My eyes slowly open around five in the afternoon. The night is about to begin. I let out a slow and long exhale as I force myself to my feet. I promptly strip my bed then myself. Everything needs to be washed. When I’m done becoming squeaky clean I pick up my phone and scroll through all the messages waiting for me. There’s messages from family, separately and in multiple group chats. Mostly it's them talking among themselves and not involving me. Then there’s messages from my mom checking in and asking how work is going. Separate messages from my dad sending me links of things he wants me to buy him on an online shopping app. No messages from my brother. A few from coworkers asking if I want to go out for drinks. My other friends I have made throughout the years ask me if I have any time to meet up during the weekend and then…
Texas: Your voice is deeper than I thought it would be.
My eyes roll so hard my body might start seizing. I can’t reply fast enough because I have heard so many variations of this that it immediately pisses me off.
Me: It’s almost as if the testosterone did what it’s supposed to.
There’s a delay in his message, those three annoying dots of doom appearing then disappearing. He is the world worst fucking texter, I swear to God. Not that it means anything. I gave up on God a long time ago.
Texas: Do I offend you?
Me: Constantly.
I lay across my couch, holding my phone in one hand while slowly running my fingers along the scars on my chest with my free hand. I will never get over the fact that I can exist in any space in simply just sweatpants. I almost drop the phone on my face as it rings when Texas suddenly calls me.
“W-what?” A stutter slips out from the shock of the call instead of a text.
“I’m not good at picking up tones or intent through text and I don’t want this to get lost in translation. This is all new to me and I am trying my best.” His words seem rushed from nerves.
“Why?” My tone is flat. I don’t understand why he is even trying. We don’t have to know each other. We don’t have to be friends. He obviously has some sort of issue with me being trans since he’s been acting weird or awkward as fuck when it comes to the fucking subject.
“I guess over the years I have developed some sort of parasocial relationship with you through Arturo and I know that’s not right or fair to you but I miss it… since he’s been gone it feels like there’s now two big holes in my heart. It’s stupid and weird but I can’t help how I feel.” The words flow out from his mouth uncontrollably like vomit. “When I found his phone and saw your contact and messages. It felt like a piece of him returned and the prospect of being able to reach out to you made me feel not so… alone.” He paused then sighed deeply, “I guess I’m lonely.” His voice was sad. I understood feeling alone all too well.
A silence filled the space between us as it always did. This time it wasn’t awkward. It was filled with sorrow.
“But I’m not the person you thought I was.” I remind him.
“You couldn’t have changed that much… you’re still… you, aren’t you?” His voice was filled with uncertainty.
“Honestly…” I don’t know why but his question prompted a weight to be released from my chest as I replied. “I don’t know anymore… I don’t know who I am or what I want. I thought I knew but…” I sighed, unable to finish the thought or sentence.
“Do you regret…” He searched for the right wording almost as though he had recently read up on the subject of transgender people. “The transition?” He questioned and it didn’t feel like it was negative, just curious.
“My transition? No, not at all. It’s more like… you fight for something for so long. You fight for acceptance, you fight for medical care, you fight and fight…” How do I explain it? I had no idea. I was trying my best. “I’m not used to the peace… there’s nothing left to fight for. I got used to fighting so the end result is unsettling. Life is too quiet.”
He began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” My stomach dropped suddenly at the thought of him making fun of me.
“Believe me, I get it…” His tone softened, “You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?” It was more of a statement rather than a question. “I can’t stand silence now either. It makes me uneasy. I guess I thrive in chaos.” He was the one to let out a sigh now, “Although, chaos is a double-edged sword for me because it also stresses me the fuck out. It doesn’t make sense.” He laughed unironically.
“Shit rarely does.”
“Mhm. What are you up to?” He asked, quickly changing the subject before the conversation got any heavier.
“Nothing. Why?” I stared up at the ceiling. The conversation seemed to be flowing oddly naturally. It felt like we had known each other for longer than basically half a day? Somehow he was pretty easy to talk to. At least when it was over a voice call and not text messages.
“Call to Honor?”
I slowly sat up from the couch. “Yeah, sure.”
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