In the mornings I’d wake up in my shitty apartment, open my phone, and go to the Gram, where Aiden, also a trans guy, spent his days lounging in pools of California sunlight, drinking maple water beneath a palm tree, wearing not-yet-released SpaceShoes, musing about how to be your “true self.” I admit, if I hadn’t been incredibly insecure back then, none of this would have mattered to me. If I’d possessed a solid sense of self, he could have molded each pube-like hair of his beard into a style that was milder than full-on gay bear and more kempt than the average cis, and it would not have destroyed my entire day.

I would have accepted my own patchy mess of facial hair—and dark urges—with a wry and full heart.

Alas.

I didn’t know it at first, but I needed to track down Aiden’s shadow as much as I needed to generate my own light.

Every damn weekday, Aiden unveiled a new portrait and the world (his 99,000 followers) watched his creepy mustache change from fuzz to a blond block, his biceps grow into pastel muscle tees, his lips receive anointments of juice and juniper water, his facial structure harden out of abject female fleshiness, and his limbs extend on all manner of mid-century modern furniture inside his minimalist, plant-filled enclave, and each morning, I thought about killing him in a metaphorical way, the trans-father whose shadow I wanted to step out of, even tho dude was younger than I was.

His first post. Picture it.

Him, reading, shirtless, on a wicker sofa out on his patio, framed by hanging candle sconces. He stared languidly at the camera, as if the mirror had always been his bruh. He held a book tilted toward himself at stomach level so you couldn’t see the cover, only his directive, BE TRUE, tattooed above the fading surgery scars. Out in the darkness beyond, his partner was surely waiting to be fucked, if only Aiden would stop fucking himself over and over again with his phone.

It would be a minute.

The only caption was a repetition of his tattoo, BE TRUE, and when I saw it, I thought, Ugh, here’s this beautiful trans guy in his lush backyard and I can’t even video-beam with my former guardian without wanting to apologize for transitioning and bringing drama into what could be her staid retirement!

Doubtless you are wondering, What kind of fool would take a Gram seriously, anyway?