I've tried to write this post a thousand and one times. And every time, it doesn't measure up. Still, this one doesn't. But here goes anyway...
During Summer 2007, after another failed attempt at a relationship with a girl, I decided to tell my best friend Rachel that I was gay. I arranged one of our common walks to the Woodville Cemetery. "I'm gay," I said.
"I know." She held my arm as I squinted toward the sun and began to cry.
We continued walking, sat down in the tall grass by the canal bank and talked. This began the dialogue that would last nearly a year. We discussed my desire to stay in the Mormon church, to have an "eternal family." To avoid the "gay lifestyle."
Here's the thing about Rachel. She knew more about what it meant to be gay than I did at the time. She had always been attuned to things of the gays. She was well read on the subject, and even frequented several gay Mormon blogs.
I asked her, "Do you think I'll be able to marry a woman?" She was frank, and told me that it would be difficult to find a woman who would be willing to do so. And that the chances of such a marriage working out would be very slim. She led me to a lot of literature on the subject.
I soon latched onto several blogs, and found a vast, interconnected web of blogs that helped me understand that I certainly was not alone. My struggle was much more common than I had thought. I would spend hours and hours reading posts and emailing many to Rachel saying, "THIS IS EXACTLY HOW I FEEL!"
I've had several therapists in my life. Rachel is the best one by far. You see, we had a tradition. I would get sad, call her, then we'd bake together. Sometimes we'd talk about what was making me sad, sometimes we wouldn't. We'd bake, or walk to the cemetery, and I'd always feel better afterward.
Rachel was there as stagnated, as I grew, and as (a year after I came out to her) I fell in love for the first time. She giggled with me as I talked about how BF and I cuddled. Her eyes sparkled when I told her about the freedom I finally felt. And she made me homemade lemonade when it all ended.
Later, she was on standby when I came out to my parents. As soon as I could, I drove my car to her house, and I cried as she held me. When the tears stopped, she gave me a glass of water and leftovers. She didn't say much, she was just there. Just like she always was. She was there when I needed her.
Now, Rachel tries to keep track of the boys I'm dating. She usually remembers their names. And she asks about them. This means so much to me. Now she lives in Idaho and I live in Utah. But we talk on the phone, and when we do the conversation is sometimes lively, sometimes serious. But always she's there for me. And I hope I'm there for her, too.
Rachel is my truest friend. She is singular for me. I'll never be able to describe what she did and does for me. I'd not be here without her.
