Beneath the Yellow Sunflower

Some hot and humid afternoon in July, it was the 20th, a Wednesday, I think, I ventured off into the unknown abyss of modern lesbianism and vegan Asian cuisine. The sweat trickled down the crisp colored skin of my forearms as I made my way from the bus stop to an unfamiliar vegetarian Asian restaurant with an obnoxiously huge sunflower sculpture on top. The hostess greeted me. I was quick to demand a table for two, anxious to sit down and cool off from the heat. A waiter led me to a bamboo table adorned with a white table cloth and fine china. The afternoon sunlight shone through a fish tank to my left, making the goldfish sparkle with luster like those metallic shingles that change color when you flip them back and forth. 

“I’m on my way,” said a text notification on my dated iPhone.

How did I get here? I could ask myself that every day and still never have an answer. The sweaty palms of my hands rested anxiously along the chaffed inners of my thighs. This was the first date I’d ever been on, and she was the first woman I’d ever gone on a date with.

I met her on the lesbian dating app, HER, at the beginning of the summer. We’d been text messaging ever since. It was our first time meeting in person. I took the initiative to pursue my natural desire for the same-sex soon after my high school graduation, as I was finally free from the chastisements of my Catholic school upbringing. Sure, I still had to deal with the backlash from my heartbroken mother who’s precious, innocent daughter now identified as a lesbian. This was my initiation into lesbian adulthood. Watching hundreds of episodes of The L Word didn’t make me any more of a lesbian than I already was. Still, at least I had some street cred in lesbian pop-culture, right? If it’s evident to the person reading this right now that I had no idea how this newly discovered lesbian persona worked, then I would claim your observation to be completely accurate.

Another text message came through: “I’m here, just finding a parking spot.”

I could feel my heart pounding through the cheap, white tee I had regrettably worn, given that I hadn't put much thought into my outfit. I was a naive eighteen-year-old at the time, oblivious to the dating dos and don’ts, hence my lack of experience. I couldn’t help but hope she would like me, and even more so hope she was anything like the photos on her profile. I couldn’t remember who reached out to who first, I think it was her. The app sends a prompt once two people like each other, just a little something to get the mood going. If I remember correctly, the prompt had something to do with women’s issues, and she was quick to want to know about my views on relevant social issues. I don’t remember exactly how things unfolded after that, but boy was I turned on by a woman passionate about her social issues. I remember feeling so fascinated with this woman who had so much in common with me. I’d never felt this close to someone before, let alone a woman, and a romantic interest at that. I hate to sound cliché, but I knew in my heart that she was the one, and to this day, three years later, I feel the same way.

I near about shit myself when I saw her walk through the back door of the restaurant; she seemed to move in slow motion as she headed towards our bamboo table. For whatever reason, I couldn’t seem to bring myself out of my seat, despite being anxiously excited to see her. To my relief, she looked exactly like the photos on her profile. I found her even more beautiful in person. I don’t think I could’ve said the same thing about myself, given my lack of effort in my appearance and how the heat melted any remnant of foundation I had smeared all over my face last minute. 

“It’s so nice to meet you!” she happily exclaimed, embracing me with a warm hug.

“Same here,” I said nervously. I don’t think I’d ever felt so intimately close with a woman before this moment. This was only a hug and well before I figured out how to work my vibrator, but I felt so close to her that I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to let go of the moment, afraid it would slip away just as fast as it arrived. I wanted the feeling of her breasts against mine, the soft curled strands of her brunette locks against my face, and the smell of her shampoo to linger forever. 

“Sorry I was late. The traffic getting here was awful,” she said.

“It’s nothing,” I replied. “Thanks so much for meeting up with me, I’ve never done this before.”

“Me neither, this is my first date, too, I guess. My parents don’t even know I’m here. I only told my sister.”

Through our vast exchanges over text, she revealed to me that she hadn’t come out to her family yet, only to her twin sister. I guess I had felt closer to her because we were in the same boat at the time; I wasn’t out to my family, not even to my sister. Now three years later, my sister and I both identify as lesbians. I honestly thought I would have to put my mother in a straitjacket when she found out. The fact that her two naive, Black daughters both identified as lesbians was equivalent to some illegal witchcraft gone wrong. Back then, I couldn’t believe that my HER date was sitting across from me, the result of me cautiously dipping my toes into the rainbow waters and unexpectedly finding a rare gem. And for a minute, as the sunlight reflected off of her face, I stared into the deep depths of her amber-green eyes, wanting to bask in their beauty.

“Do you have a hard time finding things to eat as a vegan?” I asked. I was nervous, and every logical thought I had slipped away. This was all I could think of.

“Sometimes. I eat a lot of tofu. And oh, there are these little vegan brownie cups you can make in the microwave, I like to make those in my dorm. Sometimes they explode, so you have to be careful,” she said, motioning a tiny explosion with the tips of her fingers. 

“Gosh, I don’t think I could ever be vegan. I like cheese too much. Do you know what you’re going to order?” I asked, wondering what the hell anything on the menu meant. 

“Hmmm, the soy-sesame chicken and broccoli look good. What about you?”

“That sounds good. I think I’ll get that too.”

Between repeatedly rearranging the order of her silverware and rushing to break the awkward silence with another question, I could tell she was just as nervous as I was. It was a good nervous, though; it made my baby dyke of a heart love her even more. And her laugh rang like music to my ears, a soft lullaby on repeat. I thought of all the possible things my religion teacher in high school could tell me about my experience; I knew one for sure, that I was going to hell. But I also knew deep down that if this was hell, then it was damn sure beautiful, so much more than what my teacher claimed heaven to be. 

The waiter came and took our orders and menus. Now we had nothing to avert our attention to whenever we grew tired of or uncomfortable with staring into each other’s eyes. After lovingly staring into her eyes for some time, I noticed she slightly resembled Ashley Greene, the girl that played Alice in the Twilight Saga series. I warmed up to her after a while through an endless recalling of my vague life experiences. 

“How long have you been living in D.C.?” she asked.

“Actually, I live in Arlington with my cousin. I just moved here three weeks ago for school. I didn’t get into the University of Maryland, so I’m completing some credits at a community college before I transfer. What are you studying again?”

“Oh, it’s nothing fancy, international studies and Spanish.”

“Interesting, what do you plan to do with that?” I asked.

She burst out in laughter, and I couldn’t help but look puzzled. “Yeah, I get that question a lot. I don’t really know yet, maybe something with international affairs.”

“I feel like that too sometimes. I don’t even know what I want to study yet, maybe biology. I’m really bad at math.”

“Here is your order, soy-sesame chicken with rice and broccoli,” the waiter interrupted. 

We both smiled, and he went on his way. I was fascinated by her elegance and genuine curiosity about me and my life. Even through mouthfuls of rice and broccoli, she seemed graceful, a quality I truly appreciated at a time when my life was so unpredictable and scary. She even went on to express how proud she was of me for taking the initiative to move out of state after graduation. Sure, she was a year older than I was, but it still meant a lot. The thought of doubting the genuine nature of her words never crossed my mind, not once. I wondered if I was falling fast for her because I was desperate for love or because I felt like my prayers to the lesbian gods above had been answered. This dating thing really wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I couldn’t be certain of the answer at the time, but looking back, I think it was for both reasons. 

“How do you like the chicken?” she asked.

“It’s different, very chewy, but I think I could eat this again.”

“So what qualities do you look for in a partner?” she asked. I was taken aback by her question for a moment.

I thought for a while before answering, “I don’t really know. I’ve mostly been occupied with school, and I’ve never dated before, but mostly because nothing has caught my interest. Of course, I want someone who’s nice and shares the same interests as me.”

“I guess I could say the same. My friends always talk about what they want in their future, and I say the same things except I want a wife, and kids, and a little golden retriever to come home to every day.” She seemed so sure of the things she wanted.

After several mouthfuls of rubbery sesame chicken and rice, we chomped down on complimentary vegan fortune cookies. I still remember what my fortune was: “Seek, and you will find.” I know for sure that I had sought after love and only hoped that she was the very thing I was supposed to find. The waiter came and took our plates and presented us with the bill. Knowing how the broke college student thing worked, I didn’t expect her to pay the bill, so I suggested we split it. She, of course, offered to pay the bill, and I didn’t think twice about stopping her. I like a woman who takes initiative, I thought to myself. 

“Well, it’s getting late, I have to head home soon, but thanks so much again. I had so much fun,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t believe my lame excuse to leave and instead insist we tour the city or go for ice cream somewhere.

“Me too, the rush hour traffic is gonna start soon, so I should probably head out. But same, we should do this another time.”

Like the fine gentlewoman I am, I offered to walk her to her car. Anything to break the awkward motion of saying goodbye to someone you just met by awkwardly parting ways and going about the day. I held the door for her and walked her to the car, a light-grey Honda, I think.

“Well, thanks again, and yes, we should definitely hang out another time. Maybe on your next weekend off or a day when I don’t have class,” I said.

“Absolutely! Do you want a ride home?” she asked.

“No, that’s okay. There’s a bus coming in five minutes.” Lord only knows the questions my cousin would’ve asked me if she saw me pulling up to the house with some strange girl.

“Okay, well, text me when you make it home, love!” 

I leaned in for another hug, catching one last whiff of her shampoo and soft curls. I headed to the bench near the bus stop. As she pulled off, she waved to me once more before driving away into the sunset. I waved back. That was the last time I ever saw her.

I texted her that day after I got home. Things went on as they started. We were still talking every day, but slowly, as the summer came to an end, I heard less and less of her. I couldn’t help but wonder if I should’ve put more effort into my outfit that day, or if I had too many perfect profile pictures from my good days. By the end of August, she had stopped texting me completely. When I asked to go out for coffee, she said she had to work, and when I confronted her about ghosting me, she claimed it was nothing personal. She just didn’t have time for me, and that was that. 

I replied with a simple, “I understand,” followed by the “ok” hand emoji. 

Sure, I had the adventure of meeting the girl of my dreams, but three years later, I wonder what would’ve happened had I kept chasing after her. Looking back, I wish I had hugged her a little while longer, had I known that I’d never see or touch her again. I knew any connection I had with her was gone when she unfollowed me on Instagram. Was this her way of ridding me from her past? Was our first experience together not memorable enough to keep me around? As I scroll through the photos on her Facebook page, holding steadfast to what I thought I had with her, I only wish I hadn’t been so sensitive to her lack of time for me back then. Was I too sensitive and clingy? Is there anything I could’ve done to save my already broken baby dyke of a heart?

I regret not cherishing what was there. I regret not going after her. Maybe I loved her enough to let her go, or maybe we weren’t meant to be. Who knows what love is? Not me. But even now, I know if there’s anyone I’d have as a soulmate to walk to the ends of this earth with, it would be her. So now, as I sit in my cold basement confessing the past love of my naive, 18-year-old, lesbian heart, I only have the old text messages we exchanged as visible proof. The memories, I’ll always have them. They keep me from loving anyone else, from hugging the breasts of any other woman, from letting go of that day. And if I can’t have those same experiences with her, that same lesbian love I came so close to knowing, I don’t want anything at all.

-Anjenee Cannon

Anjenee Cannon is an emerging writer and poet from Wilmington, Delaware. She has recently had her first poem, “Mahogany Reverie,” published in the ninth volume of Literature Today, a new and upcoming international journal of contemporary literature. She also has an essay that is forthcoming in the anthology, The Future is Black Female. She holds an Associate of Arts degree in Humanities from Montgomery College and currently serves as an intern for The Potomac Review where she enjoys full emersion in the art that is creative writing.