The Disappearing Lesbian
By K. Pearson Brown
My friend Laura got a girlfriend in July 2005, and that’s the last I saw of her. Before the girlfriend came on the scene, Laura and I would catch a movie together once a week or so, have dinner out and talk about the dearth of good women to date. Then, she found a good woman, and Laura did like every other lesbian I know, she vanished into domestic bliss and coupledom.
Inevitably when a single lesbian meets a mate, in the rush of new love she completely neglects her old gal pals. Some of them hole up to have non-stop sex for months on end, some don’t want to take their new catch out in public and risk losing her to another woman, and others think now that they have found their other half, they don’t need anyone else.
In Girl Scouts we sang a little ditty that the situation calls to mind: “Make new friends, but keep the old…” But Laura had evidentially forgotten the refrain.
Eventually, these lesbian amnesiacs will come around. Of course I don’t wish it on them, but if their relationships falter or fail, they suddenly find your number. But barring a breakup, it seems the factor that leads friends back to their friends is time. It usually takes about one year.
Such was the hibernation period for another friend, Jennifer. After months of sporadic phone calls and her excuses for canceling get-togethers, I scratched Jennifer out of my little lesbian black book. Nearly a year later, I spied a vaguely familiar looking woman in the mirror in the ladies room at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel at the Los Angeles Gay & Lesbian Center’s Women’s Night. It was Jen, with new highlights, funky new eye glasses, a MAC makeover Boy George would tumble for and her new hairdresser girlfriend Myrna on her arm.
We squealed like straight girls to see each other. It was as if my long-lost friend had been found, like on one of those reunion shows where sisters who were separated at birth finally meet at an airport with bouquets of flowers and lots of teary relatives around. Jen was back. Back among the living lesbians who do things in a group or see their old friends without the new girlfriend stuck to their hip.
While I am delighted when my AWOL friends reappear, I am a bit resentful of their long absences. It isn’t fair that I have to endure a year without them, and I conclude, without conceit, that it isn’t good for them to do without me either.
The truth is, this 12-month desertion is as bad for the couple as it is for the forgotten friends. As new lovers nest and retreat from greater lesbian society, they lose touch with their individuality. They cut themselves off from all the diversity, stimulation, opinions, challenge, drama and support that come from others outside their primary relationship.
After a year of self-imposed quarantine, a lesbian may recover and reunite with her former friends, or she will stay in isolation and risk being consumed by Rubyfruit Jungle fever, which will eventually run its course, burning out the relationship. Then she will be not only single again but perhaps friendless.
To remain healthy in a new romance, we need to go back to our Girl Scout friendship ode and remember, “One is silver and the other gold.” We need to pledge not to disregard those who were our friends in need, and not just when we need them. For us, the forgotten ones, we need to stage an intervention. Don’t give up. You hear that Laura? That’s me calling, again. Pick up, for your own good.
My friend Laura got a girlfriend in July 2005, and that’s the last I saw of her. Before the girlfriend came on the scene, Laura and I would catch a movie together once a week or so, have dinner out and talk about the dearth of good women to date. Then, she found a good woman, and Laura did like every other lesbian I know, she vanished into domestic bliss and coupledom.
Inevitably when a single lesbian meets a mate, in the rush of new love she completely neglects her old gal pals. Some of them hole up to have non-stop sex for months on end, some don’t want to take their new catch out in public and risk losing her to another woman, and others think now that they have found their other half, they don’t need anyone else.
In Girl Scouts we sang a little ditty that the situation calls to mind: “Make new friends, but keep the old…” But Laura had evidentially forgotten the refrain.
Eventually, these lesbian amnesiacs will come around. Of course I don’t wish it on them, but if their relationships falter or fail, they suddenly find your number. But barring a breakup, it seems the factor that leads friends back to their friends is time. It usually takes about one year.
Such was the hibernation period for another friend, Jennifer. After months of sporadic phone calls and her excuses for canceling get-togethers, I scratched Jennifer out of my little lesbian black book. Nearly a year later, I spied a vaguely familiar looking woman in the mirror in the ladies room at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel at the Los Angeles Gay & Lesbian Center’s Women’s Night. It was Jen, with new highlights, funky new eye glasses, a MAC makeover Boy George would tumble for and her new hairdresser girlfriend Myrna on her arm.
We squealed like straight girls to see each other. It was as if my long-lost friend had been found, like on one of those reunion shows where sisters who were separated at birth finally meet at an airport with bouquets of flowers and lots of teary relatives around. Jen was back. Back among the living lesbians who do things in a group or see their old friends without the new girlfriend stuck to their hip.
While I am delighted when my AWOL friends reappear, I am a bit resentful of their long absences. It isn’t fair that I have to endure a year without them, and I conclude, without conceit, that it isn’t good for them to do without me either.
The truth is, this 12-month desertion is as bad for the couple as it is for the forgotten friends. As new lovers nest and retreat from greater lesbian society, they lose touch with their individuality. They cut themselves off from all the diversity, stimulation, opinions, challenge, drama and support that come from others outside their primary relationship.
After a year of self-imposed quarantine, a lesbian may recover and reunite with her former friends, or she will stay in isolation and risk being consumed by Rubyfruit Jungle fever, which will eventually run its course, burning out the relationship. Then she will be not only single again but perhaps friendless.
To remain healthy in a new romance, we need to go back to our Girl Scout friendship ode and remember, “One is silver and the other gold.” We need to pledge not to disregard those who were our friends in need, and not just when we need them. For us, the forgotten ones, we need to stage an intervention. Don’t give up. You hear that Laura? That’s me calling, again. Pick up, for your own good.
posted by LNewsEditor at 10:40 AM
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