The time I lied to you was in high school when a female friend, who is not Indian and not a male as you fantasize about my marrying, hit on me at a soccer party and I went with it. We ended up kissing in one of the upstairs bedrooms, which no one could find out about. This began a secret love affair that lasted almost two years, from my sophomore to my senior year. We each dated other people, male fronts to throw everyone off the lesbo trail, and had the most passionate sex I think I’ve ever had in my lifetime. We just connected, when our lips, hands, and bodies made contact it was electric and the stuff you see in movies and read in books. We just had that bold chemistry that people live, and die, for.
How could I not lie? Can you imagine my coming home from school to tell you THIS? I mean come on, what would you even know to say? Do you even realize this is a human possibility?
The problem is that now, I lie to myself. I’ve lived a life of hetero marriage, kids, work, and friends, and yet somewhere in the deepest part of who I am, I know that I will never feel like that about anyone else. I will never experience that kind of ecstasy or freedom.
Last fall, I was scrolling on Facebook, and it happened. I knew someday it would. I saw her face again. Clicked, poked, scrolled some more. She is also in a hetero marriage, kids, dogs, the whole works. I wondered if she told her husband, or anyone else, about us. Does she think about me? Our electricity?