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17 pages, Audible Audio
First published April 1, 2025
Back then, all that stuff— CraftQ and #teengoetia and online and all the weirdos we knew— it was a way for me to be alive. You, and Abraxa, and everyone else we knew online, so dramatic and committed and creative and shining and fun. A whole secret world in my heart, no matter where my body was: in Texas, in the Boy Scouts, in the world where I was going to grow up to be a man. Bodies didn’t matter there. It was the start of everything, for me, and so much of it flowed from you.
One of your jobs, as the adult transsexual daughter in whose important research assistant job your parents agree to pretend to believe, is to keep the house tidy. This is less daunting than it may seem: neither of your parents is home often enough to mess it up, and neither of them have friends they invite over: no large parties to prepare for, no pets, no ostentatious mess. A mess is impossible to ever know you’ve completely cleaned. Where is it appropriate to stop cleaning? What is the state of being clean? Does it stem from social agreement: we agree to call this condition of the bathroom clean? Or is there something more objective: perceptual threshold of smell, realistic possibility of disease, relative entropy of molecules? The probability of someone encountering dirt? This is another question that used to paralyze you, and therefore you wouldn’t clean— would organize your bookmarks instead, review old emails— and therefore you’d be named lazy, risk your position living at home well after you probably should be living here. This is why you’ve found an alternative: clean, no matter what, for thirty minutes a day. By clean, understand: react to whatever seems like dirt. Bathroom, your room, living room, kitchen, the family bedroom, the entry hall, closets, repeat. Your mom leaves sticky notes sometimes as small adjustments. The system seems to work: no one has gotten sick, no one seems to be getting mad, and for thirty minutes you can think about whatever you want.
It was definitely paranoid to assume Ronin [Lilith’s manager at the bank] was keeping her away from customers. He brought her in to see customers sometimes, often for meetings with a certain type of new client: invariably liberal, often white, either a well-moneyed yuppie or grandparent. They seemed happy to see her, and Ronin seemed happy to be able to give them the opportunity to see her. No, stop thinking disloyal thoughts: a Scout is loyal, a Scout is kind.
She tried to see all of it through Scott’s eyes. You won’t be a pussy if you jump— you won’t be a girl if you jump— and she had jumped, and so she wasn’t. This was the possibility he had seen, and she hadn’t. The world has rules for you, standards you can meet. But if you work very hard, you will meet them, and the world will leave you alone.
I don’t think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I’m not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognizing that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we are to one another. I am what you did to me— you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too.