It's Sunday— one day before the school year is set to start.
Also known as orientation day.
I'm up at 6 a.m., changing before my roommate has even opened his eyes.
The sun is only weakly beginning to pierce the clouds.
Sure, I'm tired. And sure, I'm not ashamed to be myself. At least not anymore. And sure, Ollie seems like a fucking angel. But you never truly know where a person stands.
I've always been scared that discrimination is right around the corner. Right across the room.
My scars sit on my chest, pale but fully healed. They are staring blankly back at me.
Considering as I don't want to wake Ollie up though, I restrain from shouting some defensive comment as they sit there.
What the fuck are you looking at? My mind fills in the empty space.
I don't hate them. It's just an ongoing inside joke with myself to yell at them. I think that they understand. I certainly do.
I hope they know I still love them.
I feel far more confident after the surgery than I ever did before. Especially since my dad worked his ass off to afford it.
The door clicks quietly closed behind me.
I set out on a brisk walk, wind rippling my hair.
I'm not really sure where I'm going. There aren't very many places to go at a time this early. Or there aren't many that I want to go.
So I find a bench and I sit. And sit. And sit.
••••
"B-Basil?" A timid voice cuts into my silence, and I open my eyes.
Standing before me is Ollie, a brown sweater vest over white collared shirt and jeans decorating his lanky frame.
He certainly fits right in to the aesthetic that boarding school exhibits.
I'm just in a gray hoodie and vintage dark wash jeans I had found in a thrift store. I guess that's my idea of boarding school style. But next to him, I look like some edgy ass skater boy.
"Oh. Hey." I say, trying to sound cool.
I think I just sound awkward instead so I shrink back into myself, eyes darting around.
Fuck fuck fuck. I want to vanish into thin air.
He is twisting his hands.
And then our eyes meet. Neither of us are sure how to proceed. We're not super close, yet, and I'm not sure how to talk to him.
I'm not sure how he feels about cursing. I don't know his interests.
"Do you want to get some coffee?"
He saves me from the spiral.
"Yeah. Sure." I get to my feet and we both walk on, looking for the first place we can get a cup of coffee. I'm definitely going to need a good kick of caffeine.
And I know one thing about him. He likes coffee. So maybe our friendship will work.
Because I am a fucking coffee addict.
••••
"So." He says in a first attempt to make conversation.
I take a long sip of my coffee, black and bitter, and then reply. "So." I guess the route I'm going for is annoying unoriginal bitch.
But it doesn't seem to bother him much. Or he does an excellent job of hiding it.
The latter scares me the most.
I don't know if I could go through that dynamic again. Not with feeling the same pain.
"I have two moms." He blurts like I didn't just sort of meet them only three days prior. But I understand that deep routed fear that he is coming from, the panic flowing through his veins like blood.
I can feel it right now too, threatening to swallow me whole.
"I have a single father." I reply.
"Oh. Wow. You don't get that one every day." He has set his cup down beside him, the twisting of his hands resuming.
Meanwhile my leg is bouncing frantically like a rabbit on a trampoline.
I wish I didn't know what he meant. But I did. You often encountered single mothers, and it's not average that a dad is the one who sticks around.
It sets a really low bar for dads everywhere.
And I hate that so many moms have to go through that, so many children.
But it was my mom who left behind us for a life with another family. And my dad was all I had, so I didn't care how uncommon it was for everyone else. It was everything for me.
"Where do you live? Or, you know, your dad now, I guess. Since you live here."
I had nearly forgotten about that. Not that I didn't like it here, but I missed him nagging me if I didn't get up before noon.
Here, I got up before noon all on my own. Exhibit one: this morning, six a.m. sharp.
"Connecticut." I say shyly. "You?"
This conversation doesn't feel as forced as I expected. Which is nice.
As I had walked through the halls upon arriving at the dorm rooms, inspecting each boy that I passed, I felt I wouldn't belong.
Or maybe that was leftover gender envy. Or maybe it was imposter syndrome.
I stared at each of them like a fucking creep.
But with Ollie? It felt normal.
Oddly I think we share something. But I'm not quite sure what it is. I just know we're the same somehow— awkward. Different.
"I'm from New Hampshire." He reports.
We settle back into our silence. I find we do that a lot.
That's when my thoughts run wild. I think of dangerous scenarios and how to prevent them, I think of how weird my hands look, I think about the way silence is heavy.
He doesn't stop me. A part of me thinks he must be thinking about the same things.
