All That and a Bag of Chips

Chapter 24

As Collin walked away from Heather, off the bridge, and back through the parking lot they had crossed together, the rain continued to fall. Even though it wasn't coming down in sheets or showering heavily, it was still falling steady and straight down. Small cold drops pricked at Collin's skin, soaked his clothes, and plastered his hair to his forehead.

He didn't bother picking up his pace or seeking shelter. He just walked, stepping around puddles if they looked small and deep, and walking through them if they were broad and appeared shallow, but not putting too much thought into it.

By the time he reached his bike, locked on Front Street behind the smoothie shop and within sight of the bench where Avery had broken his heart, his shoes sloshed and his top was soaked through, his binder clinging cold to his skin. His jeans were damp, but had been spared by the lack of wind. He had a vague hope that his phone was dry in his pocket, but didn't dare check, knowing it was more protected in his jeans than in his hands.

Although, if it was dead, what did it matter? He'd get a new phone, and who cared about his contacts? He had his parents' number memorized, saw Tom at work all the time, and he lived with Sam. Who else did he need to call?

Crouching down, Collin pressed the round key into the lock of the u-bar that connected his front wheel to the bike rack. Then he pulled the nylon-covered chain that secured the back wheel and wrapped it around the base of the bike seat.

He shook his bangs out of his eyes, mounted his bike, and kicked off.

Early afternoon on a Tuesday wasn't a busy time of day, but the streets seemed especially empty because of the rain. People were so used to sunny skies that they stayed indoors when the weather was unfavorable. So Collin coasted down the nearly empty side streets, his bike wheels spraying up water, not paying any attention to where he was going.

Most of the streets he rode down were residential. Rows of mainly one-story houses with gable roofs, shrub-filled lawns, and stucco siding whirred by him in a sepia-colored blur. A few bright fuchsia flowers and the occasional tall palm tree broke up the monotony of the view.

As he pedaled, all he could think about was how one woman had left him because he wasn't a woman and now another one didn't want to be with him because he wasn't enough of a man.

Why did everyone reject him for the things that he couldn't be? Would anyone ever want him for what he was?

He'd thought he found that in Avery. That he had won the lottery with his first try at love.

Blinking away the rain in his eyes, Collin's mind drifted to the night he told her he was trans.

They'd gone to a house party thrown by a friend of a friend who lived by Ocean Beach. Nothing nearly out of control as the Queer Fashion Show afterparty, just a couple dozen kids drinking forties of Old English and sitting around smoking pot from blown-glass pipes. At some point past midnight, people began drifting home, leaving in dribs and drabs. When the people who left started to curl up in corners to crash, Collin and Avery stepped out into the crisp night air, the briny ocean wind sneaking up the cuffs of their sleeves and down the collars of their jackets.

He'd borrowed his mom's minivan that night, but when they reached it, he felt too tipsy to drive, so they went to sit on the dunes and look at the stars. On the cold sand, with waves crashing in the distance, they sat with their legs pressed close and their arms wrapped against each other.

Avery had sewed her own prom dress, and she was telling him about the tulle fabric she used in layers of the skirt and then she asked him if he had rented his tux yet.

She knew he would wear a tuxedo to prom. Collin had always been butch. He'd had short hair since third grade, hadn't worn a dress since his preschool graduation, and wore a baseball cap more often than not. That fall, he had been cast in a male role in the school production of The Tempest.

When she asked about his tux, he smiled into the blackness of the night and told her how the tailor had assumed he was a man when taking his measurements.

She laughed. Straight people were such fools. Had such a limited concept of what a woman could look like.

He hadn't laughed with her.

It wasn't the first time he'd been mistaken for a boy. Cashiers "sired" him more often than they "missed" him, and he'd been glared at and threatened in more women's restrooms than he could keep track of. But something about a tailor believing he was just a regular guy going to prom, even as he measured his chest and inseam, had stirred something in him.

Male pronouns felt right. Had felt right for a long time. They called to him, absorbed into his skin, and belonged in a way that made him complete.

So, huddled against her for warmth, squinting against the wind up at the handful of stars visible in the city sky, he told her as much.

Her reaction had been Hallmark perfect. She held his face in her hands. Kissed him. Told him she loved his spirit and his soul and nothing would change that.

Later, she read Stone Butch Blues and Gender Outlaw and memorized poems in S/He by Minnie Bruce Pratt. He hadn't even heard of those books, but he read them after her and they talked about them and the fluidity of gender and desire.

Then, even though they'd seen it together in theaters, Avery bought a DVD of Boys Don't Cry, which they watched, crying, while cuddling on her parent's couch one night that they were out. Later, they rented documentaries about Brandon Teena and talked about how much they had to fight not just for equality, but against violence and hatred.

That June, after graduation, besides the Pride Parade and the Dyke March, they also went to the Trans March. She held his hand. She said she was proud of him. That he was the sexiest man she knew.

A car horn beeped, pulling Collin back to the present.

He looked over his shoulder. He had biked through a stop sign without even slowing down.

That could've been bad. He wasn't even wearing a helmet.

If he got hit by a car while not wearing a helmet, it wouldn't matter how injured he was or not because his mother would definitely kill him.

He pulled over to the sidewalk and hopped off his bike. The rain was slowing down, but his cheeks were wet. He licked his lips and tasted salt. Tears mixed with ocean air.

Collin looked around, not sure where he had wound up. A park was to his right and he could see the ocean ahead of him. When he made it to the end of the block and crossed the street, he saw he was at the Surfing Statue. He'd been biking longer than he realized.

Even in this weather, or maybe because of it, Collin noticed that a handful of surfers were in the water, black wetsuits and bright-colored boards bobbing in the churning gray below. He leaned against the railing at the top of the cliff and stared off into the endless overcast expanse.

Heather had called the San Lorenzo River small, and he guessed it was a matter of perspective. It certainly wasn't anywhere near as large as the Pacific Ocean, which stretched out in front of him. Nor was it the Mississippi or the Hudson. It probably wasn't even big enough to sail a boat in.

She had also compared his trans-ness to a small river.

Her reaction to him being trans certainly wasn't a Hallmark moment, but it could have been worse. A lot worse.

Actually, she hadn't reacted at all when he told her he was trans. Her reaction was to her feelings for him.

She was falling for him!

That should have made him ecstatic, but he had reacted poorly. Like a petulant child.

With a sudden sense of urgency, Collin pulled his phone out of his pocket, praying it wasn't water-logged. He flipped it open and–to his great relief–everything seemed fine.

He scrolled down his contacts to Heather's name and then pressed to dial.

After three rings, she picked up.

"Heather, I'm sorry that I acted like an asshole before, on the bridge. Will you let me cook you dinner to make it up to you? I think it would be good to talk."