She Wore a Hat

She Wore a Hat

She wore a baseball cap and a big mischievous smile that was contagious. She looked gay. The kind of gay that’s not confusing, unlike myself. She had masculine features, short hair, men's jeans, t-shirt and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I wore a dress and crossed and uncrossed my legs as she talked. I was nervous and excited and crushing on this new found acquaintance.

We met at our children’s school, not a bar or party or any other pick up joint. Just in a classroom full of other parents and children. I was chatty and flirty but not too flirty that other parents would pick up on. We exchanged numbers that day, for a future playdate.

I thought of her at dinner, in my dreams, when I woke up, when I made love to my husband. She was on my mind all the time, in the hat, smiling. Yet, I was married.

I almost convinced myself that it was an untouchable crush until I received a text from her. It was a polite text, one you send to a new friend stating how you enjoyed meeting them and hope to get together soon. My mind was reeling.

I found myself inviting a group of friends out including the girl in the hat. It was safety in numbers. However all I wanted to do is consume my time talking to her, sitting beside her. Our hands touched once on accident then twice and three times not so accidental. My heart raced.

I didn’t date in high school, I was more into friendships and hanging out. I would hear my friends talk of this rush. Was I now in my thirties having a high school crush. And on a girl.

I found myself sending nonsense texts, memes, silly jokes just to reach out to her. Thankfully she responded in kind and laughed with me. We were forming a friendship to anyone on the outside looking in. They could not read my thoughts.

I knew my husband was having an affair, late nights at work, phone calls taken in the closet, avoidance. Always avoiding me unless he needed me to fill my wifely duties. No emotions, just sex. I had three children, I stayed, I endured. I was stupid.

I do not condone extramarital affairs, but I thought of it often. Not to get back at my husband. It wasn’t about revenge. It wasn’t about lust or was it. I was confused on my thoughts. All I could see was the girl in the hat, smiling.

We started to meet regularly, sometimes with children in tow sometimes not. I learned she had an open marriage. Her appearance did not reflect a heterosexual marriage. Her husband knew she was gay but due to their friendship they decided to stay together. I tread lightly when around him but enjoyed his company and found him quite likeable.

I remember our first kiss. Standing in her kitchen. Laughing. She put her hands on my face and kissed me passionately. There was no warm up, just one prolonged kissing session that exploded over my entire body at the sensation. I made an excuse and left. I needed to process.

I processed the kiss in my head a million times. Each time, wanting more, not less. I didn’t want to have an affair, I wasn’t going to have an affair.

Our next meeting lasted only minutes of pleasantries before our mouths touched. Our hands explored. My body was electric and pulses were flaming all over and between my legs. I wanted more, she wanted more. Time didn’t permit for more. I was saved this time, in my mind, I didn’t cheat, there was no sex.

Like with many bad choices, alcohol is often involved. We were hanging out with friends at her house having a few drinks. I pretended to be a couple in my head, not daring to show any interest on the outside. We said goodbye to our friends as I lingered. Helping to clean up, but not wanting to leave. She pulled me in, kissed me. Her hands framing my face, her body pressed against mine. Fireworks. Her hand slid under my dress, up my thighs until reaching my panties. Electricity ran through me. I had an affair.

I know one should feel shameful after having an affair. And there was some slight thoughts of wrong doing but the thoughts of being with her consumed me even more.

We spent more and more time together, almost if we were dating. Obviously one can’t openly date if married. But it was secret dating, but dating non the less. We learned about each other’s lives and children and families and aspirations for adventure and travel. We made plans, hopeful plans to see the world.

Her husband pulled me aside and asked if I loved her. His wife. I did. I loved her. But my answer was no to spare his feelings. I felt like she was more mine than his. He was jealous of me and I of him.

As one relationship was forming another was ending. Marriage counseling wasn’t working. How could it. Both people were having affairs that they didn’t want to admit to. We were comfortable, we were parents, but we had little love for one another, not deep love that can withstand all.

Our marriage was eventually dissolved with lots of animosity and torture to the end. I was sad to lose our family unit. To share my children. To lose family functions and events. To my life as I had planned it and my family planned it. It felt like the end, yet the beginning in many ways.

I had to learn to take care of myself in a new house. Pay bills, fix furniture, change light bulbs. It was stressful and freeing. I felt myself grow stronger as a person. I was told I couldn’t make it on my own but here I was managing it. It was empowering.

I thought my relationship with the girl in the hat would flourish and we could be together and live a happy gay life in bliss. The stress of the divorce was too much. The shame, the torment too great. The thought of being openly gay too much of a burden on her life. We separated ways.

I was lost. I was lost for quite a while. Who was I? I was a mother who had my children only half the time, a friend to only a few remaining, a member of a family that was ashamed of me, a coworker to people who really didn’t know me, a divorced person, a non gay, yet gay person.

I lived in my black cloud for a while, I had to endure self pity. Tears, lots of tears. Tears for every emotion rained down on me. With time, the black cloud turned gray, then cloudy, until one day I saw the sun. The little peak of sun gave me hope.

I had hope again in my life. Hope for better days, for a better life.

I had to learn to love me again. Learn to identify with myself. Learn mistakes are made. Learn how to move on in this new life. It was not a fast road, it was slow, windy, bumpy with many forks. But I endured, I survived. I learned I’m not stupid, I’m human.

I’m a work in progress and that's okay…..