Only in retrospect do I put together the pieces that form the key to my own sexuality.
The weeks when I bought spearmint gum and prayed to Jane Lynch hoping that the girl who sat next to me in third period Chemistry. would ask me for a piece. I didn't like spearmint as much as I liked peppermint. But she did.
The lunch breaks I spent in the classroom of my vertically rewarded gloriously collar ***** and beautifully articulate English teacher, when I knew very well that there was nothing wrong with my essay.
The nights when I was slide as close as possible to my best friend in sixth grade thinking maybe she would turn over and look at me the same way I gazed at the back of her head.
The smiles that landed on my parent's faces when I told them, "I want to kiss girls the way my friends want to kiss boys."
The hug my best friend gave me when I told him I didn't want to join the Gay Straight Alliance because I didn't want people to think I was gay.