Zenobia July

by Lisa Bunker

  “Hi,” Elijah whispered back.

  Putting into words a growing feeling, Zen said, “This place is pretty cool, don’t you think?”

  Elijah nodded. He seemed like he might be solemn most of the time. “I have been here before,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. There is a show on Tuesday evenings that is done by students our age. I have been on that show three times.”

  “That sounds amazing!”

  “You can play—” Elijah began, and then pointed with his eyes toward the radio station man, who was saying, “You can play whatever songs you want and talk on the microphone and also say whatever you want, except no swears.” Students laughed. “This is community radio, so everyone has a voice.” He went on to explain that if you wanted to be on the show—Tween You and Me, it was called—all you had to do was show up at the right time on Tuesday evening. Zen made a mental note to tell the Aunties she wanted to come. Also, Arli would probably like it too.

  The tour continued. There was a room lined with shelves from floor to ceiling, and every shelf was crammed full of CDs. In the basement, on more shelves squeezed in under the exposed pipes, were vinyl records.

  And then there was the Control Room, where the actual radio was made. The whole class stood breathless and still at the back of the room while the person who was on the air, a tall, straight-backed man with a baseball cap, did a “break.” That meant he put on headphones and flipped a switch that made the music go mute and a big “On Air” light illuminate on the wall above his head, and then he leaned close to the microphone on its robot arm and talked. He announced the music and did the weather forecast and then pushed a button and turned off the microphone and a new song was playing.

  The announcer turned his chair around and greeted the students. He had a courtly way of speaking. He talked about how on this station they got to play music nobody listened to anymore, and then, like he was proving his point, he said, “For example, I bet none of you has ever heard of the man singing right now. Anyone know who he is?” He seemed to think he already knew no one would, because he drew breath to speak again, but then he saw Zen’s hand. “Yes, young lady?” he said.

  Zen blushed happily at young lady. “Um, it sounds like Ernest Tubb to me,” she said.

  The man’s face lit up. “Why, yes,” he said. “That’s exactly right.” Eyes turned to look, and Zen’s happy blush deepened. What her dad would have thought of the moment she couldn’t even begin to guess.

  Geeky lure, stronger now. This place was wicked cool.

  The Control Room was the end of the tour. In the front room again, the radio station man did questions and answers and handed out bumper stickers. Then the class gathered on the front steps for a picture. Zen was feeling good: warm sun, maybe getting to be friends with Elijah, the Ernest Tubb moment, a new fun thing to think about doing. So it was like getting a bucket of cold water dumped over her when she heard snickering behind her and turned to see Robert and his friend both holding their shirt necks up around their ears. When he saw that she was looking, Robert made what she had to assume he thought was a funny expression, sucking his chin back, rolling his eyes, tottering his head back and forth.

  Zen scowled. Her malice spiked, and the word was out before she could consider the consequences: “Mice.”

  Robert’s face snapped back to its usual superior expression. They stared into each other’s eyes. His widened. She closed her own and turned forward again. Had she given herself away? Had he seen that it had been her who had sabotaged his gameplay? Her face burned.

  During the ride back to school she continued to squirm. Logical brain said, He couldn’t possibly know it was me. He was talking about it in the cafeteria, so it makes total sense that I just overheard. But logical brain could not fully damp down the sick twist she felt in her stomach.

  On the other hand, she had scored her point. There had been sweetness in the moment, no denying. And she had all the new clothes now. The insult no longer applied.

  On her way back inside the school, she checked her reflection in the mirrored door. She was wearing the top with the huge flower today, plus the capris and cute sandals. She smiled a tight little smile of defiance. Let them mock. Even through the self-doubt Robert had triggered, she could see that she was looking good today.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Hello?

  Helloooo

  Yelloooooo

  Felloooooooo

  Melloooooo Jellooooooo

  Smileeeee Face-eeeeeee!

  Um, hello. What’s up with you?

  Just in a silly mood at the moment, is all.

  Lafffeeeeee Face-eeeeee!

  So I see. Should I be concerned?

  Why?

  You’re right. I guess you just feel all the feels.

  Yes, I do.

  Riding the roller coaster, all the time.

  OK then. So, what has you feeling so happy?

  All kinds of things.

  New clothes.

  Ernest Tubb.

  Uncle Sprink.

  Who?

  He’s a friend of my aunts.

  He took me shopping.

  He’s a drag queen.

  I love it!

  “Sprink” is short for Sprinkles La Fontaine.

  EEEEE!

  What is that?

  Me squeeing. What a fantastic drag name.

  He doesn’t look much like a woman.

  You’d be amazed what you can do with makeup and clothes. And attitude.

  You’re an expert, I guess.

  I suppose you could say that.

  I take an interest.

  Why?

  Is it because you . . .

  Because I what?

  Well, I haven’t wanted to ask.

  I thought it might be rude.

  But we’re getting to be friends, right?

  Yeah?

  So, as a friend, can I just ask, what gender are you?

  You can ask.

  And the answer is, kinda both kinda neither.

  “Genderqueer”

  That’s right.

  Good for you, knowing that word.

  I’ve seen it online.

  So can I ask you another question?

  Maybe?

  Because I’ve heard other people talking about you once or twice, and I heard them use certain words.

  Stop!

  What?

  Don’t type any of the words you mean.

  Why not?

  If you have to ask that, then you don’t get it.

  Don’t get what?

  What “genderqueer” means.

  OK, fine. How about if you explain it to me?

  It means, I feel in between, in a way that’s specifically different from either endpoint.

  And, yeah, of course I was born one way, as far as my body goes, so I’ve always been thought of that way by the people around me.

  Still are, from the words I’ve heard.

  The ones you stopped me from typing.

  Well, yes. Because I haven’t started trying to get people to change yet.

  So for now I’m just letting teachers and other kids at school say the old words, even though I hate it.

  OK, so, next question.

  Could we stop talking about this now please?

  Why?

  Because it’s a hard thing for me to talk about.

  OK?

  OK, sure, no
problem.

  Thank you.

  Now, I have a question.

  Yes?

  When do I get to meet your aunts?

  Oh, right!

  I’ve been meaning to tell you.

  They said I could invite you over.

  Huge grin face! *jumps up and down*

  Would this Friday be OK?

  Hold on, I’ll ask.

  Dum de dum de dum

  How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?

  That’s a thing my mother used to say . . .

  I don’t know why I remembered.

  I can come!

  Took you long enough.

  Well, yeah. It’s tricky sometimes.

  What’s tricky?

  Talking to my dad. But we’re cool.

  OK, good.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  WEDNESDAY IN THE food court, Zen felt like a ball in a pinball machine. Every time she turned around someone else was there. Bounce! First it was Natalie, alone for once, seeming almost regular human-sized without her posse to back her up. Zen turned away from the burger station and found herself face to face with the haughty alpha girl. In the first moment, as they locked eyes, Zen resisted the urge to look down to remind herself what she was wearing. She made herself remember instead. What had she picked? Jeans and the pretty feminine top with the lace around the neck and the cute sandals. Yes! The outfit looked good, and she knew it. Natalie’s eyes flicked down and up again, and her eyebrows lowered menacingly, but she did not speak. Zen twitched one eyebrow in response—What, nothing to say?—and brushed past, rejoicing inside.

  Before she could properly savor the win, though, bounce! Melissa was there. Zen stutter-stepped to a halt. All week, every time they met, Melissa had been talking to her in a way that was clearly based on an idea that they were best friends now, and that, as such, of course they would always talk when they met, and of course it would go on as long as it could. Zen had taken to organizing her things in the last five minutes at the end of Mr. Walker’s class and bustling out the door as soon as the bell rang, putting on a show of hurry, to avoid getting snared again.

  “Hi!” Melissa said.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you, we decided we’re not doing game day this weekend, because we’re going on a family field trip, but you can come on that if you want. You want to come?”

  “Um . . .”

  Melissa’s expectant smile vanished, but before either of them could speak again, bounce! Arli materialized at Zen’s elbow, so suddenly it made her jump. She watched her two friends give each other hostile looks. Then Melissa spun away with a disdainful swish of her long blond hair.

  “Game day?” said Arli, sounding snide.

  “Um, yeah . . . I went over to her house last weekend. Her family does a thing with—”

  “Why do you even talk to her?” Arli interrupted. “She’s weird.”

  “You know, that’s funny. She said the same thing about you.”

  But, before Arli could respond, bounce! Over Arli’s shoulder, Zen saw an unexpected but so welcome face appear: Dyna. Zen uttered a shriek of joy, and Arli turned to look. Then the friend-triangle tension was forgotten in the hubbub of a happy reunion. All talking at once, they made their way to the usual table, where Clem was just sitting down, and the original quartet of the first day’s orphan misfits was once again complete. As the greeting-chatter wound down, Zen said, “So, your dad let you come back?”

  Dyna gave Zen a steady look before answering, and Zen smiled, seeing in the other girl’s face what she felt herself, that since the mall encounter they were more connected. “Not exactly,” said Dyna. Zen raised her eyebrows. “I told him that I was coming. I explained that to act from fear, it is to let fear vanquish you.”

  “Vanquish,” said Arli reverently. “What a great word.”

  Clem said, “That takes some guts, telling your parents how it’s going to be like that.”

  Dyna lifted her chin. “I am Chantal Kasongo,” she said.

  Clem said, “Well, I’m sold. When you run for president, I’ll vote for you.”

  That got a laugh from Zen and Arli, but Dyna did not laugh. “I do not dream of being president,” she said. Clem opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Dyna went on, “I am going to be a senator.”

  Arli and Clem both laughed again, clearly assuming this was also a joke, and Zen smiled, but she didn’t laugh. She and Dyna exchanged another look, and Zen nodded, acknowledging the determination she saw in the other girl’s dark, fabric-framed face. A girl who told her parents what was what. A girl who calmly stated that she was going to be a senator someday. Not wanted to be. Was going to be. It was thrilling to see.

  Humbling, too. Zen’s eyes faltered and she looked away, then busied herself with her lunch. She frowned inside at her sudden dimming of mood. Only minutes ago she had been savoring a victory over queen bee Natalie. Now she was berating herself for not measuring up to her friend. As the joking and laughing of the table found its natural rhythm again, Zen whispered too quietly for her friends to hear, “I did the best I could. How was I supposed to tell them? I couldn’t even say it to myself, hardly.” And then, surprising herself both with the Lord’s name in vain and the thought, “God damn it, I feel broken.”

  But that was too awful an idea to face for more than an instant. Zen turned back toward the warm connection happening among the other three humans at the table.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  AS THE DINNER with Arli approached, Zen began to feel uneasy. The evening before, listening to a blues show streaming from WYZA and doing her homework in her room, she realized why. She needed to talk to the Aunties.

  She took her headphones off and listened to the voices on the other side of the door. Just the two of them tonight, for a change—no company. She was becoming more familiar with the tones and variations of both of their voices. Aunt Lucy, when she got going, sounded like someone giving a lecture. She could talk as long as no one else interrupted. When Aunt Phil talked, it was shorter, but also more . . . jazzy, or something. Funky rhythms. Zen liked both of their voices. They matched her deepening sense of who they were as people.

  And, time to do this. Zen took a deep breath, put her shoulders back, tugged the ends of her hair down toward her shoulders (almost touching on their own now), and opened the door.

  Aunt Lucy was speaking, but found a place to stop. “Something up, Zenobia?” she said. “Are we talking too loudly?”

  Yes, but not what Zen had come to say. “No, it’s okay,” she said. Then her tongue went leaden, and she faltered into silence.

  “Everything all right, boo-boo?” asked Aunt Phil. Both Aunties looking concerned now.

  “Yes, m— Yes, thank you.” More silence. “Um.” Yet more silence. She took a shaky breath and said, “Arli doesn’t know.”

  “Doesn’t know what?” said Aunt Lucy.

  “About . . . you know. About how I lived before.”

  “Ah,” said Aunt Lucy. Aunt Phil was nodding.

  “Actually, I don’t think anyone at school knows yet,” said Zen.

  “That was how you wanted it,” said Aunt Lucy.

  Indeed. Through the spring and summer there had been a series of discussions, out of which had come decisions. The decision to live full-time. The decision to pursue treatment. And the decision to tell absolutely no one about Zen’s past life. Living in stealth, it was called.

  “Yes,” Zen said. “That was how I wanted it.” She groped for words. “It’s just . . . I didn’t realize how hard it would be. Doing girl every day. I mean, I really am one, but still, I don’t have any practice. And I’m so afraid they’re going to find out.” Aunt Phil held out her arms, and Zen went to
her. The hug felt so good it made her eyes leak some. She wiped at them and went on. “So tomorrow night, when Arli is here . . . I mean, I like Arli a lot, and I wouldn’t mind them knowing, but it just seems safer to keep it secret from everyone for a while longer. If we can.” A breathing pause. “Okay?”

  “Sure, Zenobia,” said Aunt Lucy. “Not to worry. We’ll keep you safe.”

  “Thank you.” Enough hugs for now, comforting though they were. Zen stepped out of Aunt Phil’s arms.

  “You said ‘them,’” said Aunt Lucy.

  “Yes, I caught that too as it flittered by,” said Aunt Phil.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “For your friend. You used the pronoun ‘them,’” said Aunt Lucy.

  “Oh yes, that’s right. Arli is, I think the word is ‘genderqueer’?”

  “Ah,” said Aunt Lucy, at the same time that Aunt Phil said, “Far out.”

  Aunt Lucy said, “I very much look forward to meeting this young person.”

  Aunt Phil was smiling her twisty smile. “Me too,” she said. “Right on. Groovy. Let’s assemble.”