OFM CANNABIS

UNREALIZED BISEXUALITY A MEMOIR EXERPT

by Amanda E.K.

In the summer of 2005, I traveled from my home town in Iowa to Willmar, MN with my youth group friend Faith and her sister Eve—a cheery, blonde girl who wore striped, polo shirts and khakis every day like some sort of unofficial, Christian uniform. We were on our way to the Sonshine Music Festival—three days of Christian bands, Christian skateboarding competitions, and Christian people-watching. It was the first time I’d traveled with friends unsupervised by an adult. I’d just turned 18 in April and felt a touch of independence I was yet to fully own. I had a high school diploma. I could smoke a cigarette if I wanted to. Not that I would—I’d seen my grandpa sneak cigarettes while hooked up to an oxygen tank, and it seemed like an unforgiving addiction. But I could smoke one, if I wanted. I could buy porn magazines. I could sign up for the army. When I thought about it, it didn’t seem fair that all the things I was now allowed to do didn’t interest me.

The festival campgrounds rose in the distance like a mirage as we pulled into town, all of us gripping our seats with excitement for the weekend’s endless possibilities.

I’d never seen so many people I wanted to get to know. People with dreadlocks and tattoos of Bible verses (which I decided must make the tattoos OK). Average teens dressed like rockstars, with lip piercings, Mohawks, and combat boots. I stood awestruck at what could’ve easily been mistaken as the crowd at a Van’s Warped Tour while peering through the list of bands on a glossy leaflet. There was a band for every secular genre’s counterpart—Jon Reuben for Eminem, DC Talk for Nirvana, Barlow Girl for Avril Lavigne, Relient K for Blink-182.

It was the kind of place to invite your unchurched friends. Let the music do the converting so you didn’t have to.

I felt like I’d stepped through the gates of Heaven. Was it possible for The Rapture to have happened without me realizing it? Was this indeed the afterlife? If so, thank you Jesus! It was cool to be a Christian here. At Sonshine, my whole body felt like something big could happen—some tangibly-felt presence of God, like a mountain really could be moved, or world peace could be achieved. My blood pulsed with hope. Or maybe that was just the heat stroke from hours spent outside with no escape from the sun.

As the three of us wandered through the crowds after setting up our tents by a pond, I couldn’t help but notice how many attractive people were here. Help me Jesus not to lust, I prayed. The more people I saw, the more my mind raced. How did all these Christians get to be

so cool? I looked down at my modest top and Bermuda shorts. All of a sudden I was acutely aware that my clothes didn’t represent me at all. How—dressed like this—would anyone know I read the Beats? How would they know I liked hard music and once played in a band? I looked more like an elementary teacher-in-training. A girl my age with dreadlocks and a dozen bracelets cuffing each arm walked past, and I followed her with my eyes. That’s more like it, I thought. I wished I were bold enough to look like that. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

I felt self-conscious the entire weekend. My redhead complexion made getting a sunburn inevitable at an outdoor event no matter how much sunscreen I put on. After the first 24 hours, my lips were blistered and my nose tomato-red, enhancing my cystic acne. My shoulders and arms were a mercurial salmon-pink. I was glad there weren’t any mirrors around so that I couldn’t see how lame I looked. I prayed I didn’t get my period early. It was bad enough relying on port-a-potties as the only bathroom. What would I do if I had a blood leak?

There were showers, but I didn’t use them. Not after I saw that they were locker room-style, with dozens of naked girls and women showering in the same space. I bounced my eyes away as soon as the first set of nipples came into view. I couldn’t conceive of showering without a swimsuit if showering in a group. Modesty was for every situation, not just around men. How could so many women be so comfortable without clothes on? I chastised myself for looking too long at a girl my age with a flat stomach and much bigger breasts than mine. It was just that I’d never seen nipples as large or dark as hers. I knew it was wrong to look, but I wished I could be invisible so that I could study all their bodies. Looking back, I can see my latent bisexuality peeking its head out, but I wouldn’t start to notice it until well into my 20s. I wanted to look longer to compare thickness and shape of pubic hair, but I felt perverted and fled the locker room, the heat of my sunburn flushing twice as hot. Best not to bathe until back in Iowa.

Amanda EK is a writing instructor and the former editor-in-chief of Denver's Suspect Press magazine. She's currently pitching her memoir about her sexual development while growing up in evangelical purity culture, and she's working on projects for film and TV with her production team Glass Cactus. Follow her on instagram @amanda. ek.writer and read more about her projects at AmandaEKwriter.com.