Free Unashamed by Emma Janson

to be ourselves on the most basic level, and we figured the only way to do that was to marry, yet lead our own separate gay lives. It made perfect sense to us.
    The agreement was to marry sometime in December if I didn’t find anyone else more convincing as a straight man. We would be two gay roommates essentially, and none would be the wiser. The money would be better and the freedom, priceless. We hung out more and took lots of photos to portray a budding relationship. I listened to details of his life and noted the little things he did to deceive the masses. However, there were things he just couldn’t hide, like the curved shape his fingers made when he pressed on the volume button to listen to Erasure. Of course, my version of our story replaced the artist and omitted his squeals of excitement over the lyric “In the fields where poppies grow.” That was the plan. It was the summer of ’97, the supposed beginning of my hidden lesbian life.
    Melanie held my affections after the sex fest in the barracks. I gave her attention, helped her pick out weekend outfits, bought her simple gifts, listened to her talk about Rick, and asked with genuine concern how her new diet was going, even though she was perfect. She always thanked me with a wink and a smile when I complimented her.
    During this infatuation for Melanie, I remember my stepmom calling me and how, for the second time, I tried to come out of the closet. A cordless phone allowed me to walk and talk in the dayroom, which is a common entertainment area for soldiers to use. I passed Melanie’s room on my way there and noticed her door was ajar. She was inside laughing and joking with a friend. When she saw me, she slowly made her way to the door, curious as to what I was doing. Just before I turned into the dayroom, I stopped like she stopped outside of her room. We stared at each other at opposite ends of the hallway and smiled as hard as we both could smile. As I looked at her and she looked at me beyond her friend’s head, I threw a curve ball at my mother.
    “Mom, I think I am gay. I like girls.” There were no feelings of nervousness or worry about how Mom would accept it. It fell out of my mouth, regardless of her potential reaction.
    I waved hello to Melanie and she returned the gesture. It made her smile harder, and I noticed she had a difficult time resuming the conversation with her friend because she kept looking at me in flirtation.
    Mom sighed like she was giving me tax advice. “Stop it. Geez, lots of women experiment. That doesn’t mean you are gay.”
    “Well, I must be bisexual, then, because I like girls a lot. I mean, really like girls, Mom,” I said, still smiling. I was not paying attention to the words that slipped from my mouth into my mother’s ears. It all just flowed so easily. “What if I am gay?” I asked as I turned from the hallway to enter the dimly lit dayroom. There was no need for lights as I plopped myself on the couch.
    “Stop saying that,” she demanded. “You’re not gay. You are having fun experimenting, but you better knock it off because it’s a lustful thing. Don’t worry about it. It’s just something yer goin’ through,” she added.
    I laughed at her and rolled my eyes like most defiant children do. “Mom, it’s not a phase; I keep telling you that. It hasn’t gone away since eighth grade!” I shrieked like I did after hearing a good dirty joke. “But okay, Mom…” I rolled my eyes again.
    After my laughing subdued, she didn’t know what to say, so for a moment she gave pause, then came up with some hard-hitting gospel. “You better start reading your Bible.”
    This additional last-ditch effort to terminate the conversation and move on only made me throw my head back against the couch in minor frustration. “I know, Sodom and Gomorrah, I know.”
    Her reaction to my reference was to educate me on the biblical truth. “ Yes! God banished the homosexuals into two cities of sinners. One for the