I was coming out of my post-op-gone-wild period with guys in the Village, and you ordered a vodka and Diet 7 Up. I saw it in you right away; to know you was to know how you drank. I saw it in how you ordered and watched him pour and how your sips weren’t sips or gulps.

I said I liked your dress. You said my eyeliner was nice.

I said, “Yes, hello, my name is Tiana and I get into a fight with my eyeliner every day and today I happened to be lucky.” To which you said, without missing a beat, “It can smell fear.”

I said you were funny.

You said, “I’m funny?”

Your laugh was heaving and full; it sounded like you were choking.

Do you remember any of this?

You were one of the first girls in a long time who I didn’t guess was trans. You read me right away. Which. Whatever. Obviously.

Had you really never fucked someone the first day you met them? Before me? You alluded to it once; I found it strange. I know you were young, but you were also hot and funny and a drinker, and that’s just not a celibacy combo. Maybe that’s different for us? I dunno.

We straightened out the we’re-transsexuals thing, got into the stuff we get into. Your sister couldn’t deal, your mom was a sweetheart, everyone else semi-tolerated your existence except for a kind uncle who lived in the West End. You eventually found a job. You grew up in Winkler, but you weren’t Menno—

—and I’m sorry, I wanted you to stop right away. I know that’s a jerk thing, but I’d played too many rounds of Show Your Scars. I hated that shit so much. Plus, trans girls of your generation, they never start with the bad stuff, the stuff they really need to talk about. It comes out later. And you were so young and sweet—I felt hopeless thinking of the inevitable rest of it.

But then, then, you said the first you’d heard of trans anyone was Laura Jane Grace, and her coming out made you realize you were a girl, and you were on the Klinic waiting list a month later, and that wasn’t even two years ago, and oh my God, it was so long ago that you saw that Rolling Stone cover with “Rock Star Who Became a Woman” or whatever—

Seeing you in front of me, with your dress and tied-up hair, saying those words. It was so surreal. You know when that article came out, there was like a solid week where every weirdo trans dyke was talking about kids like you? It’s strange how much hope and love and expectation we put on you when, by default, we didn’t know any of you yet. So, shortly after you mentioned Laura, I said, “Shhhhh” and put a finger on your lips and kissed you. That was the right thing to do, obviously. But I wasn’t in lust, and I wasn’t won over: I just couldn’t hear you talk anymore.