Light my Candle?

So, I recently got dumped last week. It was pretty much devastating.

Okay, that’s a huge exaggeration. It’s more of a joke that I had with a few people in the Center last week, but let me explain:

I recently encountered a woman on campus who I thought, 110%, just had to be queer. I was so super-thrilled. I had never seen her before. She was new! And guess what else?! She was completely beautiful, apparently single, and I was totally, totally interested.

On top of all that, she had what I could only dream of in a woman: to quote Summer, she was super gay, or super-queer, whatever you prefer. She was amazingly out and visible.

How did I know this? My flawless gaydar gave this girl a solid QUEER rating. She had all the tell-tale signs that one might look for. Rainbow flags on the water bottle? Check. The laptop? The backpack? Check check. The Look? (Come on, you all know what I’m talking about. The across-the-room, unmistakable, definitively gay, Look.) Yep.

I was so excited. I was in the Loop with my friend, Nathan, and when she came over to say hi to me, I think I almost dropped my electronic blue Loop buzzer. I felt like I was 5 years old. I grabbed Nathan by the arm and practically hyperventilated as I turned my back to her: “Is she coming over here?!” I tried to play it cool. It failed miserably. Before I know it, she’s in front of me and she’s started talking to me. I begin to ignore everyone else in the room.

But I was having the time of my life, because a beautiful queer woman knew my name, and I knew hers.

Fast forward to our 3rd encounter of the week. I bump into my new girlfriend (or, whatever) while I’m walking around campus the next day.

I’m trying to play it super-cool. But I remembered getting some advice from friends in the Center: “be intentional about your actions. Come out to her. Be honest. Start the relationship off by being genuine right away.”

So I thought, “hey, that’s good advice! I’ll come out to her, she’ll come out to me right afterwards, and we’ll move in and start this crazy life together.” I’m basically already planning our wild trip to Jamaica. Sweet.

I used the best line I could come up with, hoping it would seem smooth:

“I really like your rainbow stickers.” (Hey, if you have a better idea, let’s chat.)

She smiled: “Oh, thanks!” Silence. I try to play it cool:

“So…do you have them for visibility?”

She looked at me. And then she looked at me.

Oh God. It hit me. Something’s wrong. Panic mode. The Look had disappeared. Something wasn't right.

“Well, so…one of my best friends is gay…”

I stopped listening. I already knew by heart everything else that would come after it: Ally.

I was dumbfounded. I decided to try and save whatever face I had left. (Too bad I’ve already Googled the tickets to Jamaica. Expedia seemed to have good prices.) “Cool, sweet. Where on Central are you living? I love that song too. Yep, I agree, the weather is great. Have a nice day!”

But I was crushed.

Ally.

Don’t get me wrong. I love (not like!) allies. I love them so much. Why? Because I know what a ridiculously long time it took just to get myself to walk through those LGBT Center doors. And then, to see them do it, when they have the same social pressures to deal with, but they don’t even identify? It’s phenomenal. I just love it. I love them.

But I don’t love it so much when I think you’re super gay, or super queer, and you’re…just…not.

After getting dumped that afternoon (I’m exaggerating, but you get the idea), I wanted to forget about the whole thing. And I basically did, until Nathan, that same friend from the Loop, told me the following:

“I was just going to say that I really love seeing you talk about the women you're interested in. You just light up.”

Wait, really? I asked him to clarify.

“It's very true. I just thought of you grabbing my arm that day, and telling me to see if there was a table nearby her, and how you just lit up, and it made me smile. And while that girl may not be available, the fact that you could do that, and would do that, makes me smile.”

It was really great to hear him say that. Because before he told me this, I had thought of the incident as “that embarrassing time when I was blissfully unaware that I was hitting on a straight girl.”

But he was challenging me to think differently, to think of it as what it was: Real. (With AJ’s capital R.) Not just queer woman meets straight woman.

But queer woman works up the courage to do something very queer.

And that might be something worth remembering.