Zenobia July

by Lisa Bunker

  Arli and Zen conversed with their eyes. How to handle this? Arli said cautiously, “That might be just a rumor, I think.”

  The subject needed to be changed, and Zen remembered a happy piece of business. “Hey,” she said. “Everyone. I have an important announcement. My Aunties are holding a Halloween party this weekend, and they said I could invite whoever I want.”

  “Yes!” said Arli, pumping veir fist.

  “They really get into it, I guess, and have a lot of fun. So . . . wanna come over? Friday night, anytime from six o’clock on.”

  Arli, bouncing up and down, was clearly already ecstatic about the invitation. Clem was smiling and nodding too. “I’ll have to ask the ’rents, but I should be able to,” he said.

  Elijah’s face had closed up, though, and Dyna looked troubled. She said, “Will someone there be drinking alcohol? If so, I do not think my father will give permission.”

  Zen said, “I don’t know. I can ask.” She turned to Elijah, pretty sure she knew the reason for his sudden walled-up expression. “And,” she added, “if anyone starts to feel . . . leaned on . . . by all the people, there are a couple of quiet rooms to go into.” After a few seconds, Elijah did a little nod and whispered, “I can ask.”

  “Good,” said Zen. Still aware of the possibility of conversation getting back to the hacker, she shot Arli a look. Arli, reading it right, brought back the fandom thread by launching into a gush about veir favorite web comic, Novaglyph.

  Once the subject-change was safely locked in, Zen’s gaze wandered back to the clean-cut kids’ table, and she wondered about asking Melissa to the Halloween party too. Even as her mind formed the question, though, she already knew the answer. Melissa was a kind girl in her way, but based on how she had responded to her mother’s instruction about Elijah, Zen couldn’t see how she could fit in at the party. Apparently some divides just couldn’t be bridged. It was sad, but there it was. She turned back to the endless palaver of geekeries and fandoms, and, as lunch period passed, the talk looped and spun on, twining the individual spirals of the five young humans at the table into deeper interweavings of friendship.

  INTERLUDE: SEEING ZEN

  Aunt Lucy

  Having Zenobia come into our home has thrown into stark relief the gap that exists in my life between theory and practice. I work with theory. I feel at home with theory. Real life, I confess, has always felt like more of a challenge than getting deep into ideas and working there.

  But now here’s Zenobia, who knows nothing whatsoever about -isms and -ologies. She is just alive, and trying as hard as she can with all her considerable strength to make sense of her life and to be who she is. It is often painful to watch, because she acts without thinking or just flails her way forward, but for all its human imperfection, her progress is also astonishing to witness. A testament to the power of the human will, even a very young one, when it bends itself unerringly to some difficult purpose.

  Fair to say, I am a creature of routine, and Zen’s presence in our lives has disrupted many routines. At times I have felt imposed upon, and I have sometimes in the privacy of my mind and heart yearned for the time before, or the time it will end. But when can that be? I haven’t broached the subject with Phil yet—I need to meditate on it some more just by myself—but it is becoming increasingly clear to me that the only right thing to do is to adopt the child. To offer to, anyway, and to follow through if she wants to do it. We’re only legal guardians right now. That emergency order. But she deserves a home. All children do.

  And, beyond offering to adopt being the right thing, I just want to. Nothing theoretical about that part. I just do. Because I love her. She does things that make me crazy, but at this point I can’t imagine life without her. What a ragged, painful hole she would leave if she went away. I don’t know if I could bear it.

  And anyway, she has nowhere else to go. Only us. So, yes, soon, there will be some more conversations, I think.

  FIFTY-NINE

  WHEN ZEN TOLD the Aunties that she had invited no fewer than four friends to their Halloween party there was a silence, and she experienced a moment of fear. Was she asking for too much? Would they pull back? But then they were enthusing about the opportunity to meet more of her friends, and she breathed again.

  Not in the clear yet, though. A second moment of trepidation bringing up the issue of alcohol. Aunt Lucy, Zen had observed, relished the wine she sipped most evenings. The question asked, there was another silence to get through; but then Aunt Phil chucked and said, “I guess we’re really finding out what it’s like to be parents, now. The party hijack you can’t refuse, and don’t want to.”

  Hijack struck Zen as a scary word, and she endured one more moment of squirm before Aunt Lucy laughed and said, “It’s going to come as a novelty to some of our other guests, but, sure, if it will help your friends feel welcome, we can make it alcohol-free.”

  By Friday afternoon it was confirmed that all four friends would be coming to the party. As the hour of first arrivals approached, Zen found herself unable to hold still, twitching when spoken to and laughing too hard at anything or nothing. Uncle Sprink was expected first, coming early to help Zen experiment with glam.

  A little sooner than she felt ready, the doorbell rang. Zen opened the door and gasped. An enormous and magnificent woman stood in the foyer. The crown of her teased-up blond hair brushed the ceiling, and she was bedecked in an eye-dazzling expanse of gold lamé, a long purple feather boa, and spangly platform boots with heels at least four inches high. Her face, framed by huge hoop earrings, was a masterpiece of sculptural makeup artistry. The power-glam giantess stuck out one hip, threw her head back, and said in a sultry deep alto, “Hello, darling. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  It took Zen a second to unstick herself. She closed her hanging jaw and said, “Uncle . . . Uncle Sprink?”

  “Call me Sprinkles, tonight, if you don’t mind, love,” said Sprinkles, stalking regally into the apartment. She turned and posed again. “I dressed completely before I came,” she said, “because I thought you might like to see the full effect all at once. And because, every once in a while, I do enjoy walking the streets in full daylight. So: What do you think?”

  Zen stammered, tried a couple of times to talk, and then blushed deeply.

  Sprinkles said, “Darling, you’re making me worry. Is there something wrong with my look? Because I trust your judgment, and if it’s not working, I’ll change it.”

  Zen shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong,” she said. “I think you look . . . I think you look absolutely amazing. I love it!”

  “So what’s the problem, sweetheart? Your face before . . . something was making you unhappy.”

  “Not you,” Zen said. She groped for words. “Seriously, not you. It’s just . . . Do you mind . . . Would it be okay if we don’t do me the same? Because, now that I see, I don’t think that’s going to work for me. At all.”

  Sprinkles gave her an eyebrows-up frown. Zen couldn’t tell whether it was real or put on. She tried again to explain. “Because . . . now that I see . . . I just don’t think it would feel right. I don’t want to be . . . a goddess. I just want to be me.”

  Sprinkles laughed at goddess. She tossed the feather boa back and said, “All right, sugar. No problem. We can figure something else out.”

  “Thank you,” Zen said. Then she laughed too. “Arli is going to absolutely love you!”

  When Aunt Phil understood a last-minute costume substitution was needed, she led Zen through the curtain into the Aunties’ bedroom for some closet-rummaging. While that was going on, Zen noticed something she hadn’t seen before: a black-and-white photograph on the dresser. She stepped close. Two women gazed out of the frame at her, caught at a tilt in a moment of laughter amidst action. It took Zen a moment to realize she was looking at her Aunties when they were younger. Unlined faces. Strong white teeth. Fierce power
shining out of their eyes. Behind her, Aunt Phil said, “Yep, that’s us. Been a while.”

  Zen turned and looked at the older, much more worn face before her. What had this person seen? What had she lived through? Zen suddenly felt very young, and a bit abashed. “You look . . . um . . . so alive,” she said.

  Aunt Phil liked that. “Yep,” she said. “Then, and now, and all the time in between getting from there to here. The endless dance.”

  They shared a smile, then got back to rummaging. Aunt Phil stopped at a rough homespun-cloth skirt dyed in colorful rainbow stripes. She pulled it out and held it up, her brow wrinkled. “Well now,” she said. “Funny, finding this, right after looking at that picture. Do you like it?”

  Zen nodded.

  “Wear this, you could be an Aquarian. A flower child.”

  Zen nodded again, feeling the wanting-to rise up in her.

  “It’s Lu’s. Hold on a second.” Aunt Phil turned to the archway and called, “Lu!”

  Aunt Lucy came in, wearing the suit and tie that were her getup for the night. “Yes?” she said.

  Aunt Phil held up the skirt. Zen said tentatively, “For my costume? I was thinking maybe I could be a flower child?”

  Aunt Lucy stepped forward and fingered the fabric of the skirt. “My goodness,” she said. Her face had gone thoughtful, almost sad. “I didn’t know I still had that.” Her eyes came to Zen’s, and she said, “I wore this skirt when we marched after Harvey Milk was shot. Do you know who he was?”

  Zen looked down at the floor and said, “I’m sorry, no.”

  “He was one of the most important . . . Yes, you know, now is perhaps not the best time for a history lesson. It can wait. You’ll learn.” Zen remained mute. A silence. Then Aunt Lucy, with a touch of roughness in her voice, said, “Zenobia. My dear Zen. If you would like to have this skirt, I would be honored to pass it on to you.”

  Zen looked up again, eyes wide. “Oh! Um . . . well, that’s really . . . What I mean is, if you want to give it to me, I would be honored to receive it. Thank you.”

  Aunt Lucy smiled. “Good.” Were those agate eyes moist? Zen’s certainly were. Impulsively, she darted forward and hugged her tall aunt, who, more quickly and naturally than other times, hugged back. From the embrace Zen glanced at Aunt Phil, who looked on, smiling. Zen realized something, and said, “You’re not wearing a costume?”

  Aunt Phil ran her hand through her red-orange-yellow crest, then back along the close-shaved gray sides. Her fingers brushed the many earrings. “Honeybunch, I’m kinda sorta always in costume,” she said.

  SIXTY

  A FLURRY OF flower-girl-outfit construction, with makeup help from Sprinkles, topped off by the Grandma Gail earrings. On final inspection, the cross pendant looked out of place, so she detached the chain, lowered the cross gently onto the little table by her bed, and pooled the chain over and around it. The doorbell rang. Zen ran to open it. Arli and Clem stood on the front porch, and Dyna could be seen walking up the block behind them.

  Giddy greetings, introductions, inquiries about costumes. Arli’s needed explaining—a character from veir web comic. Clem had done a half vampire, half werewolf. Dyna had found a hijab with cat’s ears. The bell rang again, and Elijah was there, dressed as a used-car salesman, with a loud checked jacket and a plastic cigar.

  And then the happy hubbub of a good party in full swing was happening all around. Arli, as Zen had predicted, immediately attached veirself to Sprinkles. Aunt Lucy began a conversation with Dyna, reminding her of their mall encounter. Aunt Phil was being kind to Elijah, coaxing him farther in with talk of treats in the kitchen. The bell rang again, and other Auntie-friends joined them. Someone turned on the radio. The DJ on WYZA was playing wacky old Halloween songs.

  Half an hour in, Zen suddenly felt her chest go tight. Alarmed, she retreated to the bathroom and closed the door. She leaned against it and worked to get her breath back. It didn’t matter who the other people were—when the introvert buffers were full, they were full.

  As her body began to unclench she tuned in to the voices on the other side of the door. She heard Clem’s bizarre laugh, mixed with Aunt Phil’s deep chuckle. She heard the distinctive rhythm and cadence of Aunt Lucy explaining something. Closer, she heard Arli say distinctly, “Ex. Cell. Ent!” In the background, other voices chattered and laughed.

  Zen drew a shuddery breath, surprised by a sudden uprush of happiness so intense it hurt. The lovely humans on the other side of the door: they were there because of her. She had brought them together. She connected them all. And, just for this moment, she was apart but close, listening to them find each other.

  A tear pooled at the corner of her eye. Solicitous of makeup artistry, she blotted it carefully with a tissue. Then, with the least amount of fear she could recall feeling since moving to this new place and life, she faced the mirror.

  All girl? Meh? Maybe? Her eyes ran the gamut of problem spots, and, yeah, when she looked for them, she could see them. But for once it didn’t seem to matter. She was in costume, among welcoming hearts. At least for this little stretch of time, it felt safe to stop thinking about how she looked to the world. For once it felt like she could just be.

  Zenobia July took in and blew out three long breaths. She smiled at herself in the mirror, then smiled more at how pretty the smile was. She checked her costume one more time. She reached up and gently touched the beautiful old earrings her grandmother had given her. Then she put her shoulders back, lifted her chin, turned to the door, opened it, and stepped back out among the people she loved, to be with them and one of them, into the warmth and music and joy of what was starting to feel very much like a family.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lisa Bunker lives in Exeter, New Hampshire. Before taking up writing full time, she had a thirty-year career in public and community radio. In November of 2018, she was elected to represent her town in the New Hampshire House of Representatives. She is married and has two grown children. Her geekeries include chess, piano, gender, storycraft, and language.

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