’ ‘That’s because you’re not real.’ ‘He might never come again.’ ‘I don’t know if I want him to come again.’ A pause. ‘Are ...ou happy?’ A long pause. ‘Yes. I have others. Friends. Family. Someone new.’ she smiles. ‘I’m happy.’ ‘But sad too.’ ‘Yes, sad too.’ ‘So why are you here?’ She thinks. Her legs relax, slowly moving away from her curled position. ‘I didn’t know I was happy. Sometimes I’m not happy.’ ‘Do you want to be real?’ Thinks again. Choosing. Choosing is real. Life is. I went out for drinks with a woman I workedwith. She's the only person I'd confided in that I was gay. I had onlyadmitted it to myself recently but had pretty much known it all along.There was no one in town I'd go out with. My high school friends had gonethere own way. Not that I had many friends in high school. I didn't playsports, didn't date girls, and always felt generally out of place, nevergood enough to fit in with the popular crowd. At about midnight she got acall and had to leave. I. More

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