Page 70 of Leaving the Station
But if I had been feeling this way the night before, I knew I wouldn’t have wanted to hook up with Alden. It would’ve felt too... straight.
That’s what he was, though, wasn’t he? Straight?
Even if I wasn’t a girl, he didn’t know that.
I didn’t know what I was or who I wanted to be.
I didn’t know anything.
Wednesday, 8:30 a.m., outside of Rugby, ND
We’ve been playing Spit with Oakley’s deck of cards for the past half hour. She is, of course, extremely good at it. Maybe better than Alden.
“So,” I say, my palms almost too sweaty to move the cards to the spit pile. Oakley doesn’t look up.
I need to tell her how I’m feeling, even if I don’t know completely myself. “You know how I told you I was having thoughts about my gender?”
She freezes midstack, then collects all the cards into a pile, putting them away and giving me her full attention.
“Yes,” she says calmly, as if she might scare me away. “I remember.”
“Can I tell you some of the thoughts?”
“Of course,” she says.
I take a few deep breaths.
“It’s like this: sometimes I feel fine. I’ll wake up and I’ll feel good about the body I’m in and the way people perceive me. But other times...”
I’ve never had to put this into words before.
I try again. “Then there are other times where I want to be a boy, full stop, and it feels bone-deep wrong for anyone to suggest I’m something else.” I swallow the bile in my throat. “But when we, um, kissed last night,” I start up again. “That was really good. I felt right in my body then. But maybe I won’t tomorrow. Or later today.” I shrug. “I don’t know. I think my gender is partially being a lesbian. I like you. I like all girls.” My face gets hot. “But, yeah. I... Yeah.”
A beat, then: “Thank you for telling me.” I look up, and Oakley’s reaching out her hand for me to take. “I need you to know that I didn’t kiss you because I was rebelling.” She squeezesmy palm. “I kissed you because I wanted to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She leans back in her chair. “I think I’m a lesbian, but I’ve never only been attracted to girls. It’s more that I’m attracted to alternative forms of masculinity.”
“That’s a good way of putting it,” I tell her.
“What can I say?” Oakley asks. “I’m extremely smart.”
I reach my leg out to gently kick her shin, and she kicks me back, and soon we’re playing footsie.
I said something aloud I hadn’t told anyone before. Maybe not the full truth, but part of it. For now, that’s enough.
“So, pronoun check?” Oakley asks after a minute. “I can experiment, if you want, like if I’m talking about you to someone, I can mix it up.”
“Anything is fine,” I tell her honestly. “But who are you having conversations about me with?”
She laughs. “Maybe I’m gossiping with Edward; you don’t know.”
“Edward would have only good things to say about me,” I tell her. “We’re like this.” I twist my middle and index finger together to prove it.
“Folks, next stop is Rugby, North Dakota,” the conductor says through the static of the loudspeaker. “It’ll be our first smoke break since last night, so get out, stretch your legs, and be back in thirty minutes or—”
“The train leaves without you,” I say, mimicking the conductor’s serious voice, which makes Oakley laugh.
