Teddy Bears and Fire Drills
One and only.
I had also been the feminine one. I played with Barbies constantly and I carried a little stuffed bear around with me for years. Literally, years.
I have this memory, from when I was just in grade school. I brought my little stuffed bear (I called her Lily) in my backpack because I was having a hard day and I wanted the comfort of knowing she was there with me; even if I never dared to take her out. Then, the ear-piercing screech of the fire alarm caused a frenzy. Someone in my class screamed and the teacher frantically tried to get everyone to line up. It was probably just a drill, but that noise, that noise that sounded like it came from the very pit of hell, always caused fear to pump through my heart. It still does to this day, actually. I guess some things we just don’t grow out of. I just remember staring at the neat line of backpacks on hooks, frightened, as I was pushed out the door. No, I can’t just leave Lily! What if it was a real fire, then I would lose her forever! Standing in a straight line at the back of the school, I couldn’t stand still and more than anything, I wanted to run back into the school to save my teddy bear. It didn’t matter if the school was on fire (which in my naivety, I truly thought it was), I just needed to save her. I loved that little bear more than anything.
I also loved getting dressed up, picking out a cute dress, usually covered in lace, and the feeling of stockings clinging to my legs. I loved all the typical girl stuff.
Which is why I found it so difficult to accept I was a lesbian.
I knew all about gay men, definitely. But lesbians? My version of a lesbian was a muscled woman who loved all the manly stuff, like wearing men’s clothes and watching sports and drinking beer and burping without saying excuse me. They certainly weren’t ladies.
And I was. I was a princess for the majority of my Halloween costumes. Pink was my favourite colour. I hate sports. So it doesn’t matter I liked girls, because I didn’t act like a lesbian, so I couldn’t be one.
What a silly little kid I was.
As I stare at Lily now, sitting peacefully on my shelf (actually looking a little dusty, I should really air her out again), I reminisce about what it was like. What it was like to not understand why all the girls were so obsessed with Stefan, the practise teacher with bulging arms, or not understand why I liked staring at my sister’s fashion magazine so much, with all the barely clothed girls staring seductively back at me.
My eyes flicker to the stack of fashion magazines that are currently piled up on my desk. I smirk. Hey, some things never change.
A loud crash causes my head to snap back over to the television. A monster or some such thing explodes. Danielle laughs with delight. I roll my eyes, but grin.
Leaning over her, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and press a kiss to her cheek. I catch her grin out of the corner of my eye and answer it, my lipstick leaving its mark on her cheek. “I don’t understand how you can spend so much time playing this,” I say, without anger, simply confusion.
“And I don’t understand how you can spend hours staring at those fashion magazines,” she says back, fingers already back to pressing buttons.
“I guess we do have our differences,” I say, relaxing against her body.
“Yup,” she answers absently. Those video games of hers, I swear.
Turning my head and glancing back over at Lily, I smile.
“Danielle?” I murmur in her ear.
“Yeah, babe, what is it?”
“If there was ever a fire alarm, nothing would ever stop me from running in to find you.”
She snorts, “Alright, wanna explain that?”
I grin and place my cheek on her back. “Nope.” Then I close my eyes and cuddle my human teddy bear. Even if she is more distracted than Lily ever was.
I have this memory, from when I was just in grade school. I brought my little stuffed bear (I called her Lily) in my backpack because I was having a hard day and I wanted the comfort of knowing she was there with me; even if I never dared to take her out. Then, the ear-piercing screech of the fire alarm caused a frenzy. Someone in my class screamed and the teacher frantically tried to get everyone to line up. It was probably just a drill, but that noise, that noise that sounded like it came from the very pit of hell, always caused fear to pump through my heart. It still does to this day, actually. I guess some things we just don’t grow out of. I just remember staring at the neat line of backpacks on hooks, frightened, as I was pushed out the door. No, I can’t just leave Lily! What if it was a real fire, then I would lose her forever! Standing in a straight line at the back of the school, I couldn’t stand still and more than anything, I wanted to run back into the school to save my teddy bear. It didn’t matter if the school was on fire (which in my naivety, I truly thought it was), I just needed to save her. I loved that little bear more than anything.
I also loved getting dressed up, picking out a cute dress, usually covered in lace, and the feeling of stockings clinging to my legs. I loved all the typical girl stuff.
Which is why I found it so difficult to accept I was a lesbian.
I knew all about gay men, definitely. But lesbians? My version of a lesbian was a muscled woman who loved all the manly stuff, like wearing men’s clothes and watching sports and drinking beer and burping without saying excuse me. They certainly weren’t ladies.
And I was. I was a princess for the majority of my Halloween costumes. Pink was my favourite colour. I hate sports. So it doesn’t matter I liked girls, because I didn’t act like a lesbian, so I couldn’t be one.
What a silly little kid I was.
As I stare at Lily now, sitting peacefully on my shelf (actually looking a little dusty, I should really air her out again), I reminisce about what it was like. What it was like to not understand why all the girls were so obsessed with Stefan, the practise teacher with bulging arms, or not understand why I liked staring at my sister’s fashion magazine so much, with all the barely clothed girls staring seductively back at me.
My eyes flicker to the stack of fashion magazines that are currently piled up on my desk. I smirk. Hey, some things never change.
A loud crash causes my head to snap back over to the television. A monster or some such thing explodes. Danielle laughs with delight. I roll my eyes, but grin.
Leaning over her, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and press a kiss to her cheek. I catch her grin out of the corner of my eye and answer it, my lipstick leaving its mark on her cheek. “I don’t understand how you can spend so much time playing this,” I say, without anger, simply confusion.
“And I don’t understand how you can spend hours staring at those fashion magazines,” she says back, fingers already back to pressing buttons.
“I guess we do have our differences,” I say, relaxing against her body.
“Yup,” she answers absently. Those video games of hers, I swear.
Turning my head and glancing back over at Lily, I smile.
“Danielle?” I murmur in her ear.
“Yeah, babe, what is it?”
“If there was ever a fire alarm, nothing would ever stop me from running in to find you.”
She snorts, “Alright, wanna explain that?”
I grin and place my cheek on her back. “Nope.” Then I close my eyes and cuddle my human teddy bear. Even if she is more distracted than Lily ever was.