Best Friends

I can’t remember. I don’t want to remember. Fifteen years, has it been that long? I can still feel her sometimes. Curled up on the bed. Talking. Her breath on my neck, my ear. Not that she meant to. Not that she felt the same way. Best friends. She’s in love with her best friend. They know everything about you. You share your life, your dreams, your aspirations. In the end, we all fall in love with our best friends. Does she believe me when I say she’s wrong?

“Dr. Mensonge?”

“I’m sorry, dear, what was that?” Don’t let her into your head. Don’t allow your thoughts to stray. Save her.

“I was just asking if you knew of the film A Florida Enchantment?”

She has certainly done her research. She thinks this is alright. Make her see. Scare her. “Yes I have dear, and may I say it is a blatant attack on modern American values as we know them.” I’m going to hell.

“Why would you say that, Dr. Mensonge? It’s just two men dancing.”

“Just two men dancing? There are multiple references to transexuality and homosexuality. What’s next, interracial marriage and reproduction?” People are people. Love is love. That’s what makes the world, keeps it unique. I’m halting ingenuity and genius. Stopping inspiration. Ending love. Ending the world.

“Someday, Dr. Mensonge, the world will be a much more accepting place. I’m brave. I’ll make them see. I’ll make everyone see.”

Oh god, so naïve, so young, so right. What do I do? What can I do? Tell her about me? No, this is not about me. Show her my journal? My work? My pain? “The world is far too big for you to change, Emma. You’re a child. You’re a female. Add gay to the list and you’re a target for the unjust.”

“Then let the unjust come. I will not conceal who I am to protect myself. I’d rather hurt myself. That is hurting myself.”

How do I lie? Tell her she’s wrong? She’s wiser than everyone. She’s stronger than I am. Maybe she can make it. Maybe she can help. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she’ll fail. She’s wrong. She’ll fail. “You will be hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Emma, they will fabricate a charge and send you to prison. If you don’t want to go to prison, they will make you check into a psychiatric care facility on a “voluntary” basis until you are “cured” of your homosexuality. Electroshock therapy. Oh god, the pain. Do you understand what I am telling you, Emma?”

“You’re telling me to lie?”

I’m telling you to live.

I Belong in That Book

Dr. Mensonge, did you hear me?”

Why is there a ringing in my ears? Oh god, what do I say? What do I do? “Why do you classify yourself as homosexual, Emma?”

“Because I have been in love with my best friend, Madison, for over five years.”

In love with her best friend. Madison. Madison. I cannot believe this is happening. What do I tell her, to be strong? To hide? Safety comes with the unconcealed. She must not tell a soul. “Have you told Madison this?”

“No, I haven’t had the nerve to be completely honest. But I plan to. I believe she feels the same.”

I must not allow her to make herself vulnerable. If she tells, they’ll report her. Madison, have I heard of Madison? Is she in her book? Is she beautiful? Does she smell to this child like lust? Does she make her breath stop? She’s so young, so in love. I must save her. “Is Madison in your book, Emma?”

“Yes, I’ve written about her. I have other things as well. Things that make me worry. Things I have to hide. Pictures, quotes, books, songs. Myself.”

She must realize this is dangerous, or she wouldn’t go through the trouble of concealing herself. Switch the subject. Make her forget. Dissuade her. “Why don’t you tell me about the things in your book.” I belong in that book.