I HADN’T wanted to go, but my mother made me. I was even more certain it was the wrong decision when I walked in, and Valerie was already there. I resolutely did not look at her when I sat down next to Neal and said hello to him. He was just happy that I’d remembered his name.
The usual crowd filtered in, with the addition of a new girl named Aisha. She barely said two words, but Beatrice seemed inclined to let her keep her head down. I talked a little bit about how Christmas had been this year without my friends there, to fill the expectations of those around me. Everyone nodded with sympathy, and said encouraging words about how holidays were the hardest.
I didn’t tell the group that I’d gone on a date to try to fill the void—if that was what coffee with Valerie had been, even. She didn’t look at me when I was talking, and I didn’t look in her direction when she talked, either.
It was like we were separated by an invisible barrier.
After the session I felt cold and empty. Support group had lost its appeal already, the possibility of a safe space ruined by the flaring anger under my skin every time Valerie opened her mouth to say something.
It was like she was everywhere I turned, with her startled bush-baby eyes and pursed pink lips. She even sidled next to me at the bus stop when we’d finished, fiddling with a lopsided crocheted scarf that refused to lie flat in the neck of her winter jacket.
“So,” she said, and I stubbornly said nothing, staring down the empty street as though the bus might appear three minutes early to save me from this conversation.
“You can’t just ignore me.”
“I can and I will,” I said. It was childish, but I wanted to be petty. I had every right, didn’t I? Didn’t her behavior warrant pettiness?
“Come on, Corey. Don’t be a baby.” As if realizing she was making things worse, she stopped talking and let go of her hideous scarf. “I’m sorry for what I said at the coffee shop.”
“Oh, are you?” Pettiness, still. But I allowed myself to feel it, to harness the sour taste of it. People always say that teenage girls are petty, catty creatures by nature. Why not embrace it? I could be catty. Catty girls didn’t feel the bitter sting of rejection, the tug of disappointment low in one’s abdomen. “What are you sorry for, exactly? Which part?”
Valerie seemed taken aback by my hostility. “When I called you straight,” she said, as if it were obvious. “I thought you were gay, and got defensive when you told me you were bi. But I believe you, and I’m sorry I called you a straight girl.”
She seemed proud of herself. Her smugness was irritating.
“Okay.”
“Okay? So we’re good?” she asked hopefully.
My face was impassive when I answered, “No, we’re not.” Her smile drooped. “If you think that’s why I was mad, you really don’t understand any of what happened. I deserve better than someone who lashes out at me and my identity when her point of view is threatened.”
Valerie crossed her arms defensively and turned her face away from me. “I knew this was a waste of time.”
“Then why are we having this conversation?” I snapped.
The sting of my disappointment when the situation turned sour in the coffee shop was still sharp and clear. My anger, which swelled so easily these days when I was under so much stress, was barely contained.
“Because I thought we could be civil!” she said. “Because I thought you’d be a reasonable person and understand that I am not your enemy. We’re on the same side!”
“No matter how high you hold your rainbow flag or how much money you raise for Pride, we will never be on the same side,” I said. “Not until you realize that you have just as much prejudice as anyone else, and you stop putting other people down to raise yourself up. You’re a bully, and I don’t associate with bullies who stand by their outdated ideas and biases.”
I didn’t exactly believe my words were fair or true, but they had the desired effect. I wanted her to leave me alone, to let me mope and wallow in peace, and she did.
Valerie adjusted her scarf and left the bus shelter in a huff.
My anger and my energy drained out of me in a rush, and I was left colder and more alone than before she had joined me in the shelter. I felt, not for the first time, like I was becoming an incredibly unlikable person. Why would anyone take my side when I pushed people away?
A dark cloud of self-loathing and misanthropy accompanied me everywhere now. Everything truly was coming apart at the seams. Soon, I would have no one left on my side. And I would have no choice but to join my friends in oblivion.