“This is a lovely picture, Emma. Who is this?”
“That’s Sappho.”
Why is that familiar? “Sappho?”
“Yes, she was a famous writer of the ancient world, born on the Isle of Lesbos.”
Yes, I know that name. The Isle of Lesbos. What’s next?
“The bulk of her writings were about liberating females, and many of them had homosexual themes. Some believe her work was autobiographical. But you know something funny, Dr. Mensonge?”
There is nothing funny about this. “What, dear?”
“She wasn’t persecuted for her writings, beliefs, or lifestyle.”
She didn’t live in the 1969 Mississippi. You’re about as likely to get beaten here as breathe if you’re gay. “Times were rather different back then. This bothers you?”
“Not that she wasn’t persecuted, no. That’s something to celebrate. It just makes me sad that I can’t be the same way.”
This is tragic. How do I tell her, how do I explain? How can I make her understand that the truth does not always set you free? That the truth can be your ruin? That sometimes happiness need not be disclosed? That sometimes sacrifices must be made to continue living? “That is sad, dear.”
“What does psychology say about me?”
That you’re diseased. That you’re mentally insufficient. They know nothing about you. “Well, the American Psychological Association classifies homosexuality as a form of mental disorder, one that can be cured through reparative therapy.”
“Reparative therapy? As in ‘fixing’ me”
I know, honey, there’s nothing to fix. But the world thinks you’re sick. How do I do this? Do I tell her she’s sick? Do I threaten her? My head is pounding, I need to lie down. But I can’t leave her. I can’t let her ruin herself. “Exactly. With reparative therapy homosexual tendencies can be reverted to more healthy lifestyle choices.” I sound like a bigot. I’m saving her.
“You think I need to be fixed?”
“I think you need to understand something, Emma.” Scare her. “Are you aware of George Mariority?” Poor soul.
“Who?”
“George Marioirty?” Dead. “Leo Laurence?” Exiled. “The Black Cat Tavern?” Destroyed.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Mensonge. I’ve never heard of any of this.”
Innocent soul. Don’t let her forget. “George Mariority was a gay man who was murdered by two friends in Utah four years ago. He had never even made his homosexuality public.” She could be hurt. “Leo Laurence was the editor of ‘Vector’ magazine. He encouraged gay men and women to organize against society. He was expelled from post earlier this year.” She could become an outcast. “The Black Tavern was a gay bar in Los Angeles that was raided in 1967. The patrons were beaten and arrested, the bar ruined.” Her life could be destroyed.
“…I’m going to have to add those to my book.”
Get through to her. Show her your pain. Make her understand. “Emma, if you disclose your lifestyle, your life could be devastated. People you thought were friends will turn on you. Family will act differently. Strangers will stop and stare, not for your good looks, but because you’re different.”
“Dr. Mensonge, how do you know this?”
We have more in common than you think, Emma. “Because I’ve been through training for this situation, dear. I’ve been to school. I’m also older than you. I know how the world works. This is how the world works. What you’re thinking is unnatural.” It’s as natural as can be.
“But what do you think? As a person? As a friend?”
I think you’re perfect. I think you’re a friend. I think you have so much going for you. That you’re smart. That you’re beautiful. That I’m a hypocrite. That I’m dying. That my heart is pounding out of my chest. That I need to save you. That I must lie. “I think this is wrong. I think you’re sick.”
