by Ariel Schrag
“This is Patrik Ervell for Opening Ceremony,” said Ethan.
“It’s what?” said Adam.
“A designer,” said Ethan. “It’s better without an undershirt. Try it on.”
Adam felt shy taking his shirt off in front of Ethan. He didn’t know why. He and Brad were shirtless together all the time. He lifted his T-shirt over his head, and Ethan turned his back to Adam to do something on the computer. Adam felt his nipples get hard. He quickly buttoned up the shirt.
“Sweet,” said Ethan, turning around. “That’s the one.”
Back in the front room, Casey was putting on a fashion show for June as June cut out Stars of David from yellow construction paper and pasted them on the wall.
“Yeah, that’s what Roxanne said Schuyler said,” said June. “Whatever.”
“Auh!” said Casey. “I am not a tranny chaser!” She seemed extremely pleased that this had been said about her.
“I think Schuyler’s just in love with Boy Casey,” said June.
“Hold on, let me try another shirt,” said Casey, and she darted into her room.
Tranny chaser? This seemed like something Adam should be aware of.
“What are you guys talking about?” he asked June, casual. June slapped another glue stick–smeared Star of David on the wall.
“You know, ’cause Casey dated Boy Casey and now she’s dating Hazel, two trans people in a row.”
“What? Hazel is trans?” said Adam. Was everybody fucking trans?
“Yeah,” said June.
Casey walked back into the room wearing a sheer tank top and probably a push-up bra.
“Hazel is trans?” Adam asked her.
Casey rolled her eyes. “Yes. What do you think of this shirt, June?”
“So how come you guys always call her ‘her’?” said Adam. “I thought you were supposed to call trans people ‘him.’”
“Not if they’re trans women,” said Casey.
Adam was completely confused. He’d thought Hazel was just a butch lesbian—butch like Sam was butch, with short hair and cargo pants and . . .
“But I thought—”
“She was born a boy, transitioned to being a girl, is attracted to girls, so she’s a trans dyke,” said Casey, fast and exasperated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I think I liked the other shirt better,” said June.
“Really?” said Casey. “Is this one too slutty? Hazel told me she likes slutty. She calls me her slutty teenage college girl.”
“I liked the other one,” said June.
“I’m gonna wear this one,” said Casey. “But I think I’m gonna wear a skirt, too.” Casey turned around, went back in her bedroom, and shut the door.
The buzzer rang.
“It’s them!” said June. “It’s them! I’m not even ready! How does everything look?”
June ran to the bookshelf, adjusted the menorah, and then ran to open the door, almost slipping on a Star of David on the way. As she opened the front door, Adam saw her smile fall.
“You have clogged bathtub?” A short Hispanic guy in grubby clothes carrying some sort of suction machine walked into the room.
***
Adam took the G train from the Broadway stop to the Hoyt-Schermerhorn stop to get to Gillian’s apartment in Fort Greene. As the subway sped along, he glanced around at the other passengers, replayed making out with Gillian in the pizza shop alley, and managed for moments at a time to forget the lie. But whether he was thinking about it or not, it was always there. Like a ringing in your head you don’t realize is so loud until you plug your ears.
Adam exited the station. Gillian was at 488 Atlantic Avenue, apartment #2. He glanced around and saw Atlantic Avenue about a block away. He checked his reflection on the back of his phone. Then the time: 6:22. As usual, he had been terrified of being late and somehow calculated it would take an hour to travel seven subway stops. Actually, it was more a precaution. There could have been an emergency and they would have had to stop, and Adam would have been trapped underground with no cell phone signal, no way of contacting Gillian, who would just be waiting, waiting and realizing that she didn’t even really like Adam all that much, now that she was annoyed with him for being late and had time to think things over. Definitely better to be obscenely early and kill forty minutes. He started in the direction of Atlantic Avenue but then thought better of it. Gillian, getting dressed for the date, peers out the window and sees Adam, pacing up and down the street below.
Adam walked down Livingston. He wondered what Kelsey Winslow was doing right now. Waiting in her bedroom for Matt to climb up that tree like a fool. “My dad says I’m killing the tree.” Adam imagined Matt at the top of the branches, swaying slightly in the breeze, about to clamber through the window when—snap! The branch breaks and Matt comes crashing down, cracking his skull open on the concrete in a bloody sprawl. East Bay Prep would build a memorial water fountain for him like they did for that girl Amy Kirkland, who had died of Graves’ disease, RIP 1992. Adam didn’t like drinking from that fountain. It always made him feel like he was catching Graves’ disease. Whatever that was.
It was only 6:27. Jesus. Adam started to worry he was going to show up at Gillian’s with giant pit stains if he kept walking. He ducked into an air-conditioned Duane Reade and headed toward the back. Stared at the magazines, picked up a GQ, opened it, stared at an article—“How to Have Sex in the Car”—but couldn’t concentrate enough to read. Maybe Kelsey and Matt were fucking right now. Just slippery slamming, ramming into each other on her bed. “Oh, Matt, you feel so good! Harder!” Why did he keep thinking about Kelsey? He had walked around the block before her house 500,000 years ago. He had barely even thought about her since he got to New York; she meant nothing to him. But now she felt eerily close. Like she was breathing on him. They all were. They knew who he really was, and it was inevitable that soon Gillian would too.
“Oh, yeah, I—I’m not trans. I’m actually seventeen—”
“You’re what?? Oh my god. Get away from me!”
The most amazing, wonderful thing that had ever happened in his life, and probably ever would, had revealed itself to be a sick, convoluted prank that he had masochistically constructed to humiliate himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Everyone at EBP exploded in laughter. Brad was coming to New York in two weeks. God. He needed to fucking fix this before Brad got here. Get rid of Gillian. Pretend it never happened. Just let Brad see his lame, boring life at the apartment and say, “Yeah, my life sucks, so what?” He needed to go home. He needed to leave this Duane Reade, get on the subway, go to the airport, get on a plane, and go the fuck home. Real home. Piedmont home. And then quietly kill himself.
But as soon as Adam thought this, as soon as he acknowledged that committing suicide was indeed a real-life possibility he had at his disposal, he felt better. Euphoric almost, with a recharged desire to live. He slammed the magazine shut and felt a shock of that wild, unhinged video-game feeling he’d had the first night in New York. “Prepare to meet your greatest challenge ever” ran through his mind like a booming TV Xbox commercial. He loved Gillian. I LOVE GILLIAN! he screamed to himself. And he whipped around and marched out of the Duane Reade. He was going in.
***
Adam rang Gillian’s bell.
“Just a second!” came through the intercom. Then a buzzing noise and he pushed the front door open.
Gillian’s face was flushed. She was wearing a really low-cut V-neck T-shirt, and a silver necklace of a little bird hung across her exposed skin. Her lips were wet with fresh lipstick. God, she looked sexy.
“Sorry I’m rushed,” she said. “I got home from work kind of late, and I sort of had to hurry.” She led him into her room, which was bright and colorful; there was music playing. Adam felt so nervous, all he could hear was the song.
“Jolene! Jolene! Jolene, Joe-leeeeeeeeene.”
Gillian fussed around with something on the top of her dresser. �
�Just a doodad. I like doodads . . .” She handed Adam a tiny porcelain elephant with a proud raised trunk, which he examined with intense interest.
“Cool.”
Gillian fumbled with the music, louder, then softer.
“OK, so tonight you’re going to meet Claire and Lauren—you already met Claire at the party—they’re my roommates, and then also Jackie and Nadia—they’re a couple too. This girl Kate might come, I hope she doesn’t, but she might. I don’t like her.”
That Gillian was acting so nervous made Adam feel calm. She was nervous because she liked him.
“Do you want a beer?” she said.
“Sure.”
Gillian left and Adam looked around the room. Box set of My So-Called Life. Framed postcard of a yellow-on-blue painting that said: OOF. Soccer trophies. Everything seemed to buzz with color. He felt as if he was in a Disney movie and wouldn’t be surprised if all the objects suddenly jumped to life and started singing and dancing. The I ♥ NY mug by the bed singing, “Jolene! Jolene!” to the bashful lamp, swinging her lampshade tassels.
Gillian came back with the beers. Amstel Light. Adam took a long swig, and as he swallowed, he could feel the trans lie—which had previously coated all his internal organs, lined the underside of his skin—begin to wash away. Just disappear. For the first time, he was certain there was a solution to his problem. A specific fail-safe way to make this work. He wasn’t sure what the solution was, but he was positive it was there. So positive the truth of it felt like a tangible thing he could hold. Gillian leaned in and kissed him. They tumbled onto the bed.
“We probably shouldn’t . . .” she said. She grinned at Adam and played with the collar of his shirt. “We have to leave in, like, ten minutes, and I’m not going to want to stop if we start.”
The way she said this made Adam’s dick throb. He rolled over onto his stomach.
Gillian brushed her red hair behind her ears. “So . . . what did you do today?”
“Looked for Jewish stuff,” said Adam.
Gillian broke out laughing. “What?”
Adam beamed. When he made her laugh, it felt as if he were the only person that could do that. “Well, I told you about my roommate June, right?”
They laid their heads against Gillian’s pillows, and Adam told her all about June and the Jews and the cesspool bathtub and the cut-out Stars of David and June’s horror-movie silhouette with the menorah in the door frame and the disappointing plumber. He did June’s shrill, anxious voice and Casey’s bored-unless-talking-about-Hazel voice, and Gillian laughed and played with Adam’s shirt and gave him the amused look, and Adam felt as if he were transforming, right in front of her, in front of all the watching objects in the room, into the perfect version of himself.
“I just like you so much,” said Gillian.
I love you, thought Adam.
“I like you too,” he said.
“I love your hair . . .” Gillian pulled on Adam’s bangs. “And your eyes . . . and your nose . . . I’m really attracted to you.”
They leaned in and started kissing again.
“I have something to admit . . .” said Gillian, breaking away for a moment. She put her hand over Adam’s shirt, on his chest. Adam clenched his perfect pecs. He was perfect.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“I kind of have this fetish . . .”
Adam put his hands under Gillian’s shirt. Nothing was so soft. Nothing was so smooth.
“A fetish?” he said.
“Yeah . . .” said Gillian. She paused. “A Jew fetish.”
Adam laughed and they kissed again.
“You are Jewish, right?” said Gillian.
“Well, actually I’m . . . yeah. I’m Jewish,” said Adam.
“I’ve always been obsessed with Jews,” said Gillian. “When I was nine, for Christmas, I asked my mom for Hanukkah nuts.”
“Hanukkah nuts? I don’t think there’s such a thing as Hanukkah nuts.”
“I don’t think there is either. I think maybe my mom just knew I wished we celebrated Hanukkah so she got me regular nuts and told me they were Hanukkah nuts. And then I brought this tin to school asking everyone if they wanted some of my Hanukkah nuts.”
Now they were both laughing and kissing, and needing to stop kissing to laugh.
“Too bad you weren’t friends with June,” said Adam. “I’m sure she would have been happy to cut you out some Stars of David.”
“I’m scared of June,” said Gillian.
“Me too,” said Adam.
And Gillian laughed and rolled on top of him, and they almost fell off the bed.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Be there in a minute!” said Gillian. She stood up, her face bright red. “Is my face red?” she asked Adam.
Adam nodded. Her face always got red. He loved it.
“Great, they’re totally going to make fun of me . . .” Then she smiled and leaned down and pressed her lips to Adam’s. “I don’t care.”
***
Adam, Gillian, Claire, and Lauren sat on the C train heading into the city. The train was old and rickety and kept jerking at random moments. Adam liked the newer trains that ran smooth and had electronic boards informing you where you were and where you were going. With these old trains and the garbled announcer’s voice, it was impossible not to get lost. Adam didn’t have to worry about that with Gillian’s group, though. He was just following.
“Kate’s not coming, is she?” said Gillian.
“Of course she’s coming,” said Claire.
“Do you think Nadia ever cheats on Jackie with her?” said Lauren. “I mean, she definitely hangs out with her more than her.”
Adam was having trouble keeping track of who was who. Everyone was “her.” He could barely even keep Claire and Lauren straight. They looked identical. They both had black plastic glasses and bleached-blond hair and were wearing tight baseball tees. One blue, one green. He wondered if when they couldn’t be together it was useful to masturbate in front of a mirror.
“Kate’s still in love with Nadia, and Nadia loves the attention,” said Claire. “Can you imagine Nadia giving up hanging out with someone who worships her? Yeah, right.”
Adam had always wondered about the whole gay masturbation thing. If you have the body parts you’re fantasizing about, couldn’t you just touch your own and pretend they were someone else’s? Like when he sat on his hand to make it numb before jerking off. Being attracted to vaginas and having the option to touch one whenever you wanted. He felt wildly jealous. Something about it just must not work.
“Nadia and Kate are best friends,” said Gillian to Adam, trying to include him in the conversation. “They call each other ‘non-sexual life partners’ and even have matching rings.”
“That’s weird,” said Adam.
“Nadia really wants to go to Bound after,” said Lauren.
“Should we?” said Claire. “Do you want to?”
“Oh god . . .” said Gillian. “Really?”
“You’ve never been! You have to go!” said Claire. “Come on, we should go. It’s only fun if we all go. We have to all go.”
Gillian gave Adam a nervous look. “Would you totally hate it if we stopped by this play party?”
Adam didn’t know what a play party was.
“Yeah, sounds great!” he said.
“It’s not going to be, like . . . a problem, is it?” Gillian asked Claire.
“Huh? What would the problem be?” said Claire.
“Like, ‘Women Only,’” said Lauren. She gave Claire a look.
“Oh!” said Claire, and she blushed and gave Adam this really big awkward smile.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Lauren. She flicked Claire in the shoulder with her index finger, and Claire put her head in her hands to cover her face.
“Bound is totally cool with trans folks,” Lauren continued, looking at Adam.
“Cool,” said Gillian.
“Cool,” said Adam.<
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“They just don’t want, like, nasty bio straight men getting off on lesbians, you know?” said Lauren.
“Ugh. So repulsive,” said Gillian.
Everyone sat in silence for a moment.
“When did you . . . How old were you . . . when you transitioned?” Claire asked Adam.
“Seventeen,” said Adam.
“Cool,” said Claire.
Gillian took Adam’s hand and squeezed it.
“Wow, that’s really young,” said Lauren. “Your parents must be really cool.”
And then, Adam had no idea where this came from, but he found himself saying: “I’m kind of fucked up over gender stuff. I don’t really like to talk about it.”
And everyone nodded as if he’d just said the most serious, profound statement they’d ever heard.
“Word,” said Lauren. “My friend Chaz is trans. He doesn’t like to talk about it either. That shit is private. People are always asking me, ‘Has he had surgery? Does he have a penis?’ It’s like, ‘Whoa, do people go around asking you about your genitals?’ Didn’t think so. Chaz just dissociates from what’s down there. He doesn’t want anyone going down there, not even a fucking doctor . . .”
And then Adam knew. He knew the solution. He knew how this was going to work. He would never tell Gillian the truth, and she would never be able to touch him. He would be so fucked up over gender stuff, he would never want to talk about it, and he would never let her take off his clothes. A pang hit his heart. But it was the only way. This was how they could be together. Maybe it would mean wearing three pairs of briefs to keep his dick in check, but so be it. And he would still have his hands and his mouth, and he could still touch Gillian all over her body, in every way possible, and make her feel good and maybe even make her come, and he knew it was worth it—there was no question in his mind this was worth it.
***
“But the truth is I’m just a big nerd.”
They were seated at a loud Mexican restaurant, drinking salt-rimmed margaritas and eating greasy chips and salsa. The girl named Nadia had been talking pretty much nonstop since they got there, mainly about what a nerd she was. Nadia was gorgeous—long black hair, huge blue eyes with dark eye shadow, delicate features, and from what Adam could tell, under her tight, lacy black dress, a perfect body. There was no way this girl ever was or ever could be a nerd. Claire and Lauren, yes. Nadia, no.