The first time I discovered my alien DNA was when I went on a band trip in Hawaii, surrounded by teenage girls talking about their “hella hot football boyfriends.” In this instance I was trapped in an elevator going down to the beach. I stood there. Obviously out of place in my athletic clothes ready to be interrogated about my fashion sense. The smallest one with the biggest ego looked at me up and down with a judgmental eye.

“Do you have any like cute beach clothes? Cause those look hella weird,” Emily asked.

“Uhhh no.” I said in a matter of fact manner.

“No clothes that like, show off your figure?” she pressed. 

I was suddenly then painfully aware of how odd I looked, clashing against the brightly patterned low-cut bikinis, cute sandals, and pink beach bags perched on arms.

“No, why would I want to?”
“Ya know, show off for the boys,” she said, like that was obvious, adjusting her bikini.

I shook my head, rather confused, knowing full well of the one-piece suit I wore underneath my shorts and T-shirt. 

They continued their own conversation, without including me, which at this point was a common occurrence. 

“But omg I hope we see John today… aren’t his abs so sexy?” Emily asked her friends. 

“He’s so cute, Gary still has a baby face though… maybe we can go skinny dipping,” Annie answered, giggling back, gazing at her pink toenail polish. 

 I kept quiet, knowing on some teenage level I was supposed to think of these boys as “hot” or “sexy” like everyone else, but I didn’t, and that made me uneasy. It hadn’t even occurred to me to dress up for boys in some sexy bikini competitive swimmers like me didn’t own. But that made me weird, I wasn’t on the same wavelength as these girls. 

When we got to the beach they ran over to the group of boys, tittering and flirting their way to the green and blue water amongst the palm trees, leaving me behind. I stared at the boys, wondering what I was supposed to find “hot” analyzing them like a specimen under a microscope. Their flat physique and dopy grins didn’t do much for me as they pushed each other into the sand… but why? I knew then I wasn’t welcome somehow in the straight fray. I ended up wandering over to a vacant spot on the beach away from the noise, taking off my athletic clothes, donning my competitive black speedo and swimmer shoulders to the world. I gazed out at the sparkling water before plunging into the sea, the warmness embellishing my body, trying to block out the constant nagging in the back of my head.

(Weirdo weirdo weirdo.)

 I breached up to the surface like the unknown sea creature I knew I was and moved into a freestyle, finally in my element. Water for me was freeing because it never judged or critiqued, it worked with you in a unique fluidity, something I needed to understand in order to be myself, but I hadn’t found that yet.

Later that day we had band rehearsal in the shady band shell, I kept thinking about the boys… like I was supposed to like in the trumpet section.

 They were all around me.

 I even sat with one of the most handsome catches of the group, James. Much conversation was to be had about him, discussing in detail about his brown hair, blue eyes, and ripped gymnast body. There had to be something I found attractive, maybe then I could be included in conversations with the girls and they would accept me. This sustained my thoughts until I saw the woman, I had been writing about in my diary walk into the band shell, her beauty and personality almost alien like. Sara had been with us for a few months, always trying to get my attention from the trombone section, leaning to my right, giving me tips about fingerings or mouthpiece placements. Every time she instructed me or conducted the group, my heart would race like crazy, my hands slipping off my trumpet from nervous sweat. I could always pick her out from the others in the section. She was a wonderful player with a sound that sent vibrations up and down my body. I will admit I have yet to listen to a trombonist who had that type of rich warm tonality. Her sophistication and knowledge for music was intriguing and intimidating at the same time. The fact she was our conductor’s girlfriend made her all the more mysterious. (God could she do better than him) I thought naively. 

Suddenly everything my conductor was saying in the band shell faded away, only isolating what I wanted to see, which was her. I kept turning my head slightly to see if she was staring at me like she often did. I had no idea what was going on with me. I couldn’t breathe, my leg hopped up and down in nervousness, my dry lips stuck to my mouthpiece. Each time my conductor stopped the band to yell at the woodwinds, I couldn’t help but gaze at her beautiful curvy and busty feminine figure that no one else possessed amongst us middle and high schoolers. She was someone I would call “sexy” if I knew the definition of that word. She took her seat right behind me, smiled and said hello. I waved and turned back to my music, my face blushing, and heart racing faster like an idiot. Sara had triggered something existential and deep inside my mind that no boy had the power to do. What it was, however, I didn’t know, all I knew was the beauty I saw in front of me. Contact was extremely easy, as she was never far behind, almost like a mother duckling or someone who was interested in me a different way all together. 

 We wore different uniforms throughout the week, but I always thought she looked best in her Air Force blues. The light blue summer shirt matched perfectly with her grey blue eyes and her dark blue pants put everything together. I gazed at her perfectly thick brown hair shining in the light in a perfect round bun. I even recall her saying she’d teach me to style mine like that one day. Her eyes were my favorite, but they seemed to lack personality and the expression everyone else had and I wanted to know why. I wondered if this were how I was supposed to think about boys, and why the other girls would go crazy over them. (I don’t have a crush on her… no way. I’m interested, but that’s it. That’s it. But she could do better… does she like me?) 

If heterosexual girls looked at boys the way I looked at girls, their obsession with them would make sense to me. We were simply different in the ways we admired beauty, but one must be more socially accepted than the other right? Women weren’t supposed to find other women sexy or beautiful. Whenever heterosexual girls talked about other women, it would be like a competition if anything else. When one of the older girls Mina asked me about my bra size, I was aghast at the question, but I answered in a naive unassuming way. She and the others flaunted their insecurities and said “Oh my God I’m so much smaller than you! Are you really only in eighth grade?” and teased me about it for days after that. I couldn’t understand their issues, I found all types of women to be beautiful, never comparing my body to others. I didn’t want to be like attractive women to appeal to men, I wanted to be with attractive women. Those girls thought whoever had the best body would attain the boy of their dreams, and because I was bigger than them, whatever that meant, they felt intimidated. At some point they were acting more alien than me, so who didn’t belong on Earth? 

I couldn’t figure out how I was supposed to look or view anyone anymore during my teenage years. Looking at women was weird and looking at boys as attractive was even weirder. Nothing seemed to be natural, like I was an alien in society, drifting about in space. If I was an alien then it wouldn’t be the first time I felt this way, there was nothing in my life that aligned with anyone else I came into contact with, so maybe I wasn’t meant for this universe at all. When I became more comfortable with my sexuality and continued to be around straight girls, the duality of how they looked at men and how I looked at women continued. I was always at polarizing ends of the spectrum. 

“You want to go to Pride Prom?” My Mom had asked me in 2016. I had just attended my senior prom at my high school. It had been fun with my previous ex-boyfriend that my other friends pined. Samantha had asked me why I deserved to go with Paolo because “I wasn’t even straight.” This competitiveness over boys had not ended even after coming out, despite the fact I had no sexual interest in them. Everyone was just paranoid and jealous that men seemed to gravitate towards me, for some reason, while everyone else caught nothing. I had told Samantha I would be glad to send the men her way.

 I sat at my desk over my AP literature homework, pining over my Mom’s question.
“I… I don’t know… I mean… I already went to prom.”
“But this is PRIDE prom, ya know, go meet some girls! Come on, it’s at the JCC and if you don’t like it, I can pick you up. You’d look so beautiful in your dark blue dress.”

I smiled and agreed, despite still having my doubts. Maybe this time, I could be around other people who viewed the world the same as I did. 

I entered the building, nervous as hell, playing with my long blonde hair and 1920’s bracelet that had belonged to my grandmother. The room was decorated with rainbow lights and streamers with pride flags covering every wall possible. I held my breath and entered the alien universe. Everyone that I could see were in groups. A couple girls smiled at me and waved. I shyly waved back unsure of what to say. I got a drink and stood in the corner like an idiot. (I am with the Queers… so what now?) Suddenly one of my favorite songs came on. I became excited, putting my drink down, walked over to the dance floor and rocked out a little. Some girls were in a circle holding hands and laughing. One of them looked over at me and said. “Hey! You want to dance with us?!” I looked over and nodded, walking into the fray. As soon as I looked up, I saw the most beautiful girl I had ever seen facing towards me. Her red dress matched perfectly with her red-gold earrings and lipstick. I glanced at her bobbed brown hair and brown eyes, giving her a slight smile. After the song ended, I sleeked back into the corner for the while, never really taking my eyes off red dress girl. 

In this room, on this planet, I felt a sense of freedom and awkwardness all at the same time. Men in pink suits and dyed hair danced closely with their boyfriends, while girls in tuxedos and shaved heads had their arm around their girls. This was a whole new universe to me. Girls liked girls. Boys liked boys, and we all had that in common.  Being yourself and loving the same sex was celebrated here, and I was somehow… home.

Finally, at some point in the night, I racked up the courage to ask red dress girl to dance. She had been with her friends all night, but now was swaying back and forth to the same music I liked. I walked up to her and said hello again.
“Hi! Oh my god you look so beautiful!” she said, giving me the eye.

“Thanks! I love… your dress!” I sputtered. “Um… would you like to dance?” she said yes and took my hand, jumping up and down to “Born this Way” by Lady Gaga. After the song ended Abruptly the DJ said, “All right Imma slow it down in here…” and everyone grabbed a partner. I glanced up at red dress girl, my face heating up in the low light. She put her hand around my waist, and we danced the waltz, staring into each other’s eyes as the rainbow lights twinkled overhead. There was an odd sense of eternal bliss within me as we cruised the dance floor. If this were to be my only time dancing with a beautiful woman, then so be it. I was where I was supposed to be, in my own beautiful and unique alien universe.

It was the morning after the Oscars years after that prom night and my Mother and I were just waking up in the yellow kitchen years later, taking generous sips of my Dads dark roast coffee in our Christmas mugs. 

“Lena, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.” I said, unsure where this conversation was headed.

“I kept thinking about that speech last night, where Kate McKinnon said she previously felt like an alien by being gay, did you ever feel that way?”

I almost choked on my coffee.

“I mean… yeah… I always have my entire life… and liking women just tacked on another point on the “weird” scale you know?”
“It must have been hard for you.”
“It’s always hard for me, it’s not like I ever fit in.” 

“Okay I was just wondering.”

 But as the conversation ended, I thought, had I really felt like an alien? And was I okay with being one? I would find my niche eventually with other people who felt the same as I did, but it took me much longer than a few years to do so. The fact was, I got used to feeling like I was from another planet, but I wasn’t completely comfortable with it yet. I failed more times trying to be normal than not. Every single experience had confirmed I needed to start being myself and that included the alien universe, but that does not start and end with coming out of the closet, but with what you do afterwards and how you feel about yourself. I learned to accept my alien DNA because not being an alien was never going to honor or support myself in the long run. I finally decided to stay in orbit of my new planet and visit Earth every once and awhile.