Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,24
the middle and try new restaurants in Denton.
Max and I have different approaches to our trans identities. He is very out and very proud, and I like to think that he’s proud enough for the both of us. Max is always mentoring youth at the LGBTQIA Center or disrupting public hearings. He has a blue Mohawk, and most of his shirts have funny queer slogans. There are social-justice buttons covering his jackets and activist bumper stickers all over his car. It makes buying gifts for him easy.
Ten minutes later, Max walks in and smiles, his lip piercing gleaming. I jump up, and we hug. He lifts me off my feet and shakes me around like a baby. I’m a tiny guy compared to him. We sit down and laugh at how silly that must have looked. A feeling of relief washes over me—I’m happy to be here with my buddy. I really needed to talk to someone. If my binder allowed a deep breath, I would take it right now.
Our waitress saunters up to our table and asks what we want to drink. I muster up my most masculine voice and order a Diet Coke. She jots it down and turns to Max. “And for the young lady?”
Shots fired. Max doesn’t miss an opportunity to educate someone about pronoun assumption. Or gender constructs. Or the best Black Mirror episode. Confrontation is not my thing. I freeze up and cover my face with the menu. If there’s one thing that gets Max heated, it’s being misgendered.
“I’ll have a coffee,” he says, then returns to the menu. She writes it down and walks off, smacking her gum.
“Max, you feeling OK? Young lady?”
“I know, I know. I kept quiet for you, sweetie, and for the kids,” he says, winking.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Pony, if you absolutely must know the truth”—he feigns frustration and throws his menu down—“I came to the realization at Applebee’s last week, when the waitress set my soup down in front of me—”
“Soup in the summer? You’re a monster,” I say, pretending to ignore the real issue.
He continues, “I decided that the people who handle my food are always right, until I have my food, and then, and only then, will I have a mature and adult conversation with them about their utter ignorance. But not a word until my soup is out of range of their spit.”
“Or worse,” I say.
“Or worse,” he repeats.
It’s smart thinking. When you’re seen as different, it’s best to go with the flow, pick your battles, and plan the right times to push back. Our waitress returns with our drinks. Once she leaves, I raise my glass in a toast and say (but not too loudly), “Here’s to being trans in Texas.”
We clink glasses.
“OK, enough foreplay, Pony. Out with it! Don’t make me beg.”
“I kind of want to see you beg,” I say.
“TELL ME ABOUT YOUR NEW GIRLFRIEND!” Max says, loud enough to turn a few heads.
I wave my hands in surrender to shut him up and say, “It’s new.”
“No shit, Casanova. It’s the first week of school.”
“I don’t know how I feel about it yet. Get this—we have every class together. And . . . she’s a cheerleader.”
“A cheerleader?” Max throws his head back and lets out a wild laugh.
“She has brown eyes that turn golden when the sun hits them, and—”
“Oh, honeybaby.” He stops me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re already on the hook,” Max warns.
I sit back and fight my impulse to be defensive. I don’t feel on the hook yet, but the whole thing is intriguing. And sure, I have imagined our wedding and life together. But that doesn’t mean I am on the hook.
“No way. If anything, she’s on the hook,” I say like a tough guy.
“How much do you think about her?”
Too much.
“Almost never,” I say.
“Lie,” he says. “How do you feel when she walks into the room?”
My breath stops.
“Practically nothing,” I say.
“And does she know you’re trans?”
No fucking way.
“I don’t think so . . . ,” I say.
“Oh shit, Pony,” Max says with concerned eyes. “Dude, you need to tell her.”
I look around and quiet my voice. “It’s too soon. I’ll get there when I get there,” I say, then take a drink of my Coke. “I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this thing. She’s popular and pretty. Why would she waste any time talking to me?”
“’Cause you’re a little stud.” Max grabs my hand and looks me in the eye. “You’ve got to believe that you are good enough, and then