I have been different from my peers, and have known it, since I was a very young girl. Still, I had always assumed that I would grow up, marry a man, and get on with my life. My best friend in kindergarten was a boy named Eli. I have known him my whole life, and, as five year olds, we often created whimsical plans to get married someday. At that time I had not experienced any romantic feelings. The first time I was consumed by a feeling of desire for a person, was in third grade. Now, perhaps I was young, but the sheer beauty that Carrie carried seemed magical to me. I wanted, or so I thought, to be friends with her. To get to know her. Listen to music with her. She was entirely enchanting, but eventually her magic faded, and seemed to flow into another individual, named Madeline. I remember thinking to myself that I just wanted to be close to her. Originally, I didn’t know I was different from anyone else. But my feeling of sameness did not last forever. Indeed, it came to an abrupt end, the day I learned the word.
Gay. That’s the word. Now you know. Have a little gasp, a stony silence. Leap with shock, if you must. But continue listening. My Mom and I were watching the news. I was in 4th grade, just learning how to fit in with my peers, and tackle schoolwork. The conversation of the female newscaster’s partner came up. I have not the slightest clue as to why this particular subject matter arose, but as it so happened to occur, my Mother and I sat, discussing the love life of Rachel Maddow, who was speaking to us from the screen.
“Why did you say partner instead of husband?”I asked, bewildered.

“Because she doesn’t have a husband.” My mother replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Ms. Maddow is gay.”

“What’s that?” I questioned her.

“It means that two people of the same gender are attracted to each other in a romantic way. They love each other, just like a husband and wife, only it is between two men or two women.” My mother explained.

“Oh. Okay.”

I put these thoughts aside, tucked them into a pocket of my brain, and left a small corner of the memory poking out, so that I might be able to access it again in the future.
A year passed, and I had experienced some minor romantic attraction to male members of my class, but did not feel the same admiration towards them that I did for girls. I felt violated and exposed whenever a male student would ask me about my body. I did not want attention from them, as I felt that they were trying to use me in some way. Their words burrowed into my skin. I was truly mortified at some of the things that the boys would ask me, and tell me. These things might have been categorized as harassment, and really had nothing to do with my sexuality, other than validating the sense of overpowerment that I received when in the presence of a man. Their disposition was disgraceful and atrocious.
Around the same time, I began to become attracted to a girl in my class. Her intelligence and poised position struck me. She seemed so regal in her stance, unattainable, almost. Eventually, we became friends. I remember sitting on the bench in the playground, discussing life’s big questions, while she massaged my back. I didn’t want it to stop. Her fingers were nimble, and strong. They surged with energy, which flowed down my spinal cord and back up into my heart, as her hands unwound the knots in my muscles, and in my heart. They became shimmering ribbons, engraved in shining gold letters. Of course, I did not understand why I felt this way. Not something I was used to feeling, not something I could describe… but I wanted to. I wanted to feel it, and describe it. I had the vocabulary already, but not the words.
Or so I thought.

One day at the lunch table, a discussion about gay rights was brought up by my friend at the time. Being from a progressive and accepting family, I did not stand for her intolerance. As she continued her rant, I fought back with incredible intensity.
“I like gay people, I just think it’s really gross.” She remarked.

“It’s not gross! Love isn’t gross! Love is beautiful, and if you can’t appreciate that beauty, well, it sucks for you!” I fired back.

I couldn’t understand why I felt so violated. I didn’t know who I was then, but I felt hot coals rising in my chest just the same. Why, I asked myself, do I feel like this? Evidently, she wanted to know why I felt that way, too.
“Why are you being so defensive? Are you -gay or something?”

“No! No, of course not!” I answered quickly, flushing red.

But even then, I felt like I was lying. Don’t worry, Katherine. You’re straight, and you only think you are lying because she accused you of being gay instead of straight, but you know you are straight! Boys are great! I told myself. But I knew then and there that if I really was attracted to males, I wouldn’t have felt like I was lying. And truth be told, I was lying. And I knew it inside, but wanted nothing to do with the truth.
    Hesitantly, I removed the memory. The newscaster’s image shadowed me, as I dove into my mind. Ms. Maddow doesn’t have a husband… Ms. Maddow is gay… they love each other… it is between two men or two women… My Mom’s voice played over and over in my head. 
I choked on the waters of my unconscious, flailing about. I sucked in more memory, and spat it out, gagging and coughing. But the current was too strong. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. Omnipotent grey clouds of honesty gathered overhead, as the waves shoved me deeper. I fought harder, and swam faster, but could not escape the storm. The waves crashed into the levee, and I was propelled into the conscious part of my mind. The storm raged on, thunder booming in my ears. I was afraid. Sputtering, I gasped for air, and was yet again submerged. My limbs were held down, my head bobbed in the flood of realization. I took one last breath, and fell limp. There was nothing I could do to save myself from this rage of sudden truth. Immediately, the rains ceased. I floated in the memories, their golden shimmer slipping through my fingers as I stared at the light blue heavens. I no longer had to struggle. My mind had come to terms with itself. As the clouds drew back their swords, they left a brilliantly painted gift, draped gracefully in the sky. They had given me a rainbow.