You Never Forget Your First Hag*

I was 17 when I came out to my best friend, a little more than six years ago. She was a year older than me, already a freshman at a nearby college. I don’t recall how the actual conversation took place, but I know I wanted to tell her about a boy I had a crush on at the arts high school in town, and had finally reached that point when I couldn’t bear to be silent any longer. Luckily, she took it well, wasn’t surprised and treated me no differently than before, but her acceptance changed me remarkably. Whether she noticed or not, I felt like an enormous weight had been lifted. Soon after, I told a couple other friends, my family would find out six months later, and by the time graduation had ended and the summer leading up to college began, I was out to the world.

Some of us may have been outed; a video, magazine, or website link left carelessly around provided the evidence for a parent or sibling to confront the issue. Others may have had friends merely guess or assume, and the dramatic scene never needed to be acted out. But no matter the circumstance, the bond we form with the first few friends who accept our true identity is something that alters our view of relationships and serves as a milestone in our maturity that can’t be shared by heteros. I would argue that it is an event that rivals the entrance into puberty or the loss of virginity for dominance in a gay’s development. Acting alone or with another in gay sexual thoughts or acts, can easily be denied or ignored, but when we come out to a friend, it seems to materialize.

Your first hag* sets a standard for what we come to expect from a friend, as they walk that oh-so-subtle line between soul mate and co-dependent. They are the stand-in for any event requiring a date, are the only ones allowed to tell us how we really look when our shirts are too tight, our pants are too low, and our hair too closely resembles T-Boz (not that I would know). All future girlfriends, and perhaps, boyfriends will be measured against the love, support, and gratifying acceptance of our delusions, that our first hag* provided.

After I came out to her, we were inseparable, though both in school and in neighboring towns, with different schedules and commitments, almost every weekend was spent together either downtown or on campus, tiptoeing gingerly into adulthood. I never worried that I wasn’t the most important man in her life, in fact, after college graduation we’d be embarking across the country to seek the fortune and fame our talent seemed to guarantee would make us successful in LA. But life had other plans.

In college our friendship had grown strained with the distance, my semesters abroad, a non-stop carousel of new college friends to distract me, combined with her life and career, and our paths began to divide. She made it to New York a year before I arrived; reunited with the boyfriend she’d been separated from. I came up alone, on the heels of graduation, not sure what the future held for me and even more unsure if it held anything for us.

Life had brought us to the same city, but we couldn’t have been more different. Our brief reunion resulted only in empty promises to get together again soon, stay in touch, and perhaps recapture what we’d lost. Somehow on our road from inseparable friendship, we’d found a way to live in the same city, entirely apart.

Until last Friday, when my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I flipped it open to a picture message of a diamond glittering on her ring finger, with the text, “I’m engaged bitches!” emblazoned above. It didn’t seem unnatural to respond, offer my congratulations, and ask when next we could get together to celebrate.

It is the appropriate season for us all to give thanks for those who helped us take those first few steps out of the closet. Her support made me feel like the best of life was yet to come, and I hope the same is true for her. No matter where our hags* may roam, different continents, the next room, or the other side of town, they may still want our approval as much as we needed theirs. I take pride in knowing that I can say I was that girl’s best friend, and now she was given one to keep on her finger.



*So this word does not sound derogatory ‘hag’ hereby stands for: Honestly Amazing Girlfriend.

Originally posted on 11/11/08 at http://www.homo-neurotic.com/2008/11/11/everybody-does-it-you-never-forget-your-first-hag/#more-2702