A Letter To No One

(a vignette)

To the confused.
To Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, (&) Transsexual teens.

Ten o'clock. Loud voices laugh and joke amongst themselves. Half past ten. A bell rings somewhere in an outside hallway. "Lights out." The room goes abruptly dark. The girls too fall quiet as the as they ready themselves for bed. Quarter to eleven.

Eleven o'clock. Soon only the gentle rhythm of breathing and the quiet 'tick-tock'—ing of the clock can be heard. Quarter past eleven. From one of the narrow beds a small person stirs. Quick eyes dart around the room as if checking for any signs of consciousness. (None are found.) She pushes back her sheets and stands up cautiously. From behind a bedside drawer she produces a small book. Then she climbs back into bed and under the sheets. She removes a pen and a miniature flashlight from her pillowcase. When she switches on the flashlight it reveals the book to be, in fact, a journal.

Half past eleven. By now words are forming on that empty page in her trademark scrawl. It is almost illegible, but not quite.

"I wish I could talk to you about things. You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you? There's so much I want to ask you, and to confess. But how does one bring about the topic? Does one go up to their friend and ask if she is a queer? Does one suddenly declare that they think they aren't as straight as they appear to be? How does this work?"

Quarter to twelve. Re-reading that, she growls quietly and starts crossing it out. Someone rolls over in her bed, and the girl freezes. (It's a false alarm.) She forgets to finish scribbling over those words.

"And even if I knew how to bring up the topic… How do I know I can trust you? For you see, I am afraid. I am afraid that you will hurt me. I am afraid you will judge me. I am afraid you will treat me differently… And I don't want that to happen. I don't like to risk things. You should know that by now, shouldn't you? You know me fairly well."

Half past twelve. Her hand unclenches about her pen to cover her mouth as she yawns. Then she pauses, wondering if anyone has heard her pen scratching on the paper, or her muffled curses. No one else seems to be awake, thankfully. That settled, she steals a glance at a bed next to her own. (If only I could talk to you about things.) For a brief moment her eyes linger on the serene face turned towards her, at the eyelashes that brush across the closed eyelids. Her lips quirk slightly as she imagines going up to that girl and saying all the things she'd just wrote down. (That will never happen.) After a quick glance up the clock she realises she should go to sleep now. Quarter to one.

- -o0o- -

From the closest bed a pair of gleaming brown eyes snap open. A smirk decorates the youth's face as she swings her legs off of the bed. Silently padding over to the drawer, she fetches the journal, and flips it to the most recently filled page. Bringing it over to the open window, she lets the soft moonlight grace the page as she reads the words, her eyes widening. When she has finished, she closes the book and places it back where it belongs. Only a slow smile and dancing eyes gives her glee away.

- -o0o- -

One o'clock.


Author's Notes:

(All and any thoughts and opinions welcome.)