Bangles

A/N: I'm debating whether to continue this or not. For now, though, it's a one-shot.

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15 October 1998
Journal Entry # 194

Aimee Sheffield came out today.

Typical.

How is it simultaneously cliché and rebellious to be a lesbian these days? Who does she think she’s fooling telling her friends that she was gay? Does she think that saying she’s into girls will make her even more popular? I’ve been a lesbian my whole life and nobody’s breaking down my door to talk to me. At least I look like a dyke, but Aimee Sheffield? No. Fucking. Way.

There is no way that a goddamn, snobby bitch/cheerleader would be a lesbian! I mean, isn’t that part of being a cheerleader, the girls who give the best blowjob and can make half the football team come on her face gets to be on the squad?

How can someone like Aimee Sheffield be a lesbian? She’s all sparkles and glitter. She’s full of just glow, isn’t she? Shiny teeth, shiny eyes, shiny brain… all those bangles and bobbles hanging around her wrists, fingers, and neck. Fuck she has to be some kind of spokesperson for Tiffany’s … too much flair to be a licker.

Maybe it’s some kind of stunt or dare. They want to see what’ll happen when the rest of the school finds out.

We’ll see.

18 October 1998
Journal Entry # 199

Aimee Sheffield asked if she could study with me for our upcoming US Government exam. We’re in the same class, fourth period, right after lunch.

Sometimes I catch her looking at me when Mr. Warren goes blathering on about the judicial branch. She smiles too much. You’d think someone with braces that reflected light like that would keep her mouth closed. Then her hair has a golden shimmer from that horrid classroom lighting; it blinds me.

Just as she finished asking the question, her friends saw her talking to me and pulled her away.

“Why do you want to talk to Black Girl?” Aimee’s friends were asking her as they walked away. They looked at me giving me those ‘I smell shit and it must be you’ looks. Then they laughed again.

That’s their name for me, Black Girl, not because I’m black, but because I prefer to wear black sleeveless shirts and black jeans. I don’t see a need for all those other colors. They’re painful to the eyes – yellows and blues, reds and greens. I may not have a problem being a dyke, but that doesn’t mean I need to dress like a goddamn gay pride poster child. Black does me just fine. It keeps me in the shadows – watching everyone and everything.

Something’s going on. I just sense it. Maybe they want to see what I’ll do now that the school is talking about Aimee being a lipstick lesbian.

26 October 1998
Journal Entry # 214

Aimee came up to me today after school as I started walking home. I was getting ready to cut through the park and make my way to the railroad tracks when her Toyota pulled in front of me. Must be nice to have a daddy who’ll buy you a car.

I told her, “No thanks,” but she kept driving in front of me saying she wasn’t going to leave me alone or take no for an answer. She had that awful toothpaste commercial smile again. It was so annoying, just like her, but she still wouldn’t leave.

I got in the car.

She started talking to me again. First about the test coming up, then shit about her other classes, then her family. I tried not to look at her and kept staring straight ahead. Despite my instructions to my house, she decided to go in the opposite direction. She said she knew where I lived, had driven by a few times, but I figured it was for a joke that she and her friends were going to play on me later.

After an hour, I turned and looked at her asking what she wanted from me. I’m pretty good at government, making the highest grades, so I figured she might be looking for a tutor or something.

She pulled into an empty parking lot and turned off the engine. I started to worry. We were in a part of town I didn’t know very well, way far away from the high school or home. I pressed myself against the car door and stared at her. She looked so innocent and a bit uncertain. Then she smiled at me again, all that metal and teeth were so shiny and bright. There was something about her smile that made my stomach do flip-flops. Then she started talking and I could tell she was finally ready to tell me whatever it was she wanted to say to me. I tried to remember as much of it as I could.

I’ve… well, I’ve been watching you lately. Not like a stalker or anything, but just watching you in our classes together… you know, since last year. I’ve seen some of the bands you’ve written on your folders and I’ve heard some of them. They’re actually pretty good. I’ve noticed you’ve been writing a lot in a journal or something. Is that something you like to do, write? I don’t know, it just seems all pretty interesting. I hope you don’t mind.

Anyway, I’m sure you’ve heard by now that I’ve sort of … well… come out to my friends and all. It was rough, but I think they kind of understand. They’ve started doing stuff without me, though, mostly shopping. I guess they’re worried I’m checking them out or something.

Since they’re spending so much time away from me, I seem to have more and more time on my hands. I also heard awhile back that you were ‘out’, too, and since we’re both… well… ‘out’, I was wondering if you’d like to hang out with me sometime? Maybe we could hang out at each other’s house or watch TV or even study together if you’d like.

I don’t know…. what do you think?

For a few minutes, I was silent. I was stunned.

I couldn’t believe what she was telling me! Our perfect little cheerleader was getting kicked out of the ‘spread legs club’ and she wanted to be my friend because she heard I was a lesbian, too! The nerve of her! I just blew up and let her know what I thought. I told her this wasn’t some sort of fucking club. There was no membership fees like her daddy’s country club, we didn’t have meetings, or any shit like that, and just because we both liked to going down on girls that didn’t mean we had anything else in common!

When I finally finished, I looked at her, really looked at her and was worried that she was going to cry. She was biting her lip really hard; her head was down. I could see she had a grip on the steering wheel like her life depended on it.

I teased her a bit and asked if she was going to cry like a baby, but she just shook her head and started the engine.

She took me straight home after that. I didn’t even have to tell her how to get there. I guess she remembered my directions from earlier.

Neither of us said a word the whole way there.

27 October 1998
Journal Entry # 215

This morning I woke up and I thought about everything I said to Aimee yesterday afternoon. I felt a little bit bad about it. I couldn’t remember a time when people didn’t think I was an outsider, so I had no idea what she was going through.

During fourth period, I kept watching her to see if she’d look up at me. I wanted to let her know that I felt a little bad about yesterday. No matter how many times I looked at her she never looked up from her desk, not even once. As soon as class was over, she bolted out of the room and I couldn’t catch up to her. Every time I’d try to get close she’d start talking to her friends and they’d all ignore me. It’s so hard to talk to any of them when they’re in their ‘pack mode’. After school, I tried looking for her or her car, but she was gone.

By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I went up to my room and cried.

God, I fucking hate high school! I can’t wait to leave this Podunk town.

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