Closet Case by Bobbi

I was 14 and in love with Claire, we would kiss on the couch, then in a chair, then in the car, driven by Sis and what sister said stopped the kiss.

“You’re queer, you’re a fairy.”  These words really sounded scary.  So I decided to open the closet door and push back the feelings more and more.

At 17 I was working at my first job, in the records room at the Rose Hospital.  I met some girls from another department.  They asked me to go to lunch.  They had a car, put me in the back seat and I sat in the middle.

Connie was on my right.  When our shoulder touched my closet door opened.  Oh, oh, I was in for a fight with myself.  She was older and married, and even though my feelings weren’t buried, I never told her and never touched her.  I was there for her when she was ill and provided friendship.  That was my thrill.

I dated guys and had some fun and, hopefully, proved to my sister I wasn’t one of those words she called me.

At 19, I worked at Parke Davis Pharmaceutical Company where Betty was the bookkeeper.  She was from Kansas, had never seen a Jew, and thought I had horns.  I loved her for her innocence and told her I had corns, not horns.

Betty was beautiful, Betty was married, lived in Evergreen and my over feelings stayed buried.  My closet door was ajar but I never ventured out too far.

Three nights a week we worked late and I would take her home, up Coal Creek Canyon, as if she were my date.  I truly loved her from afar.  The distance between us on the front seat of the car.

Betty was my maid of honor when I married at age 21.  She never knew the love and lust I felt for her as we did the Coal Creek run.

A divorce, therapy, another marriage, therapy, a college degree, therapy, writing and producing theatrical shows, therapy, two children, therapy.  How many clues does one need?  I finally became a therapist with a creaking closet door. 

Estes Park, and International Gestalt Therapy Convention, I had no intention of what would happen next.

The only woman’s workshop, Wow!  “Bisexuality” was the title, wow.  It helped to open my closet door and I was never the same.

At the age of 45, I felt alive.  No more closet, no more door.  I was a lesbian forevermore. 

About the Author

Bobbi, 82, a native Denverite, came out at age 45. “I’m glad to be alive.”