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“Idon’t know,” he mumbles indistinctly.Isteal the keys out of his pocket with my free hand soIcan drive while he eats, becauseI’msuch a generous boyfriend. “Iwas getting third-hand information.”
Ittakes us twenty minutes to navigate through the tail end of rush hour to the busy hospital downtown.Atthe stoplights,Beckobligingly feeds me bites of fruit salad and burger.We’reso distracted that we letKidzBopplay on repeat the whole way.Ittakes several loops around the hospital and some arguing before we find the parking garage several blocks away from the emergency entrance. “Goon,”Beckoffers, throwing his empty plate behind him where it will never be seen again. “Hopout andI’llpark.”
Ihesitate, searching for an excuse to go together.Beckis the personCalvinneeds, not someone who has been avoiding him becauseIdon’t know what to say.Besides, medical facilities are not happy places for trans people.I’mnot even a patient, but those big sliding doors trigger my fight or flight instinct.Inthe end, it’s that fear which pushes me to get out of the car.Thetrans patient stuck in there is alone and probably a hundred times more scared than me right now.
BeforeIcan turn away,Beckgrabs theM&Mcookie off my plate and holds it out. “Youshould take him that,” he says so earnestlyIcan’t gripe about how unfair it is that he gobbled up his own cookie ten minutes ago.BeforeIcan answer,I’mleft standing in the cobalt dusk with the yellow lights of the emergency room lobby spilling out over the sidewalk. “Goddamnit,”Isigh.
AsIwalk inside,Idistract myself by wrapping the cookie in a napkin from my pocket soIlook like less of a fool.Thereceptionist, an older man, watches me expectantly asIapproach.Irealize, asIfumble for words, how muchI’vecome to rely onScout,Roman, andBeckto back me up in new situations. “I’mlooking for…”Idon’t even know ifCalvinis a real name. “Akid around twelve who came in with a broken arm a few hours ago?”
Henods, checking his computer, and gestures down the hall. “Thirdbed on the left.Anurse will help you check out.”
TheERseems quiet tonight, with most of the curtains open on empty beds.Idon’t have to count medical bays to find the only one with a closed curtain and voices inside. “Hello?”Icall uneasily, sinceIcan’t knock.
“Comein,” a clipped female voice instructs.Islide the mint green fabric aside and slip through.Calvinis sitting on the bed, while a nurse in blue scrubs enters data on a rolling computer stand.Shebarely glances at me. “Areyou here to pick her up, sir?”
Mybrain stutters, confused, before my heart sinks.Overher shoulder,Calvinhuddles in on himself with his head hanging and his small fist clenched in his lap.HisStarWarst-shirt has been pushed up over one shoulder to accommodate the cast on his arm, exposing the black athletic bra underneath.Idrag my eyes back to the nurse. “Sorry?”
“She’sready for discharge; she said a friend was coming to pick her up.”
Aslow warmth and lightheadedness creeps into the back of my mind, the faint edge of panic and a visceral sense ofit.Dysphoria.Theneed to claw all your skin off.Iwant to do whatIalways have–break eye contact, mumble something awkward, and rush away.ButwhenCalvin’steary eyes find mine over the nurse’s shoulder, the deep shame in them breaks my heart.
Myvoice sounds much calmer and more measured thanIfeel. “I’mhere to pickhimup.Doeshe need anything else?”Shockflickers acrossCalvin’sround face.Itry to offer him a small smile, butI’mnot sure it comes out.
Thenurse sighs deeply, her face hardening. “She–”
“He.”Momtaught me never to interrupt people, but this time it comes out beforeIcan think. “Didyou introduce yourself ashe?”IaskCalvin, just in case.Henods hesitantly, shooting a frightened glance at the nurse.
“Okay.”Sheslaps a sheaf of papers on the desk and levels a glare at me. “I’mvery busy.Doyou people thinkIhave time to remember two thousand made up genders?”
“Ithink you had time to learn his pronouns, decide you didn’t like them, and choose to use different ones,”Isay evenly. “Soyou must not be that busy.”Myheart is thumping in my ears.
Sheblinks at me, her nostrils flaring. “Idon’t know what your problem is, sir, but when you’re done enabling mental illness you can sign that form and take it to the front desk.”Withthat, she pushes past me and out the curtain.
“Shit.”Ifeel likeI’mgoing to puke asIrun my hands down my face.Theworst part is knowing that ifIsubmit a complaint about her, there’s only a small chance the hospital administration would care.Tryingto slow my heart rate,Iturn to the kid on the bed. “Areyou alright?Whathappened?”
“I, uh, fell.”Hehunches his shoulders and watches asIpull off my jacket. “Anold lady walking by took me to the hospital.”
Everyword out of his mouth sounds like a lie, butIdecide to letBecktackle that problem.WhenIdrape the jacket around his shoulders to hide his exposed body from the world, he huddles into it gratefully. “Beck’scoming,”Ioffer. “We’regonna get you home to your brother.”Exceptthey don’t have a home,Iguess.Idon’t know what else to say.
Hisface crumples a little. “I’mreally sorry the nurse yelled at you.Ishouldn’t sayI’ma boy whenI’mnot, butIjust…”Hestops and grasps for words he doesn’t have, that none of us really have, to explain the feeling that makes us willing to go through hell for a chance at peace. “Please, please don’t tellBeckabout me,” he begs softly. “HethinksI’mcool.”
Maybethere aren’t any right times or inspiring speeches in this life–just everyone doing their best to take care of each other. “CanIshow you something?”
Thekid cocks his head, instantly brightening up with curiosity.Ican see dried tear tracks in the dirt on his cheeks, but he’s a tough little guy.IfIhad broken my arm at his age without my mom there,Iwould have been sobbing.
Glancingover my shoulder to make sure we’re alone,Iquickly unbutton the top half of my shirt and pull it open to expose my chest.Themoment feels strangely fragile–my friends have all seen my scars, butI’venever displayed them to someone before.
Calvinstares uncomprehendingly for a moment before his eyes widen. “Wait,TheoandIread about this on a trans forum.Isit real?”
Ihuff a surprised laugh. “Yeah, it’s real.Ihad surgery about five years ago.”
“CanItouch it?”
“Sure.”
Hefrees his unbroken arm from the jacket and hesitantly brushes his fingers along the faint, shiny ridges of my scars.Forthe first time,I’mglad they didn’t heal invisibly. “Dude.It’sactually really real.”
Ichuckle and flick his forehead. “Yougoofball.Didyou thinkIwas bullshitting you?”
