The year was 1978. It was spring of my sophomore year of high school, and I was dating a really nice, cute young man one grade above me. In doing so, I was introduced and welcomed into the drama and choir crowd, as John excelled at both. One such person was Mark. Mark, a senior, and I quickly became friends and enjoyed getting to know each other. He acted, sang, played piano, and liked to talk on a deep level.
But Mark was struggling with an issue about which we never discussed--same sex attraction. Maybe that's what made it so easy to be friends with him while dating one of his friends; there was simply no threat of Mark and I becoming involved romantically. I don't know how much taunting he may have endured amongst the crowd at school, since he was not particularly effeminate but also not traditionally masculine. He was simply Mark, and that is how I thought of my friend. When our annuals came out, Mark graced mine with a lengthy dissertation, and I felt very special to have such a friend.
Then there was THAT day. I walked into the cafeteria for lunch, walked over to the table where my friends were sitting, and Mark gave me a big hug. For some reason I will never understand, this incited another young man Rich who jumped over the table, yanked Mark away from me and clenched his fist to throw a punch at Mark. Thankfully, more than one person stepped in, along with myself, to stop this, but the moment stayed with me. After that dreadful day, things were never the same with me and Mark. Did he change? Did I change?
A few weeks and at least one school dance passed, and Mark called my home (since cell phones were not yet invented) to invite me to senior prom. It was an awkward conversation which ended with me turning him down, a risk alway present for any guy brave enough to ask me out. I simply was not brave enough to endure and respond appropriately to whatever situation might occur there, and I felt certain in my gut that something very unpleasant would happen. We didn't speak again.
My senior year of high school I would write a short essay for English Comp class entitled "Homosexual Rights." At that time, the only issues I knew about were equal employment opportunities. A fan of equal rights for women, this struck a chord with me, and it would have supported my old friend.
Fast forward to fall of 1983 when I moved in with my uncle and his family while taking classes at the university in preparation to apply to physical therapy school for the following year. That first week of classes, all the clubs and student organizations were peddling there causes and encouraging people to sign up. I saw Mark! Excited to see him again in a different setting and both of us with a few years under our belts, I approached and greeted him. He feigned complete lack of recognition of me, going so far as to say he didn't even recognize my name. Now President of the Gay-Lesbian Association for the campus, he wanted nothing to do with me.
Over the years I have thought about this relationship and all that happened in a very brief period of time, things that changed me, changed Mark. I still know in my heart it was the right decision for that somewhat socially immature 15 year old girl; I knew my limit for that situation. But it still troubles me. A couple of attempts to reach out to him at all have been ignored. What would I say to him now? "I'm sorry I couldn't be who you were needing at that time." As I consider it anew, I wonder if maybe I was exactly who he needed at that time. Perhaps I spared him a disastrous evening, a horrible Senior Prom experience that would have scarred him much more deeply than my rejection.
Names were changed to protect privacy.
