COLUMBUS, OHIO - My friend Virginia got married last weekend on July the 4th.
As I drove to eastern Kentucky for the wedding I couldn't help but smile thinking that Virginia had chosen one of her favorite holidays on which to be married. She had always loved the bunting of red, white and blue along with the loud public displays of fireworks. So it came as no surprise that her wedding reception (held at her Aunt's farm up one of the many "hollers" that surrounded the small town of Morehead) was going to include fireworks.
I had not driven routes 7 and 2 in Appalachian Kentucky for a couple of years. The two-lane road twists and turns alongside creeks and mountain terrain. It will gently slope past a small tobacco farm and then suddenly veer in another direction. Hairpin curves at 15 mph are countered by a landscape that includes freshly painted churches and old covered bridges. The road is beautiful and demanding.
The road is a lot like my relationship with Virginia.
We met 14 years ago while both of us were teaching in Morehead. She was the high school speech teacher who also coached the speech team and I was the speech team coach at the University. A mutual friend (and mentor) introduced us to each other by saying, "I think you two will get along quite well!" He was right. We did.
Not only did we have a profession in common (we frequently assisted each other), but we had a perspective in common, as well. We both felt a love/hate relationship with Morehead. As young, single professionals in a small town filled with older married faculty or small farm families we often felt excluded. So, with a couple of other friends, we became our own support system.
Virginia and I spent time doing "nothing". This included going sledding on the first major snow of winter, decorating Easter eggs, making Christmas cookies, going to a Louisville cemetery for a ghost storytelling contest on Halloween, and visiting flea markets and antique auctions. One of my favorite vacations was when she and I pitched a tent on the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a week and then camped our way back through the Smokey Mountains. But mostly we sat and smoked cigarettes, drank beer, and talked about life.
I admired her passion. She had an enthusiasm and energy level I had never encountered before. Things were never dull when I was around Virginia. Life seemed to reach out and grab you. I used to tell her that her life was like Colorado (full or peaks and valleys) whereas mine was like Indiana (flat). We had no secrets from each other; we were buddies.
One day, a couple of years after we had been introduced, Virginia stopped by my apartment and asked if we could "talk". While seated in the black vinyl recliner in my living room, she hesitantly and nervously said, "I love you". And even as I said the words "I love you too," I knew that the type of love she was expressing was different from the one I was stating. I meant it as a friend. She meant it as more.
Virginia was the first person who ever said those words to me. And it changed our relationship.
I wish I could say that I handled the situation well, but I can't. Part of me felt betrayed. After all, she had known since day one that I was gay. We had both talked a lot about our past dating relationships, who we were attracted to, and sex. I had never given her any indication that I was anything except gay. "How could she do this?" was my response.
I began to walk on eggshells around her. I was afraid that if I did or said something it might be seen as "leading her on" (which tells you more about my ego than my compassion). I began putting her at arm's length. And we didn't talk about it.
A few months later I was recruited for a job at Ohio State University. And even though our relationship had changed, Virginia helped me to move.
Over the years we did not communicate very much. Annual Christmas cards and a phone call every couple of years pretty much was it. But I never doubted her friendship, nor she mine. When our mutual friend/mentor died two years ago we spent the two days together talking, laughing, crying, and drinking beer. And we finally talked about the "gift" she had offered me and how I had not been able to accept it.
So as I sat in the First Christian Church of Morehead watching her marry a man I didn't know, my heart was full of memories. And, to be honest, thoughts of "what if" popped into my mind. What if I had been straight? Would we have married? Would we have children today? Would I still be living in Morehead? How very different my life would be!
Robert Frost's poem about "two roads diverging in a wood" also crossed my mind as I drove home from Virginia's wedding.
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