Crushed Curiosity

"I think God is a callous bitch not making me a lesbian. I'm deeply disappointed by my sexual interest in men.”- Diamanda Galas

[*:name change to conceal the person's identity]

"Wanna go to down to the basement?" she suggested, carefully cracking the fridge door open.

Jude*.

We were in fourth grade--she was my closest church friend, and overall confidant at the time. Jude's family lived another city over, which meant about 5-10 minutes away (all cities on the east coast are roughly 5-10 minutes apart from each other, depending on where you're headed). Our dads were both leaders at the church we attended; her family was basically blood. It was Saturday, and I'd slept over the night before. Outside was still dark at 6 AM, but somehow, we managed to wake up before her family.

Just a heads up, the first ten years of my life were spent in Maryland-- a microscopic , rodent-shaped, slab of state located just outside of Washington, D.C. For the record, It is not uncommon to invite guests into the basement of your home; In fact, the average floor plan includes one. East coast living is extremely compact,and basements were added in order to compensate for the lack of width between houses.The average town home is comprised of several levels (typically 3-7 including the basement level). For all of my non-east coast dwellers, this bonus floor is categorized as neither a cellar, nor tornado shelter--A basement is it's own genre. Typically, this nether lair is fully furnished, carpeted, comfortable-- In all honesty, it's just Family Room Number 2, and everyone has one.

"What do you have to watch?"I'd anticipated a trip to Blandy McBlandville, as we sifted through the limited selection of VHS snoozefests that I'd already seen. I rolled my eyes as she turned away to wack the refrigerator door shut. SLAM! She quickly winced at the sound, as it amplified throughout the quiet hallways-- We were Black kids ,after all.

"What about Babe?" she whispered as her brown eyes peeked out from behind the plastic rim. She practically inhaled the entire cup of milk, as we stood there barefoot in her kitchen.

"Babe?" I whined, "We saw that last time I was here! Remember the singing mice? That was my favorite part." I couldn't help but let out a long yawn; I was still a little tired. We could hear the air conditioning turn on as it hummed inside the walls. This was good because nothing could be heard over the rattling air unit, including my sloppy yawn.

There was a kitchen window, which looked out towards the front of the house. I peered anxiously through the blinds and into the murky, black dawn. Still dark. We had to think of something to do, or else we might as well have stayed asleep! Jude drummed her tiny hands on the counter top. Her kitchen was a good size: Small and plain. Her family became close friends with mine after they moved to Maryland from New York, a year before.

The majority of kids living in the DMV (D.C., Maryland, Virginia--take note) are either Army brats, Children of Immigrant families (fresh off the boat), recycled delinquents from Baltimore (which is still Maryland), or random transfers from one of the other neighboring states. Kids are passed around the public school system like animals--districts become overcrowded, forcing a number of kids to transfer. What I mean by that is, after befriending the new kid fall semester, it's best to just say goodbye, because that kid's family will have up and moved by spring. Due to the wide range of Government/ Political occupations (the nation's capitol is literally down the street), most titles (Military, FBI, CIA, etc.) require same day relocation. Just, POOF!

Jude happened to be one of the many tri-state transfers. Her and her family were hardcore Christians-- I'd never witnessed someone 'catching the spirit', until seeing Jude's mother fall out after praise and worship. She told me that her family had been Presbyterian in New York, but upon their arrival in Maryland, had switched to Baptist (like 2% to skim--just that easy). Her father was called to MD to serve as deacon to my father. We all went to a homegrown baptist church in Gaithersburg, Maryland--My father was Senior Pastor. Like my family, Jude was the youngest of two. Her older brother was three years older than her, as my sister was to me. He played music for our church, and was extremely respectful. I thought he was cute, but Jude thought it was gross.

" I'm gonna tellll him," Jude sang quietly while placing her soiled cup into the sink.

"Jude, STOP" I pouted firmly. I couldn't bare to have yet another boy reject me. I was short and stocky in my culotte overalls. I had a pudgy face, and a slight mustache over my top lip. Early on in life, I'd come to terms that I was a yeti of a girl-- My bushy eyebrows said it all.

Jude was my best friend, but also got on my nerves with occasional teasing antics. When she wasn't teasing, we were two peas in a pod! She loved to draw, dance, play piano, as well as perform skits for family members. Like myself, Jude had a boisterous personality, and was a true thespian. I loved her so much, she was like a sister to me.

As we raced down the basement stairs and clomped awkwardly off the last step, I knew we would think of something to do-- We always did.

Jude flew over to turn the knob of the ancient modeled, television set.

"It's too early for anything good," She mumbled, collapsing next to me on the floor. This was my 100th time sleeping over, and honestly, I was bored of ideas. Every board game had been played, We had already seen every movie in her VHS collection, we'd even choreographed two fucking dances (that was our shit).

Jude's house was much smaller than mine. Our house was exceptionally wide--My mother kept a luxurious front, with Gatsby-inspired furniture and dramatic drapes. I was accustomed to rich mahogany book cases, royal blue Victorian china sets, and deep wooden floors laced with Turkish rugs. Everything at my house smelled of cinnamon or baked apples--I used to joke that it smelled like Kirklands, with all the air fresheners and scented candles we used.

Jude's house was much more to-the-point, and far less busy.

I could never quite understand how any of my friends' homes stayed so clean. When visiting the Hamiltons, guests were greeted with a violent waft of pumpkin spice, as the candle lit hallway fed into the main living room. My mother liked it dim, with little trinket plugin's around the house for light (These were really just burgeois night lights from MJ Design).

Jude's mother took a more practical approach at designing their house. The walls were kept absolutely bare, which was always hard for me to grasp because my mother left nothing blank [**My mother also had a habit of leaving unfinished projects, pending. If she felt inspired, she'd spray paint our kitchen at 1 AM. My mom was also extremely fickle, so two days later, she decided that she actually hated the spray paint, ultimately hand-brushing the entire kitchen instead--true story].

I remember one day, asking my father,"Why can't Jude's family paint their house again?"

Unfortunately, I'd inherited my mother's 'let them eat cake' attitude. I was young, but also understood classism. In layman's terms: I realized that my family was well off, and a lot of families around us were not.

"They're renting," my dad articulated, "It means that, their house isn't all the way their's."

I was floored! Living in a house, and not being able to decorate freely? That was unheard of! Every room in our house was slashed with bold ideas, and all things spontaneity. The only network I enjoyed watching with my mother was Home and Garden Television (HGTV). By the age of 9, I was well endowed with the overall knowledge of Interior design.

Jude's mother took a more African-Inspired theme. Her parents were Pro-Black, sporting dashiki family sets to church, and displaying an overall pride of the African culture.

To me, the decor was plain by default.

Christianity-wise, Jude's family was much more orthodox than mine--But that was basically every kid from our church, or any church for that matter. Church members would scoff when my sister and I hadn't memorized all 66 Bible books. I remember jaws dropping, the night I asked my bible study class,"How can Jesus be everywhere all the time? That doesn't make sense! Doesn't he have to go to sleep?"

Girl, bye.

What can I say? My dad was parent to a set of radical daughters: questioning anything and everything feasibly tangible.

Unlike Jude and her brother, my sister and I were allowed to go trick or treating (however, we couldn't DRESS UP as witches, or anything that might involve Satan). We were allowed to watch PG-13 movies (my sister was, I just peered inconspicuously from the back corner). We were also allowed to listen to non-christian music, and have non-christian friends [**And if you're home to the raging South, hold on to your boots folks: Not every region of the U.S. is steered by the idea that Jesus Christ died on a cross and rose 3 days later. In fact, most of my school friends were either Jewish, Muslim, Atheist, Jehovah's Witness, or Mormon--and they don't count].

As the television rambled faintly in the background, Jude and I remained lifeless, staring at the cream colored ceiling. Every possible idea seemed uninteresting and recycled. After all, it was only 6 AM (** And in Black homes, if the elders of the house are not awake to monitor who's taking 'what' snacks-- Kitchen is closed, sweetheart). I was about to suggest we return to our palettes upstairs, when Jude's attention swiveled from early morning restlessness to the side of my face. I turned my head to face hers, as I searched confusedly for a dead giveaway.

She's probably going to suggest we draw or something-- I just kind of want to go back to--

"Have you-- Ever kissed anyone before?"her eyes searched mine for solace through gestured affirmation. She shrugged her shoulders "Well", pressing harder the second time.

A kiss? Of course not! How dare she? But wait--

The truth was that my first kiss was actually my old neighbor, Michelle*. She lived on my culdesac with her chain smoking mother, and her mysterious father who I can't recall meeting more than one time in the seven years we lived there. Every day after school, Michelle's mom sat perched at the edge of the family's walk way, cigarette in hand. "Hey Lauren!" she'd yell across the parking lot as my Mother, Sister, and I gathered our backpacks out of the backseat before heading up our walkway.

"Hi, Mrs. Bushwick*!" I'd scream, "Can you tell Michelle I'l be out to play in about 30 minutes?!" I pleaded to her across the parking lot.

"Okay Hun! I'll be sure to let her know! She'll come and knock for you!" the message echoed across the culdesac as I could see the outline of a short caucasian woman, bringing a cigarette to her lips.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bushwick!" I chimed.

"LAUREN!" I hated the way my mother hissed my name. I was so busy shouting with Mrs. Bushwick that I failed to realize my mom and older sister were fully inside the house. I looked into the doorway, where my mother stood concealed from public view. From where I stood, I couldn't make out her face, but judging by her tone, I could tell she was not having it (By now, I'm sure you know, my mother never had 'it' to begin with. She's also NOT planning on 'having it' anytime, ever).

My mother had this obnoxious way of breaking the syllables of my name when I didn't do something she asked the first time; I stood clueless, as if I couldn't make out what she was saying.

I knew exactly what she was saying.

"LAH-REN!!" She stamped from inside, clearly out of site from Mrs. Bushwick, who was now hacking violently from her most recent drag of smoke.

"Okay hun! Remember, call me Stacy*, sweetheart!" she managed, coughing loudly as the smoke formed a stale cloud around her head.

[**The first time I referred to Mrs. Bushwick as 'Stacy', my mother snapped, "I don't care WHAT that woman says! I'M your mother, and I said YOU call her Mrs. Bushwick! She is not your friend, nor should she be posing as one! She's an adult, LAH-REN! You don't call adults by their first names! You are a child, LAH-REN!"

WOMP-wu-wu-WOMP- WAH-WAHH. Bitch.

Before I had a chance to respond, my mom swatted the air outside, at a half-ass attempt to wave at Mrs. Bushwick.

"Hi Stacy!" My mom was the Black Martha Stewart, with her brilliant white smile, and matching brilliant white attitude (whoa Bessie-- Y'all chill). She cleaned up well, and knew how to save face better than any other adult I'd ever observed.

Mrs. Bushwick, snatched the cigarette out of her mouth, as she smiled sweetly, waving at my mother in desperation. As selective as my mom was, sifting through her pick of potential motherly comrades, other moms absolutely swore by her. I had to hand it to her, She put up a phenomenal front.

"LAH-REN", She added, managing to cut her eyes at me, "Has HOMEWORK she has to do!" She raised both eyebrows as she remained in full character. Knowing my mother, I was to take that cue, and haul my ass up them stairs.

"AFTER SHE FINISHES HER HOMEWORK, THEN WE'LL SEE!" I sulked my way into the kitchen for some good 'ol fashioned Tang. I could barely make out Mrs. Bushwick's muffled conversation across the parking lot, when I heard my mother wrapping up the friendly exchange, "Okay! Alright, Talk to you soon! Bye Stace!" she let out one last chuckle before closing the door. My mother was like a revolving door with her mood swings: She'd stay in character up until the door shut, sigh a mixture of relief and sheer annoyance, then lock the door-- all in one motion.

"MAN!" She whined, "With those filthy cigarettes!" exclaiming in disgust. I rolled my eyes from the kitchen-- I was too bummed at the fact that we were leaving all my friends. I glanced around, reflectively. Seven years, I thought, Seven years, I've lived here. What if the new place sucks. What if there aren't as many kids in the new neighborhood? What if there aren't kids at all?!

I could hear my mother doing her round of sinus-inflicted snorts as she stood at the kitchen walkway. My back was turned but I already knew what was coming--

"And YOU!" I whipped my entire body around, with the fear of God in me.

"When I TELL you to come inside, YOU COME INSIDE!" I couldn't help but feel a force, growing inside the pit of my stomach.

"Acting like you can't hear me! For your INFORMATION, Me and Mrs. Bushwick were talking about YOU and MICHELLE!" She explained with a tone of disapproval towards my recent actions.

" I was going to LET you, inVITE her OVER the night that we MOVED! " She sighed as her head collapsed onto her right fist-- a stand-up, chin rest.

So extra--

She stared at me in disbelief, as if I'd slaughtered a family of deer right there in our kitchen!

I lit up in anticipation "But can she still come?" I pressed meekly. I wanted Michelle to embark on this new chapter of my life too! If I moved, we all moved-- She was my closest friend in the neighborhood.

My mother just stood there in disbelief with hands on her hips, as if to say, how dare you ask such a thing.

By the third minute of silence, things got awkward.

What are we doing.

I finally caved,"I'm sorry, Mommy" I mumbled softly at my last shot at redemption.

"FOR?"My God, She was REACHING!

"For.." I paused in confusion, I wasn't really sorry at all. I just wanted my friend to come see my new house," For not listening to you--"

"When I CALLED you the FIRST time..?" She interrupted, prowling her eyes as she waited for a proper apology. Her arms were crossed sternly across her chest.

"I'm sorry Mommy, for not listening when you called me inside the first time," I mumbled, barely making out the last few words--where was my dignity?

My dignity was crumpled in the palm of my mom's hand, which seemed to be balled up, resting in dissatisfaction underneath her chin. She stepped closer to me, flashing yet another glare of shame ,before turning her nose up and exiting stage left.

Girl, whatever.

The date was set.

Friday of the move, Michelle accompanied me to my BRAND NEW HOUSE! We ran around like loons, as our laughter echoed throughout the empty walls. My mom had hired a moving company for all the large pieces of furniture we had. By nightfall, my mom ordered pizza; Michelle and I retreated to the basement until it was time to eat. Our new basement had a courtyard in the back, which faced a crisp green golf course. There was a sliding glass door, which the movers propped open earlier that day. The room was bare-- Completely virgin. We sat there laughing maniacally when Michelle asked, "Have you kissed a boy before?"

I froze-- I hadn't.

"Yeah! Haven't you?" we were second graders, and the only people that had kissed anyone, were the popular girls. No one wanted a short, stocky, yeti girl that wore butterfly overalls, and Lion King sets. Michelle on the other hand, was fairly attractive. She had medium-length, silky brown hair, and a slender build. Her parents put her in soccer years ago, and all the boys liked her-- I guess I did too, or at least wanted to be like her.

"Yeah, I did the other day at recess, " She blushed.

For a child, I was obsessed with the idea of teenage romance, and all things sexual innuendos. I was addicted to television, and fed into the romantic plot lines of movies displaying distorted images of love and happiness. I wanted it so bad. It didn't help that I had a high testosterone level, and a dominant personality-- In layman's terms: I was a spoiled brat who knew how to manipulate my environment--well.

"Oh yeah?" I asked curiously. "How did it go?"

She giggled, smacking the palm of her hand onto her forehead, while her cheeks turned a bright shade of red.

"I dunno" she laughed "It was quick! Like a peck!"

"Which kind is that?" I was insanely prude, and had no idea which type of kiss did what. Michelle kissed her hand in demonstration,

"Like that!"

I wanted to know what it was like to kiss someone-- I craved it. The girls on television seemed overwhelmed with drunken bliss after sharing a kiss with someone.

"Can you show me?" I pressed reluctantly, "Like, can you do it on me?"

"Kiss you?!" She burst out laughing as the mover's came through the sliding glass door from outside. They managed to fit an entire couch through the small opening, leaving once setting it down.

"Lauren, you're a girl! That's gross! Plus, I'm Catholic," She giggled.

"Michelle, it could be quick! I just wanna know what you mean, that's all."

She rolled her eyes, then looked straight at me,

"Okay-- but I'm only doing this one time!"

"Okay, that's fine!" My spirit soared, I'll feel just like the girls on TV, this is awesome.

After psyching herself out enough times, Michelle brought herself to put her lips on mine. She pulled away quickly, and turned bright red.

"Girls!" my mom called from upstairs, "Pizza's here!"

Michelle remained still, as I jumped up in utter haste.

"Come on, Michelle! Don't you want pizza?"

It was as if the life had been sucked out of her-- What was wrong? We had been laughing the entire day. Is she mad at me or something?

"Michelle, are you okay?" I asked out of fear of her spilling the beans on our secret exchange--No answer.

"Michelle, what happened between us was just between us. We can't tell our parents, you know?"

Michelle's gaze was fixed upon the opposite wall. By this time, the movers had already brought in two couches, and a piano. She slowly turned her attention towards me--Her face was completely blank.

What did I do? I thought to myself, searching for the problem. She kissed me because she wanted to, right? Why is she acting so strange?

"Okay," She whispered with her head down.

I ran towards the staircase, and sprinted up as Michelle lagged slowly behind.

My mom was already at our makeshift dining room table, with plates and napkins. I took a plate, and flung open the box of pizza. Michelle kept a somber demeanor-- I could tell my mother sensed a shift from our lively comradery earlier that day.

"Michelle?" My mother asked gently, "What's wrong?"

Michelle remained silent, her gaze focused on the floor. My body went hot--I felt Michelle was about to tell my mother what we'd done in the basement moments before.

"Nothing's wrong!" I panicked. My mother didn't buy it.

"Michelle," My mother asked again, this time placing her hand on Michelle's shoulder, "Look at me. Did something happen between you and Lauren?"

My heart pounded out of my chest, as I felt my ass being swatted raw in the very, near future(My mother was a firm believer in spankings, and all things discipline).

"Mommy," I insisted, "Michelle is fine. The story she told me was really, really sad," I stammered.

She quickly cut her eyes, at me, I knew this wouldn't be good.

"Lauren, go sit over there," As she pointed towards the corner, "Michelle, Let's go in the kitchen and you tell me what happened."

Michelle was in tears at this point, she peered gravely at me one more time before being shoved into our empty kitchen. My eyes widened as I mouthed, "Don't Say Anything," In Michelle's direction. Moment later I could hear muffled conversation between her and my mother, before my mother reappeared from the kitchen, "We're taking Michelle home."

I was dead.

Before arriving at Michelle's house, my mom had called Michelle's mom and told her everything that happened. I was forced to apologize to Michelle's mother, and Michelle and I were to never play together again.

****

Three years later, I lay on the floor with Jude. Her eyes wide with anticipation, "Well, Have you kissed someone or haven't you?" I could hear the annoyance in her tone.

"Yeah--" I began reluctantly, "But you can't tell anyone." My hands fidgeted uncontrollably as I briefed Jude with all the details of my registered sex offender past.

"But it was only one time," I assumed Jude would judge me for kissing a girl. It's not everyday that a fourth grade girl has already compiled a catalog of past lovers-- not other girl lovers, at least.

Jude's face seemed thoughtful for a moment,

"That's okay, I used to do that with a friend back in New York. It's not even that big of a deal." I sighed in relief. I was not a sex offender, after all! There were other girls that did this? Where had I been? We just continued to lay on her floor, talking about sex and what we thought it was going to be like. Jude turned to me soon after, "Can I kiss you?" I whipped my head to face hers, "I mean, we can just practice on each other until we find boyfriends. There's no harm in that," she suggested further.

I nodded slowly, as she inched closer and closer to my pre-pubescent mouth. In that moment, I vaguely remembered Michelle's lipless mouth and the aimless fear behind it all.

Jude placed her mouth onto mine. Her lips were dry from the night before, but full like mine, making it easy to coordinate lip movement. We sat there kissing for a few minutes, before I pulled away.

"Okay Jude, " I laughed , "That was fun, but let's do something else." I was getting tired of kissing--wasn't it supposed to lead to something else? We're girls, what exactly can we do next?-- Besides, Jude's family would be up soon, and I didn't need anybody finding out about this. Especially not after how everything transpired with Michelle three years prior. I couldn't lose another friend.

Jude sighed, and rolled over. She propped herself into a sitting position,in a sort of pout. After a long pause, Jude mumbled, "I mean, we could go up to my room and take off our clothes while we kiss," Her focus remained on the TV set in front of us. I felt a cringe worthy surge of excitement-- I'd never gotten that far, but sure-- why not.

That morning, Jude and I stayed locked in her room for hours as we experimented on one another.

Weeks later, my mother received a frantic phone call from Jude's mother. Apparently, her mom found hidden journal entries Jude had written about our brief sexual encounter.

When asked if I had anything to do with it--

I denied.

After hours of interrogation, I told my mother that it was all Jude's idea, and that she forced me to touch her back.

As a reward for 'not catching the gay' My mother ended up buying me a gift from Target for my honesty.

Needless to say, from that day forward, Jude and I were never left alone to play again.

******

Jude*,

You are the reason for my openness towards the LGBT community. Early on, you showed me acceptance towards an act I thought I would (literally) burn in hell for. You taught me that it's okay to be curious about sexuality, especially if your parents are in the dark about it. Although this encounter probably could have waited until we were MUCH older (I see that now as an adult), I thank you. And even though our friendship was cut short,in fear that we would 'catch the gay', just know, I'm insanely proud of you for coming out later on in life. Again, I love you, Jude! God speed!