Chapter 11: Isamu

I snatchthe sandwich baggie Gonzales tosses me, feeling it squelch sadly in my hand. The forest around us is wet with autumn rain and the crows caw sporadically, watching our progress through the small trail. I lean, putting more pressure on my biological leg, and open the bag. My brand-new prosthetic leg underneath me is silky black, that isn't exactly necessary for its hiking benefits, but still looks badass.

Stability. Structure. Independence.

That's the idea anyway.

I'm glad I was able to get the new one for hiking, but I'm worried I'll have to refit it a few times before it's actually ready for the great outdoors. I pace up the trail as I eat—ignoring that the action reminds me of my dad—but my prosthesis locks all the way before bending. If it didn't, I would fall.

Gonzales gets behind me, caressing my arms as if I would fall. It's all for show, we've been hiking for an hour now and, though I'm ache-y, nothing has gone amiss.

"Bro," I complain through a laugh. "I can literally feel your dick. Back up."

He scoots closer and I elbow him through a laugh. "Since when are you cuddle-shy?" he asks once he finally lets go.

I shove the sandwich baggie into my pack. This is similar enough of a movement to a squat, but there is too little trust for me to believe that my knee will lock correctly.

"Is John stealing my boy's heart?" he jokes as he pours water into a portable doggie bowl for Inu.

"John?" I ask, feeling a little too transparent.

"I guess I kind of got the vibe that you guys would be good together."

I brush my hands against my pants, ridding myself of all the crumbs, and stare at Gonzales in confusion.

"John's not gay," I tell him.

Gonzales nods slowly, pursing his lips as he snaps the lid shut on his water bottle. "Right," he clicks his tongue. "I guess I just assumed since, uh, the rally. Yeah? But, you know what they say about assuming." He laughs awkwardly, eyes trained on the trees instead of me.

I take the bottle out of his hands, but his eyes stay focused elsewhere. I would rather think of my prosthesis tripping me up than this conversation anyway.

"What rally?" I ask, taking a few jogging steps. My prosthesis drags a little against the ground and I adjust my lift.

"A—Aaliyah's rally." He waves his hand. "Just... a thing she's doing. Queer."

"It's queer?" I ask. "What do you know?"

"Uh, not much," Gonzales says.

I turn from him and take a step, side-to-side to figuring out how to comfortably lift my prosthesis. I tell myself it's just the ski lunges I do to workout, but my body isn't processing with my brain, fear keeping us from connecting correctly.

Gonzales doesn't return to me. Instead, he walks over to his bag propped against a rock and pulls out his phone.

"Is John gay?" I shout, willing my heart to not speed up. My watch is always storing data for the doctors, and I'm even more on edge because of it. I have to present it all to the doctor next week in hopes that they clear me to travel.

"No! Sorry, I don't know why I assumed," he says, not even looking up from his phone.

"Right," I mumble, disappointed. "Ready?"

Gonzales jogs back and motions me to keep walking, phone still gripped in his other hand. I'm only just deciding to ignore his odd behavior as the phone begins to ring. He leaves me gawking and answers the call. It takes him a while, but when he comes back, he's awkwardly rotating the phone in one hand.

"Uh, how do you feel about John though?"

I roll my eyes and start hiking again. "Why's it matter? I'm just going to leave soon and I'll probably never see him again." My watch starts beeping slowly, and I shut it off before holding my hand out to Inu who snuffles at me but doesn't give me her paw.

Gonzales waits as I finish my deep breathing before he speaks. "That's not true. You'll come back and see me. Besides, he and I are friends now."

"Why did you assume he's gay?" I ask, climb up the trail.

Gonzales sighs and walks beside me. "Just a dumb mistake. I don't know his sexuality but, uh, maybe you could ask."

I watch as the trees shake under the wind and Inu's ears flop with each step. Her eyes, ever so soulful, look up at me.

"If he hasn't told me by now, it's because he doesn't want me to know."

"Listen," Gonzales starts. "When you had just come back from Afghanistan and were still in that pinche hospital bed, you had these eyes, man." He runs a hand over his face and sighs. "It felt like you weren't there with us. Trying to talk to you was like wading through this fog. I, honestly, thought we'd never get you back. Everything made you jump or lash out. Man, I've never told you this, but I cried. I cried so hard every night those first few weeks.

"I'm still here and so are you, but I swear, if you don't give yourself the opportunity to really be here, I'm going to kick your ass."

Before I can think further on it, Gonzales is slapping my ass before running away.

"No more feelings though. What if you have to run from bears?" he calls back.

"That's not—that's not even what you're supposed to do with bears," I argue as I shakily try to catch up.

John

Gonzales stares at me guiltily.I watch Aaliyah a few feet away, distracting Isamu by explaining the poster route for the rally.

"Why doesn't he know?" Gonzales asks, voice barely above a whisper and yet still somehow yelling.

I avoid his eyes by fidgeting with my camera, pretending to adjust settings Polaroids don't even have.

"It never came up. But you didn't tell him, right?" I peek over at Aaliyah and Isamu. She makes a face, letting me know she's running out of bullshit to stall him with.

"No. Put my whole foot in my mouth, but no. He bought that I had no clue if you were or weren't. Why doesn't he know?" Gonzales asks again.

I shrug and let go of my camera. Gonzales leans forward.

"But you like him," he says, enunciating each word slowly.

Isamu is leaving soon. No matter how many times he blushes after our hands touch when passing a screwdriver back and forth, or how many home-cooked meals he brings me, or how he listens to every worry—every doubt—he is still building an escape route. And I'm helping him.

"Doesn't matter." He'll leave. He'll be gone, and everything that I spilled to him will be lying on the floor of that storage unit, covered in flakes of his own stories.

Isamu looks back and smiles. It isn't one of his cheesier ones—the showy, flashy ones he gives Gonzales when he wins an argument. It isn't the impish, mischievous one that he flashes at Aaliyah before teasing her. It's the one he gives me in the storage unit when we're alone, and I've got my hand wrapped around his to show him how to fix the wiring in the van, just in case it malfunctions while he's on the road.

Do I smile at him that way?

"So, you drew these?" Isamu asks when Aaliyah releases him, holding up a flyer.

"Yep. Is Inu coming with us?" I ask him, noting she still doesn't have her service vest on.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair—it's spilling over his severe cheek bones. "No, but she hates being alone, so I was thinking we could drop her off at my dad's office."

I rock back on my heels and gesture for him to lead the way, too embarrassed to admit I know his dad. It might annoy him to learn that his dad talks about him during class sometimes. There's even a big grinning photo of Isamu on Professor Miura's desk, one that I had forgotten about until we're standing in his office.

Professor Miura stands from his desk, glasses askew, and hair messy from his weathered fingers running through it. "John," he shouts in surprise.

Isamu looks back at me, bemused. "Wow, both I and your granddog take the backburner when he's here, I guess."

Professor Miura walks over and claps his son on the shoulder before bringing him in for a tight hug. "I am always excited to see my family. I just hadn't realized you were making it bigger," he says with a crooked grin.

It's only when he looks over at me that I realize what he meant, but before I can say anything, Isamu beats me to the punch.

He speaks in rapid Japanese, face clutched in his hands as it burns hot. Professor Miura responds back, laughing jovially before patting his son on the back and turning to me.

"I apologize for the mistake. I should've known better, my son has never brought home any man, much less such a respectable one."

I laugh, embarrassed, as Isamu hands over Inu's leash with more words I can't understand.

"Let's go, John," he says, the redness in his cheeks now running down his neck. "And you, no more talking," Isamu says to his dad before shutting the door firmly.

We stand in silence outside of the door, Isamu's back to me where I'm still holding the stack of flyers.

"He says more embarrassing things than that about you in class, if that makes you feel better," I tell him with a grin he can't see.

"Motherfucker," Isamu complains before turning around to face me. "Let's pretend he and his big mouth don't exist."

He snatches a flyer from my hand and tapes it to his dad's door with a firm slap. We're technically supposed to ask Professors first if we can do that, but I guess Isamu's dad doesn't count.

Isamu stalks off and I rush to catch up to him, grin still teasing against my lips.

"Don't be all pouty," I tease. "He's better than my dad."

Isamu grunts and leads us to the middle of the Quad. There are cafeterias and student centers where we have to hang these up so we get to work, mindlessly chatting about Isamu's doctor and his new prosthesis.

As the pile diminishes, I can't help but feel Isamu's fingers linger on mine more and more. I let him hold the flyers just for a break from his touch. It's too much.

The last flyer goes up on a lamp post, soon to be covered in ads for roommates for off-campus seniors, study groups, and the occasional student band.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Isamu asks, admiring his handy work. The fact that he's facing away from me does nothing to hide the redness on the tips of his ears.

If Gonzales weren't all the way on West Campus right now, the ugly stepchild of East Campus where the freshman live, I'd fight him. I am in no way ready for this conversation. I don't even know why Isamu thinks he is, if he's so ready to leave.

"Nope," I answer, rubbing a hand over my mouth as I try to bottle up everything else. The "I can't ask you to stay," the "I wish you wouldn't leave because I have actual feelings for you no matter how hard I try to ignore them," the "I can't stand the thought of only sleeping with you just to watch you walk away," and the "I'm trans."

"Really?" He asks with a sly laugh, finally turning around. "Someone as attractive as you?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. Please don't do this, I beg internally. Externally, I say, "Nah, never dated anyone. Just too hard to please."

This isn't a conversation we should be having. He's leaving. He doesn't know I'm trans—had no reason to until now. He's leaving. I'm too busy with school.

He's leaving.

He waits.

"Isamu," I start, pinching the bridge of my nose. "What are you doing?"

He frowns and rolls out his shoulder. "So you are gay?"

His voice comes out quiet and I realize he's angry.

His anger has never been directed at me. Hours of work in a cramped van, sweat dripping off us as he learns an entirely new skill, and he's never once been angry at me. But now, he's silently seething.

I let his anger sit as we stand there, no flyers to distract us, until he finally lets out a breath and I brace for the onslaught.

"Sorry, you didn't owe it to me to say anything. It just kind of hurts my feelings that you didn't," he says, hands on his hips as he turns back to our handywork.

"What?" I ask, hands wrapping around the camera around my neck as I block my heart off.

He looks over at me, exasperated. "It just hurts, man. I know you're private, and you're entitled to that, but I thought we were," he gestures between us. "I thought we were friends at least."

I rub at my eyes, willing the image of Isamu's sad face out of them.

"We are," I start. "We are friends," I finish with more certainty. "I just didn't want . . . things to change. Expectations."

He bites his lip, anger flashing a bit, hands clenching against his biceps as he crosses his arms. "Damn, Johnny, rejected before I could even get out of the gate."

I groan, frustration mounting. "No. I just—I meant—the van. I'm working on your van and—" I gesture, not wanting to tell him I can't handle another person in my life not being there for me. But I also can't stand the thought of him sacrificing his dreams for whatever this may be. If there is a "this".

Isamu takes two steps away from me, then two returning steps back before repeating the process. "That isn't what I meant. This didn't go down how I wanted it to." He squeezes his eyes shut.

He opens them and takes one last step forward.

"I like you, John."

I wait, expecting a "but". None comes so I wait a little longer, sorting through everything that I was purposefully burying.

Isamu's face slowly falls into uncertainty the longer I wait.

There's bile rising in my stomach as I try to push down everything—all that I've kept secret from him. The way it feels when he smiles, the way I feel when he fondly takes care of Inu—of me—the way it feels when his fingers graze mine. I bury it because he's leaving, and I've already been left by so many people that I can't stand one more.

"John?" he prompts, reaching for one of my hands still wrapped around my camera.

I step backward and we both watch as the cord of my camera snaps and my camera tumbles to the ground.

"John, I'm so—" Isamu starts.

"I can't do this," is all I can say, making the decision to be the first one to walk away.