CHAPTER 19 ALI-GYVER
My bógōng didn’t just Botox my perspective—he Hulk-smashed everything I thought I knew, leaving a million broken pieces I didn’t know how to rebuild. I spent the rest of Saturday feeling overwhelmed. Then, by Sunday morning, I was deeply regretful but couldn’t pinpoint why.
Was it wrong that my first instinct seemed to be to find the answers myself instead of asking, even if it meant violating someone’s privacy? Then again, how could my instincts be any other way given how my family operated?
Conversation had never been our answer. With my mother, the most extensive dialogue we seemed to have was her telling me over and over, You know I want the best for you, right?
At first I used to sit in my room repeating “the best” over and over to myself in her voice, trying to feel the threads of love that should have reached out to embrace me. But every time, without fail, the doubts would take over. Because how could someone who thought penises were the best have good judgment? How could someone who barely saw me know what the best was?
Then, after a while, it became that thing where I heard the words so often they lost meaning, and when I opened my eyes, I saw them for what they were: a blatant lie and an excuse to run my life. And eventually it became easier to simply take matters into my own hands. Except… was Bógōng right? If I continued this way, swimming through the deep blue secrets without coming up for air, would I wake up old, still angry, and full of remorse?
I was already regretting how everything had played out with Chase. And I couldn’t just sit here and let it stew, not after the Hulk smash and learning everything my bógōng had gone through.
I dragged myself out of bed and snuck the family laptop into the bathroom, not worrying about getting caught since my mother was swishing away at the stove and wouldn’t come upstairs because my father was on this floor.
When I turned the computer on, I was shocked but not shocked to find it was fingerprint-password protected. Now it made sense why the laptop was in its usual spot on my father’s nightstand and not in the safe. I retrieved some glue plus the transparencies from my father’s graduate-school days that my mother wouldn’t throw out because “you never know when you’ll need them” (which, yes, was making me double over from the irony). After an hour of playing Ali-Gyver, I was in.
Instead of logging into my old email, I made a new one based on our name puns to match Chase’s. Ignoring the pang that surfaced, I clicked the compose button. Immediately my fingers started flying of their own accord; apparently written word was easier for me than spoken.
Chase,
I’m sorry for how things devolved. For what I said. I should’ve been more sympathetic about your family situation, and I now remember what it was like, how deep the shame can sink its claws in, and how it’s not something you can just get over. I should’ve been more supportive.
You hurt me, too
Shit. I deleted that last line. This was an apology, not another confrontation.
I will try harder.
Hmm. I deleted that and replaced it with:
Let’s be better about communicating. I now know your preferences, and when I’m not sure, I’ll ask. Maybe via email, but I’ll find a way.
Okay.
Ali
My finger hovered over the send button.
I wanted to throw up.
Just do it.
Damn it, I couldn’t.
I closed out the unsent email, the (1) by my drafts folder taunting and haunting me as it would for days to come.
What was wrong with me?
I stared at my inbox for a long time, trying to dissect myself. When the screen darkened, I didn’t recognize the face staring back at me.
At some point I numbly pulled up a new message and typed an email I could send—to Yun, to say all the things I hadn’t been able to two months ago. I didn’t hesitate before firing this one off, because with Yun it didn’t feel like my glass heart would shatter depending on how he responded.
From: AliAliOxenFree@gmail.com
To: Yun.C.Kao@gmail.com
Time: 9:25 a.m. EST
Subject: Udderly Sorry
Um, hey, you. As the subject of this email clearly states: I am udderly sorry. I should’ve tried to explain myself better before, which was that I was trying to bond with you and tell you I support you. (Really.) Look, I’m sorry it’s been sucky for you and I can’t understand, but I do support you and want to give you a hug from afar (and only from afar because I don’t like to be touched… nothing personal). Anyway, I’m trying to tell you a little about me in the hopes that you can maybe understand a smidge better how I mean well but don’t know how to show it sometimes. Oftentimes. And I know I have shit with my mom but I’m not ready to face it and maybe I overreacted. Hope you can forgive me.
Yeah. That’s all. You don’t have to respond if you don’t want. If you can’t forgive me, I hope this email at least amoosed you.
Yeah I went there.
From: Yun.C.Kao@gmail.com
To: AliAliOxenFree@gmail.com
Time: 10:17 p.m. CST
Subject: Re: Udderly Sorry
Moooo.
Okay fine I guess you’re forgiven, but it’s only because you said udderly.
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And if you scrolled down this far, then we can be friends because you’ll know the previous line was a joke. I forgave you only because you said amoosed.
Okay, no seriously, I’m sorry too, Ali. To be honest, I’ve been in a bit of a haze for the past couple years and there’s just too much manure between my dad and me, just like at Smelly Pines. I may have even taken some of that out on you, though, no, now that I think about it, you were quite abysmal in your social skills (please imagine me with a monocle and top hat pursing my lips as I say “abysmal”). But now that you’ve explained yourself, I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. Thanks for reaching out and apologizing. That, my friend, means you’re not even the same Ali from the cowfeteria. Kudos to you.
And thank you for your words of support. Since you’re the only person who knows about… me… it means a lot.
All right, enough cheese. I’ll smell ya later, my favorite cowgirl. Don’t be a stranger.
correct cowgirl
