The quiet drips of the faucet landed into the chipped Disney World cup that they had gotten when Fran was two. She looked up at the puke-green numbers on the oven displaying the time.
3:03 p.m.
Alex would be here soon. The wedged heel of Fran’s shoe rotated on the worn wooden floor. Fran’s hands adjusted the placement of her green dress every few moments before returning her eyes to the computer screen. She had gotten ready for the dance much earlier than she needed to.
However, the feeling of sitting idly only increased her nerves, leading her to knock out another scholarship application. This one was for the Blackforest Electrical Company. Fran had no passion for electricity; she just needed money like every other high school senior.
The sounds of computer keys mixed with the cheering from the living room. Sports announcers were eagerly announcing a rundown of the Denver Broncos, and Fran imagined her father watching intently.
After answering general questions from GPA to gender, her fingers stilled at the next question.
An underlying uncertainty overcame her, stirring up a swirl of emotions like wind moving leaves. She looked to the end of the kitchen where she could see the blue light from the TV flickering from a room over. Would it be wrong to ask?
“Dad, I have a question,” Fran halfheartedly yelled, barely audible over the game.
“’Bout that scholarship?”
Fran looked back at her computer.
How do you sexually identify?
“It asks how you sexually identify….?” she trailed off as the screen broke into cheers.
The Broncos must have scored.
“What should I say if I’m unsure?”
Fran’s knee bounced under the table. It should be an easy question to answer. Though this question was meant to be answered in moments, Fran had been debating it for months. It was like her personal experiment, one she had first conducted at girls’ soccer games — the metal bleachers digging into her skin — as she watched her friend Jamie on the team. If a girl is conventionally attractive, does that mean I like women or just have eyes?
Then it led to brief pauses between her high school teachers’ lectures. Fran would look over her shoulder to the girl next to her.
Would I kiss her? Maybe. I mean, the idea doesn’t bother me. Doesn’t mean I’m gay.
Her trials would always end in the burnt orange comfort of her room where the “Am I Gay?” quiz would be waiting in her search history.
“Have you thought of kissing the other gender?” Maybe. That was the answer Fran would click. A Buzzfeed quiz decided nothing. And yet, would someone who was straight take it?
But how did she know? All she felt was a mix of confusion and anger layered on top of college application stress.
Fran had come close to telling Alex and Jamie in an attempt to seek some validation that she had been gay all along.
In some small part of her brain, she hoped her dad would have the answer, but the longer the silence stretched between them, the more Fran realized that answer would never come.
The sports announcers’ voices dimmed.
“Why do these applications expect kids to answer these questions?” Annoyance flared in her dad’s voice. “I mean, what do you want me to say?”
It felt like her body had been thrown into an ice-cold lake. Fran looked back up at the clock.
3:15 p.m.
Her hand tightly clutched the phone, begging it to vibrate. Built-in computer fans turned on at the bottom of the laptop — cooling it after hours of use.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The window above the faucet reflected Fran’s velvet green dress, hanging off her thin frame, and the eyeliner that she had put on too thick. Outside, the Rocky Mountains had begun to lose their vibrant green, unusual even in summer, and were turning yellow from the aspens. Wind raced through branches, and leaves lazily swayed to the ground where squirrels bounded across.
Dust particles hovered above her head, and Fran savored how they curled around her as she numbly looked at them. When Fran was a child, she would try to snatch the particles between her chubby fingers. Fran, those are living critters. Treat them gently, her dad had teased. Fran had been so scared that she was hurting living things… Her arms stayed glued to her side for the rest of the car ride only to find out later; he had lied.
A vibration caused Fran to see her phone screen light up from a text from Alex.
Outside 🙂
Relief broke through her tangle of emotions.
“Alex is here.” Fran reached for a light jacket and her bag.
“Have fun at homecoming,” her dad grunted as he heaved himself up, probably to hug her goodbye, “Make sure to take pictures.” He seemed to have already forgotten his last words.
Fran clicked unsure and closed her computer. She was out the door by the time her dad made it to the kitchen.
…
Three heads bent over Jamie’s phone, as Alex’s salt-covered fingers swiped through the pictures.
Fran took a bite of her burger. “We look like The Powerpuffs.”
Alex was wearing a bright red, Jamie was in a baby blue, and Fran completed the trio with her green.
Jamie grinned, stretching her legs in the cramped Lexus. Fran could see the lights of the dance up ahead. Shadowed outlines of girls rushed to the doors to escape the cold. Alex had insisted they had to enter at the right moment. Fran didn’t know why they had to wait for that moment in the parking lot.
“Does anyone have cups?” Jamie reached down by her feet and pulled out a bottle of Tito’s.
They passed it back and forth between each of their lips. Fran kept scrunching her face as the vodka burned through her mouth and sinuses.
Soon, a new feeling, an ease, spread through Fran’s body. Once Alex said it was late enough to go in, Fran could have been made out of confidence as she stumbled out of the car and toward the awaiting door.
Unsurprisingly, the gym had minimal decorations, despite the easy theme of 70’s Punk. The only vibrancy came from the variety of colors worn by the insecure bodies that clumped in the doorways and by the walls.
Alex pulled Jamie and Fran onto the dance floor, which was a cheap black tarp. Fran jumped up and down — taking her shoes off five songs in. There was a certain high to sweating alongside hundreds of teenage bodies that bred a strange boldness in the folds of her mind.
Acquaintances from classes hugged each other like they had been friends for years while telling each other how good the other person looked. Jamie waved over a girl from the soccer team. Fran admired how her black dress seemed to suit her body so well.
“Allie, I thought you brought your girlfriend?” Jamie drunkenly yelled over the music.
Allie shrugged. “Didn’t work out.”
Jamie dramatically hugged her, but Allie just laughed, unbothered. Fran faintly remembered having some classes with her. Yet, at this moment, it felt like she had known her for years. Laughter flowed easily between the four of them, even if the alcohol had a helping hand.
Song after song, their bodies awkwardly twisted to an unspoken rhythm that was only broken when a slow song blasted around them. Alex grabbed the arm closest to her, which was Jamie’s, and began a mocking slow dance. There were a fair number of girls and boys paired up together. Their eyes would look in every direction except each other, with only their fingertips grazing each other’s shoulders.
Still drunk, Fran grabbed Allie’s hand for a dance. She admired the soft curls of Allie’s hair and how a light cedar smell clung to her. Allie trained her eyes on Fran’s and politely — but firmly — held her waist as they swayed.
Even when the song ended, neither of them broke eye contact. The same question from hours before appeared.
How do you sexually identify?
I don’t know. But I know I’d like to kiss her.
Fran’s cheeks felt so hot as she brought the back of her hands to them.
“Water?” Allie asked.
Fran nodded as they grabbed each other’s hand to move through the clustering of students toward the water station. Outside the gym, the strobe lights were replaced with the typical fluorescent school lighting. It felt like another building entirely. Music was replaced by mindless chatter. The tarp was replaced by tiled flooring and water spills. Fran, for once, didn’t mind how everyone could see everyone.
Clutching the flimsy styrofoam cup, a boldness seemed to grow within Fran. She was sure she wanted to kiss Allie. Suddenly, this realization would make everything fall into place. Fran imagined getting a girlfriend. Imagined falling in love. She could have that.
Allie fanned herself, and the noise of voices enveloped them.
“Could I have your number?” Fran asked.
Something in Fran’s tone made Allie pause. “To go on a date?” A slight frown masked her lips that were laughing only moments ago.
“Yes?” However, it was said with uncertainty. That conviction Fran felt before had dissipated. Her body suddenly rang cold despite sweat dripping from her armpits.
“Oh,” Allie began looking over Fran’s shoulder. That moment of eye contact between them was broken. “I appreciate it, but I’m not looking for anything right now.”
It was a polite answer. Allie mumbled a “See you later,” as if Fran would.
Fran tossed her unfinished cup into the overflowing trash can and ignored the reminders of “no re-entry” as she rushed out of the school building. Cool night air felt like broken glass against her skin. Fran stood there still taking in the laughter that seemed so tangible a moment ago. Everyone gets rejected. Fran knew that.
Her eyes felt heavier as water pooled behind them. That moment was supposed to prove something. Prove she liked women. That they liked her back.
A quick text told Jamie and Alex she got sick and was going home early.
Another was to her dad telling him she needed to be picked up.
He responded in moments with that large yellow thumbs-up that her dad loved to use.
Fran kicked up bits of asphalt as she dragged the heeled edge of her shoe through cracks in the pavement. Numbly, her heel rotated back and forth.
Back And Forth
…
By the time yellow headlights illuminated her insignificant asphalt vandalism, Fran could taste salt from the tears that slid down her face. She kept her head lowered as she approached the only running car.
The dashboard read 8:07 p.m.. The dance still had two hours left.
“Figured you would be hungry, so I picked up some fries and a chocolate shake,” her dad happily waved his $5 prize.
Fran leaned her head against the window, noticing how fog creeped around the glass every time she breathed out of her nose, revealing greasy fingerprints that were never rubbed off.
“I know you tried to tell me something personal this morning. We can talk—”
“It’s fine.” Fran watched beads of rain begin to slide down the window. Watched how they lost their shape as they made their way downward.
They sat in silence. The only sound was Fran’s uneven breathing as she tried to stop feeling bad about a moment that lasted only a few seconds.
When the car stopped in the driveway, her dad turned off the ignition. He let it fall dark as the interior lights shut off. Neither of them made a move to leave.
Fran did not want to. Any movement she made would tip over the delicate balance she was trying to maintain.
“There’s no right answer,” her dad said, staring ahead. “It’s okay to take time to figure things out.”
“But everyone has figured out who they are.”
Her dad finally turned toward Fran with sad eyes. “No one truly knows. You have time to learn.”
Firm arms wrapped around her body as Fran crumpled like broken leaves and cried.
Time. Fran took a shuddering breath. And another.
She had time.
…
Inside the living room, they watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” — a Christmas movie, despite it only being October. The Disney World mug was almost overflowing with her dad’s famous hot chocolate. It burned her hands.
It cures any rejection, he had promised.
They both watched scenes play before them, with nobody else to be.
