By Maria Padhila
Couples gossip when they’re alone, you know. As do triads and quads and any other sort of polycule you might run into. We chat about our friends’ makeups and breakups and what happened at that party. Monogamous couples have discretion built in, as their chat is confined to a group of two; polys need to be more aware and circumspect.
I don’t think I’d do that coming-home-in-the-car did-you-see-that type of thing with anyone I was casually dating, for instance. You have to have a level of trust that they won’t spill the beans to anyone they happen to be dating. And there are, of course, certain confidences I keep in the vault, and don’t share with anyone.
Outing, for instance. Not gonna do it. Maybe it’s because I’m self-centered or socially awkward, but I just figure people are going to present themselves in whatever manner they please at a given time and place, and that’s their business, and let’s just play from there. I really hope this isn’t the equivalent of the person who says “I don’t see color — I didn’t even notice you’re black!” which is both hilarious and heinous.
Because recently, when a woman I know (who is also polyamorous) came out publicly as transgendered, my first reaction was, yeah, OK, so when is your band playing next, because I might actually be able to get a babysitter. Then I read the rest of what she’d written in her ‘out’ statement, and I thought: how could I have forgotten the real stakes here? Luckily, my friend is as good a writer as she is a musician, so she makes it clear:
Being out and trans was dangerous in the late 90s/early 2000s, and it’s still dangerous now, if somewhat less so. By being outed I have literally got a target painted on me. Not by anyone reading this, obviously, but what happens now is someone who does know is at a gig and makes an offhand comment, and the wrong person hears it and follows me to my car, or some such situation.