Saturday, February 20, 2010

Japanese Peace Pogs and Brandy

My writing teacher floored me the other day.

So we were sitting there talking about comparative essays (which I despise btw! To structured!) when she pulls out this small book. Everyone in the room is silent, except for the girl across from me who’s wide grin shouted, “just yuuu wait….” I really don’t care for that girl, every time she speaks I think of Louanne from King of the Hill but a bit more brusque. “Hay Yall’aint’gnna’ elive wut happund’ to mey todaye” …yea

“I know everyone is stressing over turning in your first essay.” my teacher said. “I know its hard to pour your heart into something and then let everyone judge something you have put all of yourself into”. We all nodded in agreement, I grinned my nervous grin. “So here’s what I am gonna’ do,” she says “I will read you a story I wrote from 1982″.

Don’t get me wrong I expected the writing to be phenomenal but what I heard next floored me. Her story was so emotionally charged that you could see her hands shaking as she read it. I could feel the rhythm in her voice change with each tear that wanted to well in her courageous eyes. Her voice trembled as her words became shallow, raspy breaths. Not to mention the spacial atmosphere of the room, some students fluttered upon an emotion of embarrassment, some nervous, and others felt relative.

No doubt it took courage to tell her story. Just as it had taken courage for Johnny E. to tell his story last semester, the ending of the Fall term in Public Speaking he came out of the closet to the entire class. “I am an athlete,” he said “A runner, An uncle, A brother….I am Johnny and I AM a gay man.” I will never forget his speech. The entire atmosphere in the room changed within seconds, some people felt angry and deceived whereas some such as I, felt proud.

Now I suppose at this time you must be wondering if I am gay or bisexual and my answer is no, I am not. I have no desire for women, however, I do support human rights. Some people ask me, “Why do you befriend them? Why do you defend these people?” Well, there is a story behind my reasoning.

Lets roll back the time-line to eleven years ago, 1999. I was twelve years old getting ready to enter middle school. For most of my childhood I had been obese, I wore thick nerdy glasses colored in blue framing with pink sparkles. My hair was styled by my sisters IE: permed and curled under…everywhere. I would have had more luck with a mullet or a rat’s tail. With that being said I was a class-A loser, being picked on daily, made fun of and getting beat up were nothing new. Around the fifth grade I got smarter, I tried to change my look. Of course, my family was poor so I couldn’t do much other than hit up my best friend’s closet for old black t-shirts. My attitude began to change a small bit, I started conning the teacher’s for money so that I could eat that day. After a while I made a promise to myself that I would lose weight and use that money to make myself a pretty girl, I didn’t want food anymore. I just wanted the mean girls to stop.

So, the summer of my fifth grade year, June 1999, I got a twelve speed bicycle from my sister. Everyday from sun up until dusk I would ride. I would trudge through wooded areas and wonder around in the lush green of mother nature. Sometimes I would explore the other neighborhoods, successfully angering a pair of Rottweilers at least twice a week as I sped by them. I became addicted, everyday I needed a new hill to ride down, another fix of adrenaline.

One day I decided to conquer the largest hill in the whole area. I took a deep breath, giving myself a mental pep talk.

“you scared?” I heard a patronizing voice from behind me.

“Do what?” I craned my neck around angrily.

“Oh its not THAT bad” said a dark curly-headed girl who housed the voice that irritated me so much.

“I know that!” I yelped. She laughed.

“C’mon, lets go I’ll show ya somethin’. I’m Brandy by the way.” She reached for my hand and shook it grimly.

“Ashley,” I nodded.

She led me across the other side of the neighborhood where another hill was located. Anxious to get my next fix I jumped on my bike, ready to take the hill over like a pile of conquering ants. We both sped down, racing, laughing, and eventually crashing. Brandy was a unique character, she was very tall and liked to carry her bike on one shoulder, rather than walk it, up the hills. She studied karate and loved to draw. For the rest of the summer we rode around, played in the creeks, and battled it out with her endless pog collection.

“I think I’ll draw this pog” I told her.

“to late,” she said, “I already did”. Such was a day with my new best friend Brandy.

Eventually the summer weeks came to an end and we both started our new schools. She was now in the ninth grade, me the sixth. One day after school we decided to go for a walk in a sad attempt to enjoy the last evenings of sunny weather.

“I need to show you something” she said to me suddenly looking ashamed. “whats wrong?” I asked her. Here, just take this” she shoved a letter in my direction and turned her back to me. I sat on the back ally roadside underneath a small tree as I opened the letter. I skimmed the words which glistened in pink ink, searching for something that made sense to me; occasionally glancing over at Brandy to see her face drawn in an even deeper frown. “Are you sick or something?” I asked beginning to get worried.

“Well sort of, just keep reading” she turned further away. After mulling over her note I realized it was a ‘crush’ letter. “So who is he?” I asked with excitement.

“Well…..he’s not a HE” she replied slowly.

“oh” was all I could say. “well then that means….” struggling to put the idea together.

“yea he’s a HER”.

“Umm..what?” I laughed at her “that’s impossible, are you a boy?” I asked bewildered.

“No”, she gave me a long look taking the note back. “Its you” she said as she studied the pebbles under her shoe. “you are the first person I have told…… I am gay, I like you and I am scared”.

My face turned blood-red and my skinned burned, I wanted to cry. I truly felt sick; perverse even. Brandy turned, looking up at me, her eyes were still as mud. She leaned in toward me, ready to make her move. I had never really understood the idea of gayness at that age, much less been asked out by another girl but what I did next still shames me to this day.

“No!No!No!No!” I screamed, “What the fuck?! This is just freakin’ weird man! Oh my god!”

I jumped to my feet and took off running as brandy paced slowly behind me. Tears began to fall down my stinging cheeks as I remembered that my CD’s and poggs were still at Brandy’s house. Brandy knew this, so she kept her distance behind me, silently ripping up her letter of hope. Fowl words escaped my mouth as I ran faster, reaching her front steps, sprinting past her mom and dashing to her bedroom to get my cd’s and pogs. Brandy lingered in the doorway, hunched over holding her stomach. “I cant handle this shit” was all I could say in a cold snarky tone, as I nudged past the girl who was ready to fall to her knees. I ran home shaking.

The next day came and went and as each week rolled on I felt more and more disgusted with myself. I hated myself for speaking to her that way. Aside from her preferences brandy had been a good friend to me and god knows she’s couldn’t help how she felt. My mother explained homosexuality to me and then told me of several other people on our block who were also gay. People I had known for years. I fought the urge to see them in a different light. I struggled with my conscience but I knew I could not tell Brandy that I was sorry. I could not face her. I was afraid to, what if she made another move on me? I couldn’t handle that again no matter how guilty I felt.

Years flew by and before I knew it I was entering the 9th grade just as Brandy had been that summer so long ago. One night at the mall I was sitting on a bench with some friends. One girl in particular, named April, sat beside me. “Wait until you meet my girlfriend”, she said excitedly.

“I cant wait”, I told her. “She better be good to ya”, I nudged her arm jokingly. Ever since that summer with Brandy I had sworn to treat gay people the same as straight people, I swore I would never be as cold to another gay person as I had been to brandy. No one deserved that, she didn’t deserve that.

Then there she stood, as April got up and ran to her side. “Brandy?” the sickness in my stomach returned as I realized what I had to do. “Ohmygod,” she said covering her mouth and turning to sprint in the opposite direction. “No hey, hang on” I started after her. This time it was her who sprinted away as I walked patiently behind her. “This isn’t necessary” I told her. she ran on. I silently followed.

Finally, stopping in a private corner of the mall she turned to me. Crying and laughing hysterically, nervous. “I’m sorry Brandy” I said getting straight to the point.

“I cant believe this” she said. “YOU are friends with my girlfriend??” I nodded. I knew she was shocked by the idea. “I’m sorry” I repeated, “I didn’t mean to be that way, I was young, naive. I’m ashamed of that.” Brandy smiled, as if she had waited three grueling years to hear me say those words. We spoke for a moment, catching up and making small talk. As the conversation ended we shook hands just as we had on the first day we met and then we walked in opposite directions, she got her closure, I got mine, another bad memory mended.

After that, I began sticking up for gays and lesbians, I had seen her struggle. I had been apart of it. I understood the pain and embarrassment that they had to go through and I respected their courage. I proceeded to make more gay friends and I accepted them when others didn’t want too, being put through the whole “Are you gay too?” routine by family because of my tolerance for them. I was even kicked out of church for defending human/gay rights. Although in today’s world, gays are not treated as harshly as they once were, they still have it rough sometimes. However, I am not ashamed, nor embarrassed to say I support gay rights, they are people, they have souls, they have hearts, but most of all, they have courage where others do not. How could we not respect that? Ask yourself, could you stand up in front of thirty strangers that you have to see twice a week and tell them your sexual preference? Most gay’s have no choice, that takes strength, how could we not admire that?

[Via http://sugako.wordpress.com]

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