Page 35 of My Own Kind of Person

I didn’t want you to go

She replies immediately. I didn’t want to go either

I write, I could say you should come back so you can get some pignolis, but I don’t want to joke or pretend. I want you to come back so I can see you

She writes, I want to come back

To get pignolis AND to see you

I write, Come back?

Coming, she writes.

I look around my room. There are my shelves of old action figures and LEGO sets. That’s okay. I don’t wonder where the condoms are because I won’t need them. I put on a quiet record and the room fills with warm, acoustic guitar.

A knock comes from the front door. Christy stands in the same clothes as a few minutes ago, but the firemark on her neck burns red. Her shirt moves with her breath.

“No words is probably best,” I say, “but I’d like to make sure it’s okay if we don’t have intercourse tonight. I don’t know why but I’m too scared.”

She stays outside the door. “That’s completely okay.”

“But if you’d be open to joining me for other things?”

I hold out a hand, she takes it and steps in, and I lead her to my room. I close the door behind us and she stays still. “Let’s see,” I say, and I step backwards, gently pulling her toward the bed. I sit down and she stands in front of me. I unbutton and unzip her jeans and she lifts off her shirt. I slowly pull her jeans down as she releases her bra and lets it fall off her arms. She takes off her jeans as I unbutton mine, pull them down, and push them off. I lie back across the bed and she follows and lies beside me.

We kiss and she takes off her underwear. I pull my boxers off, and there I am, my penis, a part of me I’ve always had mixed feelings about, like it was offensive when erect and embarrassing when not. Whenever it’s appeared between Christy and me, she’s always taken it in her mouth quickly like she knows it’s something to put out of sight. Tonight she places her hand on my chest and we kiss. We lie side by side. We don’t do anything we haven’t done before, but it feels new because I’m no longer worried about whether it’s enough.

When we’re done I feel so good I laugh, and she does too, pushing me away and then pulling me back and kissing me through her smile. It’s fun but not dishonest. It’s vulnerable but not sad. It’s something I don’t know how to describe. Something true.

Chapter 11

When I was a kid, the ceilings of the Paumanok Public Library looked so high it seemed like clouds might gather at the top. I’m a foot and a half taller now and every time I go in for work I’m shocked by how low the ceilings are.

“It’s five after nine, Sean.” Warren doesn’t look up from the front desk. Warren Williams, a junior from another school, was just promoted from my position—a page—to assistant to the assistant director. He’s very proud of himself.

“Mornin’, Warren.”

I grab the squeaky cart and roll it toward the shelves. The library is empty on Saturday mornings and this cart only has three books, so I put my phone on top and open to my blank stand-up document. I’ve still got nothing. I try listening to old interviews with Joe Johnson. He says a comic only wants laughter, not applause, because laughter comes from the body and applause comes from the brain. This makes sense and does not help me write anything. When I turn to my English homework, though, every passing thought and memory flows out. I spend an hour pushing the cart at a snail’s pace while writing about the pickup truck that drove around me on the way to school, my search for porn that isn’t terrifying, and meeting Elijah in the bathroom during a casual panic attack. I feel a little guilty thinking about him after such a good night with Christy, but why should I? They’re separate things.

Thinking of you, I message Christy. She doesn’t reply but she’s probably still asleep.

“Eyes up, Sean.” Warren walks past with a terrifying thumbs-up.

I shake out the thoughts and get to work.

The first two books on my cart are political essays from a guy who has a popular podcast about being an outsider. The last book I’ve never seen in our library, but it’s the writer Christy said I’d like: James Baldwin. It’s a seven-hundred-page collection of his nonfiction called The Price of the Ticket.

I take the elevator to the second floor, where rows of graphic novels line the balcony overlooking the tables on the first floor. I push my cart to a spot where I can’t be seen and I flip through the massive book and stop at an essay called “Here Be Dragons,” mostly because it mentions dragons. It’s about how people are both masculine and feminine but America’s idea of sexuality comes from a rigid version of masculinity in which being a man meant owning and conquering. He tells a long, personal story about growing up poor in Harlem, and hooking up with men and women in Greenwich Village. He says old maps warned “Here Be Dragons” where the Americas were, and even if there weren’t dragons then, there sure are now. I can’t say I understand every sentence, but when I’m done I feel like I can barely stand.

Everything I’ve been writing for English is about the weirdness of masculinity, but I’m not going nearly as deep on it as this essay goes on…everything.

I head to the section that’s supposed to carry books on race, but the only one on the shelf is about “the end of racial politics,” which I think is the opposite of what I’m looking for. I go to where we should have books on gender, but our library made news a few months ago for removing all Pride Month displays and the majority of LGBTQ+ books. Which they apparently think includes literally anything about gender? The shelf is empty. I finally do my job and return The Price of the Ticket to its spot, and all around it are essay collections by comedians.

I message Andi, Are there books on gender you recommend?

One night last year Andi picked me up unannounced, and after an hour of driving silently, they said, “I don’t know if I’m non-binary, but I know I’m not binary.” I said, “Cool,” and then we got tacos. At the time, it seemed that simple. What else was there to discuss? Now it seems like there was everything to discuss.

No, Andi replies. But there are videos