|
Quarter-Light -- ©Brenda Carter  There's no room in my mind for anything except food while I'm grocery shopping, but back in my own kitchen, the act of picking through the mottled white and pale green flageolet beans finally opens up the mental space I need to sort out my feelings about Sandy.
After setting the beans to soak in boiling water, I cut the pork into cubes with the German knife Sandy gave me for Christmas. I want her to know I'm not interested in second-guessing her marriage; the life she chooses for herself is not an issue. Her ministry is something else. Why was Sandy, usually so careful about other people's feelings, completely indifferent to my reaction to her confession? I hope she at least worried that her ministry might cause a break between us, although I also hope she knows I love her too much to let this happen. I want to shake her out of her complacency, hurt her back without going far enough to push her away. In the past, I've been willing to protect Sandy from the pain I've felt over the distance she keeps from my lesbianism, but now I'm not so sure. Thyme sprigs, tomato paste, chicken stock, white wine, and a handful of garlic cloves all join each other in my old orange stew pot, leaving me alone with the big question. What was Sandy's motive in coming out to me? Without an answer, it's hard to know what I'm up against, how guarded I have to be. Since she never asserted outright that I ought to agree with her, I don't feel safe making any assumptions. If she outed herself in order to put our relationship on a more honest footing, I consider it a brave and honorable act. But if she spoke in hopes of converting me, I don't want any part of it. I have no greater chance of changing Sandy's mind than she has of swaying mine, although we both probably feel a similar regret that the other can be so wrong. I let myself sit with this sadness until I take a little hope from the thought that I share it with Sandy. The reassuring smell of sauteeing bacon and onions coaxes me into believing something good might come from Sandy's revelations. If she can tell me this enormous secret, why can't I stop playing games with her about my own life? We're never going to agree, but we might come to understand the parts of each other we have always skirted in order to remain close. At least this is my hope, and as I put the beans on to simmer with the onions and bacon, I try to hold it out to Sandy as well.
|
