Not Part Two

I didn’t do it.

It seemed that perfect moment never arose. That moment where I imagine cheesy after-school special music to start playing, and I turn to my sister and say, “I’m gay.” A few times I braced myself, and opened my mouth to say the words, but my sister filled those moment of silence with banter. My sister talks a mile-a-minute, and it seems at times her mind drifts from one topic to another, as if she were playing hopscotch. I felt almost unable to take control of the conversation and say what I wanted too. Of course, I could have. I could have just started, I suppose there were many failed opportunities.

Sitting here, relating the day, I am amused that I had a hard time telling her. Our outing was so implicitly fabulously gay. I had suggested that we meet up after I was done work and go shopping. My sister looks up to me as a style guru, and was thrilled that we were heading down to the trendy Queen West area to shop. We had a blast.

We are in this one store, and are both slightly jittery as everything is 50% off.

“Oh my god, the Fred Perry is on sale too,” I say in a hushed awed voice. “Fred Perry never goes on sale.”

“They have Triple 5 Soul for $20,” my sister says over from the girls section.

We proceed to pick out items, and call the other over, seeking the others opinion. We approve of each other selections, using words like, “cute” and “hot”. We walk out of the store with a couple bags of purchases. Both of us are visibly excited over the gear we have acquired and keep repeating that we can’t believe that we got it for so cheap.

My favourite moment was when were in the Guess store, staring in astonishment at this hot pink bra top with big turquoise and red rhinestones stuck on. We seem to read each others minds.

“It’s like something they would wear...,” my sister starts.

“In a Bollywood movie...,” I continue.

“From the Eighties,” We both say in unison.

We treat ourselves to a dinner at Red Lobster. And while, I didn’t come out to her, I did broach subjects which I haven’t with my family. I tell her about going to therapy. She asks me if it was good, and inquires as to how much it cost. She says that she should probably get some too, and I nod my head in a sympathetic knowing way.

There really isn’t a dull moment. We laugh talking about our insane parents. And my sister, has me almost in tears as she imitates our mothers crazy dramatic dialogue. We slip in to Urdu to comment on the people around us, those whose judgment in clothing and appearance is beyond questionable. Our comments usually end with, “Gora longa” - white people.

I thought by giving myself a deadline I would be able to do it. It apparently doesn’t work like that. I am confident that I will do it soon. That the “right” moment will arise. I just have to get over myself. Get over my fear. Every time I wanted to say it, I felt paralyzed by that moment of uncertainty that lies after making the statement. It’s that unknown after, that uncharted territory that scares me. It made me doubt the whole course of action, and my whole rationalizing for telling her.

I believe that we take the actions we need to when the time is right. Hopefully, mine will be soon.