This article was written by Mel Currier and provided by our partners at YourTango.
I didn't know Michael in high school, but we were in the same graduating class. We met at a singles' party and continued our conversation the next weekend at a happy hour, stopping for coffee afterward. Our first real date was our 10-year high school reunion. As we walked to our cars, I gave him a big kiss in the parking lot.
Michael was a breath of fresh hair: clean-cut, funny, always smiling. Not the Don Juan type of guy I'd been used to. He often sent me beautiful flower bouquets at work.
Our relationship escalated quickly, and within a few months, he put an engagement ring on my finger. We planned our wedding so that we had a year to get to know each other.
I converted to Judaism in order to get married in his conservative temple. I took the Rabbi's conversion classes, and he gave me the Hebrew name of Zimrah, meaning melody (song).
Soon after I converted, I got a phone call from Michael. He was sobbing uncontrollably. I didn't understand exactly what he was saying, but it sounded like he was trying to say he stopped by to visit a male friend and another male friend, someone he also knew, came to the door in pajamas.
I remember thinking that it seemed odd that he would get so upset about that if he weren't involved with one of them romantically.
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It was the first time I considered that my clean-cut fiancé might be gay, but Michael vehemently denied it. I planned to break our engagement off, and I went to Florida for a few days to pull myself together.
Michael's parents called me a few days into my trip and promised me their son wasn't gay, but they said if anything would ever happen, they'd always take care of me. I wanted to believe them. That evening, Michael and I talked for several hours until he convinced me he wasn't gay.
It didn't take long for things to get back to normal, and I continued planning the wedding, registering for gifts and attending bridal showers. It was a constant flurry of excitement.
"It was the first time I considered that my clean-cut fiancé might be gay, but Michael vehemently denied it."
I was confident about my decision to take Michael back, and we got married at his temple on a gorgeous October day. As I walked down the aisle, with 150 guests looking on, Michael mouthed, "You're beautiful."
I felt like a pretty lucky girl.
After our reception and a catered dinner at his parents' house, we left for our honeymoon. The fun part of our marriage was filled with family events, parties with friends, dinners out, disco dancing, and vacations.
And then things began to unravel.
After we got married, we started talking about adopting a baby. We registered with the Jewish Welfare Services but had no idea how long we'd have to wait. A few months later, right after Michael and I'd had an argument, the phone rang; it was the agency.
They said they wanted to meet with us regarding a baby. Before I knew it, I had replied, "We've changed our mind!" And we never brought the subject up again.
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After a couple of years, I began to wonder again if he really was gay. I don't know what my first clue was, but perhaps it was the twice-a-year sex.
One evening, opening the drawer on our nightstand, I discovered a Cat-O-Nine Tails, a multi-tailed whip designed to lacerate the skin and cause intense pain. At the time, I wasn't sure what it was, but I had an idea—and it was clear he'd been hiding it.
I asked him about it, and he replied, "If you think I'm gay, you're sick and you need to see a psychiatrist." During this time, his male friends would call the house and hang up if I answered.
"I don't know what my first clue was, but perhaps it was the twice-a-year sex."
One night, I heard him on the telephone making plans with someone to pick him up a couple blocks from our house. The next morning, he gave me a step-by-step account of his imaginary "walk" around our neighborhood.
My world fell apart the day Michael was arrested for shoplifting from a fine jewelry store. I never questioned the lavish gifts he gave me, but then it made sense.
He found out that detectives had been following him for months. He got off easy; his cousin, who was an attorney, represented him, and he only had to pay restitution.
While having lunch with a friend who was a Domestic Relations judge, I told her about the issues with Michael, and I'll never forget her words: "If you can't trust someone, you have nothing." Case closed.
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I filed for divorce, and after the papers were served, I called his mother and told her the reason. She cried. His parents never kept their promise to take care of me, and that was the last time we spoke.
The universe has a funny way of pushing you to do something. It came in the form of a telephone call from a girlfriend. She was the wife of Michael's best friend from high school.
"If you can't trust someone, you have nothing."
She said Michael had called him earlier that day to tell him he was going to commit suicide because his lover jilted him. "We're getting you out of there as soon as possible," she told me.
Within a couple days, I'd arranged for a mover and found an apartment. On moving day, Michael let me take whatever I wanted.
Once we were settled in the apartment, I asked my son if he knew anyone who was gay. His response was, "Dad?"
I had no idea he knew.
As I was leaving my office for the dissolution hearing, Michael had a dozen lavender sweetheart roses delivered to me. He was obviously sad at the hearing, but I wanted to get on with my life.
One year later, my son and I moved to Florida, and I cut myself off from all our friends so Michael would have no way of finding me.
As the years passed, my hurt and anger dissolved. It didn't matter to me if he knew where I was living or not. I had no contact with him until over 30 years later when my now-husband and I went to a mini class reunion.
I didn't know if he'd be there, so I was surprised when Michael stopped by our table. He was still clean-cut and smiling, but his Calvin Klein image didn't seem as impressive to me.
He seemed nervous, and I sensed he was afraid I was still angry with him. Instead, I was happy to see him—and my husband graciously brought over a chair for him and took a photo of us. We spoke as though no time had passed, and our conversation, which seemed like an hour, was healing and therapeutic.
"As I was leaving my office for the dissolution hearing, Michael had a dozen lavender sweetheart roses delivered to me."
Since our divorce, Michael had earned his graduate degree and moved out of state. He now works for a large hospital and only sees female patients.
He's also openly gay now.
My husband and I plan to go to my 50th class reunion this year, and I understand Michael will be bringing his significant other. It's amazing to think about all that transpired since our first date at our first high school reunion more than 40 years ago.
When I think about our years together, it's bittersweet. Although I wish I'd listened to my inner voice the first time I sensed Michael was gay, I choose not to dwell on the hurt. Instead, I like to remember the good times—and we had plenty of those. Ultimately, I'm happy Michael is with someone who loves him.
