I don't remember the exact moment I put two and two together that my mothers "roommate" wasn't just sharing her room. Our house had 4 bedrooms...two of which weren't being lived in. But I do remember the moment I asked her if she was gay.
I was probably in 5th or 6th grade. I had anticipated asking her all.day.long. I had knots in my stomach and the butterflies that are generally associated with good things, but this time it was the anticipation of a conversation I did not want to have.
My mom could tell something was bothering me, but every time I would work up the nerve to speak, I would chicken out. Finally, I was ready. We were both downstairs, I turned to her. She asked me, "What, schuyler, what is it?" I screamed, "Are you gay"? And ran up the stairs before she could even answer.
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