I was sitting on the dark marbled countertop in her kitchen, and the rays from the sun beginning to set shone their way through the window and rested upon my hair, heating up the back of my neck. Rap music played subtly in the distance, and I pulled one of my knees up to my chin as I watched her move around the kitchen. The air smelled like spices, and every now and then the sunlight would find its way into her sparkling blue eyes. She was truly beautiful, a little spark of energy- riding her skateboard back and forth from the fridge, cupboards, and hot stove. The hardwood floors were all scraped up, but she didn’t seem to care as she traveled through the kitchen and around the couch in the living room. Wearing skinny jeans, and a cropped Rolling Stones t-shirt with fringe on it, the fringe swayed back and forth with her as she skated. She stopped at the stove to stir a pot of boiling noodles. With her right foot still on her board, and her left one firm on the floor, she closed her eyes, and a smile crept up her lips. “My dad used to make this all the time when I was little,” she said, her soft eyes trailed from the pot on the stove and up to the cabinets, when she closed them again and chuckled to herself. I said something in an attempt to comfort her, but she waved her hand at me and climbed up onto the island, facing me. “It’s okay, it was a long time ago. I was only 10, I don’t really remember,” she looked to her right and slowly licked her lips. “He was deployed for a lot of those ten years anyways.”

“I’m really sorry, Jen.” I never knew what to say when people brought up sad topics. Offering an “I’m sorry” was all I could ever think to say; I didn’t want to make her more sad, but I still wanted her to know that I was here for her. “What else do you remember?”

She chuckled again and hopped off the island. “No really, I’m fine.” She stood in front of me and locked her fingers into my hands. “Here I am getting all sappy, when we’re supposed to be having fun.” Her fingers escaped my hands, and they trailed to my hips, up my sides, and rested on my cheeks. My heart hammered in my chest and my breathing was shaky. She kissed me. Her lips tasted like vanilla, and I wrapped my arms around her neck. My body was trembling, and I felt on fire. How could something so wrong make me feel so alive?
Months later I would recite this story to a friend for the first time, and I’d choke while telling it.  “She was a l- a le- a les,” I’d stop and inhale air while glancing at my feet.

“A lesbian,” my friend finished for me, as if it was a normal, casual conversation. Tears were starting to roll down my cheeks. Images of the girl who had my heart flooded my mind. But they were distorted- I couldn’t see her face. Her long, brown hair rested on her shoulders, and a white lace dress was wrapped around her body, with a big letter L embroidered into her dress like a scarlet letter.

I covered my eyes with my hands. Mirrors cornered me everywhere I looked, mocking my life and the person I had become. I couldn’t bear to face myself. “I’m bisexual,” I whispered.

“Okay,” she said, not missing a beat.

“But I like boys and girls.” I mumbled.

“Okay,” she listened.

“I had my first crush on a girl when I was 11 years old,” I felt compelled to let the words fall out of my mouth, and every letter felt like a pound was being lifted off my chest.

My parents watched a reality show that was basically like the bachelorette, when I was in the 6th grade. The main star was bisexual, and was dating boys and girls to find the person she wanted to be with. I don’t remember much, but I do remember something comforting washing over me as my dad explained the plot. My parents were laughing, they thought it was funny; but I went to bed that night with a slight comfort that someone else in this world was like me. Bisexual, I thought to myself in the dark room, that’s what I am.
Years later, it doesn’t feel so comforting.  I’d end up pushing Jen away from me. “I can’t do this,” I’d mumble. “So many people would hate me.”

“But I don’t hate you!” she’d stammer.

“Yeah but you’re so …” I’d stutter.

Hurt would flicker through her blue eyes. “I’m so what?” she’d blink, “Lesbian?” she’d breathe out. That’s not what I meant Jen, I’d think to myself. Confident, free, independent, self-assured. The hurt in her eyes would turn to anger, “They warned me not to fall in love with a bi girl, and gosh I’m such an idiot!” she’d wipe her eyes, and yell at me to go.

We’d apologize and make up as friends through text message the next morning.

A year later, she would end up dating the neighbor of one of the guys I used to like- and I’d end up falling madly in love with another girl.

Through the pain I’d smile to myself. They warned me not to fall in love with a straight girl, and gosh I’m such an idiot!

I sat in bed crying my eyes out from a broken heart, and my parents laughed at me. They laughed. 
According to them it wasn’t possible to have a broken heart from a girl, but I cried so hard that night, I had to use my rescue inhaler. 

Falling for a straight girl is obviously something no one I know can relate to.  I was sincerely in love for the first time in my life with someone who just doesn’t like girls- and it’s kind of more complicated than that, but we’ll leave it there. It was the kind of love where you feel like you’re going to die because you can’t be with them. I was in love with her existence. Her soul was beyond beautiful, and a lot of people didn’t see it- but mine craved it. I wasn’t in love with a girl- I was in love with a person. She had a boyfriend. I would watch him hug and kiss her, and feel like someone had stabbed me in the heart. 

  However, now when I look in the mirror, there’s no B scarlet letter plastered over my heart, because people are people, no matter their sexual orientation. Which gender you choose to love doesn’t change what kind of person you are, and my reflection doesn’t scare me anymore.

So BTW… thanks Jen - for teaching me all of that. You are one of the most genuine, down to earth, inspirational girls I have ever met. I’m so lucky I got to know you. Keep being amazing.

Oh, and the night I cried so hard I had to use my inhaler to breathe? My dad took a deep breath, wrapped me in his arms, and told me any girl that made me cry this hard surly wasn’t worth it. One day I’d meet the boy… or girl who was meant for me, and it wouldn’t hurt anymore.