i was driving home from Bantam Lake tonight, and i instinctively reached over to the passenger seat to grab lauren’s hand. her hand feels right in mine, like New Haven feels right on a bike, like how a mug of coffee feels right cupped with both hands on december mornings. i hadn’t really thought about her hands since our third date which we spent memorizing every curve and fold of each others’ fingers in front of a movie at my place. later, we progressed to other curves and other places, but it was something about her hands that told me that i didn’t need to rush, that we’d have plenty of time to unfold each other. her hand in the car reminded me that we were incredibly lucky to have found each other.

it was even more than that, though. in that moment as my fingers had found and wrapped around hers, i had come out (for the first time and then again and again and again), struggled with the world, fell in love, and struggled with me.

i guess i wonder sometimes why it needs to be so hard. why do i have to brush away straight men at dance clubs who think i’m dancing with a girl for their pleasure? why do i have to justify my relationship to a Christian majority waving a page out of the Old Testament (no, not the one that says that stoning your children to death is an acceptable punishment for certain transgressions)? why do i have to justify myself to my dad and back up that justification with hard scientific proof as if my own experience doesn’t matter because it’s based on my emotional experiences rather than published studies by Ivy Leaguers in lab coats?

sometimes, instead of dealing with it all, i just get really pissed off and isolate myself from all surfaces that cause friction. i avoid straight bars, turn off the television, and don’t answer calls from the 307 area code.

usually i can brush it off. i tell myself that we’re each living our own lives in our own ways, that everyone’s experiences have taught them to see the world in a way which is neither right nor wrong but simply limited (and i don’t mean that negatively) by placement and context. usually, i come to the conclusion that even fundamental differences should not impede important relationships.

sometimes, though, i wonder if i could do it. maybe i could meet a nice boy and my relatives could constantly bother me about when i’m getting married. we could have a wedding my mom could cry at, and have kids who didn’t require legal fees and a ceiling-high stack of paperwork to legally belong to both of their parents. we could hold hands on the beach without being cat-called or stared at. i could even meet this man on eharmony.com.

but then i realize that this train of thought lacks one important passenger: me. my parents and relatives and American society at large are all on board and quite happy, but i never made it past the platform. they all got on for free, but the guy behind the glass wanted a lot more than i was willing to give.

in the times i’ve been intimate with men, it was always like i was playing with a ken doll, and i got bored fast. it was like reading Shakespeare in high school English class–just spitting out the words in front of me for participation points. i’ve never been intoxicated by then scent of a man’s skin. i’ve never created silly reasons to touch a guy’s hand. i’ve never had to quickly look away from a guy when he noticed me staring.

things that you could never force.

in the car tonight, i thought about all of the nice boys i’ve met–boys who get my sense of humor and like my writing, boys who make perfect mix cds and are more patient than i am. boys my parents wouldn’t mind seeing in a frame next to me, boys who the hospital would give full parental rights, even without a DNA test.

and in that moment, i squeezed lauren’s hand knowing that all of the struggles are alright because with each push or pull, i always come to the same conclusion: none of those boys had lauren’s hands, and they never will.