Rachel, with her reddish-brown curls swaying gently, voiced her frustration about her parents’ demand. They insisted she withhold her lesbian identity from her ailing, nonagenarian grandmother, a woman who considered computers a fleeting trend if she remembered them at all.
Whether Rachel’s gestures were languid or rapid is subjective. The crucial point is that to John, Willy, and especially Lucy, her hair possessed a slow-motion quality as she spoke. This perception is key as one imagines Rachel, in a moderately busy university nightclub, twirling her straw and declaring to her companions, “It’s simply unfair. I crave the freedom of everyone knowing my true self.”
Lucy, observing Rachel’s unfashionable green footwear, countered, “But you’ve been married to the same man for three years. Are you certain you aren’t pansexual? If you intend to frame this as a cissexism issue rooted in heteronormativity when you come out to your grandmother, accuracy is paramount.”
Both Rachel and Lucy were writers. Lucy boasted a few publications and minor accolades for her undergraduate poetry. She was contemplating returning to poetry as she navigated her post-PhD in English career uncertainties. Rachel, with an MFA in poetry, claimed to have “abandoned a lucrative advertising career.”
When Lucy proposed a writing workshop, Rachel dismissed the idea, stating, “I find it amusing when individuals lacking poetic talent believe they can write poetry, and even attempt it. The endeavors are truly comical.” Lucy, offended, interpreted this as a rejection. However, their shared social circle prevented Lucy from severing ties. Lucy remained outwardly polite, yet sought opportunities to undermine Rachel within their group.
“I’m sorry, I’m just an old-fashioned lesbian. My husband is the only man I’m attracted to.” Rachel’s head movements appeared to normalize, though her straw-swirling persisted. “You’re being quite cisgender in your attempt to impose these distinctions, Lucy.”
John, primarily focused on an attractive man across the room, had nonetheless registered enough of the exchange to interject, “Sexual orientation exists independently of current choices, and gradations are fluid, but regardless—you are both cisgender.”
“Perhaps omni-, pan-, or bisexual then?” Lucy probed, scrutinizing Rachel’s slender arms with thinly veiled envy.
“What kind of question is that? I am definitively none of those. I am lesbian. My husband is the only man I find attractive.”
John nodded towards the man across the room while Rachel fixed her gaze defiantly into a corner. In the ensuing silence, Lucy recalled Rachel’s sole lesbian relationship, which had ended acrimoniously, Rachel’s animosity towards her ex-lover seemingly boundless. According to Rachel, one or both had sought, or nearly sought, a restraining order against the other—Lucy couldn’t recall the specifics. This ex-lover seemed an unlikely object of desire, at least in Lucy’s estimation. Were Rachel’s fantasies directed towards random women? Celebrities?
Lucy then entertained the notion that Rachel might harbor desires for Lucy herself. Could Rachel’s rudeness be a veiled expression of attraction? Lucy dismissed the idea as improbable. Furthermore, beyond mere ego or bias, Lucy genuinely disliked Rachel. Thus, Lucy’s central question became: did Rachel’s grandmother need to be privy to Rachel’s fantasies about figures like Adele, Pink, Taylor Swift, Sophie Turner, or any other unattainable object of desire?
Hadn’t John’s former boyfriend confessed to a hypothetical sexual encounter with Kate Upton, yet maintained his heterosexual identity? Lucy mused that if Emilia Clarke materialized in her bed, adorned with her iconic white-blonde hair and a dragon, resistance would be futile. However, this felt more emotional than physical, divorced from reality. Lucy didn’t identify as bisexual, even if she felt emotional connections to other women and often declared herself genderqueer in solidarity.
But did grandmothers require such intricate sexual disclosures? In a bygone era, declaring oneself “asexual and aromantic” might have been lauded as “spiritual” or “practical,” contingent on the individual’s path. Now, in an age of hypersexual expression, it might seem peculiar.
What benefit would a senile grandmother derive from understanding nuanced distinctions about her grandchild’s sexual desires? Lucy, instead of articulating this directly, summarized the core issue: “But if she’s dying, and such news would distress her?”
“That is precisely why I must tell her. She is my favorite grandmother, and I refuse to let her pass away based on a falsehood,” Rachel asserted.
In the dim lighting, Rachel might have missed Lucy’s eye-roll. However, the ensuing silence was palpable. John broke it, “It sounds like a difficult choice, Rachel. You’re torn between family harmony and personal truth. Let’s dance while you consider it.” John reached for Rachel’s hand, initiating an inside turn. As Rachel spun, the man John had been flirting with joined them on the dance floor.
Lucy turned to Willy, nineteen, shirtless in red vinyl pants, holding a fortuitously coordinated red Solo cup. “What proportion of people here do you think are fully out?”
Willy chuckled. “Fully out, encompassing all friends, family, work, school, and Facebook, per the Gender Unicorn’s minutiae? Maybe half. Have you heard Tim’s father story?”
“No way is Tim fully out.”
“He isn’t. His father’s story explains why. If you can get him to recount it, it’s hilarious.” Willy wavered between continuing his conversation with Lucy, dancing, or betraying his absent boyfriend, ultimately choosing to remain with Lucy—for the moment.
“He attempted to come out freshman year, at a holiday gathering, Thanksgiving, I believe.” Willy continued, “Tim informed his father he thought he was gay. His father retorted, ‘Think again! If you’re gay, I won’t fund your college. Are you certain you’re gay?’ Tim, ever the pragmatist, replied, ‘I’ve reconsidered. No, I’m not gay.’”
“Hmm… I also heard Tim aspires to politics, seriously,” Lucy added.
Tim approached, draping an arm around Lucy, “Hey, gorgeous,” grinding against her leg, winking at Willy, and continuing, “I heard my name mentioned.”
“Willy just recounted your father’s story. What a villain. Didn’t you mention he’s visiting again soon?”
“Yes, in two weeks. It will be quite the spectacle. I’ll resurrect my finest ‘Dancing Bear’ routine. I might even introduce you as my girlfriend, Lucy.”
“If you need a beard, I’m game. Might be entertaining. Can I pass for twenty? Or will you present me as a mature woman?” Lucy envisioned being a beard at a family event as fodder for a story, perhaps even a publishable one.
Tim laughed, “Ohhhh… exceedingly entertaining.”
“At least he funds your tuition,” Lucy remarked.
Tim raised his eyebrows. “Don’t forget rent and my new computer.”
Lucy seized the opportunity to subtly criticize Rachel. “What are your thoughts on Rachel’s desire to disclose her lesbian identity to her grandmother?”
“It’s confined to her fantasy life. She’s not unfaithful to her husband, and she dismisses queer and pansexual identities. What ninety-year-old needs to know about her granddaughter’s sexual fantasies? Discussing queer, pansexual, and gender-fluid identities with those who understand is one thing, but an ‘old-fashioned lesbian’ married to a man—that’s a lot for someone born before World War II to process.”
Lucy smiled, tilting her head. “Would you voice that to Rachel directly?”
“Would she want me to?” Tim responded. Then, Tim pulled Lucy and Willy onto the dance floor. “Let’s dance on the platform by the mirrors.”
Silver Damsen, raised in Southern California, attended University of California, Riverside and California State University, Long Beach. She currently works as a global drug treatment reform activist in Illinois. “Dancing Bears” marks her debut short story publication.
