Pronoun Problems: A Novel About Friendship, Transgender and (eventually) Ninjas

9 - Dungeon Master Standards

Her name was Caitlyn.

It was odd: For my whole life, I had never met anyone named Caitlyn; then suddenly in 1986, Caitlyns were everywhere. I could not figure out where they all came from. Although that was the year that Halley's Comet passed close to Earth, so maybe that had something to do with it; some weird ripple in the fabric of time or space or something. (If there is another explosion of Caitlyns in 2061, we'll know my hypothesis was correct.)

But I digress.

On the phone, Eric had described Caitlyn — with his usual dearth of modifiers — as "a woman." And when they greeted us at the terminal, it was clear that he wasn't lying. She was, without doubt, an adult human female. And that, honestly, was the only good thing Tom and I had to say about her.

But Eric was ebullient as he introduced us to his girlfriend, throwing his arm around her possessively. "Can you believe," he crowed, "that I actually got one?" It was supposed to be his victory lap — the definitive proof of his virility that no one had requested — but it actually made me a little sad, all that self-doubt masquerading as eight buoyant words.

Tom and I did our best to ingratiate ourselves to Caitlyn. We had, back when we were still playing D&D together, made personalized T-shirts for everyone in our little band of Satan worshippers. On the front, in yellow ironed-on felt letters were the words, THE SAVING THROES and on the back it read, THAT'S WHAT WE CAN DO TO YOU!

(Don't worry about what all that was supposed to mean. They're inside jokes and, believe me, they're not worth explaining.)

The important point is that we had come bearing a gift: A SAVING THROES T-shirt, specially made just for her. When we got to their apartment, we presented it to her in an inexpertly gift-wrapped box, and she excitedly clawed open the paper with bright pink fingernails. But when she held the shirt up, she twisted her lips in consternation.

"Ew," she said and then turned to Eric. "Do I have to wear this?" The awkwardness of this moment was amplified a thousand-fold because Tom, Eric and I were currently wearing our own SAVING THROES T-shirts.

In fairness to Caitlyn — a phrase I shall never use again — I can sort of understand her reticence, but at the very least, she should have acknowledged our undeniably benign intention to include her in the group. Perhaps by uttering the words "thank you" as is the custom of our people.

Eric and Caitlyn took us to a local mall, which was apparently the most exciting thing Madison had to offer, because we went to a lot of them. Despite Eric's cajoling, Caitlyn refused to wear the shirt in public, apparently fearing ridicule from the famously fashion-forward Cheeseheads. But that didn't make her happy, either, because now she was the only one not wearing one of those T-shirts and it made her feel conspicuous. Which she was. Walking with the three of us, it looked like she was being escorted by world's least intimidating private security guards.

The most annoying thing about her, though, was that she would — with great frequency and without warning — make out with Eric right in front of us. We'd all be in mid-conversation and suddenly she would unhinge her jaw and practically swallow his whole face.

She wasn't quiet about it, either. There would be slurping noises. "Mmmmm," she'd say. "Yummy!"

Tom and I would look away when they did this, of course, because it seemed like a reasonable alternative to clawing out our own eyes. But Caitlyn would insist on engaging us. She'd run her fingers through Eric's hair and ask us questions like, "Don't you think he's handsome?" and "Doesn't he have beautiful eyes?" and "Isn't Eric sexy?"