One’s own identity is perhaps the harshest of realities to face. That being said, I knew we were one and the same the moment I saw the ridge of your grey beanie looming over the cafeteria counter. You didn’t have a ring of keys per se, but the lanyard dangling from the pocket of your sweatpants sang just as loudly: you were one of us. Or rather, we were both part of some bigger picture. And all in an instance, your presence reminded me that that was okay. We are allowed to be.

I can picture it now with the same sense of clarity I had the day it happened. I had known you since childhood and yet that fifteen minute drive to meet you had me trembling like no other. What would I say to a real, live, lesbian? Backtrack, I was a real live lesbian. I kept letting myself forget that part… You greeted me with a hug as if eight years had not passed. I ordered hot chocolate. You, a black coffee. Is that what lesbians drink? I ran a quick assessment of myself, hoping the outfit I had so tediously put together that morning gave off the right vibe. I didn’t want it to look like I was faking this whole gay thing. Then again, your jeans weren’t cuffed and there certainly wasn’t a slit through your eyebrow, so perhaps the manual of tumblr and tik tok I had been reading up on wasn’t as status quo as I had presumed.

You didn’t know it and I didn’t bring it up during our reunion over coffee and crepes, but the battle between myself and my sexuality had been raging on for quite some time by then. I knew how unwanted attention made me feel, and to know I may be putting that upon some unwilling crush made my stomach turn. You became a white flag waving in a sea of red tears. All arms were drawn back and a cease fire rung out in that little corner booth as we talked back and forth, mulling over shared experiences and mirrored fears. For the first time, I saw a future in the unholiness of what I was feeling. There you were, having first walked into my life a rambunctious teen, now with a ring on your finger that I could see my tomorrow reflecting back in. I wasn’t faking anything. I never was. And so, as you walked me to my car and ended our time together with a swift embrace, I came to realize that I did not need a ring of keys, nor an arsenal of flannels and vans. There is no textbook definition of who we are. I saw myself in you at a time I was afraid to see myself in my own mirror, and I will carry that moment with me always. Thank you for that.