Posted 30th October by @Eunuch_Onegin in series The Call-Out
content warnings: consequences
tags: transit; pajamas; rain; crying
But each night ends, of course, with dawning.
The sky goes pink then yellow then bright,
and Keiko awakes, stretching and yawning,
on a sofa-bed bathed in delicate light.
It’s half past eight. The mattress is spiny.
with uncoiling springs, and also tiny,
almost procrustean: her feet extend
a significant distance over the end.
She crawls out of bed, and goes looking
and finds some Folgers classic roast,
thoughtfully provided by the absent host,
and mutters to herself —“Well now we’re cooking,”
and makes some coffee, and is going to pour
it out when she hears a key in the door.
Gaia bursts in, still attired
in last night’s clothing, her makeup smeared:
—“Oh hi! Oh God, I’m so fucking wired,
I bought some coke, which just disappeared.
Is that coffee? Gimme! I’m craving.
Oh shit, I forgot: have I been behaving
badly? You were kind of emotional last night.”
—“I was. I mean, I am. You’re right . . .
but so, like what . . . what happened with Baker?”
—“Oh, would you believe, he’s all top in the streets
but you get him in bed, he’s a bottom in the sheets?
And a whiny bottom! More like Faker.
I left. I was all like, bye girl, bye.
And to think I’d been so obsessed with that guy!”
—“Wait, that’s it? You haven’t stopped talking
about him for months!” —“I know, what a bust!
All that plotting and cyber-stalking!
I guess I was carried away by lust.
But you can’t trust boys. I shouldn’t forget that!
And you’re one of the people I’ve met that
I trust the most. But I’m not sure I get
what I’ve done that made you upset.”
—“I maybe can’t handle this conversation.
I’m sorry. I had a kind of intense
night last night, and I haven’t made sense
of whatever happened. The situation
is just . . . I don’t know what to say.”
—“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
—“Oh yeah, I’m fine. It’s no big deal.
I had an encounter, okay, I kissed,
or maybe had sex, with Day, and I feel,
oh fuck, it’s all so hard to untwist.”
—“You hooked up with Day? That’s very . . . exciting?”
—“It was weird. She was like, all groping and biting
and we went to the bathroom, and she seemed to think
she was gonna, like, fuck me over the sink,
but it hurt too much . . . I was so embarrassed . . .
then she went down on me for too long,
or perhaps it was me, I was doing it wrong . . .”
—“Keiko! You were sexually harassed!”
—“What? No I wasn’t. It wasn’t that bad.”
—“Keiko, how much sex have you had?”
—“Well, not that much.” —“Right, I suspected.”
—“I slept with a cis girl once, or I tried.
It didn’t work out . . .” —“You’re so unprotected!
I know you think I tricked you or lied,
but if you’re trans there’s so much growing
up to do. We come out not knowing
the things that cis girls learn in their teens
about being a girl and what that means.
I’m maybe two or three years older
that you, but I’ve been out four years more.
I’ve been round the block. I know the score.
And also I’m like, not stronger, but . . . bolder?
Whatever. You’re just so easy to hurt.
Which is why I didn’t want us to flirt.”
—“Well, but I mean, I think I’m learning,
Or how do I learn if I can’t explore . . .”
—“Okay, I’m sorry you thought I was spurning
your advances that time. But the point is you’re
a victim. Last night you were sexually assaulted,
and sexual abuse must immediately be halted
wherever it happens. We just can’t let
abusers off, because if they get
away with it once, they continue abusing.
I’m here, as your friend, to offer support,
but also I really think that you ought
not to be forced into minimizing or excusing
what happened to you. You mustn’t be weak.”
Her eyes are shining. “You get to speak.”
—“Okay, well it’s nice you want to support me,
But I don’t . . . I mean what do you want me to say?”
—“I’m a Dungeon Monitor. That’s taught me
a lot about this. I’m sure there’s a way
I can help, whether that means providing
an ear, or a voice. I’m so glad you’re confiding
in me, that you told me what happened to you.
I hear you, I believe you. What you’re saying is true.”
—“But I’m not sure . . .” —“Don’t worry, you’ll question
yourself. Like, trauma makes you doubt.
You need to recover. I have a suggestion!
You can stay anonymous, and I’ll put out
a call-out post. I know what to do.
I’ll obtain restorative justice for you!”
Elsewhere, at this moment, I wake up feeling
very unusual. Do I feel . . . content?
But I’m also nervous, as if I’m stealing,
or living in a place where I can’t make rent.
Kate wakes as well, and we pass some hours
wandering around among the towers,
in summer Philly, just the two of us.
We eat, we kiss, then we get the bus,
and then Kate goes home. There’s no postponing
the matter any longer. As she goes inside
she’s in a position where she has to decide
whether she will be concealing or owning
up to her actions. She doesn’t balk.
—“Aashvi,” she calls, “we need to talk.”
—“What is it?” —“Okay, I have a confession.
I hooked up with someone. We didn’t have sex,
but you know that I’ve been having depression,
and if this happened, then it all connects.
Of course in theory our relationship’s poly
but this wasn’t an impulsive act of folly,
or it was, but it came from a place of need.”
Aashvi, who had been beginning to read
a detective novel, newly acquired,
while applying a face mask, and drinking a cup
of milky coffee, is curled up
on their modernist sofa, comfortably attired
in her pajamas. She stares, then blinks,
but doesn’t reply. She stops. She thinks.
Some moments pass. The air’s vibrating
with tension, or more to the point, it’s not,
and Kate is clearly having trouble waiting.
—“You’ve gone all silent. Tell me! What?”
—“The way you’re behaving is highly erratic.
You’re engineering some kind of dramatic
confrontation between you and I.
You want a fight. So I’m wondering, why?”
—“Aashvi, fuck’s sake, I mean like fucking
fuck, you know what the problem is here
but whenever I raise it you always steer
the conversation off, or find ways of ducking
the issue, or you find a way to make
it all about me. It’s too much to take!”
—“Well, clearly you’re not committed to maintaining
moderation here. Instead it appears
I am dismissive . . .” Kate’s barely restraining
herself from sobs: visible tears
pour from her eyes, her cheeks glisten.
—“You’re always judging and you never listen!
I don’t want a baby! I think it’s weird.
And being off hormones is worse than I feared,
and I can’t say it because disagreeing
with you is scary. You’re so smart and stern
you know all these things I’m supposed to learn,
and maybe you’re perfect, but I can’t keep being
totally absorbed in your perfect life,
as your social justice trophy wife!”
—“But we’re not married.” —“That’s not the issue!
You’re doing it again!” She can barely speak.
Aashvi proffers a box. —“Do you need a tissue?”
Kate takes it, wipes the tears from her cheek,
blows her nose —“I can’t keep spending
my energy supporting you and blending
into your world. I can’t invest
in cisness any more. I need a rest.
I don’t have energy for educating
a cisgender kid. I need to be
in community with other people like me.
I’m trans, and I’m done with assimilating.”
—“And yet you thought it quite alright
for me to invest in someone white?”
—“Okay, I’m wrong and bad and your virtue
is greater than mine. I’m glad that’s clear.”
—“Kate, what is this, how have I hurt you?”
—“You haven’t, you’re perfect and just and austere
and you don’t have to pay me any attention.
If I’m being awkward some condescension
will shut me up. You don’t have to care
that I’m so unhappy. Just say I’m unfair,
and point out the flaws in my argumentation,
and things can go on just like before.”
—“Now Kate, enough! I won’t endure
this barrage of unwarranted castigation.
This isn’t okay. You can’t just behave
in such a manner. It’s very grave.”
—“Well yeah, I realize you think I’m making
a fuss over nothing, but you know, I’m not.”
—“Kate, what is this, are you breaking
up with me? Is that honestly what . . .”
—“No, I don’t think we’re like, ending,
or at least, I mean, I wasn’t intending . . .
but I need to go back on hormones again,
I just can’t survive without estrogen . . .”
—“But everything’s planned! We’re having a baby!”
—“We can put it on hold. I need some space.
I think I should maybe move out of this place
just for a while, to try it, then maybe
we can try again . . . oh I don’t know,
but I’m going out. I’ve got to go.”
—“Kate don’t leave, you’re making an error!”
But Kate’s already begun her flight,
her bag in her hand. The look of terror
that Kate is wearing is quite a sight
(at least, in my imagination).
I don’t think she expected this confrontation
to so decisively escalate.
Once she’s outside the building, Kate
sends me a text, with a desperate appeal
to stay at mine. As I eagerly agree,
elsewhere, contemporaneously,
Day, unaware of the ordeal
she’s about to be required to endure,
has just come through her apartment door.
Bette’s inside, agitatedly pacing.
—“Oh Day, oh fuck me, what did you do?”
—“What do you mean?” Bette replies by embracing
her tightly, then asks —“Are they really true?”
—“Are what really true?” —“The accusations!
Oh my god, have you checked your notifications?”
—“Well no, my phone is out of juice.”
—“You’ve been accused of sexual abuse!
—“By who?” —“Well look, by that girl, Gaia.
Wait, did she tag you? She didn’t! That’s low.
You’re being accused and you don’t even know.”
—“We’ve barely met! She’s a fucking liar.”
—“No look, she says ‘the victim preferred
to not be named.’ She’s just ‘spreading the word.’”
—“Well who could it be? I mean it’s Philly,
I fucked a couple of people I met,
so I don’t, like, know. Like, this is silly!
How am I supposed . . . oh shit, I bet
it’s this girl, Keiko who was like, obsessing
over Gaia, and you know, just stressing
out, and thinking she had no allure
because she liked a girl who didn’t like her.
And like, I’ve been there, I know about hating
yourself, so I thought if we did some stuff
it would boost her confidence. I wasn’t rough,
like all I was doing was demonstrating
she could be attractive, like, sexually.
You know, like the way you did with me.”
—“Oh. My god. Are you, like, stupid?
I don’t know how to even respond.
Your dick’s not an arrow of fucking cupid
or some kind of dick-shaped magic wand.
You think you’re some kind of sexual savior,
or that she’d be grateful for this behavior?
You can’t fuck people because you think you should:
if desire’s not selfish then desire’s no good.”
Day looks completely confused and dejected
like someone just kicked her when she thought she’d be fed.
She puts both her hands on top of her head.
—“This is all going wrong. I never expected . . .
so what do I do? Perhaps if I call
Keiko on the phone we can talk through it all?”
—“Day, I would really advise you not to.”
—“But if we could just talk, she could hear my side,
we could sort this out. I mean I’ve got to
do something about this. I can’t just hide.
I mean, like look, this post is claiming
I ‘attacked her in a bathroom.’ It’s aiming
to make me sound like some rapist guy!
Why is she letting Gaia lie
about me like this? It’s bad. It’s vicious.”
—“Day, it’s natural that you’re upset
but they’re already suggesting that you’re a threat.
It’ll only make you look more suspicious
if you try to call her when she’s made it clear
she doesn’t want you anywhere near.”
—“Well thanks for being sympathetic.
Jesus, Bette, I’m struggling here.
And I mean, I’d be apologetic . . .
oh wait, hold on, I have an idea!
What if you called up Keiko for me?
I understand that they could ignore me,
but everyone listens to what you say,
you can make this stop . . .” —“Uh-uh. No way.”
—“You need to tell them, I never desired . . .”
—“You need to respect people’s boundaries.”
—“But Bette, I need you to help me, please!”
Bette suddenly looks extremely tired.
She sits on the sofa. —“This is too much stress.
Why is your life always such a mess?”
And one, and then the other, starts weeping,
whether from weariness or from pain.
After a humid summer of keeping
things held together, tears fall like rain,
which also, coincidentally, starts falling.
I’m closing my window when I hear Kate calling
up from the street: —“Hey let me in!
I walked from the subway. I’m soaked to the skin.”
I gaze at her, as she stands waiting.
Around her feet raindrops burst,
small explosions, and a powerful thirst
appears in my body, as exhilarating
and uncontrolled as it is strange.
The weather is turning. Time for a change.