Kelly Part 1

My contact with Kelly had been intermittent since that New Year’s Eve night with her when I felt hit by a thunderbolt, but after I moved to NYC, it became more and more frequent. By my second year in Brooklyn, her letters were coming weekly. I felt like a puppy who sits on the couch, peering out the window, waiting for his best friend to come home. I waited and watched, always wondering if today would be THE day, the day I would receive a letter from her. The thrill of seeing a thick envelope in my mailbox, unfolding a large wad of yellow legal pad paper, and seeing her small meticulous handwriting, well, THIS, was the highlight of my day. When one would finally arrive, it was all I could do to stop myself from running to my apartment and tearing into it, like when that puppy finally sees his best buddy walking up the front door, leaps off the couch and runs to the door as fast as possible. But, no it was better to settle myself in my apartment with a glass of wine and slowly open the letter. Take my time. Savor the anticipation. 

She wrote long letters, pages and pages. She would write one letter over a week’s period or so, writing from her apartment, from school, while waiting for her car to be serviced, and after she had been out with friends. She gave me access to all the various aspects of her life — school, her students, the papers she had to grade, her studies, descriptions of old and new friends, holiday gatherings with family, commentaries on tv shows and movies, and her insightful thoughts and questions about life and spiritual stuff. Her letters made me laugh. They were full of her wit and dry humor. She told funny stories about her students or sent irreverent articles about religion gone amok. Her letters gave me insight into her personality, her heart, the things she cared about, the person she was. She cared deeply about her job, she valued hard work, derived joy from her interactions with others, and loved checking to dos off a list.

In short, she was pretty wonderful. 

We were always dancing. Flirting around the topics of attraction to women and sex. I knew deep down that if we continued down this path, it would lead to something more solid, more tangible, that eventually we would have to give voice to our own attractions. I felt comfortable enough at this stage to continue writing. Letters were removed enough to make me feel safe but still immediate enough to make me feel like a part of her life (in a safe removed way). I also took a little pleasure in doing the opposite of what pretty much the world, at least, what felt like the world, my world, Christians and even many in the larger culture said was a no no…pursuing (using that word loosely) a romantic relationship with a person of the same sex. I know, we were only writing letters. I was no provocateur. But for this white middle-class Christian girl, what we were doing felt risky and a little intoxicating.  

This was 2004. Homosexuality was still pretty taboo. Even Hollywood was still hesitant. Ellen had come out, but she was about the only one. She had a new talk show, but she did not talk about her sexuality, not in those first years. In my Christian world, it was still off-limits. I did not think gay Christians existed. I, for sure, did not know any. If they existed, they had renounced their faith. Walked away. Because being gay and Christian were incompatible, particularly if you were going to indulge your gayness and be in a same-sex relationship. I had grown up believing homosexuality was sinful and, worse, perverse. I had internalized society’s negative perceptions, intolerance and stigmas around gays and lesbians. But now I was acting (sort of) on my same-sex attractions. I was developing feelings for a woman and exploring them by getting to know her more. I did not know who I was becoming. I had defined myself by my Christianity my entire life. I was a born-again Christian.

And now?  

Kelly probably thought I had multiple personality disorder. One minute I was projecting a confident straight-girl personality and exuding a just below-the-surface loathing for people with same-sex attractions, and by implication, her. The next minute I was admitting, without actually admitting, that I was gay, saying things like so and so was totally hot (“so and so” being female) or you wouldn’t even have to pay me to kiss a girl.  

At some point, we started talking on the telephone. We talked weekly, then every several days, and then daily.

I called her after fortifying myself with a glass or two of wine. Sometimes we talked for hours. We talked about all the things — my studies, faith, politics, tv and movies, and our childhoods. We filled in the details from subjects we wrote about in our letters. Talking so often on the phone added a new immediacy to our relationship. I could hear her voice, her inflections, her laughter. It was more intimate. And now, Kelly knew about what went on with me each and every day. She listened to me and made me feel like what I had to say was important. I liked having someone know about the details of my life. Someone who was interested and asked me how this test went or if I finished that paper. She even laughed at my dumb jokes. I felt seen. I felt wanted. She was thoughtful and deep and funny. And I was falling for her.