“So Ben… ” Erica said. I could hear the smile in her words, which made me picture her face as it was the last time we'd seen each other. 

It had been a small smile, one with a measure of melancholy. It had been accompanied by an unusually quiet farewell as she stepped into the line for her bus home. At the time, I had gone home wondering why the goodbye had felt so off. The Monday I returned to school had left me with the answer.

“So Erica… “ I parroted, feeling a little awkward.

“It’s been a while," Erica said in a tone I couldn't quite place.

“Yeah,” I replied, then figured I should say more, “So you watch Brit too, huh?”

“Yep. I've been a fan for a few years.”

“That’s a pretty crazy coincidence,” I said, somewhat forcing an awkward chuckle, then realized I should elaborate, “-That we ran into each other, I mean.”

“I’m glad we did,” Erica replied warmly, “By the way, I go by Nat now. Short for Natalie.”

“Oh wow, I like that name,” I said. The words had come out without thought, and manifested as more of a mumble reflecting my immediate reaction.

“Thanks! So do I!” Erica-or rather, Natalie-said, pride in her tone, “I also use they/them pronouns too and identify as non-binary.”

"What made you decide to do all of that?" I asked.

"Change my name and go non-binary?"

"Yeah," I nodded, even though I didn't have a camera on.

"It's a really long story that I don't feel like telling right now.”

“Gotcha. That’s fair,” I nodded again.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry! I didn’t ask what your pronouns are-I just assumed!”

“Oh, no- It’s okay. Use whatever is easiest for you. I don’t really care. Just as long as I know you’re talking to or about me,” I shrugged.

“Oh! Are you genderfluid?”

“Not really. To be honest, I don’t really get the whole concept of gender. Like, It’s kinda all just arbitrary, right? Like, I get it if someone wants to identify a certain way- I have no problem with that- With how you express yourself. I just don’t understand the necessity to label that behavior as masculine or feminine or whatever else. Like, why do we have to assign labels to everything? Yeah, they can be useful sometimes, but I feel like there’s an overreliance on them- especially when it comes to socially constructed stuff like gender and relationships. It feels, like, artificial or contrived, you know what I mean?"

“Hmm… Yeah, I get what you mean. Sometimes it does get a little confusing and vague. But It can also be really liberating to be able to define yourself. Sure, gender as a concept is, like, hard to define, but, like, I think that’s the wrong way to look at it. Like, instead of thinking about it as a vague concept that’s hard to define you should think of it as a definition in and of itself. Gender identity is how people define themselves. At least, that’s how it is for me. It doesn’t have to mean anything to anyone but you because you don’t choose your identity for other people, you choose it for yourself. Yeah, it is artificial and contrived. That’s the point. It’s you having agency over yourself and your identity. You’re not letting the way other people see you affect how you see yourself.”

I leaned back in my chair, blinking a few times, “Wow… I never thought about it that way. That actually makes a lot of sense…”

“Did I just blow your mind?”

“A little bit, yeah,” I said, then smirked as a thought crossed my mind, “It’s like your character customization," I voiced it absentmindedly.

Natalie erupted into laughter, “Oh my god, that’s so good! I’m totally stealing that!”

Like a wolf joining the howls of another I laughed as well, amused at their amusement.

“You can’t steal it if I give it to you!” I challenged as I snapped my fingers into a finger gun.

“Oh, you’re so generous!” Natalie replied. I could imagine them sticking their tongue out at me the way they always used to do.

“I know, I’m such a charitable man,” I said with all the drama of a thespian.

“A Saint!” Natalie said with equal drama. “So, what have you been up to these past few years, mister Charity Man?"

"Oh… Uh…" 

I began playing a highly-abridged version of the events that had proceeded our last contact in my head. 

"After I graduated I started working at Spoon. You know that cafe near my house? I worked there for a year-and-a-half," I began.

I don't know why I had lied to Natalie. Perhaps it was because I felt some sort of shame, or maybe it was because I was afraid that they would judge or think less of me. Either way, I couldn't bring myself to tell them that I had dropped out. Twice.

I had decided to leave out the part about the month of depression I'd experienced after they had vanished from my life too. I didn't want to sour the mood, nor did I wish to make it appear as though I was harboring any resentment to them. I was sure they would eventually explain themself.

I continued, "I left Spoon because management was pretty terrible. Plus, I found a better job at Harvest Valley. Pretty convenient since I could get all the grocery shopping done for my parents while I was there."

"Oh, nice! Did you get discounts too?"

"Yeah, the ID they had me clock in with doubled as a discount coupon. It wasn't that big of a discount, but it started adding up. I worked there for about two years until I got tired of being scheduled with too many back-to-back close-opens."

"Hate that," Natalie commented.

"Yeah, me too. In my free time while I was working I picked up video editing and started making videos on YouTube. Most of the stuff I've been doing the past couple of years have been compilation videos of a bunch of streamers."

"Ooh! What's your channel name?"

"Chaotic Compilations," I answered.

There was a brief silence before Natalie spoke again, "20k subs? That's pretty good!"

I shrugged, "I guess. I don't really care that much about subscribers, honestly. I just like making the videos."

"That's respectable. These videos are long too! Two hours, one hour fifty, one hour fourty-three, two hours twelve…"

"Yeah, they're a lot of work," I admitted, "They're not monetized either."

"Why not?"

I shrugged again, "I don't really feel like it. I guess I don't feel right about making money off of someone else's content."

"That's fair," Natalie said, "Do you still live with your parents?"

"Yeah, but I think I'm gonna move out soon. I love them and all, but I really think it's time to fly the coop. I feel kind of out of place here now that I'm in my twenties, you know what I mean?"

“Oh yeah! I one hundred percent get that!”

"What about you?" I asked.

"I moved out almost three years ago."

I felt a twinge of a feeling I couldn't describe. Somewhere between guilt, jealousy, and regret, beginning in my chest and moving to my stomach where it sat, churning. Sort of hot, sort of cold and very uncomfortable.

"That's pretty cool," I said as naturally as I could, "How does it feel to be on your own?"

"If you mean away from my parents," Natalie emphasized the next words, "Fucking. Amazing."

I regretted asking the question upon hearing their answer, another twinge hitting me.

Natalie continued, "To be completely honest, I hated living with those boomers. They never knocked before they barged in my room and they always asked me way too many invasive questions. The final straw was when they grilled me about the binder they found while snooping through my room. Like, seriously? That's so fucking rude! It's not your shit! You have no business being in my room! I just stormed out of the house and walked to the mall. That's where I met The Crew-the people I moved in with."

"Oh, so you have roommates?"

"Yeah. Five. Six including me."

My eyes widened, "Wow. That's a lot of people in one house."

"You'd think so, but it's not really as chaotic as you'd expect. Everyone has their own rooms and a lot of the time not everyone is in the house at once because they're at work or something."

"How big is this place you're in?" I asked, making no attempt to hide my shock.

"Uh… I don't know the square-footage, but it's two stories, six bedrooms, and three bathrooms. Plus a pool and a decently big backyard."

Were they living in a mansion? What did the rent look like? Where did they live? There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I suppressed them. They didn't seem appropriate, nor did they matter.

I decided to change the subject, trying to separate the conversation from one I deemed too uncomfortable to have. "What do you do for work?"

"I'm a clerk at Walmart. Not very exciting, I know, but it gets the bills paid," Natalie chuckled, "What about you?"

"Flippin' bungers at the clown house," I replied playfully.

"Ah, fast food. That's a job I don't miss. I used to work at Burger King when I first moved here and every day it was something new with the manager. She always loved to start shit with the night crew or make drama where there was none. She bragged about the supposed fights-fistfights-she would get into outside of work but we all knew she was lying. She also did the-and when I say this, I mean it-BARE MINIMUM. Go off, I guess, but it's like, why even show up with that annoying fake smile when we all know you hate our guts, right?"

I chuckled, knowing all too well what Natalie was talking about, "Yeah, people like that need to grow up. They're still stuck in highschool and make everyone miserable trying to pull them in too. I mean really, when you start literally yelling at the sixteen-year-old about petty stuff like what order they ask questions to the customers, you know you're not fit to be in a management position."

"Spoon?" Natalie asked knowingly.

"The clown house," I corrected as a grin formed on my face.

"Oh dear."