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It wasn’t easy being out then. Not that I feel like it’s so easy now, but it was worse then.

Amy didn’t care. She was proud of who she was. Who she is. She was amazing, brilliant, brave, and proud. It made me want her even more and it made me scared.

I wasn’t as brave.

“Why does it matter to you?” Amy asked giving me that annoyed look. “Why the fuck do you let these small minded assholes get to you?”

I wanted to tell her that I didn’t care. That society and people are all fucked up and everyone else didn’t matter. I wanted to tell her I could be as brave and out as she was. Shouting to the world, ‘This is me! Deal!’

I felt all those things. . . but I also wanted to tell her that I just wanted them to see me. Like me for me and then maybe, just maybe, they would have a different view. Maybe they wouldn’t feel so threatened. If they could see past my sexual identity, they could just see. . . me.

I fiddled with the zipper to my jacket. “I don’t know Amy. I’m just not like you.” I looked down, not wanting to see that annoyed look anymore. “Maybe I’ll feel different later. Maybe I’m just being too sensitive. I don’t know. Forget it.”

Amy sighed heavily and shook her head. “Don’t worry kiddo,” she smiled softly. “I still love you. I just hate seeing you upset.” She reached over and hugged me.

by paid_voyeur