I put the remaining cardboard boxes from my move — containing clothes I didn’t want to wear, sentimental trinkets of little value, unserious decorations — in the closet and shut the door. Then it was almost four, so I could go see Lauren.

♒

Lauren was the first trans woman I had met. I had seen them around on the street in Chicago, but here they were just friends with my friends. A month ago, Erin and I had gotten stoned on the roof of her house, and she had monologued for a long time about Lauren, whom we had both just met.

“They look more confident than women do,” Erin had said. “It’s the most interesting thing about them.”

“Cis women,” I said automatically.

“Sure, whatever,” Erin said, waving her hand. “They’re living examples of repudiation, you know. You just look at them, and you know they know what it means to be a man, and they see that it’s a sham.”

“Lauren is confident,” I offered.

“She’s got herself figured out,” Erin said.

“Do you think she’d say that?”

“I’m saying it,” Erin said. “She’s reached her level.”

Living example. Someone’s visible queerness made them an exemplar of some vague idea of spiritual commitment — that was Erin, who was probably straight after all. That was when I had realized it. I didn’t say anything, but I felt protective of Lauren in that moment, my new friend, who was older and wiser and could surely save me.

The superiority I felt over Erin was only of this kind, the knowledge that I wasn’t lying to myself. It didn’t really help. Most of the time, my queer friends told me to stop tormenting myself, to cut her off without warning or apology. Lauren was the only one who understood that I had a problem, not a temporary daze I could be awakened from; she was the only one who understood that my problem was the same as my hope. I got into the habit of going to meet Lauren behind the Vietnamese restaurant where she worked, and we’d go on walks. When I walked and talked with her, she’d help me examine things. With her, I was worldly and outward and unconcerned with my inner life, unless it could be reduced to a set of syllogisms. We were going to figure out the secrets of desire together, in a way that gave me a welcome reprieve from experiencing it. She listened to me endlessly. Now that I lived with her, I wasn’t sure if either of us wanted to reprise the roles we knew to put on for each other.