Wednesday, December 19, 1990. 8:21 P.M.Lou calls when I’m in the shower; I hear the phone, but I’ve got shampoo everywhere, so I ignore the impulse to rush out and answer immediately. Instead, I slow down, thoroughly rinse my hair, slide my hands over my wet skin and wash every nook and cranny of my body. Giving myself time to think.
I’ve kept myself busy since our conversation, avoiding thinking about him, putting off any decision until I see if he calls as promised.
And now he does. As promised.
I guess he could call and tell me he’d changed his mind, that he doesn’t want to risk his relationship with his family and that he’s decided to stay in the closet after all. I would understand if he did: coming out is deeply personal and shouldn’t happen on anyone else’s terms. I didn’t demand
