JAMIE: How so?

PA: I told you I’m weird, but it’s like the kind of weird that doesn’t have a home anywhere. It’s like the way I am isn’t enough of one thing & is too much of another. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere & if I was only more of this or less of that, I would. Does that make sense?

JAMIE: It does, yes. It feels like when I had a growth spurt and my pants were too short and my sleeves weren’t long enough. All I could do was feel how nothing fit anymore.

PA: What did you do? How did you deal with that, I mean?

JAMIE: I figured out what parts of belonging fit me best, and now that’s what I wear in the world. That’s how I learned to fit in.

PA: Isn’t that lonely, though? Don’t you ever wish you just wore what you wanted? That you could belong no matter what you put on any given day?

PA: I’m a little tipsy btw.

PA: Actually, you can just ignore this. I’m sorry. I’m being like the texting version of the drunk stranger at the bar who sobs on your shoulder about their personal shit that you didn’t ask to hear.

My heart beats hard as I stare down at her words. As I finally find my own.

JAMIE: You don’t need to apologize. I like talking about this. Nobody wants to talk about it. Except me. And you, apparently.

PA: Promise you’re not just saying that?

JAMIE: Promise. And to answer your question, it is lonely—wearing those clothes to fit in, that aren’t necessarily mine but rather, something I’ve agreed to wear. But it’s been a long time since I wore anything else. I think I’d feel very strange if I did. I might not even know what else to put on.

PA: You don’t know until you try, though, right? Maybe you’d feel free.

My heart beats harder, my fingers aching to pour out so much that I keep buried deep inside. I type my response but hesitate, deliberating if I’ll send or delete it. My cats flop and stretch on my lap, one of them bumping me so that my thumb prematurely hits send. My humiliation unfolds as it pings a cellular tower, then lands in our messages.

JAMIE: I don’t know if I’ve ever felt free. What does that even mean?

PA: I don’t know. I guess when I’m misunderstood or lonely, I remember at least I’m true to who I am & I know who that is. That to me, is being free. That who I am is non-negotiable. That I am myself. Sometimes, I just wish that identity had a place among others.

I swallow roughly, my fingers tracing her words.