Mariam: Benji???? What’s up???
Mariam: Don’t go ignoring me kiddo, don’t tell me you got your phone taken away again???
Mariam: Helloooooooo?
Mariam: Is everything okay Benji?
Mariam: B E N J A M I N????
That’s Mariam for you.
Me: Hey
I figure out the time zones between North Carolina and California in my head; at three hours behind they’ll probably be getting out of bed by now. Mariam is a total night owl, which usually means they are up by ten at the earliest.
Mariam: How we doing today???
Me: Not good.
I consider lying to Mariam, no reason to make them worry. But they’d figure it out one way or the other. If not now, then the next time we FaceTime and they don’t recognize my new bedroom.
Mariam: Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?
Me: I came out to my mom and dad.
Mariam: Oh no…
Me: They kicked me out
Me: I’m with my sister now
Mariam: Fuck…
Mariam: The sister that your parents hate?
Me: The very one.
Mariam: Ben, I’m so sorry, I don’t even know what to say.
Mariam: So what’s the plan?
Me: I have no clue. I got enrolled in this other school, but other than that…
Me: Just trying to figure things out, get going again.
Mariam: Oh Ben… I feel so useless. I wish I knew what to say to you right now.
Me: It’s fine, there’s really nothing you can do.
Mariam: No, it’s not fine. I’m so… angry, sad.
Even trying to make a joke feels empty right now, but before I can stop myself, my fingers are typing it out automatically.
Me: I think they call that smad.
Mariam: Don’t make me laugh right now, please.
Mariam: Oh god, okay
Mariam: Listen I have to go get ready for a meeting. But I’ll message you the second I’m out. I love you Benji. So much. <3
Me: Love you too.
I close the laptop and tuck it away, ignoring the growl in my stomach. Thomas said to help myself to food, but I don’t think he realizes just how awkward that’ll be. I can wait.
If I have to.
I try to waste time flipping through the channels on the TV, but nothing’s catching my eye. After another hour, I check my messages again, but Mariam hasn’t responded, so I pull up their YouTube channel and pick a video at random, watching with the volume low since I don’t have my headphones. Doesn’t matter, they caption all their videos.
I feel myself relaxing. That weird weight on my chest feels a little lighter right now. Like I can actually breathe for the first time in hours. I found Mariam’s channel on a message board for trans and nonbinary teens after I’d started questioning my own identity and spent a whole night binging their videos and vlogs. Mariam talked about pretty much anything and everything. From immigrating to the United States from Bahrain, to coming out to their family, to dating as a nonbinary person.
Their videos are the reason I know what I identify as, and when I finally mustered the courage to come out to someone, it was Mariam. That was a super awkward night. In fact, I made a Twitter account just to talk to them. But they worked me through it, and we just kept talking until we realized we shared a mutual love for Steven Universe. Hell, they’re one of the few people who I let call me Benji.
I can hear the door swing open, and Hannah comes barreling through from the garage, plastic bags hanging from her fingers and wrists. “Ben? Thomas? Y’all back yet?”
“In here,” I say, but I don’t think she hears me.
From the sound of it, she’s moving down the hall right into the kitchen. I hear her grunt, and then something lands on the counter with a thud. What in the fresh hell? I slip past the still-swinging door, staring at everything Hannah’s laid out.
“What is all this?” I ask, staring at the bags sporting the big red Target logo.
“I went out, got you a few things.” She starts unpacking the bags. There are packs of underwear, socks, a razor, some deodorant. I can’t help but notice the last two items are lacking in the “For Men” category. I don’t know if Hannah did that on purpose, but God, I love her for it.
“Oh …” I stare at everything laid out for me.
“I don’t really know what kinds of clothes you’re into.” She starts balling up the empty bags. “We can go shopping together this weekend if you want, but I figured I could get you the essentials for now.”
“Thank you.” I can actually feel myself smiling.
“No problem, kiddo.”
“You get everything?” Thomas asks, strolling in from his office.
“Close to it,” Hannah says. “How’d enrollment go?”
“They’ll start tomorrow.” Thomas is grinning, looking at everything on the counter.
I’m still looking through the things Hannah bought for me. “Thank you,” I say again. I don’t want to let go of any of it, scared that it might slip away from me at any moment.
“It’s no biggie.” She starts rubbing my shoulder again. “You’re going to be okay.”
I start nodding, and I really hope I’m not crying or anything.
“Ready for your first day?” Thomas asks me the next morning, mug of coffee already in hand.
“I guess.” I look around the kitchen. “Do you mind if I have a cup?”
“Oh, yeah.” He moves over to the cabinet and pulls out this mug that says “Donut Tell Me What to Do,” along with a picture of a half-eaten donut. “Creamer’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” I pour my cup slowly, savoring the smell of the coffee for a few seconds.
“Nervous?”
“A little.”
“You’ll be okay.” He chuckles. “Nathan’s a good kid, though I can’t really speak for his tour-guide abilities.” Thomas takes a sip from his mug, leaving this awkward silence. “You’ll need to go to the office first thing and get your schedule.”
“Okay.” I wonder what classes they’ll put me in. Hopefully the same ones I was taking at Wayne.
I also can’t help but wonder if any of my classmates back home will even realize I’m gone. I wasn’t exactly super popular there, and I didn’t really have anyone I could call a friend. But someone has to notice, right? At least my teachers. One of your students can’t vanish over Christmas break without you realizing it.
Thomas drives us to school with some local talk show blaring over the radio. He chuckles at a joke every few minutes, but other than that, he seems quiet. Until he isn’t.
“Hey, Ben.” Thomas turns down the radio.
I guess we could only go for so long.
“Yeah?” I say.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen Hannah?”
Out of everything he could’ve asked, I wasn’t really expecting that. I also feel like he should already know the answer to that. “About ten years, why?”
“You don’t know much about her, do you?”
“Not anymore.”
“Did you even know we were married?”
“Kinda,” I say, and he waits for further explanation. “I found her on Facebook. Your wedding pictures were up there.”