by Leah Raeder
“Did you know,” I said, sitting beside her, “that this whole state is a giant Winslow Homer painting?” A wave rolled in and burst on the rocks at our feet, needling us with sharp spray. “It’s still being painted. If you sit here too long, they’ll add you in. Then they’ll have to title you. Blood Elf on the Breakwater.”
Ellis smiled. The steam she exhaled tore into liquid clouds, infusing the air like white ink.
“Still freaked about that car?” I said.
“No.”
“What’s eating you?” I bumped her elbow. “You’ve been different lately. I think you don’t really want to do this.”
Her eyes flashed to me, then away.
“See? As an artist I notice these things. At least, someone called me that once. She probably had no idea what she was talking about.”
Elle blew minty steam at my face. “I told you, it depresses me. And it’s scary, too.”
“What is?”
“The way people treat each other.” She flipped the pen deftly over her knuckles. “The way they treat those who are different.”
“You worried we’ll run into some gay-bashing cabrónes? I’ll handle it. If you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda ripped from rowing. Come at me, fuckboys.”
She laughed. “You’ve been different lately, too. More like your old self.”
“Obnoxiously alpha female?”
“You’ve got your confidence back. It looks good on you, Vada.”
How fucked-up was it that my confidence came from dumping the blame on some poor suicidal gay boy and jerking off for some stranger on the Internet?
By the time we reached Bar Harbor upcoast the sun had slipped below the trees, skeleton fingers of shade dipping into the ocean and pulling the world under. Ellis was calmer. When I floored the gas to pass someone she held her breath but didn’t freak. My right hand lay on the console between us, and after a while hers joined mine, her touch soft as a new brush. We glanced at each other. Sunset flooded the car, raising all the blood and warmth in us to the surface, tinting the chrome to brass and gold. For a second she kept stroking my fingers absently, then blushed. But she didn’t take her hand away.
God, fuck. Fuck, what was I feeling? Something vast and powerful stirring in my chest. Like an ocean swell. A massive wave rising over my heart, beginning to bear down.
We checked into our hotel on the harbor. I’d booked a suite with a bay view, hardly glancing at the price. A year ago my pulse would’ve skipped. Now I had enough cash to put a down payment on a house, or invest in a business.
It was intimidating. I felt like a kid. Could I just feed my money into a machine and twist the dial and get something that’d make me smile, please?
On the harbor, lanterns lined the piers, golden rings scalloping the dark water. A luxury yacht glided past, glimmering like a jeweled dagger as it cut through the night. Tiny paper-doll people moved on deck.
“Think they’re happy?” I said as Ellis came up beside me.
“Right now someone’s leaning on the railing, looking at us, wondering the same thing.”
“Think we’re happy?”
No answer. Her eyes were far away.
“Okay.” I crossed the room, flicked a lamp on. “One of us should go and one stay. Two girls walking into a mostly male gay bar is way too conspicuous.”
“I agree.”
“Good. So I’ll go.”
“No, I will.”
We faced off.
“Ellis, his name is Sergio Iglesias. I’ve kinda got a lock on the Latino thing.”
“And he’s gay, and works at a gay bar. And you’re not. But I am.”
“So you’re going to walk into a bar full of gay men and be like, ‘Hi, I’m the cute token lesbian, please confide in me’?”
“No. I’m going to walk into a bar full of gay men as a gay man.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“I can pass.”
“Elle.” I moved toward her, half smiling, trying not to seem condescending. “You’re not that androgynous.”
“Yes, I am. You’re not looking at me like they will. You’re seeing our history, our baggage. They’ll just see me.”
I stopped, taken aback.
“He’ll open up more to another man. No offense, but you’ll come off as a fruit fly, Vada.” She grimaced apologetically. “I can do this. I’ll show you. Just . . . wait here.”
She grabbed our duffel bags and disappeared into the bathroom.
I collapsed onto the king bed, feeling oddly winded.
We’d come all this way and now I was being sidelined. And Elle judged me for not seeing her as she really was. And I missed Blue.
And damnedest of all, I wanted to talk to someone I never turned to when I was feeling down.
I brought up my phone contacts. Hovered over the name.
Tap.
She answered after one ring. “Is this intentional, mija, or is it a butt dial?”
I laughed. “It’s not a butt dial. Hola, Mamá.”
“Oh, your sweet voice, cariño.”
Hers trembled, and I felt the instant prick of tears starting.
How the hell did mothers do that? From zero to gut-wrenching guilt in three seconds.
“I can’t talk long,” I said, switching to Spanish. “I’ve got plans tonight. But I just—I missed you.”
“That is all I wanted to hear from you, sweetheart. Those words will make me smile for months.”
“Keep twisting that knife, Mamá.”
“What does that mean?”
“Uh-huh.” She knew damn well. “How’s Ariana?”
“Devastated. Her young man had wandering eyes. The engagement is off.”
Surprise, surprise. “Sorry to hear that.”
“She’s seeing someone else already. I told her she should start taking some college classes, like you.”
“I’m a dropout. A failure.”
“No. You’re taking a hiatus. How is the freelancing?”
I’d lied to her, said I was doing freelance photography for cash. Her heart would shatter if I told her I was a cam girl.
“It’s okay. I’m saving up money till I figure out what I want to do with my life now.”
“Good. Smart girl. Like Ellis. And how is my flaca?”
“She’s . . . fine.”
“You patched things up?”
“Yeah, we did.”
“Cariño, listen. There’s something I want to say to you.”
Oh god. “You really don’t have to—”
“No, please. I’ve been thinking about it, and praying. God does not make mistakes, Vada. Only we do.”
“Okay . . .”
“If someone makes you happy, that is not a mistake. Falling in love is not a mistake. God made you how you are. Everything good comes from Him.”
“Elle doesn’t believe in God, Mamá.”
“I know. I love her anyway. And I love you, no matter who you are, or who you love.”
Everything went all shimmery and bright. I closed my eyes for a second.
“I’ll let you go, sweetheart. Be safe tonight. Have fun. And call your mother more often. Then the knife won’t twist so much.”
When we hung up I lay there clasping the phone to my chest.
The bathroom door opened. I sat upright.
Ellis—someone—stepped out and walked toward me.
This person looked like my best friend, at first. But little differences started pinging my consciousness. Hair styled in a quiff, the cut that had looked cute and punkish on a girl becoming suave and rakish on a boy. Shoulders set squarely, head held high but relaxed. Slow, deliberate movements. Sustained eye contact. Even the way this person breathed was different—it came from deep in the diaphragm, the core. This person looked so much calmer and more confident than my best friend. So much more centered.
I stood and said, ridiculously, “Ellis?”
“Hi.”
Her voice was lower, but not in an affected w
ay. It came from the gut.
“Holy shit,” I said.
I moved closer, circling, evaluating. Glasses off, revealing all the angles of her face. Slight squint, flattened lips. Hints of hardness. She wore slim jeans and a button-up shirt, tucked in and belted. Elle was ultra skinny to begin with, narrow-hipped, but now there was no hint of breasts, either. I ran a hand right across her chest and she didn’t flinch.
“Where are your boobs?” I said, trying not to laugh.
She answered in that smooth, low voice. “Under two sports bras. I’m kind of hot.”
I stopped in front of her. “You are kind of hot.”
No blush. She merely looked me in the eyes with a glimmer of satisfaction.
I touched her throat, the faint shadow sculpting her Adam’s apple. “Is this my makeup?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you so good at this?” I leaned out a bit, taking in the whole package, and gaped. “Oh my god. Are you packing?”
She tucked a thumb into her pocket. “I’m a perfectionist. Does it look fake?”
“No. It looks legit. What is it?”
“Pair of socks.”
I laughed, but in awe. “You are blowing my mind right now. What do I even call you?”
“Ellis.”
Again there was a strange moment that felt like a revelation, but also something I already knew. Like what she’d said about me driving earlier.
“Of course.” I stepped back. “I can’t believe you did this with some hair product, a couple of bras, and a pair of socks.”
At last she cracked a smile. “All the world’s a stage.”
When she smiled at me—a smile I’d seen thousands of times in my life—my heart fluttered in a weird new way. Because I wasn’t seeing my best friend, Elle. I was seeing some handsome, slender, sensitive-looking guy named Ellis smiling at me. A guy who could stand next to someone like Dane and completely pass.
This was way too much for me to process.
“You okay, Vada?”
“Fine. Want a ride to the bar?”
Her phone buzzed. “My cab’s here.”
“Your cab?” I eyed her askance. “You knew this would work. Going in drag. Why didn’t you mention it till now?”
“It seemed simpler to show you.”
And then to bounce, before I could ask questions. Before it could sink in.
I turned away, pretended to do stuff on my phone. “Text me if anything gets skeezy. I’ll wait up.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yup.”
I peered into the hall and watched her leave. From the back the illusion was flawless. That was not the girl I knew.
That was a guy.
—10—
I walked from the patio down to the sea, the whispery sweep of waves like jazz brush drumming. Strands of tinsel moonlight floated on the water. The anxiety and unease in me all gathered into an ache at my elbow and I felt as if I could fire bullets from it, or set it on fire, or rip it out of the socket. Wasn’t sure whether I wanted the badness out or if the badness could stay as long as I escaped. Pain makes a body a prison, the same way desire does.
So I did something stupid.
This was bumfuck tourist-trap Maine, near the Canadian border. Whatever cell tower my phone triangulated to, it was hundreds of miles from my actual place of residence. And I was a little past caring anyway.
I sent an email to Blue.
I’m having the most surreal night
come talk to me before my brain melts
There. Done. He could trace the IP and see that I was in Bar Harbor if he wanted.
Not like my life could get any crazier.
I knelt on cold rocks at the water’s edge, my face flecked with stinging spray. In less than a minute he replied.
Skype?
no, private chat on my site
meet me in 5 mins
As long as he went through the cam site, the region ban would block Maine IPs. Not foolproof, but better than nothing.
Could I really picture Max going to the trouble of constantly masking his IP, then chickening out when he had the chance to touch me, in his house?
Could I have pictured Ellis as a convincing guy before tonight?
My visualization skills had obviously gone rusty.
“You know,” Ellis said once, “rust is just oxidation. The same chemical process as fire. Oxygen interacts with steel, electrons drift from one element to the other. So really, rust is a slow fire. Isn’t that weird? Water causes something to burn.”
Back in the hotel I put the burglar chain on the room door and opened my laptop.
He was waiting.
SoBlue: hi.
SoBlue: how long has it been?
“Three days.”
SoBlue: is that all?
SoBlue: only feels like three eternities.
“Miss me?” I said, my legs sprawling to either side of the keyboard.
SoBlue: not a bit.
SoBlue: and the fact that i’ve been jerking off to you nonstop means absolute zilch.
I sank against the pillows. “Bad boy. While you’re over there painting the walls white, I’m learning self-restraint.”
SoBlue: bad girl.
SoBlue: such vulgarity.
SoBlue: it’s hot as fuck coming out of your mouth.
SoBlue: but tell me what was melting your brain, before you melt mine.
I looked at his black rectangle. Then at the girl on my side: dark hair raveling around her shoulders, long brown legs spread. Beautiful but interchangeable. Another cam girl.
If I wanted him to be real, I had to be real, too. Not just this face and this body, but this heart.
“Blue,” I said, “I think I’m falling in love with two people at the same time.”
SoBlue: i see.
I would’ve killed to hear his voice then, gauge his tone. Jealous, indifferent, intrigued?
“And the scary thing is, I’m not sure I really know either of them. Not the way I thought.”
SoBlue: one of them is red.
“Yes.”
SoBlue: something happened tonight.
SoBlue: tell me.
“This will make me sound like a total asshole, I hope you know.”
SoBlue: i’ll probably still like you anyway.
“Probably?”
SoBlue: this will make me sound like a total asshole, but . . .
SoBlue: i’d like you even if you were a monster.
SoBlue: who frowned at puppies.
SoBlue: and tipped over wobbly kittens.
SoBlue: and thought comic books were for children.
SoBlue: and had a complicated pseudo-sexual relationship with her best friend.
I laughed, immensely relieved he framed it that way first. “Okay.”
SoBlue: this goes back to that night, doesn’t it?
SoBlue: when the bad thing happened.
SoBlue: that you don’t talk about.
“Yeah, it does. And now I’m going to talk about it.”
I told Blue the official story—designated driver; ice on the bridge; tragic collision—and then I told him the aftermath. How I lost Ellis, dropped out of my MFA program, became a cam girl, found Ellis again. How I got close with Max. How he flipped on me, tried to turn me against Elle.
I looked into the cam lens as I spoke, imagining different faces looking back. Max. Dane. Curtis. Even Brandt, whom I’d never met.
Names have power. They change the way the world sees you.
One man called himself Blue, and made me see him differently.
“Tonight,” I said, “Red cross-dressed and went stealth at a gay bar so we can learn who beat the shit out of a dead kid and solve a possible hate crime. This is my actual life.”
SoBlue: red cross-dressed?
“Yeah. Like, convincingly. Very convincingly.”
SoBlue: your voice goes strange when you mention her.
SoBlue: not the dead kid, or the father.
SoBlue: red is the one who bothers you.
“It’s weird. It’s just weird.” I grabbed a pillow and wrapped my arms around it, like a buffer. “Want to hear something fucked-up? When I saw her as a guy, I felt, like, turned on. And then I got depressed, because what if that means I’m actually homophobic? I have no problem with guys, but girls make me all conflicted.”
SoBlue: feeling conflicted doesn’t make you homophobic.
“If I hate the part of me that likes girls, it does.”
SoBlue: do you hate it?
“I don’t know. But moving halfway across the country to get away from it is a big sign, right?”
She was waiting outside my art history lecture one afternoon. The instant I saw her, I knew who she was: tall and willowy, her hair a fall of autumn leaves tumbling around her face, shades of russet, carrot, straw. An older version of Ellis.
She touched my shoulder warmly. Her eyes remained glassy and cool. “My name is Katherine. Do you know who I am?”
“I think I do, yeah.”
“Can we talk?”
She took me to a coffee shop and put five dollars’ worth of cappuccino in my hands. She drank plain green tea.
“Is this the part where you pay me to never see Elle again?” I said.
Katherine smiled as if holding a knife blade between her lips. “No.”
“If you think you have any hold on her, you’re out of your mind. She’s done with you. I’m her family now.”
The smile grew thinner.
“She told me everything.” Night after night Elle and I stayed up talking till the sky turned pink and tender. I heard the whole sad story. Distant father, manipulative mother. Church every week. Running away from de-gaying camp (“conversion therapy”). “Counseling” with a priest who said fucking girls meant she wouldn’t go to heaven. Ellis told the priest she was glad because she’d hate to spend eternity with her mom. I’d fantasized about meeting her parents someday, and now it had fallen into my lap like a gift from God. “You should be prosecuted for child abuse, Katherine. You’re a monster.”
She turned her mug with the tips of her fingers. “Imagine you’re a mother, and you watch your child suffer, day after day, when she’s too young to understand why. Would you want to stop the pain?”