Towards Her

(TW: homophobia)

Clink.

My empty energy drink can hits a pile of others after I toss it into the backseat. It’s only my first one today considering it’s barely 4 am. I crack open another, driving with one hand as I stare out into the darkness and at the unbelievably mind-numbing road taking me through New Mexico.

Believe it or not, I normally don’t consume two energy drinks by 5 am. I also normally am not driving at 5 am, but it just hasn’t been a normal 24 hours. I guess “normal,” though, is the kind of thing that goes away once your homophobic mother finds out that you - her shiny trophy of a daughter - are something other than heterosexual.

She was never supposed to know. I had no intentions of ever coming out to her. In fact, I wasn’t planning on even talking to her after I left for college. But a week before I was supposed to drive off into the sunset alone and live out my gayest dreams, everything came crashing down with my mom's receipt of one anonymous text - a single picture. In said picture, I was obviously making out with a girl in my car, and that was all it took for my mom to flip her lid.

I was pissed too - not only at the secret stalker for taking and sending that picture to my mom but also at myself for ever even slightly entertaining the thought that my mom might react positively to my coming out. I knew she would never accept me, but a part buried deep inside of me harbored the slightest bit of hope that she would - that her love for me would overcome her religiously-fueled hate. That maybe the bond we had developed after going through dad leaving would keep us together. But no.

My mom didn’t even yell. It wasn’t, “Emily!! You’re going to hell! How could you do this to me? Get out of my house!” She just fixed her cold gaze on me and said I desperately needed “psychiatric attention” and that I wasn’t welcome in her home until I had rethought my chosen “lifestyle.” So I left. That was yesterday afternoon.

I’ve now been driving for nearly sixteen hours straight, stopping only at gas stations for fuel, snacks, and a bathroom. The first few hours were the toughest since I was dealing with the immediate emotional fallout of my mom’s rejection, but I’ve essentially made it through the five stages of grief by now. What can I say? I’m a fast processor, and I’ve had plenty of time for an insightful internal monologue. I don’t give a damn what my mom thinks. It’s my life, and I’m going to live it how I want to... and apparently, that includes twenty-five-hour drives - I still have roughly nine hours to go. It’s a drive I’ve been dreaming about for the past few years. Going from California to Texas without stopping to sleep has been a big thing on my bucket list, and here I am in the process of doing it.

Of course, it’s not under any of the circumstances that I had dreamt of. I’m not surprising my best friend, Sasha, at her graduation or on my way to beat up a guy who broke her heart. I’m simply running from the house I used to call home in the effort to find the person I want to call home.

Sasha and I met when we were in sixth grade. I started a few days late and was the new kid she showed around on my first day. Ever since then, we were inseparable. We competed in everything but never unhealthily. She taught me poise and structure, and I taught her adventure and spontaneity. We made each other better - like we were designed specifically to be the other’s friend, and we both subconsciously knew it. That’s why it hurt so bad when she had to move to Dallas.

Sasha dealt with the move by emailing me about her life and how it was changing. She kept me updated on her mental health and her achievements, and I did the same. In our lives, I pretended her leaving didn’t affect me, and she pretended that moving didn’t affect her. When we emailed (even though it was once every few months) that charade fell away and our raw selves were on display for each other. It was as easy as breathing to email her. We talked on the phone a few times, and sometimes we even texted. She visited once during freshman year and I visited once during the summer after sophomore year, but I haven’t seen her since. It’s been a long two years.

Mentally, I’ve visited Sasha’s house a thousand times. It smells like comfort and safety, and maybe that’s just because Sasha lives there. When I tell her a story, she never pressures me to get to the point when I go on long-winded rabbit trails. When I tell her how I’m feeling, I never have to explain myself. When I spend time with her, I feel like I’m alive. Sasha makes me feel like I can breathe again, and at the moment, I don’t feel that way. I’m simply surviving.

The sun has risen by now, and I’ve just crossed over into Texas when I open up my third energy drink. My hands shake as I pop the can open, and I have to use my knees to drive. I can’t tell if I’m anxious, angry, tired, over-caffeinated, or hungry, but the car is running low on gas, so I decide to take a break and head to a gas station.

I use the bathroom and start filling up my gas tank. While I’m waiting, I pull out my phone and open the messaging app. I scroll down a while before I get to Sasha’s name and click on it. I type out my message.

Me: r u home?

It usually takes a while for Sasha to respond unless it’s something urgent, so I tuck my phone back into my pocket and get into my car after filling up. I pull into a parking spot so I can sit there for a moment with my head against the headrest and my eyes closed. I try to regulate my abnormally fast breathing. My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Sasha.

Sasha: Yes… what’s up?

I take a second to think about my response before sending it.

Me: mind if i swing by?

Her response comes within seconds.

Sasha: Nice deflection. You don't even need to ask.

A second text follows.

Sasha: Are you flying? Do you need a ride from the airport? Also, what’s the occasion?

I chuckle a little bit since she always texts in nearly perfect grammar.

Me: driving. i’m abt 6 hrs away

Sasha: So ETA of 2 pm?

Me: something like that

Sasha: What’s going on?

I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. As if she knows what I'm feeling, she sends another text.

Sasha: Are you alright?

Me: i’m fine. i don’t want to talk abt it rn

Me: i’ll tell u once i see u

Sasha: Can you at least give me a hint?

Me: got kicked out

Sasha: I’m making cookies

Sasha: Drive safe

Me: see u soon

I set my phone down and make my way back onto the road. Six more hours, I tell myself, and I put my favorite (and longest) playlist on shuffle for the second time.

By the time the playlist is over, I have only an hour left until I reach Dallas, and that knowledge suddenly makes me feel sick. My heart rate picks up, and the sunflower seeds I’ve been munching on no longer seem appetizing. I place them in the passenger seat and take a few sips of water. I play a true-crime podcast for a few minutes until I realize I can’t focus on what is being said. I turn on a different playlist and try to figure out how I’m going to explain my situation to Sasha.

Once I turn into her neighborhood, I realize I’ve gotten nowhere with my planning, but when I turn into her driveway, I realize it doesn’t matter because Sasha is suddenly there as soon as I get out of my car. She immediately wraps me into a hug. I close my eyes and allow myself to relax a little in her embrace. It feels natural. She pulls me into her house and up to her bedroom - successfully managing to avoid any of her family members that are home.

Sasha closes the door and hands me a plate of cookies. I take a cookie.

“So… feel free to take a nap,” Sasha starts.

I look at her slightly confused and part of the way through my cookie.

“No offense, but you look like a zombie, Emily,” Sasha continues.

“Ouch,” I say, feigning indignation. “That’s kind of what happens when you drive 25 hours straight and drink four energy drinks.”

“Four energy drinks???” She smacks my arm playfully. “That’s not healthy!”

“Neither is being abused by your best friend!”

“Wow, I offer up my bed to you so you can sleep after being awake for God knows how long, and you accuse me of abusing you? I see how it is.”

I laugh, finish the cookie, and then collapse facedown on her bed. She follows.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she says softly.

I roll over so I’m on my side, mirroring her.

“My mom kicked me out,” I announce with nonchalance. I continue more slowly. “Some douche took a picture of me and a girl making out in my car, and they sent the picture to my mom, and… you can guess what happened after that.”

“Who the hell would do that??” The shock on Sasha’s face would be humorous if it weren’t for the gravity of the situation.

“Someone who knows me and my mom and for some reason is mad. I don’t know who though. It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“Don’t you want to find out who did it?”

“Even if I knew who did it, that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make my mom love me more or make me feel any better. And I wouldn’t go get revenge or anything.”

Sasha moves closer and puts a hand on my arm. She draws little patterns on my arm soothingly. “You amaze me,” she says almost reverently.

I feel my face heating up at the comment. “Woah, did you just genuinely compliment me for once? Are you feeling alright?” I put a hand to her forehead as if I’m checking her temperature, and she laughs and swats my hand away.

“Shut up!”

“I think I might get a tattoo of that quote,” I say with a devious smile. “‘You amaze me’ all down my arm. In your handwriting, of course.”

“You’re horrible,” she deadpans.

“Annnnnd just like that, you’re back to insulting me.”

“I don’t think your girlfriend would like that tattoo very much.” Sasha’s voice has the slightest edge to it.

“Girlfriend?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Whom you were photographed getting down and dirty with…”

“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” I clarify a little too quickly. “She was a coworker, but it was just a hookup. She doesn’t even know about the picture, and since she’s already out to like... everyone and it happened weeks ago, she wouldn’t even care.”

Sasha doesn't say anything for a little while. The silence is far from uncomfortable.

“Is she the first girl you’ve kissed?”

“No, but she was the first I hooked up with. There was one other girl I kissed right after graduation.”

“Wow, I don’t respond to you for a month, and you become a regular Casanova,” she jokes after letting out a long breath.

“That I am,” I say with a wink.

Sasha smiles. “Is that how you figured out for sure that you like girls?”

“Yeah. Kissing girls is nothing like kissing guys.”

Sasha breaks eye contact and bites her lip. It’s a cute look on her. She scoots even closer until there are only inches between us. She’s still drawing patterns on my arm.

Her lips suddenly press against mine - gently, delicately as if she could break me with a single kiss. And she does. My brain shuts off, and I lay there unmoving. She may as well have paralyzed me. My brain kicks back on, and all of a sudden, all of my thoughts are coming at once. What’s happening?? Why is she kissing you?? She likes you, duh. Dude! Why aren’t you kissing her back? What are you thinking? She pulls away just as abruptly as she started kissing me.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. She sits up. “Oh my god.” It’s louder this time. I sit up too, and she stands. She starts pacing. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Emily. That was so inappropriate. You just got kicked out of your house, and you’re exhausted and frustrated and telling me what happened, and there I go and kiss you without even asking or anything, and that’s the last thing I should’ve done, and it was so wrong, and oh my god, you probably hate me now - I mean you have every right to - who kisses their best friend when their best friend has just gone through something like that-”

I stand up and cut off her rambling with a kiss, and I don’t even realize we’re moving until her back hits the wall. I pull back a bit and look her in the eyes. She whispers something I can barely hear, but I realize she’s asking what I’m doing.

“Sasha,” I start. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Em, but what-”

“No, Sash. I’m in love with you. And I don’t know how I didn’t realize it until right now, but I’m in love with you. You’re the only one who understands me, and you’re pure and kind and smart and funny and patient and just the best person in the world, and I’m hopelessly in love with you.” I pause and look into Sasha’s watery, smiling eyes. “So Sasha, can I kiss you?”

She nods and smiles even bigger. I lean in, and when our lips meet, something slots into place in the universe and my heart swells. It’s satisfying like rain falling on drought-plagued land, and it’s beautiful as a mountain sunrise. It feels like a prophecy coming true - like being revived - like coming home, and I can’t help but smile when Sasha pulls away and murmurs against my lips, “I love you too.”

And I know I'll never run anywhere but towards her.