“You sure acted like it in the store.”
“No, I didn’t. I wanted to just enjoy myself a little. Is that so crazy?” She stops dead on the sidewalk under a frigid tree. Tiny drops of mist and rain collect and drop on and all around us. Winter will be here soon. The rain threatens. “Maybe…,” Jamie says, not looking at me. “Maybe I like it when a guy gives me a compliment. Even if it’s a creepy dude saying gross things like how he wants to lick me like a lollypop.”
I wince in disgust.
“I know! It’s ick times infinity, I know. And I know I shouldn’t say anything like this because it’s conceited and all the rest of it, but…I’m pretty. And I like hearing it.”
“But did that guy say you were pretty?”
“Not verbatim, but it was like—hey, I find you attractive and I’m going to inform you in only the most gross way I know how.”
“Jeezus, Jamie.” Bubbles simmer. “That’s so wrong, I can’t even.”
“And you’re the expert? You have the inside scoop on what to do when someone says you’re hot? Because I’m thinking no one’s ever—” She stops herself.
The gravel under my feet. It’s all I can study right now. There are no books.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, that came out really wrong.”
I look at her. “I just don’t want anyone to hurt you.”
“Why is that the only thing I hear from everyone?”
“Because we read the news. Because I have a ‘transgender’ Google alert now, and shitty things are always in the feed. Because people are crazy.” Because we care about you.
“I have the same Google-fu as anyone else, and the majority of the stories are good. Trans professors, teachers, parents, lawyers, actors, actresses, models. You name it and all totally conquering the world. I am happy being me. My glass is half-fucking-full, I do not exist to be your tragedy,” she says. “I’m not stupid. I knew what to do. If that guy hadn’t taken no for an answer, I would’ve hung out next to the girl at the counter until he left.”
“But what if he was waiting for you outside? What if he had friends with him?”
“You’re worse than my mom,” she says. “She worries all the time. It’s all I ever hear. ‘What if, I’m just saying, you’re not thinking…’ Look, you see these boots?” She tips her beat-up knee-high leather boots my way. The same ones she was wearing when we met, back when they were shiny and new. “I’m wearing the heels down from stomping all over town because when I’m frustrated or mad or whatever, I’m off. I walk. I clear my head. I bump into people. I make eye contact. I go on my way. I do it alone. When I walk, I feel free.” She puts her foot back down with its twin. “Let me enjoy being myself.”
“Okay” is all I say.
We start moving again.
“Maybe it’s different for you because—”
“Because I’m ugly as fuck?” I spit out. “Maybe it is.”
“No, no, no. I wasn’t going to say that, anything like that, I swear.” Jamie holds my arm. Her fingers are freezing, I can feel them through my coat because her touch is electric. “Maybe it’s just you’re so big, you don’t need to be afraid.”
Bullshit, I want to scream.
Bullshit.
But of course I say nothing.
We stop walking and pause. The ground is thick with wet leaves glued to the edges of the sidewalk.
Operation Tattle Ye Not, Neighbors has begun.
Once out of the park, we land in a gully that steers the rain runoff into the sewers and walk along the drainage line until we hit the alley of unfinished road that runs directly behind my house. Mostly gravel and dirt with giant muddy potholes, which is good for us. No cars, not ever. We walk side by side, quiet again but with concentration, until we hit my backyard. I pick up Jamie, my massive bag full of glass bottles that I’ve been lugging like a pack mule, and help her and the beer over our chain-link fence and into the wet lump of turf we call a yard, then we split up for tactical reasons.
I go all the way around the block, pop out of the alley, turn right, and keep going until I cruise up my front walk, take out my key and open the door. No harm, no foul. Hi, Swanpoles. I’m home by six o’clock. Text that to my mom.
So funny, the last thing my mom said before she left for Pittsburgh was “It’s a school night. If you’re going to binge-watch something, keep it to only four episodes.” That and “Shave that thing off; it looks ridiculous.”
And now that Jamie and I got the beer, shaving my beard off is the only thing I can think about. Not that I have anything to compare it to, but it was the shittiest beer run I’ve ever been on. I go to the back door and let Jamie in. She’s just as cold, if not freezing. That skirt has to be drafty.
It’s weird: a month ago the only thing I would’ve focused on is what’s underneath the skirt and now I don’t care. I’m only worried about whether or not she’s warm enough.