Personal Narrative: Homophobia

I walked up the stairs, clutching the small cardboard box in my hands, a box that could change everything. The stairs came to an end, and the door came into view. How could I have known so much can change in such a short period of time? It felt like the accident happened yesterday, and what seemed like an event for mourning turned out to be an event that brought us together.

Last thing I remember was the screaming of rubber on asphalt, before the entire car flipped. Now I lay in a hospital bed, staring at a man ramble on endlessly on the television. In the bed next to me lays an unconscious girl, maybe Isabella. Her charcoal black hair is spread over the pillow; bloodied scratches and bruises riddle her face. An oxygen mask is connected to her face, followed with a steady rise and

“Okay Jason, okay. But seriously, my parents are incredibly homophobic. Like they’re-going-to-leave-me homophobic. I can’t tell them any of this.”

“Can I be serious for a moment?”

“Sure”

“No parent will leave their kids for something as small as being homosexual. And if they do, well then they’re not worth having around.”

“I guess you’re right...umm anyway, I need some time to sort this all out.”

“You sure? I mean you’ll be alright? We can change the subject if you want?”

And that was it. She didn’t respond to any texts, calls, or even emails. It lasted for about a month when she texted me this.
“I don’t know you, we never met, we never talked. Don’t talk to me ever again.”
I was baffled, I was confused, but worst of all, I was hurt. I mean how could she have done this? No explanation, no reason, nothing. The first week was filled with denial. I didn’t believe it. But as time passed, the reality of it sank in. That entire year, all those late night conversations, everything, all in vain. We shared conversations about our future, we helped each other when we were down, and now it had all disappeared without a sight. I mean, we weren’t even in a relationship