Everyone in Vinton marries their high school sweetheart. The small town tucked in Louisianas corner pocket has a population hovering just above 3,000. Marrying a classmate fresh out of high school is as expected as the train that whistles past the feed store every day at 3 p.m.

I thought I was different. And I was. I was gay, and whether I sat in the pews of St. Josephs Catholic Church or on the bleachers of Vinton Middle School, being gay made me an abomination. And my family came from the next town over, which due to small-town insulation, might as well have been a different country. The Vinton locals whod lived there for generations never let me forget that I didnt belong, that I wasnt one of them.

I wasnt feminine, and rumors about me being a lesbian started before I even questioned my sexuality. When I finally figured out what everyone already suspected, I shared my revelation with a couple of close friends. Word spread and I was outed at the tender age of 12, resulting in relentless bullying and depression. At the time, I thought the only way out of that town was in a coffin.

I only wanted what every other teenager wanted: to date. Feel butterflies during my first kiss, dance awkwardly at middle school dances, hold hands in the hallways, pass love notes in class. Eventually, I experienced some of that, but it came with stipulations. My friends alternated between banning me from sleeping over and making out with me, blocking my calls and giving me hickies. I was confused and heartbroken, but I thought this was the closest Id ever get to a relationship: someone ashamed to kiss me anywhere but the dark.

Besides, same-sex marriage was illegal in every state except for Massachusetts, which was 1,500 miles away. If I found a girlfriend, what future did we have together? We couldnt hold hands at the Friday night football games. Our relationship would be illegal in that town, that state, 98 percent of the country, and most of the world. I was doomed to keep loving in the dark.

Ninth grade rolled around, and by that time, my queerness was old news. I wasnt well liked or anything, but most people left me alone. That spring, just before school let out for summer, another seemingly straight friend kissed me. I expected the usual routine: Dont tell anyone; If you do my homework, Ill kiss you again; this doesnt mean Im a lesbo or anything Instead, she asked if we could date.

Britney and my relationship was fraught at first. Friends accosted me for turning her gay and accused her of playing with my emotions. Family deemed us a phase. The high school principal banned us from attending the homecoming dance together. So, we did the only thing we thought we could: We ran away.

I transferred for my remaining two years to a residential high school, where I lived in a dorm. Britneys family moved out of town. We had a long-distance relationship for two years, which wasnt easy at 17, and we broke up for four months during my junior year. Then we escaped to college together, becoming the first in our families to do so. Young love is one hell of a motivator.