It’s the lesbian nightmare - falling for a bisexual girl. You feel like no one and nothing if off limits and I’ll admit it, it’s intimidating. It’s one thing to compete with other girls but how do you compete with guys who have things you’ll never have and can offer things you’ll never be able to? You hope that they’ll look past the parts of you that you can’t control and that your love will just be enough. You’ll try to avoid falling for one, but eventually you’ll slip up.
You’ll meet her your freshman year. She’ll live down the hall from you and you’ll see her while you’re waiting for the elevator. You’ll glance up from your phone- double take. Her blonde hair stuffed under a black beanie, blue owl eyes peering up from underneath, and flannel falling loosely to mid way down her thigh. You’ll pause your music and clear your throat.
“You live on this floor?” You’ll tell her your major and where you’re from - she’ll ask you to get lunch with her sometime and you will.
Okay take a step back, you can deal with her bisexuality. Don’t think about it too much, she says she prefers girls anyway. You’re just friends right now anyway, regardless of how attracted you are to one another.
But the next part is where it gets tricky. You’ll hear his name brought up in stories a few times before you inquire into who exactly “Eric” is. Oh, she went to high school with him? Ok. He’s in the Marines now? Respectable. She hasn't seen him in 6 months? That must be rough. They've been dating for two years? Oh.
You’ll focus all your energy on not falling for her. You’ll try to ignore how easy it is to talk to her, even though she makes you laugh, lying in your too-small twin XL, watching E!. She’ll tell you about the dark parts of herself that not everyone is allowed to know, that no one on this campus has earned her trust enough to know. She’ll understand you. You’ll understand her. She’ll be an old soul and you’ll feel like you’ve known her all your life. Soon, she’ll start standing closer to you when she talks, shifting her gaze from your eyes to your lips, and start to bite her lip, clearly thinking the same thing you are.
One day you’ll be walking to the Garden with her. You’ll pass a piano store and she’ll beg to go in and play. You’ll make the worst mistake you could, and go in with her. Every effort put into not falling for her will go right out the window. She’ll sit down in front of a big white Steinert and slowly begin playing Yiruma’s “River Flows in You.” You’ll lose the internal battle you’d been fighting for months.
One night you’ll be at the same party. There will be enough liquor in the both of you to be fully aware of the complete loss of moral control. You’ll start dancing with her, no bad intentions. When your lips, long overdue, finally meet, you’ll know you never want them to part.
It’s like you just broke the seal. This attraction you both have been fighting for so long was inevitably and wrongfully satisfied. The sin’s been committed. So is there really any extra harm in, say, doing it again? You’ll both kind of ignore the fact that she has a boyfriend. You’ll act like you are dating; you’ll hold hands in public, walk her to class and kiss her goodbye, sleep in the same, too-small-twin-XL together. Except you’ll know in the back of your mind that he still exists. Sometimes it will be a hardthought to avoid. When he calls her she’ll gaze those owl blues up and whisper “I’m sorry” before walking out of your room, answering the phone with “Hey babe!” just before the door swings shut behind her.
You’ll start questioning yourself. You’ll wonder why you’re letting someone treat you like you are some substitute while her boyfriend is off fighting for your country. But when you try to talk about it she’ll tell you how happy you make her, she’ll promise you she will break up with him, it just has to be in person, she’ll promise you, you come first.
One day you’ll be heading back from class and you’ll see her up Boylston Street, walking toward you. You’ll smile like you always do when you see her. Her face will light up, bright red lips draw back and her eyes will somehow get bigger than usual. She’ll break into a run and you’ll question why she’s so excited to see you this time - cause she is running for you, right? Then you’ll see him. You’ll wonder how you didn't notice him before; the six-foot-something lanky-ass Marine in dress blues. She’ll run into his arms so naturally, like she’s done it a hundred times before, because she has. Your heart will drop and you’ll instinctively turn and start walking the other way; away from your dorm, from your home, from her, going nowhere in particular other than anywhere they aren’t.
You’ll wait a few days. No word from her. You’ll see her roommate and ask if he’s still there. You’ll avoid being anywhere they might be, but sooner or later it’ll happen. You’ll step off the elevator and almost collide with them - they’ll be holding hands and laughing at some joke she must’ve just told, but her face will go blank when her eyes meet yours.
The next day she’ll walk into your unlocked room, unannounced like always, even though this is one time you wish you had more warning. You won’t speak and neither will she. You’ll just stare at each other. You’ll be sitting on your bed, laptop resting on your thighs and she’ll be standing in the middle of the room, hands cupping her Starbucks and eyes pleading. She’ll tell you about how Eric has to check in at the Boston Marine branch so she has a little bit of time if you want to talk. You’ll tell her you do. You’ll walk down to the Garden, past the piano store where you first really fell for her, and sit on a bench, not saying a word until you get there. You’ll sigh through the silence and wait for her to talk. She’ll try to ask you about how you've been, but you have no intention of telling her so instead you silently shake your head.
“You aren’t going to break up with him, are you?” You’ll finally break your silence.
You’ll close your eyes and wait for the response. She won’t say a word. You’ll open your eyes and turn your head to her. She isn't looking at you; instead, she'll be staring straight ahead, watching the ducks, who just returned from down south. She’ll close her eyes tight, sigh and slowly move her head right, then left.
“No.”
Born and raised in the Boston area, Janelle is struggling her way through college as a marketing student, starving artist, and hopeless-romantic lesbian. She runs off Dunks iced coffee, Marlboro reds, and shots of Bacardi when she needs a little extra something. With lots of insight on how relationships can go wicked wrong, wicked quick, she hopes to advise her readers so that they may avoid similar mistakes.
Images: totalbullshitblog.com, philly.com