteen months, and I've been putting it to good use. Bicycling, swimming, cooking (she stressed that in a derisive tone) and, of course, tons of drawing and painting. I've been doing some experimentation on the rare occasions I'm not actually working on an assignment. I've really gotten into these pastel chalk sticks lately. They've got a lotta cool qualities that have forced me out of my comfort zone and made me think in new ways. It's been my best therapy"

"Can I see?" I asked with genuine excitement.

"C'mon back," Colleen rose from the table and headed in the direction of her studio. When I started to gather up our dishes, she called back, "Leave those, for now. I'll get to 'em when we're done back here."

Hers was a two bedroom apartment; one room for sleeping, the other she'd converted into a workroom. When we entered her studio, she pointed to her drawing table. On its slanted surface lay a color-saturated pastel painting of a fantasy scene. It was not quite finished, so that a couple of small areas had not had color applied and the underlying pencil sketch could still be seen.

"This is the first time I've used these chalk sticks for an assignment. The art director seemed pretty happy with the rough I gave him and I'm pretty pleased with the way this is coming along."

"I can see why. This is gorgeous, Colleen. Wow! You've really made some progress since the last time I saw your work."

"Thanks."

As I replaced the art on her drawing table, I noticed the folding door to her closet was open. What caught my eye were a stack of canvases that were mostly obscured by the door and the shadow it cast. But, what little I could see of the rich colors made me curious.

"What's this stuff here?" I pointed to the hidden art.

"Nothing." she answered quickly. "I mean, just some unfinished junk... ideas that never really went anywhere... failed experiments... nothing worth looking at."

"What do you mean? You know I love that kinda stuff: the preparatory sketches, the under-drawing, the whole process. It's like peeking into the artist's head." I headed over to take a look when Colleen caught my arm. "Alejandra... I'd... I'd really rather you let those be."

I turned to look at her. Why in the world was she stopping me? We'd never kept anything from each other before...

And then, of course, the irony of that thought struck me full force. Colleen had been hiding one of the most important aspects of our relationship from me for years. I felt foolish and suddenly like a stranger, again. "I'm sorry, hon." I said. "I don't know where my head is at. I didn't mean to pry."