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"I don't know what it is, but, there's something that goes on between women. You men know that because it's the same for you. I'm not saying one sex is better than the other. I'm just saying, like speaks to like. Love, or whatever, doesn't always keep, so you find out what does, if you're lucky."
…Boys on the Side, 1995 My sister in law has a theory. She believes that you can say anything, regardless of how horrible it is, and get away with it – as long as you quickly follow up the statement with, "I’m just saying". This concept, if practiced correctly, can provide hours upon hours of quality entertainment. But we’ll come back to that. Wednesday afternoon, while still at work, I found out that Lo – who has the worst fashion sense I’ve ever seen, who loves monster movies and photographing pretty girls and any boyish technical gadget he can get his hands on - is gay. It felt like I’d been hit in the face by the grill of an 18 wheel truck going full speed. The details on this, the why and how etc, belong to the two of us alone, and will not be included here. My vision starting to blur and spin, and all I could think was, there has to be some way to be unconscious right now – some way to not wake up until these waves of pain, crashing over and over, had ceased. But I was awake, at work, and trying desperately not to throw up, or cry. It’s funny what some of your first thoughts end up being. Mine was, "There is NO way I’m going to Italy." What saved me, in those initial hours, were all the exceptional women in my life. My coping mechanism defaulted immediately into thoughts of travel; Italy was off the table – so where could I go? I could go to Mumbai. The incredible women I know in India would collect me at the airport, clucking like sympathetic mother hens, and would proceed to shower me with attention, feeding me curry and tea, and showing me a world I have yet to see. I could go to The Philippines. My friend Lilly would be waiting for me, and we could drink coca cola, chain smoke, and explore some of the outer islands. I have never been to Israel, by my friend Shir lives in Tel Aviv – and from there, I could head to Jerusalem for my own spiritual pilgrimage. My dearest friend Rianna lives in South Africa – Rianna, who’s picture is displayed in the dictionary as the definition of wisdom and grace; she would take me to drumming circles, listen to me cry, and show me how to recover from this painful, humiliating mistake. I could see an elephant, or a lion. But in the end, it was a visit to Cintia that I found the most tempting. Living in Sao Paulo, she would lead me to the warm summer sand of the Brazilian beach, and force feed me caprianhas until I just didn’t feel, anymore. I made it through the last few hours of work. I don’t know how. I managed to get myself home, although I do not remember the drive. I called my sister in law, who lives a few hours away, and through my sobs I read her Lo’s email – a long letter, filled with sweet words and love, until the cryptic last line, that was supposed to somehow clue me in on this hidden secret. The last line that I had not understood, until I had been reduced to begging him – begging him – to be honest with me. "Screw ‘War and Peace’" my sister in law yelled angrily as I finished the letter. "What ever happened to ‘I like cock’??? That’s all he had to say!! Tears of laughter began to mingle with the tears of pain on my face. "And he ended it with a smiley face???" she yelled. "Is that his version of "I’m just saying"??? I laughed harder as I cried. One of my girlfriends, an attorney in Los Angeles, was the only person that ever brought up the question on if Lo could be gay – she’d never met him, or known anything about him – it was simply a question asked, perhaps last April or May, based off of the fact that he was single, living alone, and 35. "He seems too good to be true hon – you sure he’s not gay?" she had asked. I assured her
