Page 190 of Nearly Roadkill
“Words, Drew,” says my dad. He’s always good at pulling me back from the edge of academia. I start over.
“I would’ve thought for sure you two would be in the middle of all the conversations going on now,” I say. “I’ve searched for you in all the gender discussion corners of Instagram, TikTok, Twitch….”
Scratch sighs. “Yeah, no.”
I look to Winc, but her smile saysI’m sorry.
“What?” I ask, officially confused now.
“We just don’t talk that much about gender,” says Scratch with a shrug.
At the same time, Winc says, “Gender isn’t our favorite thing to talk about.”
And yeah, they look at each other and say, “Simul-talk,” and laugh.
“Well, I mean of course we talk about gender,” says Scratch. “Just not publicly. Or rather, just like we used to, in small, private chat rooms.”
“And safe!” Winc chimes in. “People are still so mean to each other. Sometimes it’s just silly, like who’s a man, what’s a woman, and why you hafta be one or the other.”
“Or both, or neither,” adds Scratch.
“Or any, or all of ’em all at once,” agrees Winc.
It’s not like they finish each other’s sentences exactly. It’s more like they build a conversation together. Just like in those chat rooms. So cool. But I want to push them on this.
“You’re saying gender policing is crueler today than it was thirty years ago?” I ask, my mind racing with examples to the contrary: Today, trans kids have role models, books to read and movies to watch, Internet and IRL support groups. We have language for every aspect of who we are. Isn’t that progress? As if she heard my thoughts, Scratch continues.
“Ah, yes, no, you’re right,” Scratch ventures. “I don’t know what to call anyone without having a conversation first. Which is actually just what we dreamed about! That’s kind of cool; you have to actually talk to someone. To learn who they are.”
“Exactlywhat we were hoping,” adds Winc. “But we thought the meanness would go away. Naive, I know. There’s such a huge, strong, queer armyout there now. Really fabulous when you think about it. They have to fight against book bans, anti-drag queen campaigns, legislation against healthcare for trans children, all that crap. Fierce!”
I can feel my chest kind of puffing up at being a member of the strong queer army.
“I love your cat,” Scratch says.
“Mmm-rowww,” says the cat, right on cue.
“Chicken,” I say.
“No! She’s a cat!”
“Her name is Chicken.”
“Oh! Sure!”
Winc turns to me.
“For years, all of us outlaws seemed to be all knitted together into more or less a loving family. But now?” Winc looks pensive. “Nobody’s giving anyone the benefit of the doubt.”
“But we still have fun with identity,” says Scratch.
“Only it’s a lot more subtle,” says Winc.
“We got into studying mindfulness together. The dharma path. Loving kindness and all that. You know, Zen,” says Scratch.
“Yeah,” Winc agrees, “but that was Zen, and this is Tao.”
We all groan, and then the room gets quiet.
