Sixteen

April 2009 (flashback)

"Eri." my mother's voice, both a memory and a wish. I miss her.

"Mommy?" I was five when she 'went away' then, 'died' now.

"Erica, promise me you'll find a good man," she had said. A good man... what if I didn't want a good man?

"I promise." there was no other choice but to promise. She was sick and dying. The least I could do was promise something as simple as finding a good man.

And I did find a good boy, though I can’t say I kept him.

April 8, 2020

It has been eleven years since my mother died. My sixteenth birthday. Something I don’t understand is why we celebrate birthdays. Why should we celebrate something that happens every day? What’s the point of it? Why do we keep track of our age, anyway? Nothing makes sense. Or you could say I’m just stubborn. Or I’m right, but also stubborn - that’s probably the case.

Keeping track of my age, for me, is labeling every year. When I don’t put a label on one year, you’ll still know what it is. Because the consecutive years are in order. Everything is in order. Everything is so… so proper. There are too many normals. Sexuality, for one. Heterosexuality is very ‘common’, and it is assumed that someone is hetero when they are met. There are heterosexual people and gay/lesbian people, but there’s really no one else. Except that there are others: there are so many more people than just that. There are bisexual, pansexual, omnisexual, asexual, demisexual, and I could go on and on but I won’t. Not everyone wants to hear about this, so I’ll respect that, even though it is a big part of my life.

My mother assumed that I was straight when I was five and indeed I was. I ‘wanted to marry’ the boy that all the other girls ‘wanted to marry’ and didn’t even think about liking girls until I was in second grade.

2011 (flashback)

In second grade, I learned that some people were attracted to people of their own gender. I hadn’t known about it. In first grade, I knew about transgender and thought maybe I was a boy, not a girl, because I felt something was wrong with me. I didn’t have crushes on the boys in my class anymore. I didn’t have crushes on anyone. Or so I thought. But there was one girl… Sophia. Whenever I saw her, she made me blush. She had brown hair and always wore a headband. She was so nice to everyone. She made me blush.

I had no idea that liking my own gender in that way was okay. But after I learned that it was, I knew that I was lesbian.

April 9, 2020

I think about the promise I made to my mother all the time. I can’t believe I still remember it, but I do. I remember everything about her. Her blonde hair that she curled every morning. Her blue eyes. And she had a particular smell, a mix of her foundation and her guava lip gloss. She was so young and sweet, it was a shame she died. 

It was also a shame that it took everything for me to keep the promise.

I didn’t like boys. I couldn’t. 

I couldn’t. I can’t. I tried so hard, but I always knew that I couldn’t change like that.

So I have to lie. My father thinks I am hetero, too. He is a bit homophobic, which scares me. What if I come out to him, and he doesn’t want me anymore? I’m only sixteen. I’m only sixteen, what would he do to me? I have to lie.

April 10, 2020

I’m pretty. I know I am. People are always complimenting me. Boys are always looking at me in awe. I hate them for it. But they are my only chance if I want to keep my promise to my mother.

There are plenty of cute boys in my class. All I have to do is ask one of them out. Easy, right?

It should be easy.

I scroll through my contacts and click on a random name. Jonathan. Jonathan’s fine. He’s cute, I guess, and if I asked him out he’d say yes. He’s one of those boys who has had a crush on me since like, middle school. There are a handful of guys who are like that, but only a handful because we went to the same middle school.

I can meet him in a park for our first date, maybe. With Covid, it’s getting hard to date. I heard. What would I know about dating? I’m just a sixteen-year-old lesbian Chinese-American girl who everyone has a crush on. Yay.

Jonathan replies to me with a yes, and we have a date. I feel a smirk on my face. I’m using him, I think, a bit guilty but a bit happy. It’s fine. He’ll probably use me more.

April 12, 2020

Jonathan and I meet in a park. I sit at a bench, tightening the ear loops on my KN95 mask, while I wait for him. I take a selfie and post it on Instagram: it’ll get a million likes, with blue sky behind me and clouds drifting past. Plus, I’m wearing eye makeup even though I usually don’t. Hey - it’s a date!

As I wait, my father texts me. He’s used to me being out at the library and other places, so I’m surprised to see him texting. Erica, where are you? He texts me.

The library, I lie. I don’t want him to know I’m ‘dating’ yet. It would be too much of a surprise.

Come back home immediately. Is the response.

What? I think nervously. He’s pretty easy-going about these things usually.

Why? I ask him.

After ten years of never forgetting this, you do now? Erica, I’m disappointed in you.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

We visit the cemetery today, he sends. To see your mother.

What I do next surprises me so much. I have never done anything like it. I call my father and after he picks up I say, “I have a date, dad.”

He’s speechless. Nothing has ever happened like this, and I understand why he’s so surprised. I would be, too. “Bring him,” says my father quietly.

“W-what?” no, I must have heard him wrong.

“Bring him,” says my father louder. “Bring your date.”

April 10, 2020 (at the cemetery)

Jonathan is shocked. For many reasons. A); he didn’t know my mother was dead, B); he had never been in a cemetery, C); this was not at all how he wanted the date to go.

“Mr. Parks,” he says when we get there, “may I speak to Eri for a moment?”

After my father’s approval, Jonathan drags me off to the side. “What is this?”

“A cemetery,” I say. He shakes his head, raising his eyebrows at me. “Fine,” I say, sighing. “My mom died on this day, when I was five. We visit her grave every year. Even when we can’t, we… stay at the gate. It’s visible from even there.”

“This is my first date, Erica,” he says, frowning. “I don’t want my first date to be at a cemetery.”

“Me neither,” I reply, “but it’s happening, okay?”

He bites his lip. “Eri.”

“Look, if you want to date me, you have to be able to understand.”

“I don’t understand,” is the answer. “I thought you were perfect, but this is disappointing.”

“News flash,” I growl. “No one’s perfect. Certainly not you, Jonathan. If you think I’m perfect, you are far from right.”

He frowns even more, and walks back to where my father stands. “Well, Jonathan and Erica,” says my dad, clapping his hands together. “Jonathan, you are Erica’s first boyfriend. Congratulations.”

“No,” I say, before Jonathan can respond. “He’s not my boyfriend. I’m lesbian.”