What could be said to make the rest of our ignorant populace understand. It's something I spend so much time pondering. The differences are so much a part of our own nature, yet we strive to remove them. Sometimes I feel trapped by the urge, to criticize, to perch higher, to be the almighty. It isn't something that can be stifled. The few who believe they can become disassociated from their own nature have become the terror. The more that is hidden behind closed doors the more it is destructive.
I am not the only one to have sinned. My crimes are as grievous as any other, but they no greater than the rest. You see, Sarah was a sweet girl when we first met. I didn't know then what lurked in the walls of her self, but did it make her any less? As my mother and brother before her there was no clue to answer this question, only to accept the truth. Her hair was a mass of orange curls, untamed and wild, but her nature belied its casing. At sixteen she still held all the innocence of a babe, the effect of too many years locked away in a convent school. Her father brought her to me one bright Monday morning in June on the advice of his new wife. She was not adjusting well to the outside world.
My office held all the trappings of any other child psychologist, excluding the Papasans I used in place of chairs. She walked in subdued on the arm of her father.
"Hello. My name's Joyce Bright. You must be Mr. Johnson, and you must be his daughter Sarah. How are doing this morning, Sarah?"
She extended her hand politely and raised her eyes to mine guardedly. "I'm O.K. Daddy said you wanted to talk to me."
"Well, yes, I do wish to speak with you. Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I walk your father back to the waiting room."
I took the arm of her father and guided him out. We spoke briefly about his concerns about Sarah and then I went back to speak with her myself. She had taken residence on the floor next to the sliding door. The view from my second floor office could be spectacular on day's like today. The rustic setting of this small Main town fairly gleamed with old world charm.
I sat down next to her. Not close enough to intrude on her space but near enough to touch her if it became called for. "You like the view. I find it can be very relaxing."
"It looks....safe. F-from inside here." She smiled shyly over at me. "I like the way it feels. "
"You don't feel safe, out there."
She looked back out at the buildings. "I felt safe at the convent. They cared about me there. Daddy has a hard time caring about me. H-his work is so important....and Laney is trying to be nice to me, but she want's too much. My mom is gone and no one will ever replace her."
"Do you feel like you could tell me more about your mom?"
"She died when I was seven of cancer. I was too young to really understand what that meant. All I knew was that Daddy was sending me to the Convent permanently and my mom had disappeared. I miss her allot, but that's normal."
She went on to tell me about her years in the convent and the few times she'd spent with her father. From what I could see there was something bothering her, but exactly what was yet to be seen. She had no obvious psychological problems excluding some normal self doubts and confusion. I figured a few good talks along the lines of our first appointment would do the trick to resolve whatever was bothering her. They made another appointment for next Monday and I put her case at the back of my mind.
The rest of my week was slow with only one explosion. My manic depressive Wednesday appointment finally admitted to suicidal thoughts and her mother reacted with a fair amount of outrage to my suggestion of putting her daughter on antidepressant. I resolved the conflict by referring them both to the local Psychiatrist thereby removing myself entirely from the case.
The next Monday came with a sudden burst of rain. Sarah came with her father in tow. The appointment started out well until I started to ask questions about her relationships with the other girls at the convent.
"You still haven't answered my question, Sarah. You've avoided it completely by telling me about your friendship with the nuns, and though I do care about your relationship with them, I also want to know about your other friends."
She shifted in her chair nervously. "I didn't have any other friends." The words were said so faintly had I been distracted I wouldn't have heard them.
"Oh. Did they not like you?'
"No. Actually they didn't understand why I didn't like them."
This statement puzzled me so I asked, "Why didn't you like them?"
"I did. Like them, that is. I just liked them too much. I-I....I don't know how to explain it. They scared me. I didn't feel like I fit in."
It didn't hit me until later what this one statement implied. She tried to explain her feelings but we kept coming back to her fear of the other girls. In the end she left my office with a tear streaked face and neither of us any closer to understanding. I left my office that evening preoccupied. The man I was seeing at the time picked me up at my home, then took me to dine and to the show. I proved to be horrible company. We parted after angry words, but our argument was not what kept me up half the night.
Sarahs case was proving to be more involved than I had first assessed. She seemed to have some problems with anti-social behavior. The next few sessions backed up this theory. I had not yet been able to identify the emotions from witch this behavior stemmed, but it was becoming more evident that she did not have the abilities to handle social situations. Her father called repeatedly complaining of Sarahs rude behavior to her peers. The public school she attended even recommended transferring her to a special school for emotionally disturbed children.
It was her fifth session when the problem became clear. She'd just had a fight with her father and she came into my office crying. I was aware by this time that I had become emotionally involved in the case and had begun looking for a suitable replacement to council Sarah. This session changed everything.
I pulled the blinds closed to block out the bight sunshine and sat down next to Sarah on the floor. I leaned against the edge of the Papasan. She leaned against my shoulder and the wall. A tissue box sat between us and I handed her one.
"What happened?"
"One of the g-girls at school "The school called your dad and he was upset."
She nodded and the looked at me forlornly. "He's threatening to send me to that special school. T-the one far away. I want to go back....t-to the convent."
"You can't stay in the convent forever. Someday your going to have to face all this again."
"A-at least then I'll be bigger. I don't fit in here...and, anyway, I think I might become a nun."
I frowned sternly. "Sarah you can't run away like that. Becoming a nun won't solve your problems."
She leaned in closer to me, against my breast. I stroked her hair and handed her another tissue. Somewhere in the back of my mind I viewed this scene with distaste. It was totally unprofessional to be comforting her in such a way, but I couldn't help feeling close to her. I could remember going through the same emotional turmoil at her age. Of course my issues had been sexually related. At that moment it hit me. The idea that I had missed it dumfounded me. She was a rare case if my theory proved true, but that didn't make it any less relevant.
"Sarah, could you sit up for a second." She did so and I wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "You once told me you felt scared of the other girls at the convent. Tell me about that again."
She looked confused. "I've already told you all about that."
"Tell me about that feeling, the one you called scared. You said you liked them so much, but you felt scared."
"W-well, I felt scared. I'd get this burning in my stomach an-and then all hot, and then I'd want to run away."
"Have you ever felt this way for a boy."
"No. I really don't feel anything about boys."
"How old were you when you got your period, Sarah."
She blushed and murmured, "12."
"Sarah, has your Daddy talked to you about how babies are made and the relationship between a man and a woman."
She shook her head violently. "The nun's talked to us about it, but Daddy never talks to me about that sort of stuff. He always say's to go see an nun."
"How did you feel about what the nun's told you?"
"At first it didn't make any sense to me. Then they started talking about god wanting us to make babies and loving everyone. I still don't really understand, but I guess they're right."
"Sarah where in your tummy do you feel hot before your scared."
She put her hand just above her groin. "Why are you asking me all these odd questions?"
"Well, I'm just trying to figure out why your feeling this way. I think that's all were going to do today. Could you go get your Daddy for me?"
She nodded and walked out of the room slowly. Her father came in and stood agitated. He spoke in a slow barely controlled voice, "Have we made any progress today?"
"Why don't you sit down, Mr.Johnson. I have something to tell you that may be a little shocking."
He sat down and stared at me warily. "I don't know any polite way to put this, but I think your daughter is experiencing....homosexual feelings."
He looked stunted and then explosively angry. He stood and fumed silently. Then he sat back down. He opened his mouth, as if about to say something carefully polite and then exploded. "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING! My daughter is not gay. How could you say such a thing. She's.....she's.... What leads you to believe this?"
"Have you yet noticed her showing any interest in boys, Mr.Johnson?"
"Well, no, but that's no reason to believe she's gay. I know she's a little slow. So was I. That doesn't make her gay."
"Mr.Johnson my mother was a gay woman and my brother was a gay man. As a child I experienced allot of confusion concerning my sexuality, and in the end I found I was heterosexual. On the other hand during that entire time I had heterosexual feelings. Your daughter has expressed many feelings to me that I am very familiar with, but none of these feelings have been of a heterosexual nature. She has talked about being scared because the other girls make her feel a fire in her belly."
He stared at me dumbfounded, again. Then he looked away confused. "What does this mean? Does she need special treatment? I don't know....."
"I would advise you to look into a support group for parents with gay children for starters. Then I think it would be a good idea for you to go into family counseling." I looked at him fiercely and made my feelings on the matter clear. " The things your daughter's feeling are natural for her. Fore most you must understand that she needs to be.... encouraged. What she has been taught so far is directly conflicting with what she feels. Her anti-social behavior is the response to this conflict."
"Miss Bright I don't know if I can accept your diagnosis, without a second opinion. Could you please recommend another councilor."
"Yes. I would be more than willing to recommend another councilor. I have another patient in ten minutes. My secretary will get ahold of you as soon as I can talk to a few of my colleagues."
"You didn't tell her, did you?"
"No. She wouldn't understand what it meant at this point. When the time comes it would be better to hear it from you." With this declaration as parting words, he stood and left.
I couldn't do any more than I had, even if the need arose my hand had been played. I think I saw Sarah years later at a march. Her bright hair a flame in the fight for gay right's, but I didn't get close enough to be sure. The Councilor I referred them to kept me up to date until he was forced to refer the case to someone else. In the end I simply found peace in the knowledge that I wasn't Sarah. I never had been like my mother, or my brother, or the little red haired girl. That didn't mean that I felt the need to shun their differences, but I no longer felt the doubt that I would be assimilated. That because, as a group, we yearn to clone the norm, I would become what I had come to know as the norm.
I guess that's the real fear. That to be the same makes us less, but to be different makes us no more. What a curse on humans, this never ending conflict. Perhaps that's the only hope we have......to accept.
The End.