This is part three of a series. Here are links to the previous parts:

Up to this point in my life, gays and lesbians had been like black holes1: theoretical. Funerals for childhood friends dead of HIV would be a decade away. Hints and chance comments from high school had not yet congealed into an understanding. I'd been clueless.

Sitting in the campus paper office a couple days after I'd started writing for the paper, I stumbled across back issues of the newspaper. One article focused on a campus speech by a lesbian who advocated exterminating all males from the Earth as a solution to humanity's problems. I wasn't thrilled with the concept and not sure if they'd worked out all the bugs in their plan. Their group had left "Matriarchy" stencils all over campus: a double-bladed axe called a "labrys." The labrys had been a harvesting instrument, and boy did they plan on harvesting! That background information was all I knew about lesbians.

By the morning after the chance confrontation in the Underpass, neither homosexuality nor black holes were theoretical. One of my best friends at college was irretrievably out to me, and there was a black hole devouering my insides. The tension across my chest, shoulders, and back made breathing difficult as I tried to avoid imploding.

I’d been taught that the Bible was as clear as optical quartz on homosexuality. Condemnation was not confined to the Old Testament. Even Jesus had made a brief comment on the topic. The typical theological gerrymandering that permitted female ministers, elders, and deacons didn’t seem to work on this one.

On the other hand, I was also a teenage male. Matthew 7:3 weighed heavily on me. “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?” (NIV) I was in no condition to condemn anyone else.

Deb was also my friend. Could I call myself a friend and not speak to her of God? Maybe someone else can stand by and watch someone walk off a cliff. I couldn’t. Could I claim to love God, whom I couldn't see, and not love Deb, whom I could see?

Somewhere inside me, though I couldn't admit it, was a bit of a crush that was dying a painful death. My friendship with Deb wasn't romantic, but an undercurrent in my heart provided some of the relationship's energy. The burning I felt was from an energy source I couldn't acknowledge.

I did a lot of praying. I don’t remember how much of it was “God, why did you put me in this mess?”

I must have skipped out on classes that day. Maybe there was a hole in my schedule or some holiday. I don’t remember. I know I wouldn’t have cared. By that point in my life, I knew where my priorities were.

Deb's phone call finally came. She arranged to meet me outside the dorm, and soon she picked me up in her car. I asked if she knew someplace quiet we could talk. She suggested a place near the golf course in the local park.

Spring has those fresh, clear days that are just cool enough to be invigorating. I remember the grass on the golf course being greener than it should have been, the sky bluer than blue was supposed to be. We got out of the car, and roamed around aimlessly.

I started the conversation. I remember the gist of it, but I don’t actually remember what I said. I was scared. I didn’t want to betray my God. I didn’t want to lose my friend. It went something like this:

"Deb, my religion teaches me that homosexuality is wrong. It also teaches me that I’m not here to be your judge. That’s not my job. I’m supposed to show you Jesus, in how I act and what I say. I love you, and what I found out about you last night doesn’t change that. I still love you, and I always will. I’m still going to pray that you find God. Then you two can have the nice long discussions about what’s right and wrong."

I didn’t say it, but I was hoping God and Deb would leave me out of that discussion. I remember hugging Deb for the first time. She said that she could deal with where I was coming from, and that she loved and respected me, too. The relief was almost painful. If I didn’t cry, it’s because I couldn’t remember how, not that I didn’t want or need to. Being able to breathe normally felt so good. I don't think I could admit to myself a little part of me that was heartbroken. She knew what I couldn't admit let me grieve that quietly and privately.

Deb also explained that the "Matriarchy" lesbians were an extreme group that died out. See? I knew there was something wrong with their plan, and I was only a freshman biology student!

Deb and I took me to one of her favorite places in a “gay” section of the city. She introduced me to a Red Zinger Sunrise: Red Zinger tea on the bottom with orange juice carefully layered in. We sat on some stools by the window. When I noticed that both Deb and I were watching the same young ladies walk by on the sidewalk, I had to giggle.

Years later, I’d learn the saying “You’re only as sick as your secrets.” Well, that morning, a big secret had been removed. We were better friends than ever. The pain was over.

Well, I thought the pain was over — shows what I knew.

Deb 4: Hidden in Plain Sight will be published March 16th at 10:00 a.m.


  1. At the time, black holes were mere theoretical constructs and had not been shown conclusively to exist. As I write this, there are new theoretical arguments claiming that what everyone thinks are black holes aren't. Of course, there are other arguments that we're inside a black hole. Isn't physics fun? [back]