Page 48 of My Own Kind of Person

I feel like I’m filled with fire. “I don’t want to say men are the worst, because I find that vague and unhelpful. But men are not the best.”

“I don’t disagree.”

He watches me silently.

I push my hair out of my face. “Sorry.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I agree with you.”

I give a half-hearted tip of an invisible hat. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“I’ll talk to you.” He holds up a hand and walks away.

I turn around but stay standing as the crowds push against me. I want to scream. Which is one reason I can sympathize with toxic men. When you’re not allowed to let the feelings out as tears or honest words, where are they supposed to go?

The one-minute warning bell rings and the hallways empty. I stay still.

Elijah reappears in front of me, out of breath.

“You identify as male?” he says.

I hold open my hands, exhausted. “I guess so.”

He touches his chest. “So do I, and I won’t let some retrograde fool like Jay define what that means. And you shouldn’t either.”

“If it weren’t for reproduction, this planet could do without cis men. They add very little beyond sperm.”

“You’re oversimplifying and you know it. Yes, men have done and still do some of the worst things, but that doesn’t define who you are and it’s not related to who you could be.”

I want to agree with him but I can’t. There’s something about being male that I don’t know if I can forgive.

“There’s something about being male that I don’t know if I can forgive,” I say.

“That’s nonsense,” he says, and he looks like he means it. “Do you feel that way about me? Do you think I’m bad because I’m a guy?”

“No.” And I don’t. “But you’re not like most guys.”

“And neither are you.”

“But I feel bad about that.”

“You shouldn’t. Did you read the note I dropped on your desk?”

“I’ve had it in my pocket ever since.”

His intense face freezes, and without any transitional state, he smiles.

I look down. “I also haven’t changed my jeans, but.”

He stifles a laugh. I snort. We’re both smiling like dummies.

He runs a finger across his lip and says, “When I was coming out, I had to take apart everything I thought I knew about gender and sexuality.”

“How did you rebuild it?”

“I’m still rebuilding it and I probably always will be. As I get older. As I change.”

I look at his shoes. “I did stand-up last night and I wasn’t sure how to act onstage, and then I found your note in my pocket and—”