I Am Water Read online

  our weekly milkshake.

  He eyes

  my midnight blue

  cotton dress

  and lace tights

  like he knows

  something is up.

  I almost always

  wear baggy jeans and

  an earth-toned zip-up.

  He braces to

  ask a million questions.

  But I switch the subject

  to chemistry,

  the one class he

  now loves.

  Mr. Ralph taught them to make

  molten iron and fires that

  can’t be put out with water.

  Questioning dodged.

  After our milkshake,

  I walk down to

  Sam’s and my spot.

  But Samless,

  to meet

  Ezra.

  79

  Guilt

  wells up inside

  like a spring.

  But Sam

  wouldn’t understand.

  And I get why

  Ezra doesn’t want

  to go somewhere

  like a movie theater,

  where he might

  run into any

  of the guys

  from school.

  80

  The Quarry, Waxing Gibbous, Egg Moon He’s there waiting

  with

  a potted

  philodendron.

  A gift.

  But

  he looks

  nervous.

  Like he needs

  to tell

  a secret and

  he doesn’t

  know

  if he can.

  “What’s on

  your mind?”

  I ask.

  “I know

  what people

  are saying

  about me,

  but

  I’m not

  gay. And

  I’m not

  bisexual.

  I’m

  gender fluid.”

  81

  He talks fast

  as he

  explains to me

  what it means to be

  both a man

  and a woman.

  At one point

  he seems to be

  at a loss for words.

  Until

  he looks up to see

  the moon.

  He continues,

  “It’s kind of like

  the moon

  is the feminine me

  and the sun

  is the masculine me

  everyone expects

  me to be.

  The moon is always there,

  but, during the day,

  the sun mostly

  overpowers her.

  Sometimes,

  if you look

  closely though,

  you can see her.

  Faintly.

  But it is only when

  she is left alone

  and the sun sleeps

  82

  that she can give off

  her full light.

  Other times,

  one

  eclipses

  the other

  and

  I can’t find

  a piece of

  myself.

  And

  everything

  goes

  dark.

  Those times

  are hard.”

  I can tell

  he’s

  troubled by

  my quietness.

  He probably thinks

  I’m

  freaked out

  by his truth.

  But

  it’s entirely

  the opposite.

  A dam opens up

  inside my chest.

  All the things that have been

  caught in the backwash

  83

  between my head

  and my throat

  flood my mind.

  Once

  you are told

  how water works,

  you understand

  things you have

  experienced

  on a river.

  Once

  I was told

  how gender works,

  as Ezra went on

  in detail about

  social constructs and

  being outside

  the binary,

  I understood

  things I had

  experienced

  in life.

  I understood

  the slumber parties

  I never wanted to attend.

  I understood

  my confused sadness

  at my parents’

  disapproval when

  I cut my own hair with

  a bowl and scissors.

  84

  Age eight. And

  ran off to the creek with

  the boys next door.

  I understood

  my outer pride

  every time

  someone praised me

  for being a strong girl in

  a man’s job.

  But also

  my inner need

  sometimes

  to pretend

  I am

  just

  another

  boy

  on

  the

  river.

  The river.

  Nature

  is full of

  species that

  have no gender.

  Or

  change gender.

  Or

  break the norm of

  what gender

  should mean.

  Fluid.

  85

  Like

  a river.

  Like

  water.

  I smile

  and

  a single tear

  wanders

  down my

  cheek.

  I nod.

  “I’m

  not sure.

  But

  I think,

  maybe,

  me

  too.”

  His face is

  a mix of

  relief,

  surprise,

  and

  excitement.

  “Can we

  try something?”

  he asks.

  86

  An Evolution

  It’s 11:00 on

  a Friday night.

  Teenagers,

  classmates,

  hang out in front of

  the box office.

  On street corners.

  Outside the coffee shop.

  Ezra and I

  stroll

  hand in hand

  down

  Main Street.

  I in his

  black jeans

  and button-up shirt.

  He in my

  midnight blue

  cotton dress

  and lace tights.

  Heads start

  to turn.

  And whispers turn

  to jeers.

  I grasp his hand

  tighter in mine.

  “You look beautiful,”

  I say.

  87

  He looks at me.

  For the first time

  all night,

  his eyes are

  focused.

  Calm.

  Steady.

  “It’s true.

  I’m earth and

  you’re water.

  I need

  you

  in order

  to grow.”

  Then he does

  something

  that makes

  every drop

  inside me

  surge up like

  a towering wave.

  He holds my face

  in his palms,

  as if he were cuppin
g

  a very big, fragile seed.

  Or a precious drink

  of water. And

  he kisses me

  right on the street.

  In the midnight blue light.

  In a midnight blue dress.

  88

  And I’m

  swimming

  through the sky.

  Swirling and

  stroking

  endlessly

  through the

  depth.

  And

  the only thing

  that

  brings me

  back down

  is

  the mix

  of shock

  and anger on

  a face in

  the crowd.

  Lit by

  a single

  flame

  from

  a purple

  lighter.

  89

  A Night of Mixed Dreams

  That night I have

  two dreams.

  An earth dream and

  a water dream.

  The first.

  My room is

  filled from

  wall to wall with

  potted

  philodendrons.

  They whisper green

  to me.

  Pulsing.

  The green feeds

  my imagination’s

  predawn hunger.

  Growing as wild and

  huge as the plants

  pouring out of

  their containers.

  The walls drip

  moss and nectar.

  Sapping and

  releasing spores.

  Bristling and

  breathing.

  Ezra is lying

  90

  on the bed

  next to me.

  A mattress

  somehow

  made of soil.

  A garden bed.

  A canopy of vines

  winds down

  his shoulders and

  around my waist.

  The room

  is bright with

  magenta and

  tangerine.

  Forest green and

  marigold.

  And the plants

  take in the colors

  like a sort of

  photosynthesis.

  Ezra says

  the philodendrons

  don’t need much.

  He says

  he doesn’t

  need much

  either.

  But I am

  still learning

  the things I have

  for giving.

  91

  He is

  bent

  around me.

  Arms wrapped

  around

  my middle.

  Feet laced

  together

  into

  threaded roots.

  Digging

  deep

  into the

  sheets.

  The green

  behind

  our

  closed eyes

  and in

  our stomachs

  reassures

  us.

  It’s

  enough

  to

  get

  us

  through

  tomorrow.

  92

  A Nightmare

  A harbor shimmers

  in the speckled

  moonlight.

  Blue-green and

  serene.

  There is a thick,

  inky blackness.

  It dribbles at first,

  from somewhere

  unknown. But

  begins to spew

  faster and faster.

  Until it’s gushing

  unstoppably.

  Scummy.

  Tar-like.

  Deathly.

  An oil spill.

  Then

  the whole scene

  alights in

  a screaming blaze.

  Orange and deep red.

  The surface

  of the water

  is burning.

  93

  Poise

  Red: a single

  ball-shaped earring

  dangling from

  one lobe.

  Orange: a pair of

  Keds he kicks around in

  when his leather boots are

  too much.

  Yellow: a wool poncho.

  Draped like confidence

  over strong but

  delicate shoulders.

  Green: eyes that seem

  as hungry

  and lively

  as the ferns he grows.

  Blue: nail polish

  he tried before

  calling it—

  with a wink—

  too glitzy

  for his humble style.

  Purple: a graceful

  defiant harmony of

  pink and blue,

  girl and boy.

  94

  This is

  the portrait of

  Ezra.

  As he struts down

  a side street

  of a

  small town

  no one in

  Paris or

  Milan

  will ever

  hear of.

  And not

  caring

  all the

  same.

  He wears a chip

  on his tooth

  from singing in

  a punk band.

  Just as proudly as

  he wears a silk dress

  with cutouts.

  And that,

  in this town,

  might be

  the most

  dangerous

  and

  exciting

  thing

  of

  all.

  95

  Social Deforestation

  Neither Victoria, nor

  any of her friends,

  sit with us at lunch today.

  In fact, the whole school

  is acting weird.

  Like we crossed

  some unsaid

  line in the sand.

  Giving us blank stares

  and cold shoulders.

  The only thing warm at all—

  too hot, in fact—

  is Sam’s burning stare

  when we try

  to slide in with him.

  I should have told Sam

  that we’re together.

  96

  That I blew him off

  for Ezra.

  I can tell Ezra thinks it’s

  because of his outfit today.

  That his boldness has

  outworn its welcome.

  Wearing a dress to school.

  To school, of all places.

  Why would he expect people

  to act any differently?

  I doubt

  it ever

  crossed his mind.

  For Sam,

  perhaps

  the kiss

  was

  more

  bold

  than

  the

  fashion.

  97

  Bo, Incident #3

  Ezra is leaving

  the school grounds

  at the end of the day

  when Bo

  reaches him

  before I do.

  Furious,

  he shoves

  Ezra by

  the shoulders.

  “I mean, it was

  gross when you

  were just gay,”

  he sneers

  through

  clenched teeth.

  His fists are

  balled up.

  Tight.

  At both sides of

  his studded belt.

  “When you werer />
  the gay friend.

  But what kind of

  sick game

  are you playing?”

  98

  “You think you

  can love

  a woman

  dressed

  like that?

  You think you

  can compete

  with us?

  That you’re

  one of us?

  A man

  making a pass

  at our girls,

  playacting

  like that?

  Who do you

  think you are?”

  I want to run.

  To bowl his

  spiky-haired,

  muscle-shirted,

  tough and manly,

  bully body

  to the ground.

  But

  I’m frozen

  20 feet away.

  Ezra’s gaze

  tells me to hold off.

  He can handle it.

  “Ah, Batesian mimicry,”

  Ezra says calmly.

  Coolly.

  99

  “Do you know

  what it is?”

  “What?”

  Bo spits.

  Eyes squint.

  “I said

  Batesian mimicry,

  you idiot.”

  Bo’s face looks crazed with

  disbelief and rage

  at the insult.

  But whether it is

  curiosity or

  cowardliness,

  second-guessing

  or just toying with prey,

  something keeps

  his fists at bay.

  Ezra gives Bo

  a slow up and down

  with his eyes.

  “It’s when a harmless species

  changes itself to look

  like a harmful species.

  They appear to be

  more of a threat than

  they actually are.”

  “Harmless?

  I’ll show you,

  freak,” Bo says.

  100

  “You’re

  gonna wish

  I was harmless.”

  Bo raises his fist

  to strike when

  my instinct

  kicks in.

  I leap

  at him.

  I knock him

  across the side

  of the head with

  a backpack

  full of

  books.

  He stumbles

  backward

  to the ground.

  Looks up

  at me

  with

  hate

  and

  surprise.

  His friend Derek

  rushes over

  to help him up.

  Ready

  to jump into

  the fight.

  101

  But

  Bo

  stops

  him.

  “We’re

  done here,”

  he says,

  as he shoots us

  a look

  that

  could

  kill.

  And

  walks

  away.

  102

  A Memory I Wish Was a Blur

  That moment.

  It was brief

  but

  long enough

  to send me

  spiraling into

  a flashback:

  It’s September of

  my freshman year and

  my first of

  the high school parties

  on the other side

  of the quarry.