By Jewelle Gomez–
More than thirty years ago, Curve Magazine (then called Deneuve) did a Valentine’s Day issue for the month of February. The editor invited me to have my photograph taken with my Valentine. I, as lesbians occasionally do, found myself between U-Haul truck destinations—that is, loverless.
However, it took only a moment to realize I wanted my picture taken with my two best friends, Marianne and Sandra. The Hallmark holiday is about love, not necessarily about coupledom, and we don’t tell our pals how much we love them often enough.
There was little reason for us three to end up bound together: Sandra was born in Brooklyn to an Italian/Puerto Rican family that had traveled around the country before settling in Vermont. Marianne was born in New York City to an African American family; both working class with lots of siblings. I had no parallel experience in my welfare poor, Boston upbringing as an only child raised by my Native American/Black great grandmother.
Little in our initial meeting would indicate we’d be like sisters to each other for more than thirty-five years. Here’s The L Word diagram: I was starting to date Marianne (circa 1979) after we met at one of those legendary, NYC, colored girl party/art salons. I heard she was seeing someone else, but few of us were about exclusivity back then.
I was determined not to be left behind, so one Saturday night I dressed for success and put myself on a Bronx-bound subway train (never having been to the Bronx) to find the party where they’d be. One of their envious friends gave me the information just to see what kind of blowup there’d be. I was shy and only 30, so I wasn’t planning mayhem. I just needed to see the competition.
Still surprised I’d managed to make the subway journey at 11 pm and not be killed, I pushed open the door of the flat that was thumping with the bass of R & B records. Fewer than ten feet from me was Marianne with her dreadlocks and in a sharp, tailored shirt; she was dancing with an equally attractive curly-haired woman who was bare-breasted! The only explosion was in my heart as I realized these were my people. I can’t recall the rest of the night, except for the furtive looks aimed at the three of us dancing together.
What I do remember is whenever I had a heartbreak I could show up at their house and stay for days. When I had no money, Sandra would feed me. Once I was on my way to do a reading gig in Queens and was so nervous that I left my folder on the train. It was Marianne whom I called from the station and who read my poems to me as I wrote them down while standing in a phone booth.
When I needed to move out of a lover’s house—U-Haul was a theme in mid-20th century lesbian life—I rented a flat within ten blocks of their home. I went to Brooklyn Bombers softball games because Marianne was the coach and Sandra played first base. And the team always went out for margaritas after. When they both went to work for the telephone company, our psychic connection became more apparent. Any time either one of us called, soon the other would also call. Then one would loop us all together for a midday chat as if the universe was waiting for our news.
We partied, buried friends, read the same books, went to movies, were the subject of gossip, and offered refreshments to runners passing our corner in the NYC marathon. We also served on the board of a lesbian foundation together. We’ve had surgeries, illnesses, falling outs, rapprochements, and always the key to each other’s places. When I decided to move to San Francisco to live with Diane, shock reverberated through Brooklyn, but Marianne and Sandra got on the plane with me to “see me home to my door.”
We should all cultivate friends with whom we can unhesitatingly pick up a conversation with, whether it’s been five days or five months. I mailed their Valentine’s Day card to Marianne and Sandra last week.
Jewelle Gomez is a lesbian/feminist activist, novelist, poet, and playwright. She’s written for “The Advocate,” “Ms. Magazine,” “Black Scholar,” “The San Francisco Chronicle,” “The New York Times,” and “The Village Voice.” Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @VampyreVamp
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Published on February 13, 2025
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