Alphabet People - Letter C

“C” and I had a class together in college called “The Modern Novel” with coursework slanted by our lesbian instructor. I didn’t mind, I was introduced to Jeanette Winterson whose work I still love, but the overall homoeroticism in the air was charged and pervasive. The class brimmed with gay men and gay women, and me. I sat in back as if banished from the circle by my straightness. I remember seeing C, in front, sitting next to a guy who was always flirting with me relentlessly. I tried to ignore his looks and stares. I knew he was trying to hook up. By association, I assumed C was a lesbian. I ended up getting a C in that class (no joke). Fast forward to summer and I was working as a concierge at an upscale mall. I wore suits and had to know things. I was chummy with the security guards. We acted like we owned the place, walking around with our chests puffed out, acting superior. It was fun. One day, I was on break and chatting with Chick (that was his nickname) when I noticed C working at the costume jewelry store. They specialized in high-end jewelry reproductions. Still do. I spun back around to Chick and said, “Holy crap, I know that girl. We had a class together. She’s so beautiful. But I think she’s a lesbian.” Chick said, “No way. C? A lesbian? Really?” My break ended and I returned to my desk. A few minutes later, Chick came running up to me, laughing hysterically, “Yo man, I was just talking with C. She said she remembered you from that class too. And she thought you were gay!” C and I went out for three years after that.