It’s a sad thing that every queer person has to go through internalized homophobia before realizing that they are indeed what they are – Queer.
I did, she did too.
Questions beg for answers and this question had a body and eyes that begged to be answered to.
“Will you be my best friend?” Her cute eyes stared back at me as she held my hand waiting for an answer; a positive one she hoped. I remember saying, “Why does this sound like you are asking me to be your girlfriend?” I chuckled with tensed eyes.
She laughed and replied in a friendly tone, ” Temi, just answer me.” I nodded in the affirmative, “I will, only if you promise you’ll always hug me.” Then, she pulled me in for a hug, a tight one that warmed me up and that was where it all began.
At the time, we didn’t know what being queer meant. We didn’t even know such a connection could exist. All we knew was that we enjoyed the kisses and kept coming back for more. We knew that the cuddles at the infirmary, while no one was watching, was one that sent sensations to our lower belly. We knew we loved to hold hands and knew we wanted to explore our bodies, especially that fateful Saturday morning her mum almost caught us. I was relieved and very swift with pulling my hands from the upper part of her blouse.
I do not like to think of things that might have been but today, I am reflecting and I am asking, what if? What if you had replied with, ” Yes, I want you to be my girlfriend.”
I remember our first kiss and how it felt like heaven – we had taken trips often to that heaven and the moment we got back, we wanted that journey once more. It was the innocent and genuine love for me; the handwritten letters and the re-affirmations to girls in the class that thought I was snobbish and not girly enough. I loved how you replied to them, one after the other. Your mouth was so sharp it could cut through a wall and the bricks would still be upright. “She is my best friend, okay?” And they would all keep quiet.
The times they made our business theirs by discussing us in their quiet times and loud ones in the class would say “Are you two lesbians?” You’d retort and serve them all up in a nice platter and they’ll keep quiet till their quiet time. We lived rent-free in their heads and occupied the largest apartment still.
I would shiver in fear and start to stammer minutes after these accusations were made. You’ll pull me into your embrace, whisper to me that we are not lesbians then go ahead to kiss me – on the lips. We both knew, it was an open book in our heads but we’ll prefer to tag ourselves best friends – the ones that were terribly in love.
You were my best friend, my crush, my love and I, your pillow princess, your kiss mate and your first love. You never skipped any chance to remind me of how you love me and are grateful for being my best friend. Every time I remember that morning you sent me that text, my heart ached. It ached so bad and I could feel it clench.
It soon loosened after we met up while others were having tutorials. You looked straight into my eyes and asked me what I was doing to you. You kissed me so passionately, I could feel those butterflies that are only mostly existent in television series. This was just hours after your text clearly read, “This is sinful, Temmy, we should stop kissing or touching, I gave my life to Christ today in church.”
It continued until you came into my room one weekend, “Temi, I can’t do this anymore. I feel like sin every time I step on the altar to sing in church…” and we’ll cry together, promise to never kiss anymore but end up saying our goodbyes with a kiss and a clumsy makeout session.
I’d go to church on Sundays with my grandma and head on to the altar, right on my knees and beg for God to take me, my sins and my life. I’d worship God with tears and go back to that sin that I feel is dirty but “heavenly” while at it. I’d talk about how disgusting lesbians are on my status and drop the phone to fingering my cute best friend. Oh, what a hypocrite I was. It went on and on till it didn’t- we graduated from high school.
I do not like to think of what-ifs, but just what if. What if you had asked me to be your girlfriend? I know I’d have run, I’d have cussed, avoided you and probably have screamed NO.
I’d have laughed, scoffed and told you how disgusting that sounded. But, I’d have missed out on the love and the moments we share. We opted for being best friends and we did what lovers do. You are my best friend and it’s all that matters to me.
Johnson Temiloluwa is one with many colours and boots; she is a Photographer, Blogger, content strategist/writer, poet and essayist – but Temi is first a storyteller. She tells stories and aims to tell them with intricate photographs and share tales about her lifestyle and others. The lover of plantain and black clothing is the author of Detrimental tales at 19.
