Aiden took care of the more detailed-oriented paperwork, noting how long Blithe slept, what he ate, what his range of vocabulary was, how often his parents called, how he reacted to various stimuli. I thought about using some of Blithe’s data, telling him to remember his parents’ pool, and the softness of their voices, but I knew that the zine was right. When you’re in the Shadowlands, attempts to comfort are the worst balm. I simply sat with him.

One easeful morning while Aiden was off at a sponsorship meeting for a new SpaceShoes style, Blithe, Alice, and I sat out in the backyard, admiring the sky. I was glad to be alone with him. Aiden’s early rising and smoothie pulverizing and impromptu push-up seshs were messing with my energy.

The cherry blossom tree had bloomed, and the wind scattered its petals across the lawn, like an unimaginative str8 lover strewing rose petals.

“Aloe, aloe.”

Blithe rubbed Alice’s arm against his face. I cut a small part of her tip and he took it. I was meeting with Sophie later and tried to think of how she would help him. He’d plateaued at my apartment, speaking in one-word mysteries, often staring into the distance with a look of disbelief.

I wanted the Rhiz to know that I had learned something from all of my pain.

How could I transmit any of it to this young person, tho? I didn’t want to pretend that I was an expert in the Shadowlands; in fact, they still scared the shit out of me.

“Blithe, you know, maybe the one thing I can do that a therapist, shaman, or bioaffective data analyst cannot is tell you about my own messed-up path.”

“Aloe,” he said, seeming interested.

“It wasn’t terribly long ago that I was off in my own Shadowlands, getting my wagon wheels stuck in the same ruts, hating myself, like hating myself beyond the level of hatred that any transphobic person would care to reach, imagining a thousand lost futures, experiencing moment-to-moment reality as a constant plunge into humiliation, a receptacle of the underside of an entire culture’s anxieties about trans people . . .

“I mean, not to discourage you, but every day I have to drag myself away from its magnetic pull.”

I was getting derailed. I didn’t want Blithe to think of the Shadowlands as a geographical location that you could use GPS to get out of.

“Anyway, I’m going to start to tell you about how I’ve emerged. And guess what, even if I hadn’t hexed you, you would have ended up here. I mean, not in my backyard, but in the Shadowlands. For god’s sake, you tried to transition by slicing everything off and hiding in your parents’ house.”

Damn it, I should not use his own data against him.