Chapter Text
You talked a lot over sandwiches. You mentioned a few things about uni, but she went on about how a pipe got blocked and then her neighbor Chris (who is really into musical theater? anyway,) had to help her dig up and unblock the pipe, but the kitchen sink is still decommissioned for now.
Somehow, you both ended up drifting upstairs. Her bedroom is very small and rather cluttered. A pile of what appears to be many half-finished projects and unpursued threads lies on a desk.
"What is it that you do?"
She goes tight-lipped.
"Um. I work in an office."
"You're fucking kidding?"
"No. I've gotten a bit more boring since we last…" She looks away.
"You couldn't ever be boring, Moonie. You are the polar opposite of boring."
"Oh. I am still in the 'recovering alcoholic category, though!"
No, she's doing it again. Acting as if the only thing worth mentioning about her are all her problems and flaws. Why should she be different? You're still you, after all, for better and definitely for worse.
…Hang on. Breathe, keep breathing.
She looks at her bed and back at you. Nice try, you'd like to say. I've known you fourteen years, though.
"I don't…not now."
"Right."
For all her bluster, she seems small, now. You feel bad, so you sit down on the bed and nod.
"We can sit and talk?"
"Okay."
She sits next to you and leans over on you. It's nice. Things don't always have to be so overcomplicated.
"How was it, for you?"
"Tough. I thought very little of myself for a long time, once the memories came back."
"So, you can imagine what I felt."
"Totally. It didn't help that my death was so, uh, ignoble."
The side of her mouth quirks up.
"I'm going to hold that against you for the rest of existence."
"Oh, come on! I have to hear about it until the literal end of time?"
She grins.
"So, you think that we'll find each other in every possible incarnation? Would you love me if I was a worm?"
She shoves you, not getting the reference.
"Yes! Of course! I'm not much better and you love me."
You frown.
"Don't do it."
"What?"
"Beat yourself over the head."
"Am I doing that?" It’s not a failed attempt at an accusation, it’s a legitimate question.
"Yes! You do it all the time and you've got to stop. Why must you?"
She moves away from you with a doubtful look.
"Why do you have to act like everything you do that isn't hurting yourself or someone else is somehow uninteresting or irrelevant to your life? Why do you think that disparaging yourself makes anything you did wrong fix itself?"
"No, it doesn't, doing that doesn't, and that's the problem-"
"It doesn't make anything go away-"
"I know that, I know that better than anyone, but it's all I can do. Because I don't know what else to do."
Oh. Well, we're getting somewhere. She takes a deep breath.
"I don't know what else to do. When I stare down the barrel of all the shitty things I've done, all I can do is disparage myself, because if I apologized then I would be apologizing to everyone forever. But if I, as you say, 'beat myself over the head', then I feel as if I've given myself some well-deserved comeuppance. How...do I stop something like that?"
You give her a weak sigh. You don't know, you can't answer her question. But you feel as if maybe, if you both helped each other through it, you could get somewhere, maybe even somewhere better.
"I think we need to call each other out on our bullshit more. And you fucking have to realize that despite everything you did, I think that, uh."
"Uh?"
"Are you okay with me being really bloody honest?"
"Yeah?" You brace yourself.
"I don't know if you're a good person yet. Uh, hell. I don't even know if I'm a good person. Uh. But I think, if you're not, which isn't necessarily true-" Boy, it's amazing how much emotion a simple raise of the eyebrows can convey- "I know! Um. I think with time, though, we could become them together. Good people."
A smile finds its way to her face, somehow. You find yourself starting to smile as well.
"I think that was the least eloquent thing I've ever said."
"It was beautiful, you twat!"
Another shove. You can tell she has other examples both joking and serious on the tip of her tongue.
"You really think I could do it?"
"Yes! We could do it."
"What makes you think that?"
"I mean, you seem pretty good right now, and I don't think I've been the Antichrist in this life or anything."
You sort of put your arm around her. It feels right.
"In this life? So you think that this is like a do-over? I don't know about that. I think it all just sort of flows into one. I don't feel differently from before, well, I do. But is it just that I've lived another forty years?"
You both flop back onto the bed.
"It isn't a do-over… I'm more or less who I was before, besides the obvious."
Rolling over, she snorts. "Ha! I thought so."
You cover your eyes with your forearm.
"How… did the whole gender thing go for you? How did that happen?"
"Same as it was for you, I presume."
"Well. For me it must have been different. Because it stemmed from remembering that I wasn't a female at my core, like that just wasn't who I was. Figuring it out drove me a little nuts."
"Hm. I suppose it was just that I learned some things about myself that I didn't know before."
God, she's fascinating. You roll over to face her, and now there is only your arm to separate you both. And then she pulls that puppy-dog look at you…
"I have to ask, did it have anything to do with the drag?"
Her face scrunches into a grin.
"No, not quite!"
"I have to say that being trans has changed my opinion on a lot of people, specifically women, because it was damn hard to be one."
"It's wonderful too, but it is damn hard."
"Sometimes I look back on the shit I did. What the fuck?"
A laugh bubbles out of her.
"I'm fucking- ugh! I was a goddamn cunt!"
"Oh, I know! I'd read your biographies!" That's too peppy a tone not to laugh at.
"A real bitch."
"Quit it. Don't even joke about it. You just told me not to!"
"Well, fine."
She squishes your cheek.
"Yeah. My bitch."
It's the most unquestionably sweet way someone could say that, but you decide to recoil anyway.
"Come onnn! I didn't mean it like that!"
"I know."
You nuzzle her neck, not holding back anymore. The two of you hold one another and it is an absolute good.
Her voice is low.
"How are we going to do this?"
"Aren't we doing it right now?"
"I guess so. It can't be that hard, then!"
"I don't know."
Later, she falls asleep while a Beach Boys (oh, you love her) record spins. You just look at her. Yeah, sure, baggage and trauma and whatever the hell it means to become a better person are hanging over you, but also. Look. She's actually right there. No safety or surprise.
I'd be unhappy if you were blue.
You curl yourself around her. You know that in the long run, the two of you won't be enough. A serious reckoning needs to happen if you actually want to overcome your issues. You're getting better. But it takes a damn long time.
Still, though, you feel pretty damn good right now. Maybe that's all that matters.