Every Day

As I sift through these memories, as I put together this story, I feel such gratitude and such longing—not Vic’s, but my own. This is what I want from Rhiannon. This is what I want to give Rhiannon.

But how can I make her look past the blur, if I’m a body she’ll never really see, in a life she’ll never really be able to hold?

I arrive the period before lunch and park in my usual spot.

By now, I know which class Rhiannon is in. So I wait outside the door for the bell to ring. When it does, she’s in the middle of a crowd, talking to her friend Rebecca. She doesn’t see me; she doesn’t even look up. I have to follow behind her for a ways, not knowing whether I’m the ghost of her past, present, or future. Finally, she and Rebecca head in different directions, and I can talk to her alone.

“Hey,” I say.

And it’s there—a moment’s hesitation before she turns. But then she does, and I see that recognition again.

“Hey,” she says. “You’re here. Why am I not surprised?”

This isn’t exactly the welcome I was hoping for, but it’s a welcome I understand. When we’re alone together, I’m the destination. When I’m here in her life at school, I’m the disruption.

“Lunch?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says. “But I really have to get back after.”

I tell her that’s okay.

We’re silent as we walk. When I’m not focused on Rhiannon, I can sense that people are looking at her differently. Some positive, but more negative.

She sees me noticing.

“Apparently, I’m now a metalhead slut,” she says. “According to some sources, I’ve even slept with members of Metallica. It’s kind of funny, but also kind of not.” She looks me over. “You, however, are something completely different. I don’t even know what I’m dealing with today.”

“My name’s Vic. I’m a biological female, but my gender is male.”

Rhiannon sighs. “I don’t even know what that means.”

I start to explain, but she cuts me off.

“Let’s just wait until we’re off school grounds, okay? Why don’t you walk behind me for a while. I think it’ll just make things easier.”

I have no choice but to follow.

We head to a diner where the average age of the customers is ninety-four, and applesauce seems to be the most popular item on the menu. Not exactly a high school hangout.

Once we’ve sat down and ordered, I ask her more about the aftermath of the previous day.

“I can’t say Justin seems that upset,” she says. “And there’s no shortage of girls who want to comfort him. It’s pathetic. Rebecca’s been awesome. I swear, there should be an occupation called Friendship PR—Rebecca would be ace at that. She’s getting my half of the story out there.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that Justin’s a jerk. And that the metalhead and I weren’t doing anything besides talking.”

The first part is irrefutable, but even to me, the second part sounds weak.

“I’m sorry it had to all go down like that,” I say.

“It could’ve been worse. And we have to stop apologizing to each other. Every sentence can’t start with ‘I’m sorry.’ ”

There’s such resignation in her voice, but I can’t tell what she’s actually resigned herself to.

“So you’re a girl who’s a boy?” she says.

“Something like that.” I sense she doesn’t want to get into it.

“And how far did you drive?”

“Three hours.”

“And what are you missing?”

“A couple of tests. A date with my girlfriend.”

“Do you think that’s fair?”

I’m stuck for a second. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“Look,” Rhiannon says, “I’m happy you’ve come all this way. Really, I am. But I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m cranky as hell, and this morning when I got your email, I just thought: Is all of this really fair? Not to me or to you. But to these … people whose lives you’re kidnapping.”

“Rhiannon, I’m always careful—”

“I know you are. And I know it’s just a day. But what if something completely unexpected was supposed to happen today? What if her girlfriend is planning this huge surprise party for her? What if her lab partner is going to fail out of class if she’s not there to help? What if—I don’t know. What if there’s this huge accident, and she’s supposed to be nearby to pull a baby to safety?”

“I know,” I tell her. “But what if I’m the one that something is supposed to happen to? What if I’m supposed to be here, and if I’m not, the world will go the wrong direction? In some infinitesimal but important way.”

“But shouldn’t her life come above yours?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re just the guest.”

I know this is true, but it’s shocking to hear her say it. She immediately moves to soften what sounds like an accusation.

“I’m not saying you’re any less important. You know I’m not. Right now, you are the person I love the most in the entire world.”

“Really?”

“What do you mean, really?”

“Yesterday you said you didn’t love me.”

“I was talking about the metalhead. Not you.”

Our food arrives, but Rhiannon just stabs the ketchup with her French fries.

“I love you, too, you know,” I say.

“I know,” she tells me. But she doesn’t seem any happier.