Out of the Closet... Kind Of

A look at livin’ la vida lesbian

by Lexi Chuba

(image source:  Gabrielle d’Estrees and the Duchesse de Villars, by Meister der Schule von Fontainebleau, 1594 )

Driving across the border into Canada, I felt a rush of relief as I escaped small-town life in rural America.

I reflected on my hometown in Connecticut, held tightly together by conservative ideals, and unwelcoming to “outsiders” (meaning non-whites and non-Catholics). My first crush, a lesbian Latina girl who wore her hair so tightly back she resembled a flamenco dancer, was literally stoned into fleeing. She disappeared in the night, as if there were an underground railroad hidden beneath the track field at my high school.

It’s hard to explain to Vancouverites that just across the border is a nation that admonished me for my “lifestyle choice.” That kicked me to the curb when I thought I was doing the right thing: being true to myself.

The first person I came out to turned out to be an evangelical Christian—who sent me home with a Bible and an aspirin. After that, I hid my desire for women, and started focusing on men. But then my first “serious” boyfriend and I realized we both were experiencing the same “growing pains” (a term for homosexuality my mother coined when I asked if she’d ever kissed a girl). My boy and I agreed to try and cure ourselves of our disease. But no matter how hard we tried, our experiment failed. We were left with two conclusions: he was gay; I was lesbian.

In university I came out to the world. Such a sense of liberation took over! I was finally me. I attended every Pride parade I could. I wore rainbow belts and shoelaces to let everyone know I had hit the scene. Back home, though, my teachers—who’d written letters of recommendation so I could enter a prestigious university—refused to see me. Lifelong girlfriends no longer invited me to crash at their homes for fear I would hit on them. I was constantly shooed back into the closet by my family and asked, “So, is there a man in your life?”

Well, I did find love in university, only he was a she. A Canadian she. I gladly followed her back to Canada, as same-sex civil unions are not recognized in most of the United States. Though I would miss the Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and value of the dollar (at least until recently), the maple leaf flag was beckoning to me to climb aboard that underground railroad.

I entered Canada clutching a binder of letters from friends and family stating they recognized our “alternative partnership.” We didn’t dare hold hands through Aldergrove, Langley, or Burnaby. But soon after we hit downtown Vancouver, we arrived at home base: Davie Street. I’d never seen so many rainbow stickers in my life. I felt as though I’d stepped into a dream world of buttless chaps, disco balls, beautiful men, and handsome women.

But even though same-sex marriage has been legal in B.C. since ’05, we queers fear our rights will be taken away as right-wing politicians take over. And, every day, B.C. loses credibility as a queer-friendly province when we’re allowed to outwardly embrace our queer sisters and brothers just one day a year.

What’s more, Pride (our one day) has gone Starbucks. It’s so commercialized that I’m afraid the parade will be moved off Denman and into a Wal-Mart parking lot. Besides, I shouldn’t have to wait for one day a year to get a free mochaccino for being a lesbo. What’s more, I should be able to cross the border holding my partner’s hand and not receive glares, or walk down Robson and reward her with a kiss when she finally finds that sensible pair of shoes. I shouldn’t have to discuss with her whether some event we’re attending is a “we are friends” event, “we are roommates” event, or “we are partners” event.

One day, I hope there will be wider acceptance. I want to return home to find my evangelical Christian shaking hips with my Latina flamenco dancer, while my ex-“boyfriend” does laps on the track field sporting his rainbow shoelaces.

So what does Pride mean to me? Divide and conquer: dividing the gay-haters from the gay-lovers, and conquering prejudice—in order to liberate the millions of travellers on underground railroads across the world.

Lexi Chuba is a poster girl for all things lesbian-chic and is looking forward to her free mochaccino August 6.

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