An Exchange of Secrets

This is a continuation of the previous post.

These are the secrets that were shared on a fateful night in a deserted city street, sitting in her car waiting for the light to change from red to green. She confided in me about being beaten so badly by her ex-girlfriend that the police were called. I am not sure why some people choose to live in this way with an abusive lover, but they do for whatever reasons. It was difficult for me to understand, then and now. I was willing to shelter her from all of that, but not everyone wants to be sheltered. Some are drawn to the flame. I cannot explain this behavior. It is foreign to me. Perhaps her orientation was exclusively homosexual, but it begs the question of why she ever got involved with me in the first place. Was my function to impress her friends? Or was she just testing the waters to see what life was like on the other side of the fence? She had seemed enthusiastic while we were doing all of the sexual things that she wanted us to do. If it was all just acting, then she was a good actress.

After her confession, I told her not to worry, that I was bisexual, too. We were at a stoplight, and the light turned green, but she did not press the gas. She stared at me in disbelief, waiting for the punchline. But the joke was cosmic in nature, played by God upon us both. I reminded her that she needed to move the car or else a patrolman would pull us over. She needed to be reminded several times before she pressed the gas.

We had a good laugh over the situation, and the night ended well, or so I thought. The next day (I found out later), she confided in her ex, who promoted the suspicion that I was infected with the HIV virus and had infected her out of malice. She chose to believe her ex. After she had brooded over the situation for the better part of a day, she called me up with accusations. I had never heard her so angry before. I don't remember whether she called me a murderer or not, but that was the implication. I knew this might be the last time she ever spoke to me, so I told her what I had been waiting for the right time to tell her, that I loved her. She didn't believe me.

I offered to get tested along with her at the local clinic, but it was not good enough, because she was afraid someone might have recognized her there. She arranged for us to get tested at a clinic sixty miles away. I offered to drive, but she insisted upon going in separate cars. She felt terrified by the needle and the nurse's questions. I consoled her, but we did not touch. Of course I was not infected and neither was she. Once she got a clean bill of health, she called to let me know and thanked me for my cooperation. Then she ceased all communication with me forever.

We never saw each other again until thirteen years later, when we passed each other on a bridge. She and her female companion were on bicycles, and I was on foot. She said not a word to me, nor did she make any gesture. But I knew that she knew who I was. She had mirrored sunglasses on, but began blinking violently, as from a nervous tic. She aborted her trip across the bridge and came back the other way, while her companion complained. As she passed me a second time, still she said nothing. I did not say anything either. Sometimes silence is best, after all.

Long ago, I built in my imagination a palace of gold where she reigned as Queen. She destroyed the beautiful illusion of love that I created in my mind. All my plans came to naught. It is just as well that it ended. I know that now. I don't think she understood anything of what I felt for her. She craved the scent of a woman. It is okay by me. I just wish it had ended in a better manner, without the paranoia.

Later I found another, who is far better to me than she ever was. He is kinder, more thoughtful, more skilled, more beautiful, and much wiser. I made a good life with him, and together we have built a splendid palace where we reign as Kings.