She Knew


She knew it wouldn’t work out.

Most girls weren’t interested in dating other girls; Lily knew that, and she knew that this girl wouldn’t be an exception. Lana, in all probability, was straight. Lily knew that. Yet, she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t. Maybe Lily would get lucky: maybe she’d turn out to be a lesbian. She knew that it was unlikely, but she couldn’t do anything about her attraction. She wished she didn’t feel it, but it kept coming back until she had no choice but give in.

She began imagining all of the things that would happen after they started dating: walking through New York after nightfall trying to find a decent place to eat, laughing at the ridiculous neon signs for stores that seemed like they shouldn’t exist, giving up and going home to have a dinner of cheap noodles. Going to see a show on Broadway, crying next to her, laughing with her, and eventually, maybe, building up the courage to kiss her.

These thoughts and others very similar to them ran through her head every time she walked past Lana in the hallway, or caught a glimpse of her brown hair at the other side of the math classroom, or heard her voice in conversation with someone that she cared about infinitely more than she’d ever care about Lily. She knew that this was obsessive, and creepy, and she knew she should stop, but she couldn’t.

She worked hard to get close to Lana. Harder than she had ever worked for anything else. She started smoking to have an excuse to stand behind the school with her during lunch. It hurt, and she knew it wasn’t a good idea, but the clouds of smoke ascending quietly from Lana’s mouth clouded her thoughts. She played hooky when Lana did. Her parents didn’t care, and the consequences were nothing compared to a few more hours near Lana’s hazelnut skin and short hair.

A friendship began to form. The blood-red lips she knew would never kiss her formed words, beautiful melodious words that would stay with her through the nights and the days and would distract her from the schoolwork she already cared so little about. The choice her hormones had made for her turned out to be a wonderful one: Lana was kind, clever and funny. She had so much to talk about, and she wasn’t afraid to talk about it. The passion her words held brought a blush to Lily’s pale cheeks, and even though her voice never shifted from its usual chilled monotone Lily couldn’t help but see how much she cared about everything she talked about. She knew that the look in Lana’s eyes wasn’t love, but she didn’t think about that. She dreamed, wished, hoped, prayed, begged; Lana was her friend, and it was wonderful, but Lily needed more.

Then the day came. They were smoking out back, like they did every day. The pain of the cigarettes was gone now. Lily was used to it. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Lily couldn’t hold it in any longer. The fateful words fell out of her mouth, incoherent and jumbled. Lana’s normally princely expression shifted into one of confusion.

Lily knew the answer before she asked the question, but it still hurt. It hurt badly.
She didn’t cry. She knew crying wouldn’t fix anything. The bell rung, and though Lana was usually deaf to it, she hurried to her next class. Her confident expression had returned, but her stride was suddenly awkward, as if she didn’t feel right being herself. Lily burnt out the cigarette on her knee through a hole in her jeans and walked home.

As the days passed by, the friendship crumbled quickly. Lana apologized, once, and the topic was never brought up again. Lily would go out back to smoke and Lana wouldn’t be there. Conversations Lily tried to start were cut off quickly but politely, and the passion that had previously filled Lana’s words dried up, leaving them stale and cold. Other people started taking up more of Lana’s time, and when Lily came to parties Lana would always be in a conversation on the opposite side of the room.

Lily knew that it wasn’t Lana’s fault, but she couldn’t help being angry. She knew that she wasn’t an unattractive girl; boys constantly hit on her, and she had turned down quite a few already. She knew Lana cared about her; the impassioned speeches always ended with praise for her, complimenting her for being so nice, for listening so well, and for being such a lovely friend.

The problem was that she was a girl. It had to be. It all came back to it: most girls didn’t like other girls, and Lily had been stuck in the minority. If she didn’t have breasts or a vagina, or if she wasn’t attracted to people with breasts and vaginas, none of this would have happened. She’d have fallen in love with someone who could love her back, and they would, and everything would turn be perfectly.

But that hadn’t happened. It wasn’t going to happen. Lana wasn’t going to love her. In fact, Lana wasn’t going to be her friend any more. The fact that Lily loved her made her uncomfortable, and now the friendship Lily treasured so much was gone. The fact that she was a lesbian had ruined everything, and it wasn’t f*ing fair.

She knew she had no right to be angry.

She knew it wasn’t Lana’s fault.

She knew there’d be other girls, who actually were lesbians, and she knew this wasn’t the end of the world.

But that didn’t stop her from cursing out Lana’s name, and crying, and smoking while she cried deep into the night for many nights to come.

She wished she would stop.
She knew she should stop.
She knew she wouldn’t.