Dear DrYouKnowWho584

So you went back to her, huh?

Look, as I have said before and will probably again many more times in my life, ‘if you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you've always done.’ I will not hold it against you that I wrote you a list of things not to do when you're trying to stay broken up with a toxic vampire of a partner, which you promptly ignored. But i’ll highlight the salient parts for the purposes of this mail. 

Don’t text, don't answer emotionally manipulative texts, get a supportive friend around and show them the list so they can hold you to it.

Look, I know it’s hard. But i know it’s not impossible. You need to make better choices, or this will be the mire you live in for the rest of your life. Sometimes the best choice to make doesn't feel right or easy, but that's usually a sign it is the right one.

Sincerely

Oprah D

-8-

After soccer practice, Ada and I take the scenic route home through a sculpture park. It adds about twenty minutes to the walk, but we’re in no hurry to be anywhere. And the longer I’m away from my computer, the better. I haven’t even touched it since yesterday.

“Amelia Costas has a new baby brother.” She says to me. She’s walking along the top of a wall and I’m holding her hand so she doesn’t lose her balance and fall off.

“Is that right?” I reply.

I teach at Ada’s school. It’s a great saving, because I get a teachers discount on fees, and I don’t have to worry about her when I’m not around. If anything happens I can be there ASAP. And it has. She broke a leg once, jumping off the fifth step on the staircase and landing wrong.

“Yeah. She says all it does he cry and eat.”

“Sounds boring.”

“And annoying.”

I smirk. I don’t really know about other babies, but Ada was the sweetest little thing. Very rarely cried, slept well. It was only later on I realised how lucky I’d been with her.

“At least you don’t have to worry about that.” I tell her, as she hops off the edge of the wall and resumes walking beside me.

“Yeah, because boys can’t have babies right?”

“Right.”

Ada knows that she won’t be getting any siblings from me. We’ve discussed my sexual preferences in as much depth as a child can really manage, and it doesn’t actually feature much in our conversations.

“Cos you like boys.” She adds.

I nod. “I like boys.”

“Can I like boys?” she asks.

I frown at her. “Not until your age is a double digit at least.”

“Can I like girls then?”

Now I stop, because I know this is her teasing me. “Same answer.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “What if I want to?”

I sigh and cross my arms, facing off against my nearly six year old. “Are you serious? Do you like someone?”

She turns and carries on walking, all regal, leaving me to follow. “No. I just want to know if I can.”

I catch her lightly on the shoulder to get her to stop. “Ada, honey. You can like whoever you want, boys or girls. But I really hope when you do, you’ll tell me about it. There’s more to liking someone than which bathroom they use.”

She scrunches her eyebrows in earnest confusion. “Like what?”

I look at the sky and try to think. “Like if they’re worth liking. If they’re a good person and can make you laugh. If they’re honest, or kind or nice to…” I flounder. “Old people.”

Her eyebrows are really scrunched now. “Why should I care if they’re nice to old people?”

I rub my face, because I was not expecting to have a deep discussion about relationships right now. “Bad example. But you should care about the kind of person they are, is what I’m saying.”

She nods uncertainly, but I know she’s processing the words. Sometimes, she can be so serious.

“And they should like who you really are, as in, you never have to pretend around them.” I add for good measure. I think I’ve covered the main points.

“I don’t pretend for anyone.” She tells me with her chin in the air.

I stifle a chuckle, because her pride is bulletproof sometimes.

“Good. That’s my girl.” I say, fluffing her hair. She catches my hand and grips it, holding it the rest of the way home.

-8-

I successfully avoid my laptop until the middle of the next day, when I have to use it to pull up coursework that I can’t fudge my way through. Some people might say this is bad teaching others might say this exactly teaching.

I manage to completely ignore all the glaring message notifications in my inbox so that I can focus on teaching. Though, when I say focus, I actually mean like eighty percent of my attention is in class. The other twenty percent...is elsewhere.

Since the unfortunate incident, I’ve been jumping between feeling horribly guilty for lying and flirting, feeling righteously angry and indignant that he called even though I asked him not to, and basically beating myself up for being so fucking stupid as to leave my laptop there in the first place.

Things would end now. I knew they would. They had to. He had said before he hated liars. That was me to a T. But I was just kind of horribly disappointed because the fact was I had a crush and now my crush hated me.

Kind of sucked. But I had brought it on myself.

Not like anything was going to ever happen anyways.

The bell rings and the students shuffle out, and internally I’m sighing hugely because it’s my free period and I can breathe for the next forty minutes. As they leave, they drop their homework assignments on my desk and I nod to them vaguely.

Then Butler arrives.

Butler is not the happiest of kids. He’s got stuff going on at home. He’s not in my homeroom but I have all the details on him, because teachers gossip like tweenage girls. Parent's fighting, being shuffled around from relative to relative...it's not good. And it gives him a shitty attitude. I’m sympathetic to a point, but mostly he's just a brat with money.

He stares me down, a picture of insolence in a ten year old body.

“Butler, do you have your assignment?” I ask him politely, even though I know the answer.

“No.” he sneers. Actually sneers. He learned that somewhere, because it looks ugly on his boyish face.

I sigh and thread my fingers, dealing with him calmly as usual. “You know this will mean a black mark on you for my class. I’m sorry but I can’t not give you one, when everyone else had handed theirs in.”

He often doesn’t give in his homework, so this is nothing new. Even though he’s unpleasant, I try to give him leeway. But now he just grows angrier.

“I don’t have to do anything for a f-faggot.”

The word comes out of his mouth unpracticed, and he stumbles over it, like he’s trying it out. I freeze and blink at him slowly.

“Where did you learn that word, Butler?” I ask quietly.

He lifts his chin even higher in a gesture of false bravado. I can see he feels awkward now, his eyes are darting left and right even though he tries to hold my eye. But he won’t back down.

“My dad told me you’re an f-faggot and I shouldn’t have to listen to you.”

I close my eyes for a moment and gather myself. When I open them I try to be calm and non-threatening.

“Regardless of what your father says, I am still one of your teachers and you still have to do the work set by me. And I would advise you to stop using that word, Butler. It’s an ugly thing to say and a dangerous word to use in the wrong company. If I hear it again, I will report you.”

His chin is wobbling a bit now, and he is already curling in on himself. Under all that attitude, is just a kid who is used to being cowed. Even if the words are soft. That makes my heart drop.

“You’re excused, Butler. I expect the assignment tomorrow.” I say, and he gratefully escapes the room. I sink back into my seat.

I’ve had to deal with this kind of thing before, but the school here has been amazing. When word came out that I was gay, there were predictably some parents who had problems. The usual, narrow minded, hateful kind. But the school wouldn’t budge. I have their support and I know I’m lucky.

But it doesn’t stop them from passing it on to their kids.

The whole experience leaves me feeling shakier than I want to admit, and I’ve almost forgotten about the awaiting messages. When my eyes are drawn to the flashing urgency of the unread messages in my inbox I click open. Not because I’m hoping for any comfort, but because I’m feeling bleak and running a little on auto-pilot. And when you’re feeling down, you tend to do things that make you feel worse.

I just wanted to get it over with and move on with my life. There’s only three short messages.

Bw07: um ok, that did not go as planned.

Bw07: can we talk?

Bw07: ok, you’re pissed, I’m sorry. I just dialed as a joke and then I thought you were the one picking up and that was so obviously not the case. Anyway, please can we talk?

I’m frowning at the screen. This was not what I was expecting. Outrage, yes. Accusations of betrayal of trust, definitely. Not this. Experimentally, I type a reply, all my work forgotten for the moment.

O: hey.

About ten minutes later, while I was scrolling blankly through the book of face, I get a reply.

Bw07: hey! You’re online!

I grin, but I’m still cautious.

O: uh, yes. Obviously.

Bw07: don’t act like you haven’t been avoiding me.

O: I wasn’t. Because I was absolutely avoiding you.

Bw07: I’m glad you stopped then.

O: I only replied because I’m having a shit moment and felt like making it worse.

………….

Bw07: wait what?

I sit back then, because it suddenly dawns on me that not only is this not going down in flames like I expected it to, it’s remaining alarmingly mundane.

Bw07: listen, I’m in the middle of a recording session. Can we talk later?

I shrug and let loose a disbelieving laugh, even though I have no audience.

O: sure.

Bw07: normal time?

O: yeah ok.

I see his icon blink off, showing he’s offline again and I stare a little.

Wait, what?

-8-

Ada stayed up later than usual tonight for some inexplicable reason known only to the gods and herself, so it’s eight before I get to my laptop. I have a glass of wine at the ready.

The day didn’t really improve. It’s not that things were horrible, just that there are some days where everything is harder than usual to deal with. The subways are too full, dinner burns, no clean underwear. That kind of thing. By the time I’m sitting down, I’m kind of done. Wine is the only thing keeping me sane at this point.

I get a hail as soon as I'm online.

Bw07: are you there?

O: yip yip

Bw07: how are you doing? Still having a shitty day?

I grin humourlessly. Ok we can play ‘avoidance’ if he wants. I’m the pro.

O: pretty much.

Bw07: what happened?

O: just a series of unfortunate events really. Started with a kid calling me names, and just went downhill from there.

Bw07: a kid called you names? Is that allowed?

O: afraid so. Free country and all that. It’s not really his fault, but there’s nothing like second hand bigotry to ruin a day.

Bw07: second hand bigotry?

At this point, I notice my glass is empty. Gosh that was quick. Guess it’s time for a refill.

O: hold on, getting a refill on my wine.

When I came back, I see the message

Bw07: back to wine are we? 

O: some days are wine days. Today is a wine day. No judgy.

Bw07: no judgy at all :)

With a glass and a half of wine in me, and travelling fast to my brain, I throw caution to the wind. 

O: can we just talk about the thing? The elephant in the room?

……..

Bw07: you mean my prank call that ended up a terrible failure?

O: I most certainly feel pranked.

Bw07: :)

Bw07: it wasn’t meant to be. Like I said, it really didn’t go as planned. I’m guessing Ada picked up?

At this point I getting annoyed.

O: look, you don’t have to be nice about it.

Bw07: ?

O: I’m sorry I lied.

I’m so glad to finally type those words.

Bw07: um….what are we talking about here?

Now I pause, because there’s being nice, and there is being dense. Fine, I can be blunt.

O: I’m sorry I lied and didn’t tell you I was a guy.

The pause goes on too long and I not sure what to say, so I fill it with drunk nonsense.

O: I knew you thought i was a woman for a while, but at first it didn’t matter cos well…it didn’t. And then after a whil it felt like lying but then it felt like it was too late to say annything so right now, I’m a bit surprised cos I srsly thought you were going to rip me a new one and here you are being nice and acting like it’s just a misunderstanding. I’m feeling kind of off kilter about all of this.

O: there was an apology in there somewhere.

O: anyway sorry.

……..

Bw07: ok firstly... grammar?

I looked sceptically at my glass which was now almost empty. Again. When did that happen?

O: I may be slightly drunk. Wine day.

Bw07: :) secondly, why did you think I thought you were a woman?

Wait what?

I type back quickly and curse when I keep having to retype, since I’m now hyper aware of my spelling.

O: you mean, why did I think that you seeing me in person for the first time sent you into a state of shock and horror?

Bw07: lol. I’m really laughing now. What shock and horror?

O: I saw your face!

…………….

Bw07: :)

Bw07: I was in shock because when you picked up I thought I was going to see your face or something and what I actually saw was you in your kitchen (?) singing aloud to Sinatra (?) making breakfast (?) and wearing a t-shirt and boxers for about a minute before you actually noticed me.

Bw07: it was a sight to behold.

O: earth swallow me now.

No really. I’ve fetched a pillow from the couch and I’m groaning into it so I don’t wake Ada. It’s a while before I’m composed enough to return to the keyboard. I pour myself glass #3 and take a deep drink before replying.

O: so you’ve known how long?

Bw07: a while I guess. I didn’t know you were trying to hide it.

O: I wasn’t! It just got complicated. How did you know?

Bw07: we were chatting about Ada once and you said something about you being a dad and I went from that.

I smack my forehead with my hand. I’m an idiot. I think that was the one other drunk conversation I’ve had with Hale. It also means that he’s known since forever basically. And I’ve been twisting myself in knots because I thought he thought I was a woman and we were being all flirty…

Hang on.

O: so you aren’t horrified that I’m a man?

Bw07: why would I be?

I’m really going to have to say it, aren’t I? Can I even say it? Am I letting my crush get the better of me and being like a fucking teenage girl?

O: because you wanted to know if I was cute.

There. That’s safe enough right? He did say that once.

The three little dancing dots that indicate he’s typing a reply last forever.

Bw07: you mean because we’ve been flirting like crazy?

Shit. Yes. Actually that’s exactly why. At least I know it wasn’t my imagination.

O: yup.

Bw07: I still want to know.

Bw07: if you’re cute.

Is this guy for real?

O: is that right?

Bw07: well, I did see you sort of. But whenever I think about that call, I keep seeing boxers with little red rocket ships on them.

O: OH MY GOD

I’m dying. But the line makes me brave. Or stupid. Take your pick.

I click the call icon, and goddamit if Hale doesn’t pick up almost instantly.

And there he is. It’s night time there too, wherever that is and he’s so clearly not wearing even a shirt it’s not fair. He looks a bit tired, but those fever bright eyes are wide and smiling.

“Finally.” He says.