Gay Teenagers and Coming Out

Wherever You Are, There You Go
Everybody loves Sheila. If you could say that anyone in particular sets the social rules around school, she does. For instance, whatever she wears on Monday somehow becomes the height of fashion by Thursday noon. Some teachers find her shallow but some find her interesting, and a lot more substantial than she appears. Usually adults can't help but like her, though, and they think she is amusing in that just this side of sarcastic way. Others wish the girl would give the old act a rest. As for her friends, her legion of friends, they say she's already a party animal legend, and it's only her junior year.

Although Sheila made it a point of personal pride to get along with everybody, she knew she wasn't really that close to anybody. Stacey Witte was a teacher she liked, even if she was a teacher. They used to chat, very friendly, before and after class, stopping on campus, that sort of thing. Sometimes Sheila went out of her way to cross paths with her. Actually, though, they had never had what either would have termed a serious conversation, a good conversation. It was always that playful banter they were both good at.

Then last week it all changed.

It was last period, and Sheila had been singularly quiet and distracted, remote as an island. Stacey Witte could guess something was up, but there was no reason to make a big deal and call attention to it. When class was over, though, and Sheila was slouching away, Stacey asked her how she was doing. She intended to sound casual but must have sounded like somebody who was trying to sound casual.

Sheila whirled around and flashed that chiseled, absolutely counterfeit smile. "Oh, everything is fine." Then her tone darkened as she added, "As you would say, just peachy."

It so happens that "just peachy" had never once been uttered by Stacey. In the moment, though, it didn't seem opportune to point this out.

Still, Sheila's gaze seemed to lock them both in place, and they stood still—both feeling a little silly in that stock pose—while the other students departed. Finally, they were alone.

"You sure? The reason I ask is, it doesn't look like it."

At this point, Sheila clambered into a desk as if it were a life raft. In no time, the tears were flowing. Stacey shut the door, found a box of tissue, took a seat next to her, and waited. "Take your time," she said.

Finally Sheila looked up. "Well, I guess everything isn't fine after all! You might even say, life pretty much sucks right about now."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

An opening or a closing? Impossible to tell so far. "Let's start with what's troubling you right now."

Sheila leveled her eyes and said, "You asked for it. Top three list of things that are troubling Sheila these days. One, the girl drinks, like way too much. Two, last Friday she had an abortion. And three, hey, guess what, the girl's gay. How's that for not being OK?"

It was Stacey's turn to be speechless for a while.

"I don't even know why I bothered you. There's nothing you can do for me. There's nothing anybody can do for me."

The whole world seemed to have shifted between them. Stacey was frightened for her, concerned about her, and sympathetic, not to mention a little lost.

And self-conscious too. It was impossible to speak from personal experience about an abortion or about drinking, though Sheila could be guided along to help if that was what she wanted. On the other issue, though, Sheila had hit home.

"How do you think those three things are connected, Sheila?"

She seemed caught off guard. She may have been counting on, or possibly half hoping for, an everything-will-be-fine, you'll-get-through-this sort of response. She sagged even deeper into the desk and stayed there while rethreading the remnants of her voice.

First, she let out an ocean-size OK, you asked for it sigh, and then she laid it out: "Basically I first realized I was gay when I was fourteen. Welcome to high school, Sheila! Ever since, I have been terrified. If you knew my family you'd know this is one topic they're not going to bring up for polite conversation. When I was growing up, I heard all I needed from them to know they wouldn't understand. The thought that I might be gay—that I was gay—just made me freak. I chose not to deal. In fact, I came up with a brilliant solution! If Sheila stayed high all the time she wouldn't have to think about it. I know, don't start. I know I'm right out of the textbook, which is probably the hardest part for me to take in. Then once I numbed myself drinking I was able to act heterosexual, like maybe I would suddenly somehow snap into place. Hey, if I could act that way maybe I could be that way. The easiest way to act heterosexual is do it with lots of guys, the more the merrier, which of course was bound to lead me you know exactly where. A couple of beers or a joint, you know, and the idea of birth control seems pretty quaint, I mean, if the concept registers at all. That's right: I'm textbook. And don't even think of the Lecture. I know it by heart. Given it to myself. One week late, two weeks, three weeks, then I got the news I didn't want to hear. Abortion seemed the easiest way. Some kind of easy."

She glared at the box of tissue offered her.

"Never mind." But she took one and dabbed her eyes.

The seconds ticked by. "Who else have you talked to?"

"Kathy Best Friend drove me to the clinic. I wish I could have gone alone. My parents were entertaining all weekend and barely noticed that I never left my room, never even got out of bed till school. When Monday came around, I loaded up my trusty backpack and painted on a smile for first period, because, hey, I was good as new. Right. The other stuff? My folks—and a couple of the Good Kids I keep in reserve for company on a rainy day—they've talked to me about the partying. They even persuaded me to get involved in a substance-abuse group at the youth center. But you're the first—I mean, I've never told anybody I'm gay." Then, although it didn't seem physically possible, her eyes opened wider still, and she looked directly at Stacey. "Of course, I knew if anybody would understand me, it was going to be you, right?"

Next: Page 2 >>