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Fickle Fifteen

A Coming Out Story

By Cristal HernandezPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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The day was scorching, just like the day before it. The air always feels hotter in the Dominican Republic for some reason. My mom bought my flight the day before, assuring me that my school work would be fine, that the trip would only be for a few days, and that I had to go say my final goodbyes to my great-grandma, who by the way was more alive than ever staring at me from across the table. I tried to find a way to address the elephant in the room; the fact that it's the middle of the school week, my grandma isn't dying, and yet here I am. I hear the phone ring and thank God for the break in the tension. It's for me. I race over to the phone hoping someone was going to let me in on the big secret soon; nobody has explained anything to me since I got off the plane.

"Hello" I whisper into the oversized phone.

"How was your flight?" I hear a woman's voice. It's my mom, finally some answers.

"It was ok" I lied.

"I wrote you something," she tells me, "go look in the front pocket of your suitcase."

I drop the phone and start the walk to my bag. My heart begins to race, I can feel it about to burst from my chest the closer I get. When did she write me a letter? How did I not notice? The anxiety was real. I zipped open the front pocket of my suitcase and sure enough there was a white envelope labeled Cristal….

Dear Cristal,

You thought you were sneaky? Well guess what? Two can play that game.

As I’m reading my throat begins to close, I know what’s coming but somehow it doesn’t soften the blow.

You said you would give up everything for her? Well now you have, I hope you said goodbye to your sisters because you won’t be seeing them again.

I knew it. I knew it. I felt it. I knew it. I stare at the letter for a moment, rereading it hoping I had missed the part where she was just kidding. Instead I found little ripped up pieces of paper at the bottom. I took the pieces in my hand to try to understand why she would include confetti at a time like this. After staring for a minute I realized I was looking at my own handwriting. I saw my notes, my diary, my secret, and it was out. I knew it. I knew it. I can’t speak, I can’t cry. I knew it. I have a lump in my throat as I try to understand what all of this means. I slowly walk towards the phone again but everything was different now. I manage to get out a

"Hello"

"Did you read the letter?" she asked.

Of course I read the letter. What kind of question is that? My thoughts raced 1000 miles per minute as I tried to make sense of everything.

"Yes" I responded.

Then it became real.

I tried to eat, I really did I was just too embarrassed. I looked down at my plate and stuffed the mashed plantains into my mouth, too scared to look anyone in the eyes. Everyone knew. Everyone was in on it. For some reason this hit me like a ton of bricks. I just chewed silently as tears started building up in my eyes, blinding me. The knot it my throat was too big to let any actual food down but it was the only thing I could do to not be in the moment. I excused myself and went to my grandma’s bathroom. I spit up my food and sat on the toilet just crying to myself. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want anyone to ask. I just wanted to be woken up. My mom ended up being the only person i spoke to over the phone for months, doors slamming in the background as she explained that my dad didn’t want to talk to me and neither did my sisters. My privileges were taken from me along with my sisters and my friends. No more computers, no more phones. Just the sound of the fan at night drowning out my cries and the crow of the rooster every morning to remind me of the lie.

I used to go back into these memories and get angry, cursing my mom for making me feel completely ostracized, for causing this distance between my sisters and I. I felt so much resentment. I didn’t realize how much of a hypocrite I was being. This situation taught me that I can’t control anyone but myself. If I choose to lie to get ahead how can I be angry that you do the same? If I expect you to deal with the actions I take, then I have to be at least understanding to reaction you give. The action I took towards her unwillingness to accept the lesbian lifestyle was to lie and do it anyway, her reaction was to lie better. In the end our lies just kept making the distance between us too far to cross. Each lie we told one another burning bridges until we are left alone, each an island on our own. 12 years later, in my own marriage now, I talk until my lips turn blue, I explain myself until there’s no room for misunderstanding, and I overshare to the max. I’m trying every day to live a more conscious life. Conscious of my own truth, conscious of the feelings of those around me, and conscious of my happiness so that nobody ever has the power to take it away again with a lie.

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