Quiet Defiance: My Coming Out Story

I don't have a dramatic coming out story.  In fact, I would argue, perhaps, I didn't exactly "come out" at all, at least not in any "I made an announcement" sort of way.

When I was 14 years old I went to Florida on vacation with my dad. I spent all day in the ocean or drying off on a towel in the sand.  Late in the afternoon our first day there, I met a girl.  Isn't that how these stories always go?

She had caramel skin and wavy ebony hair, and the most deliciously delightful accent.  We were both staying in the camp ground of the national park. We strolled along the boardwalk and bought french fries and ice cream. We were both good swimmers and we swam until it was dark. We spent most of the afternoon and well into the night talking and flirting.

I don't remember what we talked about. We sat on two giant beach towels, skin shimmering with dried salt from our recent swim, hair wavy and damp in the moonlight. I remember laughing a lot, and how I felt when she touched my arm--reaching over to brush the hair out of her face because it was windy.  And that's when it happened.

Our eyes locked and time stopped as it tends to in those moments.  My breath caught in my throat.  I leaned in and so did she, and we kissed. Her lips were soft and sweet, and so was her skin.

We stayed in Florida for more than a week.  So did she.  We soaked up every second together.  Fingers intertwined, feet in the sand, and stealing kisses while we could. 

If people noticed, we didn't notice them because it was all so new, or maybe it was the magic of vacation. She was my first kiss and I was hers.  We wrote to each other for several months after I left.  She lived in Florida and I did not.

A few years later, after dating a few boys, I met another girl who gave me butterflies.  She didn't go to my school but she worked in a store at the mall and so did I.  By this time I was 16 and well aware that my sexuality was not likely to be well received at home or in my conservative Southern community.  But I liked her and she liked me.

We liked to have lunch together in the food court on our breaks.  One day I screwed up the courage to ask her to go to a movie with me.  She said, "Like a date."  I nodded, and she said yes. 

When we were in line at the movies she said, "You know people around here won't like this."  I knew she meant us.  I said, "Yeah."  Then she smiled, and I smiled.  I reached for her hand, our fingers intertwined, quietly defiant.