thelesbianlifestyle.com

When I entered the coffee shop this morning from the bright sunshine outside, I paused by the door for a few seconds to give my eyes time to adjust to the darkness. As soon as I could focus, I started toward the back room, where I knew a friend of mine was waiting. There, framed by the doorway, sat a woman—a stranger, who made me catch my breath. I stared at her as I walked toward her–willed her to look up at me from the book she was reading–and when she did, my heart pounded in my chest, just like hearts do in cheesy romance novels.

As luck would have it, my friend and I settled at the table right next to this woman. In between sips of coffee, I stole glances at her and made my assessment: green tunic top, cropped pants, athletic sandals, sports watch. Suntanned. Boyish haircut. Earrings, but no wedding band. There was nothing that screamed “lesbian!” about her (where’s a good Ani DiFranco T-shirt when you need one?), but nothing unequivocally UN-lesbian about her either. In any case, I was drawn to her and yearned to strike up a conversation. Could I finally be developing my own fledgling “gaydar?”

Two years ago—after 18 years of marriage to a very good man, I fell suddenly and madly in love with a close female friend. What followed can best be described as a personal transformation—I suddenly had an explanation for all the difficulties in my marriage and the awkwardness of my dateless, boyfriend-less, teenage years. I wasn’t cold or overly shy after all! I simply hadn’t met the right sort of person. It took me until my 40s to realize that I was never going to be fulfilled by attempting to love a man. The right sort of person for me turned out to be a woman.

Now I am ready to change my life. I am ready to commit to the woman I love and have told her so. Unfortunately, when I talk to her about making plans for our future, I feel a gulf growing between us. She no longer answers my love letters the way she once did; we argue more and simmer longer. The more certain I am about loving her, the more I feel her subtly back away. It hurts to finally know what I want—only to discover that the person who helped me realize it has cold feet. The most painful thing about loving a woman is when that love is no longer reciprocated: the angels stop singing and fireworks stop flaring, and what you are left with is heartbreak as consuming as a house fire. It is more than you think you can bear.

Enter the woman from the coffee shop. I turned my chair toward her, while I chatted with my friend. I admired how her brown hair swept up toward the center on both sides, giving her a slight (but adorable) “faux hawk.” I admired how she bent over her book, tuning out all the noise around her, and how her tanned arm lay across the top of the pages to hold the book open. Spinning as I have been in the maelstrom of a dying marriage and cooling love affair, it was reassuring to feel this attraction to a complete stranger today. It was an innocent, one-sided crush and it made me feel happy.

I will probably never see the coffee shop woman again, and that’s okay. I believe she is just one more stone on the path my life has recently taken: I am a woman who has discovered she loves other women. And it feels very good to finally say it.

Sent in by: Anonymous
Age: 43