“But why do you still do it? Why bother?”
“Because without it, I’d be a watch with just a second hand. I need to keep track of the larger measure.”
“That larger measure being your life.”
“Exactly.”
We both sit back. Look at each other for a second.
This is the most incredible conversation I’ve ever had.
And I think he feels that way, too.
“How many of us do you think there are, Xenon?”
He groans. “Please. Call me X. If you’re A, I’ll be X. Xenon wasn’t meant to be used anywhere besides my own head. It sounds silly when you say it.”
“But it’s your name!”
“X. Please.”
“Okay, X…how many of us do you think there are? And do you think we’re all related in some way?”
“Like, some poor woman keeps giving birth, and the result is us?”
“That might be a little more related than I thought. But possible, I guess.”
“I think there are more of us than that. And I think there have been people like us for a while, secret for the same reasons we’ve kept ourselves secret. Both our power and our survival depend on it.”
“And do you think we’ve always been like this? From the very first day?”
“There’s no way to know, of course. But what I think? I think we were born just like everyone else, and then on our second day, we woke up in another newborn’s body. That first baby lost the first day of his life—but how will he ever know? We leave long before any memories are formed.” He looks at me. “You’re smiling. Why are you smiling?”
I tell him the truth. “Because I’ve asked myself this question thousands of times over the years. And at a certain point, I gave up on ever hearing anyone else’s answer. So to be talking to you about this…it’s not what I was expecting.”
“You thought I was going to hit you over the head, spirit you away in my white van, and suck out your soul to put inside a monster I’d built.”
“Something along those lines,” I say. His mention of my wariness has reminded me of it. Just because he’s joking about the white van doesn’t mean there’s not one parked outside, the keys in his pocket.
He seems alarmed by my alarm. “I really made quite a first impression. It’s been over an hour—will you allow me to apologize again?”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “The hour has changed things.” Because before, I would have assumed the worst. Now I’m trying not to assume anything. Because I want us to keep talking.
“For me too.”
“So what else?”
“You said you don’t think of yourself as a he or a she?”
“No. You do?”
“I’m definitely a he.”
“That’s so weird to me. You still wake up female sometimes, right?”
“I wake up in women’s bodies. But I never wake up female.”
“But why would you choose?”
“Because every human being has to be one or the other.”
“That’s not even remotely true.”
“Okay, okay—I concede that point. But for me, it’s important to have a concrete identity, even when you are changing your physical form so much. Perhaps even more so. It’s important to know who you are. What you look like—”
I can’t believe he’s saying this. “You know what you look like?” I interrupt.
“I know what I should look like. It’s very clear to me.”
I gesture to Wyatt. “Is this it?”
He looks down at Wyatt’s hands, then back up at me. “This is close enough.”
“So you chose it.”
“In some senses, yes. I took the do-overs until I got it right. Or right enough. You’ll be able to do that, too.”
“But I don’t want that.”
“Why not?”
“Because once you have preferences, once you start thinking of people in terms of better or worse—then suddenly there will be bad ones and good ones. And I’ll treat the bad ones badly, just because I have preferences. I don’t believe in that. I don’t believe any body is inherently better or worse than any other. The outside world makes its judgments. And I’m sure the people themselves make their own judgments from the inside. But when I’m in there, I am not there to judge. I felt it happen a couple of months ago, when I was starting to see myself as I thought the outside world saw me. I could feel myself tilting into feeling I wasn’t the right size or the right gender. And that, more than anything else, made me know I was going down the wrong path. So I left. I tried not to see myself through the outside world’s eyes.”
“Through her eyes.”
“Her?”
“The girl you love. You haven’t told me about her yet. But I have to imagine the two are related.”
“How do you know about Rhiannon?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“Nathan, remember? Don’t worry—he wouldn’t tell me much. I just knew she was his conduit to you. But I inferred. You must love her.”
It seems pointless to deny it. “I do.”
“And, naturally, that makes you feel seen. By the ‘outside world,’ as you say.”
“It does. Have you ever been in love like that?”
“Absolutely. It’s hard for us, isn’t it? Almost impossible. But not entirely impossible. That gap between almost and entirely—that’s what we’re always trying to squeeze through, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“But listen to yourself. How is she supposed to love you if you don’t give yourself any true form? What is she supposed to love—a name? A? How can you give her something that you don’t have?”
“We’re figuring it out.”
“Which is what you need to do. And I want to help. I know I don’t have much standing to do so. But I’ve been through this, A. I know exactly what you’re talking about. And because of my own experience, I can see all of the barriers that are currently invisible to you. I can see the core problem that builds all the barriers.”
“And what’s that?”