My former neighbors Richard and Donna J. gave this letter opener to me for a Christmas gift, I think it may have been 1983. Donna had elegantly wrapped it, having placed it in a red velvet jewelry box that likely once had held a watch or bracelet.
But then, Donna always did everything just right. She was "supermom" in my assessment and in the eyes of just about everyone else. Everything in her life was done to perfection. Able to remain home while her husband Richard attended graduate school, she sewed and canned food and was named "Homemaker of the Year" at the local three county fair. Her house was never less than perfect. She had reupholstered her own furniture, stenciled her apartment walls, and sewed clothing for collectible dolls -- all to perfection. She spent plenty of time with her son and usually thought of astounding and interesting things for him to do and experience. She was more than amazing and I usually felt domestically inadequate compared to her.
We had met one afternoon outside, each with our toddler, and had struck up a conversation. Over time we learned that we had some common interests such as cooking (we both subscribed to Gourmet), we were both teachers, and of course our children. We became friends and now and then would host dinners, putting the children to bed in order to ensure pleasant adult conversation.
When Richard finished his Master's degree they moved on, as people are apt to do, starting their new lives. We corresponded occasionally. They had moved to California, and I am not much of a letter writer, but now and then we would exchange informative letters updating our lives. About a year later I received a letter from Donna: they had moved to Texas and were coming east for a visit, would I mind putting them up for a night? Eagerly, I looked forward to seeing them again.
They arrived on time and we had a wonderful evening. It was like they had never left, the friendship had just continued. We cooked that evening and wine was plentiful. It was getting late and the boys were asleep in Ryan's room. I had insisted Richard and Donna take my bedroom while I planned on sleeping on the sofa. We were all settling in nicely.
Donna silently came to the living room and sat on the floor next to the sofa I had comfortably curled upon.
"Richard said it would be alright if I came out here," she told me.
"Alright?" I queried.
"Yes," she answered, "he doesn't mind at all."
I was confused and wondered if I had drank too much.
"What do you mean?" I asked
"Well," continued Donna, "when I was a teenager I had a best friend. Some nights we would spend at each others houses and we would share the same bed. We explored each other's bodies then and I have always wanted to go further."
I tried to think of what to say next, but Donna took my pause as a sign of uncertainty.
"You see," she continued,"I have found you to be attractive and I have met many of your friends who are lesbian."
I nodded. It was becoming clearer now, but how was I going to stop all this before further embarrassment occured.
"Look," I told Donna, "First I have to tell you that I have never had sex with a woman, not even in adolescence. Sure, I have lots of gay and lesbian friends, I judge people by who their are as individuals, not by sexual appetites. Also, this is not the first time people have made assumptions about my sexuality based on my associations or my politics."
Donna was beginning to look upset. "But I thought ..." she began.
"I am not at all offended," I continued, "please don't feel embarrassed. I have many close women friends, and some are lesbians. I love them, but sex with them is not part of our friendships. What people do in their own bedrooms is not for me to judge, it's just not something I'm into"
"I'm sorry," Donna told me, "I had no idea."
"Donna," I told her gently, "It's ok, don't worry about it."
Donna was mortified, I could tell. Embarrassed, she bade me a hasty good night and retreated into the bedroom to join her husband. If I had felt pleasantly inebrieated from the wine earlier, I was stone cold sober now, my mind filled with a thousand thoughts. It must have taken a lot of courage to approach me, and I respected that, not to mention stating her own personal revelations to me. I didn't know what else to do or say to make things less awkward or return the friendship to the status it held only minutes before.
The notion of such a proposition did not shock me nor offend me, it was just that it had come from supermom, the goddess of domesticity. I reveled in wonder at that. I felt like Donna Reed, June Cleaver or Harriet Nelson had hit on me. Also, it made me question just how many assumptions this person had made about me. Even if I were lesbian, why would she make an assumption that I would be interested in her sexually? Pretty arrogant assumption, I thought. Supermom committed a faux pas for the first and only time ever and couldn't deal with it.
The next day was awkward. Donna murmured another fast apology in the morning, refusing to allow her eyes to meet my own. After breakfast, Donna and Richard announced that they were leaving earlier than planned, to get an extra day on Cape Cod, their final destination for this vacation.
As they drove away in their red station wagon, I waved goodbye to them, knowing that if I heard from them again it would be a surprise, feeling saddened at the loss and knowledge of someone unable to rise to the occasion and go on. For a few years we exchanged Christmas cards with the briefest of notes and then the friendship quietly passed into the realm of only a memory.