by Nino Cipri
He had trouble reconciling the creature that emerged from the darkened apartment as the Min he’d known as an adult: hair greasy, glasses askew (hadn’t she switched to contacts?), rumpled, smelly. She’d spent years honing her femininity the same way that Damian had his masculinity—partly out of desire, partly out of defense, so gender wasn’t the first or only thing someone saw about you. Now, Min looked like she’d regressed back to those late-summer days at Camp Transcendent, when the two of them were baby trans having acoustic singalongs to old queercore songs and trying to figure out what gender, like, even was.
“Damian?” she said blearily. “Are you here or am I hallucinating from sleep deprivation?”
He smiled magnanimously at her. “Not only am I here, I brought you sustenance.”
She opened the door and held out her hands. Damian deposited the coffee and takeout container into them, then followed her into the apartment, which smelled like musty armpits, dirty dishes, and fake strawberries.
“Don’t sit on anything that looks integral to my research,” Min said. Papers and books littered nearly every surface. Damian decided to stand.
“I was worried you were dead. I sent a bunch of texts and never heard back,” he said.
Min shrugged as she set the food down. “I had to finish revising. I put everything that might distract me in my old trunk, locked it, and gave my mom the key.”
“Even your phone?”
“Even my sex toys.”
Damian refused to imagine Mrs. Hong getting too curious about the contents of her daughter’s locked trunk. “Well, I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“That makes one of us,” Min muttered. She slurped at the coffee, then pulled out an e-cig and puffed a plume of sweet vapor. That explained the weird strawberry smell.
“Is this about the documentary thing?” she asked.
Damian nodded. “Did Amelia call you before you locked your phone up?”
Min shook her head. “My mom told me. She’s been reading my texts and voicemails and stuff, and forwarding anything that seems important. She’s still mad that you cut me out of the book deal, but she thought she’d let me make up my own mind about this.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Min herself was still mad, but he was too afraid that she would say yes. Anyway, this wasn’t about him. This was about ossicarminis, one of the biggest and most underreported discoveries in evolution. It was about the land where they’d been found, which was still under threat of development. It was only very marginally about Damian proving to himself that he wasn’t a complete sellout.
“Anyway,” he said. “Documentary? Are you interested?”
“If they pay me, sure. I helped discover a nonhuman writing system, but I still haven’t found a fucking postdoc fellowship.” She made a pathetic noise and opened the takeout container. “I should have dropped out after ossicarminis. Done what you did and speed-written some sensationalist crap by myself, then gone on the talkshow circuit. I’m mostly mad you did it first.”
She didn’t even sound angry; she’d apparently moved all the way through exhaustion into an affect as flat as the Midwestern horizon.
“Ray would have given you his disappointed face,” Damian said. He was very well acquainted with it.
“You survived just fine.”
Damian shrugged. “I’m an asshole, though. And your mother would have killed you.”
Min shoveled more noodles into her mouth. “At least that would have been quick.”
Damian looked around the apartment, noticing that, even amidst the general atmosphere of neglect and disaster, the oracle bones that ossicarminis had been named for held pride of place on the mantle.
“Those are nice-looking replicas,” he said, moving closer. Ray believed they were from a species of Teratornis, giant predatory birds that probably terrorized ossicarminis. Damian could still picture that moment: Ray with the carved bones in his gloved hands, twisting them around to run his fingers over the carved sigils, describing an airborne nightmare with fifteen-foot wingspans. The two of them had shared a joint in the bed of Ray’s truck later, imagining ossicarminis somehow taking down what was probably one of their biggest predators, and using its bones to write incomprehensible messages for an unimaginable future. Then Damian had given him a blowjob. It was a great night. They’d had a lot of great nights before Damian had ruined everything.
Min paused in her slurping. “Replicas,” she said. “Yep. That’s what those are.”
Damian pivoted to look at her. “You didn’t.”
Min shoveled some noodles into her mouth, presumably so she couldn’t incriminate herself further.
“Does the university know you have these? Jesus, does Ray know you have these?” Damian demanded. For fuck’s sake, they weren’t even in boxes. The bones were out on her mantle where anyone could see them, take them, sneeze on them. This room didn’t even have proper humidity control.
Min took her time chewing. “The University has the replicas. I wasn’t going to give them the real things and let a bunch of grubby undergrads touch them. Ray...” She let the pause hang for an extended moment, then scooped more noodles into her mouth.
“You know what Ray thinks about this,” Damian said. “He wants the skeletons and artifacts re-interred and left alone. He dumped me over this, and you—”
“He dumped you for plenty of reasons, and those...” Min pointed with her chopsticks at her mantle. “...aren’t one of them, since he doesn’t know. You don’t get to blame that shit on me, motherfucker.” There was the Min he knew and loved. Damian immediately wanted to ask her what Ray had told her about their breakup. But that was too pathetic, even for him, even in this strange time where Min seemed to have reverted into her smelly, gluttonous teenage self. Instead, he crossed his arms and told her, “You have to give them back.” Min set the noodles on her table amid the piles of papers. “Say what?”
“Not to the university, fuck them.” He waved his hand. “But you can’t keep them for yourself. That’s probably the only thing worse than having them stuck in a drawer in the school’s archives.”
Min groaned and rubbed at her face. “I’ll think about it. I’m not promising jack shit right now. I’m a fucking train wreck and I haven’t slept in two and a half days.” She picked up her noodles again, stabbing her chopsticks into them.
“Fine,” Damian said. “But so help me, you are at least going to store the priceless artifacts in a goddamn protective microclimate.” He looked at the window and felt a righteous fury surge through him. “For fuck’s sake, do you leave these in direct sunlight?”
***
Min managed to transform herself back into mostly human shape for the possible opening sequence the next day. For some ungodly reason, they were shooting in the Loop during the midday lunch rush. Nothing said humanity like swarms of office workers descending on a Corner Bakery, apparently. Damian had to hurry to keep pace with Min; she was six inches taller than him and, when thrust onto a busy sidewalk, walked like she’d been sent to kill someone but wouldn’t mind racking up a body count along the way.
“They’re going to do some shoots in San Francisco next, at the ossicarminis exhibit,” Damian said, because he and Min were supposed to be making friendly conversation in the shot. Min nodded, barely listening, more enthralled with her Venti Frappuccino. Did everyone finish their PhD with a lethal caffeine habit, or just the assholes Damian loved and had surrounded himself with? “We get a retainer and all expenses paid. Apparently they want to interview all three of us about the exhibit.”
“So Ray’s on board.” Technically a statement, but there was a healthy amount of skepticism in her voice.
“I’m working on it,” Damian said. “I’ll be flying down to Kansas tonight.”
Annika, who was walking backward while looking at the screen, leaving her harried assistant director to make sure she didn’t step on a tourist or a pile of dogshit, called out, “I need the two of you to liven it up a litt
le! You look like you’re on your way to a funeral.”
“Mine, probably,” Damian said drily.
That made Min laugh.
“Good, yes, more like that!” Annika called.
After fifteen minutes of the two of them walking and trying not to look at the camera, they and the crew moved to the Field Museum.
“I don’t think I’ve been here since my second-worst Tinder date,” said Min. “What was that, five years ago?”
“Six,” Damian said, remembering it well. Min had detailed the whole thing in a long Tumblr post that later went viral.
“Okay, okay, our stand-in performer should be meeting us here,” Annika said, coming up to them. She handed them their tickets and then checked her smart watch.
“Stand-in?” Damian asked.
“We’ll be bringing ossicarminis to life in this scene. The little rascal will be following you through the museum. Plus we’ll have some web-exclusive extras that will look like Night at the Museum, except—ah! Herman!”
Annika waved to a chubby white kid, probably sixteen at most, with pink cheeks and an ill-advised man bun. He was short, a couple inches shorter than Damian. And underneath a light jacket and a pair of basketball shorts, he was wearing bright green spandex leggings.
“Who’s that?” Min whispered to Damian.
“That’s my nephew,” Annika replied. She apparently had the ears of a school librarian. “He’ll be playing the stand-in for the CGI ossicarminis.”
She hugged and kissed the boy on the cheek, and he put up with it as graciously as a teenager could. Annika clapped her hands.
“Okay, so, we’re going to start in here. I’d like Min and Damian by the big dinosaur thing,” Annika called, gesturing toward Sue the T-Rex. “Herman, you’re playing a very mischievous giant weasel. Very smart, a little shy.”
“Giant weasel, got it.” He yanked off his jacket and basketball shorts and got on all fours. The bright green spandex turned out to be a full onesie.
“Damian,” Min said, clutching his arm.
“Yeah.”
“This is weird, right? This isn’t just me forgetting how to deal with other humans after subsisting on beef jerky and instant coffee for two weeks.”
“No, this is genuinely weird.” He turned to her. “But it’s going to look great on your CV.”
He and Min spent the next hour pretending to stalk and be stalked by a teenager in a neon spandex suit while cameras rolled, schoolchildren stared at them, and tourists gave them the stink eye for ruining their photos of the taxidermied man-eating lions of Tsavo. Min was stiff the whole time, wary, and obviously re-acclimating to using her body for anything besides endlessly revising a manuscript. Min had always been in the “when can I download my brain into a robot” camp of trans people.
Damian had dropped academia like a hot, rotten potato after getting his MA and never looked back. He was too goal-oriented for the long con of academic life. He’d fallen gratefully into environmental organizing, finding it infinitely preferable to be in front of a crowd than a classroom. Min, on the other hand, was made for academia. She relentlessly dug for deeper answers, then deeper questions that complicated those answers. It had made her incredibly frustrating to work with, when the two of them and Ray co-wrote their paper on ossicarminis. On the other hand, it also meant that her dissertation was probably going to be miles better than Damian’s book.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Annika chanted as she paced the length of the room. She had a way of doing that, as if she were appeasing a silent, ghostly audience. Or perhaps, more likely, an audience of executives from the Smithsonian. She stood in front of a taxidermied crocodile. “Okay, I need a minute. I’ve gotten lost and need to figure my way out.”
Her assistant frowned and said in a stage whisper, “Let’s all take five. Bathroom break. Herman, don’t go too far.”
The crew wandered off. Min looked around at the empty room, then snuck a hit off her vape.
“Seriously?” Damian hissed. “When did you start vaping anyway?”
“When I had a mental breakdown over switching my dissertation project with no support from my advisor or department, because they’re all either jealous or think it’s a hoax.” Min shrugged. “It’s got CBD oil in it. Helps with anxiety.”
“Are you anxious right now?” he asked. It was definitely weird to get stalked by a teenager in spandex, but not even the weirdest thing they’d ever done together.
“It’s the first time I’ve been out of my apartment in nearly a month, and I’ve apparently signed up to be part of a documentary with CGI weasels.” She snuck another look around the room, but it was just the two of them and Annika eye-fucking the taxidermied alligator. She pulled another hit off her vape. “But I’m also done with my fucking diss, so I guess I could be worse.”
Damian looked at her, his concern growing. “Congratulations. I don’t know if I said that already.”
“You didn’t.” She exhaled vapor out her nose. The room filled with silence, occupying the space where it seemed like Min should have said something else, or he should have.
“Could the two of you have your feelings somewhere else?” Annika called. “It’s distracting.”
There was a set of windows near the Hall of Gems that overlooked Lake Michigan, which glinted with hard flecks of sunlight. Damian peered out while Min leaned against the banister. The camera crew followed them but kept their distance, filming Herman cavorting in his lime-green suit.
Damian wondered how much of Min’s dissertation was devoted to discrediting everything he had written in Oracle Bones, then wondered if that was self-centered. Min would almost certainly say so. Ray probably wouldn’t even deign to answer, just raise a single eyebrow. Ray had a way of making you feel a couple inches tall without even trying very hard.
“Can I read it?” Damian asked instead. “Your dissertation, I mean. I’m sure it’s amazing.”
Min side-eyed him; her side-eye was vicious, sharp as a scalpel. It was startlingly different to how she’d acted on camera. It was profoundly sad to be playing at having the same friendship that had once sustained them.
“We’ll see,” she said.
Annika came out of the alligator room, face stretched into a disconcerting smile. She approached both of them and laid a steely grip on each of their shoulders. “I’ve got it,” she said. “I understand how it all works now. It’s going to be fantastic.” She shook them both a little, like a dog roughing a chew toy. “We’re going to be fantastic.”
Min blinked. “Cool?” she said.
“Off to San Francisco next,” she said, releasing them with a decisive move. “We’re going to need Doctor Walker there. Damian, do you still want to talk to him yourself? That will need to happen sooner rather than later.”
Damian forced a grin onto his face. “Sounds great. Fantastic. Can’t wait.”
***
I’m sorry, what? Who would win in a fight? Smilodon and ossicarminis didn’t even exist at the same time. They wouldn’t have fought. Even if they did exist at the same time, which is not in the fossil record...I don’t care if you’ve already started plotting this sequence, I’m not going to sign off on ossicarminis fighting a saber-toothed tiger. I’m definitely not going to have an opinion about it. This is a serious documentary about a serious topic, and—
Ray said what? Of course he did. God. He may be a scientist, but he’s also such a dude sometimes.
***
Damian’s book tour had taken him all over the US. Before that, he’d been into the lecture circuit, convincing liberal arts colleges to give him money in exchange for making science and environmental activism look like a sexy, valid career choice. It wasn’t the first time he’d come through Kansas, but it was definitely the first time he’d come this far into it, flying into Kansas City and driving two hours west. He stopped for a quick burger and pee break at a place called Spangles, and had to squeeze past a statue of Elvis on his way to the bathroom. He felt nervous in t
he stall; nobody had given him shit about using the men’s room in three or four years, but a place where they hung guitars on the walls emblazoned with God Bless America seemed likely to break the streak.
Emporia, once he got there, was a little better. It was a Midwest college town—significantly scaled down, but it had the same array of cutesy shops, grotty bars, and the odd bookstore and tattoo parlor that he’d come to expect. It wasn’t bedazzled, airbrushed AMERICA. Thank fuck.
Damian killed half an hour at a local coffee shop, hoping the heat and familiarity of a hazelnut latte would calm his nerves. Instead, he ceaselessly imagined all of the things that he’d say to Ray, immediately forgot them in his panic, and then panicked even more because he couldn’t face Ray without an idea of what to say. He should have called. He should have let Annika or one of the producers handle this. He shouldn’t have sold out! Or maybe he should never have kissed Ray on a clear, moonlit night, when they were both buzzed from a spliff and a court order halting the development.
By the time he found Ray’s office, Damian was in a state of acute misery, sweating because Kansas apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that it was April and not August. The door was locked. A post-it note said Dr. Walker was out in the field.
The department secretary informed him that Ray was doing a population study with his students in the Flint Hills. She pursed her lips as she told him this, as if Damian were a recalcitrant student who hadn’t done his homework, and wow, that brought back memories. Luckily, Damian had learned to ooze the sort of charm that was weirdly effective on academic staff and professors. The secretary eventually gave him written directions to the place in Flint Hills where Ray was apparently counting antelope.
It always weirded Damian out that you could drive seventy-five or eighty miles an hour through most of Kansas legally. Humans weren’t meant to go past sixty-five, in his opinion, and he had to consciously relax his white-knuckle grip as he forced the speedometer up to seventy. Even then, massive Ford pickup trucks were whizzing past him in the left lane. He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to swerve. Hitting a tree on the straightest road on the damn continent would be an embarrassing way to die.