E.S

What if every second of every hour of every day your mind was preoccupied. Not the kind of distraction you get from a diagnosis of ADHD or the sort of window shop mind wander. The kind that's agonizing when you're pulled back to your center, your earth. The kind that makes you cringe and grind your teeth because you want to feel their presence, hear their laugh, and see their eyes. 

You're straight.

You're straighter than an arrow and you have to believe that, there's no other option. You have to find comfort in the idea that God has a plan. God has a plan that you'll find a husband who doesn't make you shutter, feel the nausea of a touch, or panic into a tizzy. 

I tried online dating, I even tried sending a few pictures here and there, nothing. Every boy who stepped in my way was just another drawn out option, another failure. 

A few D's, a few C's, even a few A's. But nothing began with the letter E. E's were perfect. 

Your swim team came and went. She used to sit next to you, your thighs touched, and she'd scrunch down like a tiny accordion. You felt safe with her. You wanted her to hold your hand. She used to offer you the other earbud and as the soft ballads equally sounded through your ears, and you watched her. She'd stare out the window in intense concentration, and in that moment, you thought maybe she wanted you too.

"You're never going to guess what I think I noticed tonight." My friend slammed the car door, I glanced over at her in curiosity. She started up the car, letting it purr before we pulled out of the narrow snow banked road. Her words were extremely vague.

"Try me." I said. 

"Emma's acting like she likes you." She breathed out, I had goose bumps. "Like lesbian crush, she's not straight sort of like." 

"I'm not surprised." My other friend shrugged, pulling out of the driveway. We had just been at a Super Bowl party, it was a severe blow compared to the year before. The year before I was all over a boy named Andrew. 

"What even makes you think that?" My twin sister echoed in the back of the car. She was now leaning her chin on the top of my seat. My face reddened, I doubted with every bone in my body that her words were true. 

The only concept my mind could hold in that moment was the words defense mechanism. We had once learned in psychology that according to Freud we took situations and would flip the meaning. If you were angry at someone and said you harnessed hatred for them, you'd switch up the predicament and make it their fault. 

"Oh you know." I convinced myself God has a plan. "She just seemed really happy around you, all smiley and she hardly talked to anybody but you."

"That doesn't mean anything." I defended, I wasn't sure under what motives. 

"I was just saying it's something I noticed, you seem happy around her too, like really happy." 

"I just don't like her like that." I folded my fingers together, thinking about my friends words. She gave me a sort of unconvinced grimace, and normally my statement wouldn't have been bad, but I lied. 

The longer the lie advanced the more people questioned me. The more I questioned myself. The more I started sharing that confusion, the more people were happy for me, the more people I started admitting my feelings to, of the potential reciprocated feelings. The more ridiculous online quizzes beginning with the words "Are you bi-curious?" I took and the College Roommate applications.  My forefinger darted between the words straight and gay for nearly an hour. 

Every time I saw her, my tongue grew bigger, and my hands became sweatier. I became less convinced she had romantic feelings for me and more that she just thought of me as a really good friend. Regardless, I so wanted to be happy. I wanted to convince myself even if she wasn't in my life as a romantic interest, I was going to be fine. I was going to be fine because she may have helped me figure out one of the most major realizations in my life until now. 

We spent Valentines Day together, throwing small jenga blocks at each other until we were both red in the face. I liked sleeping with my head on her shoulder and lifting her up by the hips. 

It came to a point where I was exhausted at guessing. Playing the game show of whether Emma the girl likes you or not. I knew she wasn't straight, her short pushed up quiff made that obvious from the day that I met her. During an outing the only things she asked me were whether the two co-hosts of Mr. Marlborough High School were just best friends or dating. I said best friends. 

That same night we retreated to my friends house, we were too tired to leave, so we stayed over night. I had left a futon mattress in the back of my car, Emma was already holding my keys. 

"Look at all the stars." I remember her saying. She wasn't wrong, there were hundreds of them. It took us both minutes with a few extra pulls to remove the blue buttoned mattress. And when it finally came out Emma toppled onto the driveway, laughing the entire way down. 

"Emma," I giggled along with her. 

She grabbed my wrist, pulling me down onto the ground with her. I was getting warmer by the second in the March dampened air. 

We were touching shoulders, I curled my arm around my sleeping bag. We began naming stars, talking about our fears, and any other cliche philosophy two people would converse about. I couldn't tell whether I was shaking because of the nerves or the cold, but when I shook, she took my hand. 

"I think that star's a planet." She softly whispered, our fingers still tangled together.

"It sort of just looks like a plane." I laughed. "It's moving too, definitely a plane." 

"The sky moves too, you know." She squeezed my palm. "Well actually, technically we're moving, because the earth's rotating." 

"You're fucking with my brain." She found that funny as she dipped her head back in laughter.

"We're all just brains on a piece of rock with no purpose." She added after a few moments of silence. I didn't know how to reply, frankly, I didn't want to reply. Actually, I wanted to say, no Emma, our purpose is to find those we love, live, and be happy. But I knew she'd strike back at me with something like being happy isn't a purpose, it's an emotion. She was smart like that.

I glanced over at her a few times, she was smiling. Her smile was beautiful, beyond beautiful actually. She had little crows feet coming off her eyes when she grinned, it was contagious. Her lips were thinned out and she was complaining about her chapped lips like she always did, but I wish I would have leaned over and kissed her. 

My mouth kept falling agape, I should have told her how I felt, it was the perfect moment. 

"What are you guys doing?" I overheard one of the girls back in the house calling at us. 

"We should probably go back inside." Emma spoke up, I couldn't help but think she sounded disappointed. We both folded up the futon, walking through my friend's double doors, Emma's hair looked a little crazy. 

I told one of my friends I spilled the truth that I liked her, I lied, again. 

Emma Sullivan is nearly sixteen years old and I'm College bound. My heart is drooping as I write this. Each atrium and ventricle is pumping slower and I miss her. 

I'm not straight.