Freakboy (17 page)

everyone's just hangin' around.

I can tell it's a lot for this kid to take in.

Looks like he wants to run

so I tell the other intern, Lisa,

to take the front desk,

and I challenge him to Mario Kart.

I figured him for a gamer

and I'm right.

Kid hesitates, then,

                “I guess.”

We wait for Tiffany and Eric

to finish their DDR

so we can have a turn

with the GameCube,

and we talk game talk.

Halo and Call of Duty,

Gears of War, Assassin's Creed,

Dead Space, BioShock.

And we talk platforms.

Xbox 360, PlayStation 3,

Wii. And PC games Warcraft,

Half-Life, Command
&
Conquer.

“
You're
a gamer?” he asks.

Emphasis on “You're.”

I'm not the

stereotype PoPo,

girls can be gamers, too

but I get he has no

idea I'm trans.

“My little brother used to beat me—

then I spent about

four months laid up and

I got really good.”

Quirky smile from him.

Almost smart-ass?

                    “Really good, huh?”

I know a challenge when I hear one.

“It's so on.”

Eric finishes his dance

and steps aside.

I set up Mario Kart and

away we go.

The kid picks Yoshi

so I take Princess Peach

and I beat him two out of three.

We're done and

just kind of chatting

when I mention

coming to Willows

around his age,

looking for a healthy

trans community.

His eyes get wide,

then he nods,

glances at the other kids.

Shifty, like

he's not sure

about this place.

                    “I have to get home,”

                    he says.

I walk him to the door.

“Come back and see us anytime.”

                    “Maybe,” he says,

                    hand on the doorknob.

And I can tell he's never comin' back.

And I don't know if it's 'cause

he makes me think of Frankie

or if it's God tellin' me

this kid needs a friend.

We're not supposed to have private

contact with the kids at the center

and I do something I
wouldn't

if I didn't know sure as shit

Brendan's never gonna be a client here.

“Okay then—

you still have my number?”

He looks surprised,

even more nervous,

and I realize the kid

didn't think I would

remember him.

“Tell you what.”

I grab paper,

write down my info.

“Call me when the next

Mordock's Giant comes out.

I'll play you.”

Of course I want to

help him if he needs it

but also, between school, work, interning

—being all-around productive Angel—

I forgot how much

I love gaming.

(BRENDAN)

Q
Is for Question

(Holy crap!)

Angel is transgender!

She's feminine and beautiful

and easy to talk to.

And there's so much I want to ask—

like how do you know what's right?

What if you aren't always sure?

What if there are days when being a guy

only kind of tortures you?

And you just don't see yourself

as a supergirly girl?

(And how did you beat level five

in Machines at War?)

What does it mean that even if this body

doesn't feel like the right one,

high heels and dresses

aren't really for you either?

What if sometimes you feel like

you're pretending to be male but

you don't want to feel like

you're pretending to be female?

(Are you alone in this?)

And how can you keep

who you really are from

hurting your girlfriend?

Funny Timing That Boys' Night Out

falls on the day

I visit an LGBTQ center.

It starts with a two-hour drive

to Honda Center in Anaheim.

Just me and Claude the Interloper,

who wants to get sushi on the way

even though I try to convince him

that getting crappy food

at the arena

is part of the hockey experience.

          “Your coach won't be too happy

          if you don't make weight.”

Like he knows anything about it.

I know to the ounce what I weigh.

          “Sashimi's pure protein, on

          the other hand,” he says.

As if it's news to me.

          “Also, this will give us

          more guy time.”

Exactly.

I study the menu like I care.

Order hot tea

so I'll have something to drink

while Claude the Interloper has sake.

          “How's the girlfriend?”

“Fine.”

          “She seems nice.”

“Yep.”

          “Which school is your first choice?”

“No idea.”

          “How's the new semester?”

“Fine, I guess.”

It feels like an awkward date.

I'm not trying to be difficult—

I just have no idea what to say to him.

At least in the car we could listen to

the radio.

Claude falls quiet. Then—

          “You still miss your dad.”

I wasn't expecting this.

Tea burns my tongue.

          “To a certain extent that's normal.

          But at some point

          you have to man up.

          Accept it, and don't be a baby.”

He sips his sake like he's said

nothing offensive.

          “I know you didn't choose me

          but I'm here for you, like a dad.”

I don't need a father.

My blood bubbles low but no way

am I letting him see that.

I order four of the most

expensive rolls on the menu.

When we leave for the arena

I've tasted two. In silence.

And refused to let the waitress

wrap the rest to take home.

An asshole, wasteful move

that's rewarded by a

tightening in the jaw

of the Interloper.

(Vanessa)

Before Bed

I break down

and call Brendan

(
Get out of my head,

Grand-maman
)

ask about the hockey game and …

“I thought maybe we

could hang out tomorrow?”

             “It's Tuesday,” he says.

He babysits while his parents

are at rehearsal.

“I could stop by.”

I'm careful not to whine

that we've not hung out in a week.

             “I have to do a bunch of stuff.”

It feels like a slap. I react—

“There's something

you're not

telling me.”

Once the words are

out, I hold my breath.

             This is it.

For some reason

I check the clock

on my nightstand.

11:55. My heart beats,

sad, muffled.

11:56.

                            “I love you,” he says.

I'm waiting for the “but.”

                            “I'm just having a

                            crappy time right now.”

So am I, I want to tell him.

                            “And I can't talk about it.”

There doesn't seem

to be room

for more than

one person's problems

in our Nation of Two.

More silence …

Finally,

                          “I have to go.”

                          His voice drops.

                          “I DO love you.”

We hang up.

At least I didn't beg.

(BRENDAN)

Tuesday After Practice

I buy Mordock's Giant.

Courtney's in bed,

Mom and the Interloper are gone,

and Angel comes over.    
S h e

sounded happy when I called,

and through the guilt of

blowing off Vanessa, I'm glad.

Hanging with

Angel is great—it    
d o e s n' t

feel weird to sit in

the family room

playing games.

I'm so completely

comfortable I forget

she's not Andy and when

she takes an easy point

I give her a    
p u s h
.

She laughs.

Even so—

I don't tell her

for real

what's up with    
m e
.

We take a break

from Mordock, grab food,

talk about nothing some more.

She checks out    
m y

RPGs, pulls Renegade Road

from the shelf and

for a minute    
g u i l t

crashes the party.

            “You like this one?”

The cover shows a

bashed-in storefront window

and the burnt    
r e m a i n s

of a cop car.

“Nah,” I tell her,

the back of my neck hot

remembering

that window    that night    that word.

I take it from her

stick it at the back

where it'll be    
h i d d e n

behind other games.

The rest of the night

is good though,

and when she leaves

I go up to my closet.

Heeding the Call

of the forbidden.

Wearing the bra feels

more natural now—

my body right

my soul at home.

And I let go of worry

for a few minutes.

The dread of upcoming

wrestling matches.

The nagging feeling

I won't get into any schools.

I relax as Larissa

in a way I can't as Brendan.

(Is that schizophrenic?)

I'm a little trans

but I think I can

keep it under control.

Hope licks away

at the rough spots.

Living That Part in Secret

And being Brendan-the-guy

in everyday life.

Mondays,

get set and go days.

Homework planning

for the week.

He's a studious guy.

Tuesdays,

Angel game days.

Parents out

Court in bed

play and talk and eat.

She brings up Willows.

Brendan-the-everyday-guy

changes the subject.

Wednesdays,

wrestling-match days

home or away

slick, sweaty,

furious, fast,

he wins more often now.

Thursdays,

family “together” days

means he's captive in the living room

while SpongeBob reruns loop.

Fridays,

Vanessa days

Mono Cove

salty sweet

tender taste.

Just a regular guy and his girl.

Saturdays,

chore days

mowing, weeding;

the Interloper

calls him “man.”

Sundays,

Andy days

too-much-girlfriend-Lindy detail:

            “Her tit fills my palm perfectly.”

And Brendan-the-everyday-guy grunts

the way he's supposed to.

He goes to school,

hangs with Vanessa,

sits down at the table

with his family,

reads bedtime stories

to his sister,

and dreams of the

freedom

that's his

at night

                      alone.

(Angel)

Thank You, God, for Everything