Chapter 6: John

Aaliyah is passedout in her bed when I come in after class, a sweaty mess in my haste to arrive on time. I look at her new set of braids that she likely spent all night finishing, then turn back around. She deserves the rest, and I can handle going to a meeting on my own. Even if it means hiding my exhaustion to appear friendly.

Practicing my smile, I weave my way through campus. It's a good thing Aaliyah lent me her laptop this morning. I don't trust my own laptop to even turn on, let alone project onto a screen. This is an important meeting, and I can't mess up just because of a faulty computer. It's the last club we need to convince to participate in the rally.

A finals week Trans Rights Rally; a big ask but a big display.

It'll disrupt finals, I remind myself. They'll have to listen to us if they're forced to walk across campus through a crowd. It's what Aaliyah has been preaching at every meeting, including the one we had to have with student affairs to get it approved. Given, she tried her best to downplay it, making it seem less like a disruption and more along the lines of, "This matters so much to us that we're willing to lose study time for it."

I clear my throat and squeeze my eyes shut—dreading an environment where I'm the center of attention—before finally pushing open the door. When I enter, the members of the LGBTQ+ club in the law school all look up at me, and I let my smile slide forth.

My handshake is firm, and my speaking voice more so as I go through the presentation. I'd almost forgotten how easily I slip on this mask, just as easily as I slip out of others, but I haven't earned a bunch of political internships for nothing.

"John, your proposal is great, but can't we do it next semester? Or even before finals? It's not that it isn't important, it's just such a stressful time with exams."

The club member's words sting. The hours of late nights planning this—only for her to dismiss it—it makes me bitter. I smile softly at the student speaking; she doesn't realize this is a practiced smile I've seen on all my Intern Directors before they make the most scathing comment about my summer work. It's the look I see on Aaliyah almost every day, and I cling onto her strength if even for a moment.

"Of course," I start. "If the timing isn't convenient for you to support transgender folks as they face constant discrimination by our very own government, you're more than welcome to do your own protest. However, we will miss you guys dearly, as this will be the only LGBTQ+ club on campus to not be in attendance."

The student sits back in her chair, obviously understanding the situation. "Right. We'll get started on our own member sign-up for the day then."

"Perfect. I'd like to thank you all for meeting with me today, and I look forward to working together in the future," I tell them, keeping my tone light.

As soon as the door shuts behind me, I let my smile drop. My phone vibrates in my pocket, matching the anxious vibrations under my skin. I don't know how Aaliyah does it, but I'll have to thank her for lending me her strength later.

There's a message from Isamu, a picture of Inu wearing my safety glasses—sans work vest—and another message from Gonzales, letting me know what time he's going to the court with another friend.

This will be the fourth time we've played together, and I've found myself looking forward to it. Only a little, because then finals will come, and we'll both be too busy to remember what friendship between us sounded like.

I react to the message of Inu with a thumbs up, and meet Gonzales and his friend Anthony at the basketball court after making a pit stop to change. My court shoes are ratty hand-me-downs from one of the kids down the road that I've had since I was a teenager. The toe has a hole in it, but I can't figure out if it's worse to leave it or duct tape them.

"Hey man," I clasp hands with Anthony, a scrawny, tall guy with a thick nest of brown hair, and take the ball that Gonzales passes. His pass is familiar by now, and I clutch the ball tightly to my chest, wondering if I could possibly be the type of person to have more than one friend. First Aaliyah, then Gonzales. I just don't know if Isamu sits in the category of friend, employer, or mere pit stop.

My shot misses the hoop; total air ball.

"Oof. And here I was just about to pick you for my IM team," Gonzales jokes.

I warm up my wrists by tossing the ball just above my head.

"You remember when we barely even needed a warm-up in high school? Oh, to be old," Anthony says, grunting as he gives a hard bounce pass to Gonzales.

Gonzales laughs at him and goes to make an easy layup, but is rejected by my own ball hitting the rim before bouncing out.

"Motherfucker," I mumble, annoyed that my shot got disrupted.

Anthony's right. It takes us a while to warm up but once we do, it's a free for all, each man on his own team. Anthony starts with the ball, but as I easily snatch it from his poor dribbling stance, Gonzales comes for me with a vengeance.

Despite the spring in my step, the speed of my crossover, and the heat of my desire to prove myself, Anthony and I are neck-and-neck.

"Travel," I call out, scoffing as Gonzales loses the ball again. "Stop playing like a post or he's gonna win," I complain.

"Culero, I'm already losing no matter what." Gonzales laughs, taking a step toward Anthony at the half court line. "At least I can't foul out," he says before batting at the ball and slapping Anthony tiredly.

"Watch it, man," Anthony says, unimpressed.

But the distraction was enough for me to come in and steal the ball. Since I'm already at the half court line, I can easily rush the basket for a breakaway layup.

"Dammit Gonzales," Anthony complains as I smirk at them.

"Hey, whatever works as long as you don't win." Gonzales pats my sweaty back. "Good shit, John."

I grunt and lift my shirt to wipe my face.

"Woah, that's one hell of a tattoo."

I pull my shirt back down at Anthony's words.

"What is it?" Gonzales asks. I glare at Gonzales, who shrugs.

"It's a portrait of Lou Rawls with a microphone," I say, leaving out that the other pec is an image of my mom dancing in our living room. It covers my entire chest, going just underneath my pecs.

"Who's that?" Anthony asks.

I think of the vinyl record sitting in my dad's record player at home. "He's a soul singer." I think of my mom dancing with him, me on my dad's shoulders.

"I've always wanted tattoos. Did it hurt?"

I look at Anthony and raise an eyebrow. "More than you can imagine," I tell him. "Anyway, if it's decided that I'm the best player here, I should head out."

"Woah, I wouldn't say the best," Gonzales complains.

I let a laugh escape, just barely so my teeth don't show. "I have to go help Isamu with the van." It's solar panel installation day and it's not a task anyone can do alone. Those panels are too big and awkward.

"Send him my love," Gonzales says. "And this." He smacks my ass.

I hesitate and look back at him. Anthony puts his head in his hands and groans.

"He's my lover, so give him a good spanking for me," Gonzales says with a wink.

I roll my eyes and throw a wave over my shoulder. "I'll make sure to tell Aaliyah she's old news."

Sweat dripsdown Isamu's soft abs as we rest against the van.

"I didn't realize they were that heavy," Isamu says, letting Inu lick the sweat from his palm. He runs a hand over her head and comes back with a palm full of black fur.

"Gross," I comment as Isamu wipes it off against his jeans.

He smirks and rubs it against my chest, leaving behind a tingling feeling.

"Here," I start, taking the shirt tucked into the side of his pants and wiping my hands on it. He makes a noise of complaint and I gesture at my fur-covered shirt. "We could probably get some of the cuts done today."

Isamu stares at the table saw. "How does it work?" He sounds exasperated and I think of the drill bits he was studying the first day.

"I left you safety glasses. Inu had them last?" I remind him.

Inu's head turns to me and I shy away from her.

"See? See that?" he gestures at me. "The way you feel about dogs is how I feel about putting my hands near a—a saw thing."

I huff out a laugh and shake my head. "Saw injuries happen because of human error. You just have to know how to use them."

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," he puts his hands against my shoulders. I should shy away from him as well, but I let Isamu linger as long as he wants. He'll let go eventually; everyone does. "Dog attacks happen because of human error too. That's what I'm saying."

He lets go.

"So, fear of the unknown?" I challenge, ignoring my own disappointment toward a feeling I should have grown used to.

He touches the tip of his nose to let me know I've understood.

"That why you're going on this trip? Facing your fears."

Isamu lets out a bark of laughter before turning and grabbing a slab of uncut wood. "Now we're getting somewhere too complicated, Johnny."

"I thought you were an open book," I tease, helping him put the wood on the table.

"Only about things I know about myself," he answers with an easy smile.

"Isn't your roommate a shrink? Whatever, let's just cut this wood." I turn to the table. "Okay, I get it looks intimidating, so just remember there are no dumb questions." It's verbatim what my shop teacher said in high school, but I just rather Isamu not use it and let me get it down quicker.

He sighs. "I feel like I'm going to put that to the test."

"Mm, maybe leave the cutting to me," I tell him.

Isamu scoots closer as I explain the safety guidelines and how the saw works. But the second I flip on the machine, he takes a shaky step backwards into Inu. I flip it off as he glances at his watch while Inu snuffles against his jeans.

Loud noises still get my dad sometimes too. Sometimes I wonder if that's part of the reason he felt like he had to be drunk at the shop.

"Here," I tell him, pulling out a pair of unopened ear plugs from my work pants. I keep them handy in case, but I never actually use them. It's too late to save me from tinnitus.

"Heh, I'm a mess," he says with a self-deprecating laugh.

"It's fine. My dad's the same."

"So, it doesn't get better?"

I shrug. "It's PTSD. It affects everyone differently, but it's definitely gotten . . . better. Easier? Manageable," I decide on.

Isamu doesn't look any more comfortable and I have to keep myself from reaching out a comforting hand. The ghost of his touch is still familiar, but I remind myself he's just a mere pit stop. Not someone I should be fighting to comfort.

"You're welcome to chill while I cut these?" I offer.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I got this."

We measure four times and cut once until we're out of wood and the sun is long set. I spend the entire time trying to ignore the way Isamu's proximity makes my heart clench and my throat close up.

Isamu

Inu letsout a bark just before Gonzales appears at my door, car keys in hand and a grin on his face. His hair is still wet from his shower.

"Come on. Let's go get some late-night munchies," he says, looking down at me.

I'm in the middle of an extensive excel sheet, reluctantly adding links to van parts. There are a lot of basic things that I thought I had covered but the further John and I get, the more I realize I'm missing pieces here and there.

This is the same sheet I've sent John three times now, and each time he finds something new to add, or mentions a part we may or may not need—but if we don't get it, we'll be sitting around for weeks waiting for shipping.

That's all the army was. Hurry up and wait. Being rushed to get something done and then finding you have nothing else to do.

At least this time, my company is easy on the eyes and entertaining to talk to.

"Where are we getting munchies?" I ask, slowly shutting my laptop so I can manhandle myself up from the floor and back into my prosthesis. Sometimes it's just easier to hop around the apartment than wear my leg all day.

Inu stands near me as I hop around.

"Ready?" Gonzales asks as soon as I'm up.

I look at him in disbelief. "I still need my leg, man."

"Why? Just grab your crutches and we can go like that, no?"

Being without my leg is vulnerable. Defenseless. It's walking into a gun fight with your hands tied behind your back. I'm still too shaky, too raw to go out without it—at least past the apartment front lawn. I still check every alleyway between buildings for muggers or worse. Loud noises still have me reaching for a gun that isn't there. Nightmares still have me in their death grip, and I wake up in a cold sweat from kicking my phantom foot as I try to get it out from falling rubble.

"Not comfy," I summarize for Gonzales, putting on my lining.

The night air is cooler than I expected, and I pull Inu a little closer, letting her fur warm me against North Carolina's ever-changing weather.

"Smells like winter," I say.

Gonzales gives me a funny look. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to be saying weird things after studying all night. Not you."

I laugh, casually draping my arm around him as I secretly steal his body heat too. Thank God for the Mustang.

"You ever been to Aaliyah's dorm?" I ask after settling Inu in the backseat.

He's never once mentioned going to her dorm. I would know; no matter how infatuated with her he is, the bitching would be endless if he saw how messy her dorm was—too much like his childhood.

I wonder what John's dorm looks like. Probably broody or lacking personality—it'd expose him too much. Even today, he looked like he was pulling teeth talking about his dad's PTSD. It's like taking apart one of those magnetic puzzles. Getting him to talk is like prying my fingernails between metal plates that I have to pull at so hard, I bleed a little.

Even still, I can't find the energy to stop as long as he's still willing.

"A few times," Gonzales responds. "Why?"

I hum, wondering what stance I'm supposed to take.

"Oh. I went the other day and it's . . . you know?"

I wonder if something like that would be a deal breaker for them. Some eccentricity about one of them that drives the other insane. But isn't love supposed to be loving someone despite those eccentricities? Because of? Not that I would know. I've never had time for anything but soul crushing hookups that leave me staring at my phone afterwards, wondering if I'll get a text.

"Oralé," Gonzales starts with a laugh. "She's a little messy, huh?"

"It doesn't bother you?" I ask.

Gonzales grins from the driver seat. "Sure does but . . . people are complicated and her mess is... well." He parks at the gas station. "It's like this," he starts, speaking with his hands. "I'm clean and organized because my childhood never was."

I nod, remembering the credit card purchases strewn all over the floor, along with a long line of his mom's heavy-handed lovers, who I didn't know about until Gonzales showed up at my house one night.

"I longed for something different. Better. My cleanliness reflects the me within: calm, patient, organized. Aaliyah is messy?—"

"—because her parents were strict," I supply.

"Sure," he says, making a so-so gesture. "And controlling and expecting her—the woman—to clean and be organized. So, yeah, it looks messy, but it's actually her just taking control of her life."

I smirk, impressed and in awe of my best friend's blanket acceptance. "And, let me ask, does she know you've shrinked her?"

He frowns and looks down at his hands guiltily. "No, uh, definitely not. Most people aren't fans of it."

"Huh, you don't say," I tease, hiding the discomfort I feel. "Do you shrink me?"

Gonzales gets out of the car quickly. A shiver runs up my spine at the feeling of being watched by him. I wonder what my room says about me and if I even want to know. Probably not and by now, I've gotten used to everyone's eyes on me, making sure I'm okay.

I hop out quickly and get Inu. She gives me a searching gaze when she jumps out, and I smile down at her—anything to get my serious child excited. Running my hand over her fur, I lead her into the store, dirty glass doors sliding open as we approach.

"No dogs," the attendant says, her voice coarser than Inu's fur from years of smoking.

Good thing I'm on a quitting cycle.

"She's a service animal," I tell her.

She rolls her eyes and slaps her magazine on the counter. Her tired eyes roam over me as my skin prickles. Pulling Inu tight against my leg, I stare her down.

"Whatever, kid," she says. "You can do whatever you want."

Gonzales grabs my bicep and I turn my steely glare away from her. His grip is tight as he manhandles me to the drinks.

"What, man?" I ask, ripping my arm from him.

"If you didn't tell her off, I would've. Then she would've called the cops, and I'm too brown for that, güey," he says, aggressively grabbing an energy drink from behind the glass.

There have been stares on the bus and in the grocery stores, and little children running up to Inu to pet her. A few times, people have even asked me why I need a service dog, but each time it grates on my nerves a little.

These people don't deserve to know my pain. They don't need to probe at my weak points just to feel better about themselves. Just leave me alone and let me not feel so inadequate.

Maybe John isn't such a puzzle after all.