What We Left Behind

by Robin Talley

  I’d never know for sure, though. Not if I went to Boston. Not if I followed Toni’s dream instead of my own.

  I felt awful for thinking that. But the thought wouldn’t go away.

  I wanted to see Toni every day. Every hour. The need to be with Toni lived deep in my stomach, a knot that kept unfurling and retying.

  I knew what would happen if I went to Boston. I’d see Toni every week. We’d hang out at Harvard. I’d become friends with Toni’s friends, just like I did when I moved to Maryland. Toni and I would go out together as a couple. Everyone would know me as Toni’s girlfriend.

  Every time I looked at Toni, I’d know exactly who I was. Exactly where I belonged. Every day would be just as wonderful as every day had been since Toni and I first met.

  I didn’t know what would happen if I went to New York.

  Not knowing was terrifying. Anything could happen. I could wind up miserable. I could regret my decision the second I set foot in my dorm room at NYU.

  I’d have no one to depend on but myself.

  It was the not knowing that made me reach for my pen. It was the not knowing that made me fill out that form, sign my name at the bottom with my fingers trembling, slip the sheet into the prestamped envelope and carry it outside and down the driveway.

  I closed my eyes when I opened the mailbox and dropped the envelope inside.

  There was no way to know what would happen next. The idea, the uncertainty of it all, made me want to throw up.

  And it made me want to dance.

  13

  NOVEMBER

  FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE

  5 DAYS APART

  TONI

  “A break?” Derek asks. “Are you serious?”

  “I guess so,” I say.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I chickened out.”

  “Or you didn’t really want to do it in the first place,” Derek says.

  “Or both.”

  “Can I interest you in Bible study? Through fellowship with other Christians, even the greatest stress can be overcome.”

  Derek and I are sitting on the steps of the Lamont library while Eli tries—and, mostly, fails—to hand out flyers for the Bible study the Harvard Christian League is hosting tomorrow night.

  Eli is in the Harvard Christian League. Somehow, I’ve known him for three months without picking up on that.

  “I feel worse than if I hadn’t said anything to begin with,” I tell Derek as a girl in pigtails flips Eli the bird. “Everything’s all uncertain now. I hate not knowing exactly where I stand. It’s like we’re in this sketchy in-between place and it’s awful. It’s awful.”

  “Breaking up sucks, dude,” Derek says.

  “I feel like the worst person in the world.”

  “I bet she thinks she’s got you beat.”

  I drop my head into my hands.

  Someone taps on my glove. I don’t move.

  “Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll just dump it out,” Nance says.

  I look up. Nance is standing over me, holding out a cup of coffee from the Lamont café. I take it.

  “Oh. Thanks.” I take a sip. “Wow, pumpkin latte. Thanks, Nance.”

  “You like those, right?” Nance passes a cup to Derek and takes one down the steps to Eli, then jogs back up to where we’re sitting. “Everyone else drinks cappuccinos, but you got a pumpkin one that other time we were here.”

  “Yeah, I like them a lot. Thanks.” I can’t believe Nance remembered that.

  Nance sits down next to Derek and me. We watch Eli try to convince a group of guys wearing wrestling team sweatshirts to come to Bible study. They listen politely, but two of them are biting back laughs. I hope Eli doesn’t notice.

  Eli’s been pretty depressed ever since his party. At first I thought it was a side effect of starting T, but Derek told me it’s because his parents canceled their call at the last minute. Eli was all set to come out to them, but never got the chance. I wonder what that would feel like. Being ready to let something loose, only to find out you have to keep it inside, after all. It’s hard to imagine what could be worse.

  “Derek, can you talk to Gretchen online and see if she’s all right?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Derek says. “Also, not sure if you want me to point this out, but you said she instead of ze, there.”

  “Don’t bother,” I say. “I’ve given up trying to subvert the English language. There’s no point trying to make broad philosophical statements when I’ve completely lost my grip on all sense of self.”

  “That’s profound, T,” Nance says.

  Eli takes a break from passing out flyers and sits next to us on the steps, sipping the coffee Nance brought him. Nance brushes Eli’s scarf to the side and tips her head onto his shoulder. Eli’s a lot shorter than Nance, so her head is tilted at a painful-looking angle. He laughs.

  He. Her. It just doesn’t sound right.

  None of it sounds right. Not they. Not ze. And definitely not she. It’s all so arbitrary.

  But not using pronouns feels arbitrary, too. I’m never going to convince the entire world not to use them, and that’s the only way I’d stop feeling weird about it.

  “This might be the first time I’ve ever just sat here and watched people like this,” Derek says.

  “Yeah,” Eli says. “It’s strange. I feel like I’m supposed to be in this state of constant motion. Like, if I’m not actively writing a paper at this moment I’m a failure at life.”

  “Exactly,” Nance says. “Not to mention, it always freaks me out whenever I’m forced to actually look at the Harvard population and see just how many white people there are at this school.”

  Really? There are a lot fewer white people at Harvard, percentagewise, than there were at my high school. I’m the only one of my roommates who’s white. Ebony and Felicia are both black, and Joanna is Vietnamese. I felt a little weird at first, like I was boring next to them. Then I remembered that I bring in the LGBTQIA diversity angle, so I was still contributing.

  It’s true that the UBA seems to be mostly white, but my friends are kind of a mix. Derek’s black and Eli’s Korean, so Nance and I are the only white people in our immediate group. Hmm, maybe Nance was actually just complaining about me.

  “So, Toni,” Derek says, “what with you being in a state of existential despair and all, I guess this isn’t a good time to mention that we’re supposed to have the transition guide finished before finals.”

  I gulp down my latte.

  “No,” I say. “It’s not. I don’t have time for anything. I did no work at all over Thanksgiving because I was too freaked. I seriously cannot believe how far behind I am.”

  “That’s how it goes your first semester until you get used to the pace,” Eli says. “You always feel behind.”

  “Is that information supposed to be helpful?” I ask.

  “Hey, T, watch out,” Nance says. “I know your whole thing with the hottie sucks, but you don’t need to get snippy.”

  “I know, I know,” I say. “Sorry, Eli.”

  “No problem, man.” Eli claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve got lady problems. I get it.”

  I’m lucky Eli’s a forgiving guy, because Nance speaks the truth. At the rate I’m going I won’t have any friends left by the end of the semester.

  Eli gets up to pass out more flyers. One guy actually takes one. Based on the guy’s blank look, map and flip-flops, though, I have a feeling the guy is a non-English-speaking tourist, not a potential Christian Leaguer.

  “Why are we sitting out here anyway?” I ask. “It’s cold. Let’s go into the café.”

  “That’s too far away,” Derek says.

  “From what?”

  Nance sighs with exa
ggerated exasperation and leans in to talk quietly to me. “Look, when Eli was on flyering duty last year, some freshmen hassled him.”

  “What? Why would anyone want to hassle Eli?” Eli is even smaller than me. He usually wears a custom-made suit jacket with suspenders plus the occasional snappy bow tie. I can’t imagine anyone less threatening.

  “I don’t know,” Nance says. “People are assholes. Anyway, we try to watch out for him now when he does this stuff, but we can’t let him know. He thinks we’re just out here enjoying coffee on the Lamont steps on a frigid late November afternoon, and he’s going to keep on thinking that. Right?”

  “Right. Sorry.” Now I feel like an asshole. How much else am I going to mess up today?

  At least I’m not as bad as the freshmen last year who did whatever they’d done to Eli, just for looking different.

  Nance is right. People really are assholes.

  “By the way,” Nance says, speaking louder now so the others can hear, “can I just say that I feel a lot worse for Gretchen than I do for you? I mean, I know you’re upset, but trust me, it’s a lot harder to get dumped than to be the one doing the dumping.”

  “I didn’t dump Gretchen.”

  “Only because you let her talk you out of it,” Derek says.

  Even Derek won’t take my side. I need to explain this better.

  “I didn’t let her talk me out of it.” I catch my own pronoun this time. “Gretchen. I didn’t let Gretchen talk me out of it. I mean, yeah, Gretchen made a good point, about me not having the right to decide what’s best for both of us. It’s like, how arrogant am I, really? Before I did it, I’d been going back and forth all night anyway about whether it was really what I wanted. It’s all just so confusing. I don’t know how anyone ever knows for sure what they want.”

  “I see what you’re saying,” Derek tells me. “The thing is, though, she’s got a point, but that doesn’t mean she has final say over what happens to you guys, either. You have to do what you have to do.”

  Chris said that the night of the football game. You have to do what you think you have to do.

  “Everything hurts,” I say.

  Nance pats me on the shoulder a little too hard.

  “It was your decision,” Derek says. “You can still change your mind.”

  “Is that what you would do?” That question sounds pathetic even to my own ears.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have broken up with her in the first place,” Derek says.

  “What?” I almost choke on my latte. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “What difference does it make? You’re the one living your life, not me.”

  “But—”

  But I might not have done it if I’d known that.

  Derek always seems to have it all figured out. Derek’s life is the one I want.

  “You two were way happier than almost any other couple I’ve known,” Derek says. “She’s on board with the trans stuff. Not to mention she’s gorgeous and funny and smart. I’d have hung on to her as long as I could. But everybody’s got their own thing going on, so if you need space, you need space.”

  “What if I don’t need space?” I ask.

  “You’ve only had space for two days,” Nance says. “Try it out.”

  “Bible study! Tomorrow night!” Eli’s yelling now. They can probably hear it on the second floor of Wigg. “Wherever you are in your spiritual journey, there’s room in your heart for the Lord!”

  “Did I tell you what she said?” I ask the others, charging ahead without regard for pronouns. I still don’t like how they sound, but I don’t have time to think through my linguistic choices anymore. “She asked me to give her percentage odds on whether I was going to transition. She said figuring out if I’m trans was my ‘new thing.’ Then she said, ‘I don’t care what gender you are. It couldn’t matter less to me.’”

  Nance nods. “So?”

  “So?” I say. “So she shouldn’t have said all that stuff!”

  “Why?” Derek asks. “It sounds to me like she’s just trying to understand. I’m sure she only meant she’d be supportive no matter what.”

  I can’t believe them. Aren’t they listening to me? “Did you hear the part where she called it my ‘new thing’?”

  “Yeah, that part’s lame,” Nance says. “She shouldn’t have said that. It’s like she’s implying that you’re going through a little phase or something.”

  Derek shakes his head, but I nod vigorously.

  “What really gets me,” I add, “is that she’s acting as if it isn’t even important. When this is the most important thing in my life right now. She doesn’t get that.”

  “T, look, I see what you’re saying, but you’re dramatically overanalyzing,” Nance says.

  “Yeah,” Derek says. “You’ve got to cut the girl some slack.”

  “She doesn’t get it,” I say. “She’s barely even thought about any of this stuff. She doesn’t know anything about what it’s like being trans.”

  “What, do you only want to date trans people from now on?” Nance asks. “Or would anyone with a PhD in queer studies work for you? God, do you ever even listen to yourself? You’re as bad as—you know what, never mind. I’m going inside to get a damn brownie. Derek, you talk some sense into this kid.”

  We watch Nance storm up the steps to the library. Derek lets out a low whistle after the door swings closed behind Nance. “Nice going. I’ve never been that good at getting rid of her.”

  “Should I go say something?” I clearly crossed a line.

  “Nah, you’ll just piss her off,” Derek says. “Don’t worry too much, though. I don’t think that was entirely about you.”

  Eli comes over and gazes up the steps after Nance, then pats Derek on the shoulder. “Dude, I know she’s your best friend and all, but when Nance starts screeching like that, I can’t handle it. One of these days I’m going to lose an eardrum.”

  “Give her time,” Derek says. “She’ll calm down. Uh, probably.”

  Wait. Best friend? Nance is Derek’s best friend? What does that make me?

  The door behind us bursts open so loud we all turn to look. Nance is back already. Eli makes a beeline for the bottom of the steps and starts yelling about Bible study again.

  “Okay, look.” Nance doesn’t sit back down, so I stand up. It’s clear Nance has something to tell me. “I decided I should explain this to you, because I think you aren’t intentionally being a jerk. I think you really just don’t know any better.”

  I look to Derek for help, but Derek is still sitting down, deliberately looking away from us.

  “Uh, thanks?” I say to Nance.

  “Shut up and listen,” Nance says. “You know that thing you do where you try to figure out everybody’s story the second you meet them? Whether they’re trans or cis or queer or straight, so you can decide whether you like them?”

  The hell? “I don’t do that!”

  “You totally do that. I saw you doing it the first day you met us. You couldn’t tell about Eli, so you were checking him out hard-core for, like, ten minutes. It was embarrassing.”

  I turn around to make sure Eli didn’t hear that, but Eli’s yelling at another batch of tourists. “Nance, I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play dumb. You do it with everyone. You try to put people in boxes so you know where you stand next to them. That’s why you latched on to Derek like a sycophant.”

  “I did not!”

  “Please, guys, leave me out of this.” Derek’s still looking straight ahead.

  “Look, it’s all right,” Nance says. “I’m not saying any of this is bad. Everybody does it when they’re new. It’s part of figuring out who you are. Like how you’re trying out every label in the gender-
identity handbook.”

  “There’s a gender-identity handbook?” Derek asks. “Wish I’d known. Can you order that on Amazon?”

  “Quiet, you.” Nance nudges the back of Derek’s coat with the heel of a cowboy boot. Derek laughs. “The point is, you can’t decide your girlfriend sucks just because she doesn’t know all the details of how this works. She doesn’t know any trans people except you, and us. Most people don’t. That doesn’t mean she isn’t worth your time.”

  “I never said Gretchen wasn’t worth my time.” I can’t believe Nance is lecturing me about this. “Gretchen’s amazing!”

  “Yes, we are totally not tired at all of hearing how amazing Gretchen is,” Nance says. Derek laughs again. “I’m just asking you to check your labeling. Okay? You can pick your own labels all you want, but don’t try to put them on everybody else for them. You know how complicated this is for you? Well it’s exactly that complicated for everybody else, so stop shortchanging us.”

  At the bottom of the steps, Eli’s voice is getting shriller, the pamphlets waving in the air.

  “It’s six-thirty!” Eli yells. “Do you know where your soul is? How long will you wait to experience the abundant life God has planned for you?”

  “It’s six-thirty? Crap!” I almost spill what’s left of my coffee.

  “What now?” Derek asks.

  “I’m late. I was supposed to meet my project group for Race and Politics at the Science Center at six-fifteen. Crap.”

  “Damn,” Derek says. “You better get yourself together, man.”

  Nance raises an eyebrow at me. “Think about it.”

  I nod even though I want desperately to roll my eyes. I wave goodbye to the guys and hurry away.

  The Science Center is past the Yard, about as far from Lamont as you can get. I have to forge my way through banks of dirty gray snow, elbow past Japanese tourists trying to take my picture, and shout “Excuse me!” three times at a bunch of freshmen throwing a Frisbee in the twenty-mile-an-hour wind. Plus I have to pee thanks to that latte, but there’s no gender-neutral bathroom out this way, and now that I’m binding every day I feel weird about using the women’s bathroom. I have no choice but to hold it until I get back to my room.