Thursday, June 24, 2010


In respect of LGBT WEEK… Gabby is an outsider girl with a lesbian Mom.  Gabby learns that just being lesbian doesn’t make you cool, and her Mom’s girlfriend is as annoying as Mom’s last boyfriend.

Gabby: “Gabby, what’re you doing?” Ellen yells to me, even though I’m only in the next room.  Her tone says:  “Whatever you’re doing, it’s not as important as what I’m about to ask.”
“Folding laundry,” I say.  My tone says, “Your laundry so’re you sure you want to get on my case now?”
“Get me a snack.  Gab-by,” Ellen whines.  Gabby!”
     “Get it yourself!  God!  I’m folding your laundry right now —“
     “Gaaaby, my feet hurt.  You try wearing three inch heels for eight hours.  What’s your problem anyway, just get me some of those pita chips and some of that spicy hummus from last night.  It’s not that difficult, I’m not asking for you to come up with a gourmet -- Gabby?  Are you listening to me?  Come on Gabby, I’m serious.  Your mother always tells me what a good kid you are… Gabby, are you there?  Gabby, what’re you doing —“
     “Alright, alright!” I say, dropping the laundry on the dining room table.  Anything to shut Ellen up.
     I hate Ellen.  I wish my Mom were home.  This is so Cinderella.  Lesbian Cinderella.

You think it’s going to be different when your Mom reveals to you she’s coming out as a lesbian, I mean, I thought that.  Not just different as in no smelly guys tracking mud in the house and sneaking glances at my chest.  I don’t know why, but I thought when my Mom made peace with her sexuality and got a girlfriend, our life was going to be all about fresh flowers, impromtu fashion shows, sunglasses and floppy hats, makeovers, ice cream straight from the carton… I thought when Ellen moved in it was going to be like the perfect sleepover party.
Reality?  Since my Mom got with Ellen, not only is life at home not girl talk and sleeping bags in front of the TV, I can’t even have a real sleepover party with my friends.  Seriously, no one is allowed to sleep over at my house anymore.  None of my so-called friends’ parents want their kid to sleep over in a house full of lesbians.  They like think life in my house is a non-stop orgy or a sex ed. class or something, which is almost as funny as me thinking it would be a non-stop ice cream sleepover.
I want my mom to be happy, I do! I think as I spoon hummus into a small plastic bowl, exactly two tablespoons because Ellen’s on Weight Watchers.
     A tear slips out of my eye and slides over my cheek.  I wipe it away quickly, but another tear follows, then another, then faster and faster, and I’m crying, and I can’t stop and all I want is someone to get a snack for me, to love me.  Right now it feels like I don’t have two Moms, I have two children.  And they’re not the cool kids on the block like I expected they would be.


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