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Kim

Change 3–Day 265

You know that nineties song “Dreams Can Come True”?

If you don’t, you can listen to the inside of my head right now because that jam is on an endless loop:

Just a question of time I knew we’d be together

And that you’d be mine, I want you here forever

Do you hear what I’m saying gotta say how I feel

I can’t believe you’re here but I know that you’re real . . .

Dreams can come true

Look at me babe I’m with you . . .

I’m officially proclaiming it the “Audrey and me” theme song, because not only does it sum up the past three years of our roller-coaster romance, but it also lays down the unicorn wonder starburst moment that is happening this instant. Because, yeah baby, like the proverbial band, Audrey and I are back together.

After all my pining and depression and living in a self-dug hole of misery for, oh, a whole freaking year, Audrey has come around, and by come around I mean we had sex.

Boom.

It happened yesterday when I picked her up on my Vespa and we drove downtown, hanging out on a blanket by what I now think of as OUR river, watching the old-fashioned tourist paddleboats putter by, listening to playlists she’d made—heavy with songs from the Cure and Tegan and Sara, I might add. She confided she’d made some of the lists weeks ago with me in the back of her mind.

She’d never really been able to shake me, even though she didn’t know why. That fluke night at the bowling alley when I impressed her with my give-no-effs at karaoke had something to do with it. How much fun she had, despite herself. And now that she did know, meaning KNOW the truth of who I am, all the chips fell into place, and the more time we spent together our last couple months, the easier it became for her to spot Drew and Oryon in me, to see all of me in general, and well, as the sun began to set, and we moved our blanket behind some trees, one song led to a peck on the head, which led to a kiss, which led to a grope, which led to Audrey suddenly climbing on top of me, pulling the second blanket over us and letting herself go wild in a way I’d never seen before.

It was, all told, a glorious night.

Even if the ride home was a little strange. Lucky the wind was loud, and we couldn’t hear much through our helmets. I think Audrey was embarrassed. It’s like she surprised herself. Maybe she had some regret. But I didn’t care. I mean, I care about her, which would be obvious to a blind-ass bat from space. But I didn’t care to plumb whatever fears or second thoughts Audrey was wrestling with in her busy brain because I’d just had sex with the woman I love for the second time, and that was a high I was going to ride for as long as possible.

Bee-Tee-Dubs, I’m still on that high.

It’s not just the sex. (Okay, it’s a lot about the sex.) Some of my unbridled joy is the unique satisfaction that comes from being right about a person. Audrey is the Audrey I’ve always suspected her to be. Deep and soulful and above trivial concerns like physical appearance. Though I confess I was freaking when she reached under my shirt, her hands settling on my chest with such gentleness and acceptance, I swear my soul flew from my body.

Audrey found a way to love me as Kim. Not that Kim is unlovable. But Kim is no Oryon. She’s not a Drew. She’s not typical or traditional or conventional or the image anyone sees celebrated in any media ever. Chubby Asian girls aren’t exactly popping up on all the lit feeds. Kim, in modern America, for all its claim to diversity and acceptance, is invisible. But as it turns out, none of that mattered, because Audrey connected with my insides.

(Boy did she.)

(Sorry.)

(Not sorry.)

Audrey confessed she’d realized she’d let herself get caught up in trying to be “normal” this year in school, because she was sick of fighting so hard to be different in her family, at school, with queen bee Chloe. Different wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. No matter how much they try and sell it in the soda ads.

“Preaching to the choir,” I said, and she kissed me on the mouth hard, like an apology.

* * *

Later, when I Facetimed Kris and told him that Audrey and I slept together, and that SHE initiated it, he of course insisted on hearing every sordid detail, squealing with delight whenever a nipple entered the picture.

“So now I have two mommies?” he joked.

“That might be premature. I’m not sure she’s ready to be a card-carrying LGBTQ-club kid.”

“Um, from what you’ve just shared, she could be president of the club.”

Kris was still living with his drag mother, channeling every queen he met, wandering through the wilderness of his sexual and gender identity, assuming he was THE expert in the subject, blissfully naïve to the truth that his best buddy Kim was part of a race of people obliterating the very conceits of gender and sexuality to begin with.

“Vice president,” I say, and Kris laughs.

“Treasurer, because girlfriend was all about your coin purse,” he cracks.

“Gross.”

“Shanté, you stay,” he declares in his best RuPaul voice.

“You sashay away.”

“Mopping is stealing.”

“You really need to stop watching Paris Is Burning on Netflix every day,” I say.

“And you really need to stop being a boring-ass drag, you big lez.”

“Who are you calling big?” I joke.

I watch Kris smiling on the tiny screen in his vintage perforated tank top and high-waisted jeans, and it hits me that in a few weeks, unless I decide to put him in the circle of trust, we won’t be friends anymore.

Because I won’t be Kim anymore.

“So when’s your next sex bout?” he asks.

“I’m having it now.”

Kris does a full-on fake puke. “Did you read that article in Nat Geo about how there are gay dolphins? Legit same-sex dolphin couples. Put that in your homosexuality-is-unnatural pipe and smoke it, phobic arseholes.” I hear a gravelly voice in the background asking Kris about cigarettes. “I’m happy for you, you stupid bitch,” he says, “but I gotta go.”

“Me too.”

“Now find me a freak to love.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I know a lot of freaks.” I point at him, and Kris blows me a kiss as the screen freezes, then goes black.

I try Facetiming Audrey after that, but she doesn’t pick up. I push down the worry that immediately crowds my thoughts. Worry that she is scouring the dark web for a drug to vanish any trace in her head of our afternoon by the river. Worry that Jason somehow senses a ripple in his Abider-leaning matrix and has cornered Audrey in her bedroom, screaming at her with a megaphone about the dangers of hanging with anyone who doesn’t look like one of those kids from Cabaret who sing “Tomorrow Belongs to Me.” Who am I kidding? That’s every night at Audrey’s house.

I try Facetiming Destiny. She texts that she can’t pick up, says to call like it’s 1999 or some crap. So I old-school phone her.

“Hey, girl,” she says when she picks up. “How’s sweet, sad Andy?”

“Fine. Sweet. Sad. Still in love with you.”

“Awwww.”

“So. I had sex with Audrey.”

“Hello! Why didn’t you say so?”

“I just did.”

“Man. That’s major. Beyond. How do you feel? How was it?”

“Remember the rain scene in The Notebook?” I say.

“Yeah.”

“Like that, only sunny.”

“So, not the worst.” Destiny laughs.

“No. Not the worst.” I laugh back. Then proceed to tell her all the gories. And, of course, my irrational fears.

“Not so irrational, given the history there,” Destiny observes.

I knew she was right. Making Audrey my Static is like trying to thread a needle with my feet. An uphill battle, at best. Premature, according to every Changers and Static standard since the final decades of the twentieth century. But you can’t choose who you love. Right? Or when you love.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Destiny says, “but my priority is you. Your safety. Your heart. You’re a goddamned jewel, and from what I’ve seen, that family is Shining-level scary.”

I stay quiet.

Destiny continues: “I mean, her brother? He’s like a car alarm that never shuts off. And her parents? I don’t know, Kim.”

“You’re not wrong, but—”

“But.” I hear her sigh on the other end of phone. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m here for it.”

“Thanks, Destiny.”

“What are you going to do about the fall? Your last V?” she asks.

“I promised to tell her.”

Another long sigh.

“I’m tired of lying,” I add.

“I hear you. But . . .”

“But what?”

“You have no idea what’s going to happen next year. Can you trust her?”

“Yes,” I say defensively.

“Dang, DJ’s texting. Gotta go. Be careful.”

* * *

It’s three a.m. I can’t sleep. It’s like I have a big test tomorrow. I check the clock every hour. In a way, I do have a test. School is ending in less than two weeks. Audrey will go to her hidey-hole church camp. I will be stuck here. Odds are we won’t see each other until the first day of my final V. Which could be anything. I could be anyone. Anyone but Kim. Or Oryon. Or Drew. Or Ethan. In the end, Audrey loved all of them in a way. More than I loved them myself.

When people get married, they’re supposed to stick together through anything. For better or worse. Sickness and health. Hell or high water. That’s what love is supposed to do. But the divorce stats tell a different story. All people change, and the people who love them often hate the change, and then that’s that.

* * *

It’s four a.m. And I’m spiraling. I’ve always been a spiraler. I guess Ethan’s overthinking and struggles with anxiety are one of the lovely bonuses that stuck with me through every change. Couldn’t have been his coordination or his thick hair.

I try to do deep breathing. Simply be. Simply be. In the moment.

Why can’t I be happy? I started this day so high and confident. Dreams can come true. Blah blah blah. A few hours later, the nightmares are setting in every time I doze off. I would do almost anything to get a handle on my brain, to be able to shut it down. I know how lucky I am. I’m not breaking brick in a Scientology work camp. I have amazing friends and parents who love me, and yet, spin spin spin. The what-if thought train barreling down my track.

I guess sex does complicate things.

At least this time I’m not getting postcoitally abducted. Hijacked by my insecurities, maybe.

How early is too early to text Audrey before school?