by Xan West
“Yes, but I haven’t gotten to yet. I’ve never been with a dominant who wanted tea service.”
“So you aren’t doing service now, for me?”
“Oh, no. I would never do service for someone without their knowledge and consent. That’s…well, that’s not service. Dominant consent is a critical piece of service.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. Some folks don’t get that,” she said, her voice stern.
“I’m a survivor. Consent is super important to me.”
“Me too. On both counts.”
They nodded at each other and focused on finalizing the guest list and menu.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Ernest called for a cab and packed up the leftovers. He was going to see Nora’s place for the first time. They’d generally gone out to restaurants, or spent time here. He was interested to see what her place was like.
The first thing Ernest noticed was the way it felt spacious. Full of air, full of room, full of light. He was used to apartments that were more like caves, but this was like an open expanse. It had big windows and was on the top floor, with a skylight. The furniture wasn’t especially fancy, but the spacious feel of the apartment, all the light, made him think that she probably came from money; a teacher’s salary, even a tenured teacher, wouldn’t have made this possible, he figured.
Ernest didn’t have to shift around anything to get through the space, wasn’t worried about knocking things over, tripping on anything or bumping into the sharp edges of furniture. There didn’t seem to be sharp edges anywhere, or even that much furniture. Not that it was empty, just that…it wasn’t crowded. Not even the kitchen, he noted, as he dropped off the bags on the counter. There were clear pathways all throughout the place, and the only thing he might come close to tripping over was the gloriously fat fluffy grey kitty that Nora had introduced as The Divine Ms. M., and immediately went to feed, because who could deny a cat named after Bette Middler for even a second?
She told him to sit while she fed the cat, so he tried out the sofa. It was higher than what he was used to, but the material was slightly fuzzy and felt good to touch. Nora moved differently here, and he tried to sort out what it was. Her shoulders were lower, and broader somehow. Her arms were different, but he couldn’t quite figure out how. Her belly seemed bigger, which was really a puzzle. How could that be? He closed his eyes and tried to remember her moving in his apartment, at restaurants, at the cupcake place. Then he opened them and watched her move toward him, a bag around her wrist.
Nora sat next to him, taking off her boots, and placing them in the corner next to the couch, then taking two cans of seltzer out of the bag.
“I’ve got lime and raspberry.”
Ernest took the lime one as Nora made herself comfortable on the couch.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what’s different about you here,” he said.
“Ah. What did you notice?”
“Well. You seem to be moving differently, holding yourself differently. You feel different. I haven’t really figured it out.”
“No? I bet you noticed more specifics than that. Are you worrying about being blunt again, Ernest?”
“Um. Maybe?”
“You have my permission to be blunt.”
“Okay.” He took a breath. “You seem bigger. Fatter, yes, but also just…bigger in all the ways you are. If that makes sense.”
She gave him the best smile. He felt full of bubbles again, just like at the cupcake shop.
“This is home,” she said, and he thought she might leave it at that. But after a couple seconds, she continued. “I don’t have to be careful in how I move because I set up the space so it can really hold me, is accessible. I can relax. Not worry about bumping into things, knocking things over, tripping and falling, trying to fit into spaces that weren’t made for bodies like mine. That’s a big part of it.”
“I was thinking that, too, that I didn’t need to try to be careful of those things myself.”
“Oh, I’m glad. I want my home to be a place where you can just be.”
She what? Ernest wasn’t sure what she meant. He turned so he could watch her face when she spoke.
“You do?”
She smiled, and it was a new kind of smile, a bit sad around the edges. “Yes, Ernest. I want you to feel like you can just be, in my home. Be all of who you are.”
“Oh. I. Okay.”
“That’s the other thing you’re seeing, probably, when you say I seem bigger. I am all of myself here.”
Ernest nodded, his eyes fixed on her mouth.
“And since I’m a top-leaning switch, and this is, well, my domain so to speak…more of my dominance shows, when I’m here. Unless I’m feeling especially submissive, that is. And I’m not feeling submissive at the moment, at all. Part of what you’re seeing is more of my dominance coming through.”
Ernest felt himself go still. He was staring, he knew he was staring at her mouth, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Or move. He was holding his breath somehow, too. Though he hadn’t decided to. It had just happened.
A languorously slow smile slid onto her face. It made Ernest feel warm, like it was sunlight on his skin. He could drift in the light of her smile forever. All he wanted to do was to make her smile again.
“Ernest.” His name was beautiful on her lips in that moment. “Ernest, darlin’. We need to stop, okay?”
No, that didn’t seem okay. Her voice became very firm, edging on stern. “Ernest, I need you to breathe for me.”
He could do that. He closed his eyes, taking slow breaths, counting. When he opened them, her face looked different. She had stopped smiling. She didn’t feel as big, either. That wasn’t right. He didn’t want her to not be big here. This was her place, she should be able to be herself.
He wasn’t sure what had happened, or what needed to stop, but he felt pretty clear that whatever was going on, it was his fault that she was smaller now. And that felt wrong. He needed to apologize.
“I’m sorry,” he said, miserably.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Ernest. Sometimes these things happen. Let’s talk about it, ok?”
He shook his head. He had messed things up, somehow. He didn’t even know how he had done it, or what had even happened. She was smaller, and that wasn’t okay. His chest was all churny and he felt like crying and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. It was good that Nora wasn’t mad, but that didn’t change how he felt in his body right now. He needed to get out of there. He needed to go home.
Ernest fumbled his way through some excuse that he was sure wasn’t coherent, and got out of there. He pulled out his earbuds and put on the uptempo showtunes playlist he’d made for when he felt all churny inside. When the first notes of “You’re Fucked” came on, his boots matched pace. He would walk home with these songs in his ears, let the pounding of his feet on the pavement help. When he got home, his weighted blanket would be there, waiting for him.
After some time under his weighted blanket, Ernest didn’t feel churny anymore. He decided to have some of the matzo ball soup he’d made for tomorrow and listen to Fiddler, one of his comfort listens. The warmth of the soup and the music seeped into him, and there was no cozy goodness quite like this. He let himself savor the texture of the matzo balls, loving the way they felt both light and also solid, savoring the salt of the chicken soup as the violin lifted and held him. His phone buzzed, with a text from Nora, accompanied by a selfie of her eating one of his scones with clotted cream and jam: Thanks for all this wonderful food, Ernest. I hope you got home okay. If you are able to, I’d really appreciate it if you could let me know you got there.
Oh. Of course she’d be worried. He’d left on the cusp of a meltdown, no way she missed the signs of that. He texted back right away, didn’t want her to worry one more moment:
* * *
Ernest: I’m home now, and okay. Weighted blankets are the best.
Nora: I’ve never tried a weighted blanket, but my th
erapist recommended I get one. Maybe you could send me a link to where you got yours?
Ernest: Gladly. I’m sorry I worried you, Nora.
Nora: I’m very glad you are okay, Ernest. I’m sorry you were so upset.
Ernest: Meltdowns happen.
Nora: Yeah. I get panic attacks, so I have ideas for how to support someone when they are going on. Maybe sometime you could let me know how to support you when you are having a meltdown?
Ernest: Um. Okay.
Nora: I meant it when I said that I want you to feel like you can be all of who you are in my home, Ernest. I’d like my home to feel like it was a safe place for you to have a meltdown.
* * *
Ernest took a long slow breath. His chest felt churny again. He needed a minute. He drank down the rest of the chicken broth, and ate the remaining matzo ball in small precise slivers. Then he got under the weighted blanket again, before looking at his phone. There were a few texts waiting.
* * *
Nora: I don’t mean to pressure you or imply that you were wrong to leave.
* * *
Nora: I’m sorry if I said something fucked up or upsetting, Ernest. I seem to keep messing things up.
* * *
Nora: I am here, if you want to talk. I’m glad you made it home okay.
* * *
Ernest: Sometimes it takes me a while to respond to things. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. I know it can be difficult to get used to, especially if you don’t have other autistic people in your life.
* * *
Nora: Oh. That’s useful to know. Thank you.
* * *
Ernest: It usually means that I need a bit of time to process something, or a bit of time to make words. It might not even be to process what you said or how I feel/react to what you said. It could be a loud noise or sensory thing happening here that you don’t know about.
* * *
Nora: That makes sense. Thanks for explaining.
* * *
Ernest: I didn’t understand what you meant earlier when you said you wanted your home to be a place I could be all of myself. I think I get it more now.
* * *
Nora: Is there another way you would describe it?
* * *
Ernest: In my head I think of spaces and people like that as free places and safe people.
* * *
Nora: I like that.
* * *
Ernest: Not free as in it costs nothing.
* * *
Nora: I know. The other kind of free. Like the swallow.
* * *
Ernest: The swallow?
* * *
Nora: It’s an old folk song; about a calf and a swallow, where the calf is bound and the swallow flies freely. It’s kind of sad, but it’s supposed to be hopeful.
* * *
Ernest: Will you sing it for me?
* * *
Nora: Sure. I like singing. It’s one of my favorite things about being a Jew, all the singing. I could call and sing it to you now, if you want.
* * *
Ernest: No, I can’t make words out loud right now.
* * *
Nora: Okay. Would you like me to record it for you and send it?
* * *
Ernest’s fingers typed yes before he even decided. But he sent the text anyway. Twenty minutes later, she had sent him an audio file. In it, she rambled about the song and how she’d learned it from her mother and had used it to sing her much younger brother to sleep when he was little. And then she sang, acapella, her voice achingly beautiful and reaching inside him. He put it on repeat, and fell asleep to Nora’s voice.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
The family had polled for volunteers for different seder jobs, as usual. It ended up being their household and Ellie’s that were doing the work this time. Ellie was one of Ernest’s favorite dominants, ever. She was the best listener and she also loved jewel tones. Ellie was the person who always went to the doctor with him; it was good to have another trans persona long to help deal with doctors. And she was a nurse practitioner who worked at the LGBT clinic, so she knew medical speak, which helped a lot. He adored her girl, Rena, who was shy and wicked smart. Rena was super into service like Ernest, and wore the prettiest scarves.
Gideon had cleaned and had his guitar out to help with the songs. Ernest was in charge of cooking. Rena brought drinks and helped serve them. Ellie and Judith had been in charge of putting together the Haggadah this year, and they had done a spectacular job. It was full of hope and music, fight and feminism, and really engaged with questions about disability in the Bible story in a way it hadn’t in prior years. Ernest hadn’t realized how much he had been missing that until it was a deeper part of the conversation. Ernest was still the youngest, but the conversation about disability had led to a new rule about participation only being voluntary, which meant that he could ask someone else to do the four questions. He had asked Nora, as it was her first seder, and she had agreed, which meant that he got to watch her sing, not just listen. Her whole body lit up when she sang, her eyes closed, her face glowing. Her voice in person was a truly wondrous thing, a throaty, warm alto, with this slightly rough quality and a bit of twang to it, a much fuller sound than the recording. Ernest ached to hear her sing his music.
They had gotten into a good rhythm with the seder, skipping both him and Naomi who didn’t want to read. Naomi looked especially dapper in her blue pinstriped vest tonight, and had left her two romantic partners at home, arriving with her queer platonic partner Dill, who wore a matching blue dress. Ernest leaned his head against his BFF Shiloh’s wide soft arm, listening, just enjoying being with his family as they all reclined together in the living room, sharing the holiday. As he listened, he realized that they were nearing the part where they took a break to eat, and he smiled, because this was his favorite thing. He was going to serve the food while Rena took care of beverages. There was nothing better than having a job.
When he got up and stretched, Nora came up next to him and whispered that she would help. Perhaps he could take people’s orders and bring them out, and she could prepare their plates? He had the sense that she wanted to be away from the crowd, and there was a nice stool she could sit on while she served if standing was too much, so it seemed like a good idea all around.
Ernest cleared his throat and announced the menu he had prepared. He took Gideon’s order first, noting it on a small pad he always kept in his back pocket, just in case. He could take notes on his phone in an emergency but for this, paper was better. He brought Nora the paper and went on to take Ellie’s order. They weren’t much for protocol in their family, but it felt right to take the orders of the dominants first. He and Nora developed an easy rhythm, and he realized how much better it was for everyone that they were working together. It was nice, too, to recognize that while they had some communication issues verbally, as was clear from the day they had tea, their non-verbal communication was smooth and just flowed. Something to remember for the future.
When everyone had their food, he and Nora served themselves, and since Nora decided to stay in the kitchen to eat, he pulled up a stool next to her. They ate in silence, their arms brushing slightly. He decided to try something, and adjusted in his seat so their arms were in firm contact. She looked over at him, smiling, and leaned into him a bit. It was the best, sharing that silent meal together, leaning into each other after so much listening for so long. There was no pressure to it, and that was rare with allistic people. Nora held space in this quiet way that felt safe and good, especially amidst the clatter and chatter from the other room. Ernest was exhausted already, even though he hadn’t had to talk, and hadn’t had to mask here the way he had last night at Gideon’s sisters. It still was so much peopling. He decided right then that he was calling out sick tomorrow and spending the day alone. Just making that plan made his shoulders relax. It was a relief to know he would have that time, soon.
Nora and Shiloh sl
ept over that night, after the seder. Shiloh stayed in Judith’s room, because those two loved to cuddle. Gideon wanted to stay in the living room on the futon, with Nora. This was great, because it meant that Ernest had their bedroom to himself for the night, and he really needed it. When Ernest first moved in, he’d had his own room. When they decided to share a room, it was with the agreement that if Ernest needed to sleep alone, Gideon would sleep on the futon in the living room. Sometimes a boy just needed to be alone in a room with a door that closed and locked. He was glad to have a Daddy who got that. In all likelihood, if Nora hadn’t been staying over, Gideon would still have spent the night on the futon. But this time Ernest hadn’t even had to use his sleep-alone safeword. And he was going to get to make breakfast for everyone in the morning!
Ernest lay in bed thinking about dietary restrictions for breakfast. No aged cheese for Judith, because of her migraines. No foods where Nora couldn’t control the portion sizes of carbs. He wasn’t going to do something like those sandwiches again, so that meant no casseroles or frittatas. Of course it needed to be kosher for Pesach too. He was going to make his special mozzarella scrambled eggs that Judith loved, he decided. And he could use the leftover potatoes from the seder to do the fried potatoes Gideon liked. He made a note of the menu in his calendar and set his alarm.