When I first created my blog, I had no idea what to expect. I’d been writing essays for months, sometimes sending them to my mom, or a friend or two, without ever any intention of sharing them publically. But when a girlfriend told me to publish one of them after reading it back in May, I decided I’d just go for it. Why not? I thought, who knows what might happen. Well, for one, Kara has happened.
I met Kara almost ten months ago at a New Year’s party. It was a fairly small gathering considering the occasion – no more than 25 people – at a beautiful house in the Hollywood Hills. The host had been very precise about attire, commitment, and start time, so I was surprised to see two empty seats at our table set for 8 when we sat down. As promised, the dinner started promptly at 9:30, with a hearty soup dish served first. The servers had just cleared our bowls when she and her friend arrived. I nearly choked on my champagne. She was achingly beautiful.
We didn’t speak at all during dinner. For one thing, the dimensions of the table and the acoustics of the room simply did not allow for it, unless we wanted to shout our conversation. The seating chart had also been strategically designed to ensure men would be talking with women, and women with men (it went boy girl boy girl). Thus, I spent most of the dinner speaking with the older guy to my left, and occasionally with the enviably dressed couple to my right, who kept disappearing presumably to do drugs. The only discussion involving her was when the older guy whispered to me “who brought the 18 year old?” I smiled politely, resisting the urge to blurt back “you mean the stunningly gorgeous chick I want to simultaneously strangle and know everything about?” It’s strange the effect beauty can have, attracting and repulsing, inspiring both admiration and envy.
After dinner ended, one of the tables was removed and a “dance floor” created. The area couldn’t have been more than 10 feet squared, but I’d start grinding in an airplane bathroom if they played the right song. The iPod deejay worked his magic, and soon enough I was tearing it up. A few glasses of champagne and months of pole dancing classes ensured some pretty, uh, sexy moves (“You were f***ing the furniture” one male friend later commented. Pretty hilarious, if not a bit embarrassing). Luckily, most of the men had migrated downstairs to the pool and hot tub, so my numbers were performed for the ladies. Midnight came and went, and shortly thereafter I left, never having spoken to the beautiful girl.
A couple of months later, I ran into her at another party. This time, we actually talked. She remembered me from New Year’s, and commented on my dancing – “My friends thought you were weird and annoying, but I thought you were awesome.” This thrilled me. Firstly, because within seconds of her opening her mouth I could tell she was different from 90% of the girls who attend parties in the Hills. Secondly, she appreciated my femininity and the freedom I’d been experiencing in expressing it. “What’s your name, I’ll find you on Facebook,” I probed. “Kara Degas.” And with that we became friends. At least according to social media.
Over the next few months, we saw each other at one more party and liked each other’s statuses two or three times. Once she private messaged me with a link to a KCRW podcast in response to an article I had posted about pollution. A couple of times I just stared at photos of her that popped up in my news feed and thought there’s no way this girl can be cool. She was just too flawless to be deep and interesting. I remember at USC having a friend who was impossibly beautiful, rich, smart, perfect. Myself being fragile and insecure, I cried to my mom about her one day, and she responded that her beauty probably works against her sometimes, with people not being able to see beyond her exterior. “Everyone has their cross to bear.” Right, I thought, poor perfect-looking people. What could they possibly understand about the real world?
Turns out everything. Kara reached out to me after my first blog post with a touching private message. Within a couple of entries, she was my biggest fan. I felt beyond flattered, as if the coolest girl in school had just made me part of her court. I suggested a drink, and a few days later she dropped by my house. I was nervous waiting for her to arrive, like a first date from Match.com. What was she going to be like? Would we get along? Would she like me? Well, she had enjoyed my essays enough to reach out, and those were pretty personal. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
We talked for 5 hours. It was one of those conversations where you have so much to say to each other that a single story never gets told. One idea branches into another and another, and soon you’re both spiraling and crisscrossing and jumping backwards and forwards. The more she revealed about her heart-breaking upbringing, her failed relationships, her obsession with reading and neuroscience, the more I was falling in love. It was the kind of spark I’d felt when I met my writing partner – an instant soul connection. I’d only experienced this a handful of times, all with women, and it had always floored me. How could intimacy be this easy?
A couple of months ago over dinner my dad started talking about male bonding. “It seems so much easier to connect with [his tennis and golf buddies], like being in a relationship with a guy would somehow make more sense.” My mom and I looked at each other knowingly. We’d had the same conversation before about women. My parents have been married for 30 years, closer to each other than anyone in the world, and yet, there was still something about that bond between same-sex friends that could not be replicated. I felt it with Martha, with Katelyn, with Ally, and now with Kara. It’s a special form of love, one that moves past the physical and sexual, beyond even the mental and emotional, to a sort of understanding of core being.
That first night I’d seen Kara on New Year’s I’d mistaken my attraction towards her as a girl crush. I had assumed the draw I felt towards her was a result of her beauty, the way it had been for so many of the men who had “known” her without ever knowing her. Now, months into our friendship after that intimate night at my house, I realize I was being pulled to her by something else, by this special chemistry between women. And if nothing else ever comes from my blog but this, well, it will all have been worth it.