The Good Guys

by Francis Gideon

  "Yeah," Oliver said. "But I like it even more when people recognize it."

  Avery rolled her eyes again. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to make me seem special and wonderful, like an after school special. Actors," she scoffed playfully, "always the same."

  Oliver laughed. He was about to open his mouth, but Avery touched his other hand and held it solidly. "I don't care what pronouns you use, really. Sometimes I dress like a boy because I feel like one, and usually male pronouns make my day. But really, it doesn't matter. I just like it when…"

  "Someone sees you?"

  "You're making it sound so sentimental again!"

  Oliver laughed. "I know, I know. Sorry. Lydia calls it my soliloquy mode."

  "It's pretty accurate, you know."

  "So I'll stop. But I can use both pronouns if you want, or switch and use they sometimes in my head too. Whatever works?"

  She smiled, half-broken. "I'm not used to someone paying so much attention to me. All of me. Like. I'm just used to people not getting it. It's one of the reasons why I say I don't care. If I don't care, then I can't get hurt."

  Oliver moved closer and put an arm around Avery. He didn't want to patronize her with small words saying he understood. He already knew he was milking this and making it seem way too after-school special. You're beautiful just the way you are! Avery seemed to appreciate the sudden shift as she slid her hand over his knee.

  Their bodies, Oliver thought, would communicate so much better without language. Oliver longed for a time like that, but he also knew it was pointless to pine away for something so obscure. He could appreciate their bodies, holding one another, but they had to exist here. It wasn't that bad. It was actually, at least from Avery's spot, really beautiful to look out at Toronto.

  "I know," Oliver conceded. "It's hard."

  "At least the doctors believe you, though. I'm constantly on a fence with them. They want to push me off to see where I'll fall, as if falling is the only way to know the truth. But I don't want to break down just to have an answer. I like both. And I think, even if they crack open my head and mix up all the gender stuff, that I will still like and be both."

  "It's more than just winning or losing. It's like sword fighting…" Oliver said. "Beyond loss or gain, it's about being remembered for something good."

  "Yes. I am so much more comfortable when I'm LARPing or online. I can be both male and female, something in between, nothing, or everything." Her voice changed, dropping an octave as she became emotional. Oliver held his arm around her and moved his palm up and down. Avery turned her head and looked up at the stars. She sighed.

  "What do you see?"

  "That's just it." She shifted, leaning her head down on his lap so she could get a better view. "When I was a kid, I used to make up names for the patterns I saw in the sky."

  "Oh yeah? Like constellations?"

  "Yes, but different," she said, smiling. She lifted up her hand and pointed near the North Star. "You see that, right there? I used to call it The Sword. And here, over there, that was The Castle and Princess. I had this whole story worked out in my mind about the sky and how it changed. The Sword was needed for the price to fight the battle, against the Oxen-Men over there."

  Oliver watched as Avery's face changed. Her smiles soon faded away and her skin was no longer as tight across her face. The pink, just under her freckles, was a little darker too. She was a kid again, a kid before gender politics had made life hard, and was just playing pretend with little consequences.

  "How did it end?" Oliver asked. "The story in the sky?"

  "The Good Guys, that constellation over there," she said, gesturing again to the stars that were brightest in the sky, but only during summer. "They won. Of course. I like stories where The Good Guys win."

  "I do too. Even if LARPing makes the victory only through honour."

  Avery nodded again, meeting Oliver's eyes momentarily. When she looked back towards the sky, her face fell. "When I was young, I was convinced that if I stared hard enough, I could make it real. I could write all these stories down and they would be mine, like the whole sky was mine. But then I took astronomy and I fell apart."

  "Why?"

  "The stars already had stories. Stories that weren't mine. And I felt bad, as if I had gotten them so wrong. Then this event became this strange analogy for my life. I always had my own story, but someone tried to give me something else. This is really the main reason why I adore fanfic too. Fuck the original authors. I'm keeping all my favourite dead characters alive and together in love, forever."

  "Oh, I know what you mean," Oliver said. "But if you change the audience, it can be as simple as changing the story."

  "What do you mean? Man," she laughed, "we're being so cryptic."

  "You kind of have to be when you're still figuring out meanings. Anyway," Oliver began, threading his hand through her hair. "King Lear was supposed to be one of Shakespeare's best tragedies. But it wasn't always that way. There are recorded versions where the ending's been changed to something happy because the audience wanted it that night."

  "I like that." She smiled her half-hearted grin, which Oliver now knew it meant she was thinking. Deviously so. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged it slightly, pulling him down to meet her lips again.

  "So tell me your stories of the stars," Oliver said, when the kiss had ended. "Beyond what you've already stated. I'll listen, and maybe we'll remember together."

  "Okay," Avery said. "But if you're that corny again, I will be forced to kiss you."

  "Forced?" Oliver said, still playing around. "I will keep it in mind."

  Avery sighed. After another quick kiss, she straightened her back and stared out at the sky. "See that?"

  Oliver saw the beginning formations of The Big Dipper—then he cast out that name from his mind. "Yes."

  "Well, that star…" Avery started. She spoke in the same hurried and excited tones from before in the kitchen, when discussing Harry Potter and fandom. Only this time, Oliver was the only audience member. He worked on forgetting all he thought he knew about the sky, and created a world with Avery instead.

  *~*~*

  "Nothing to be done."

  Oliver looked out at the audience. Waiting For Godot's first performance opened to a near-packed audience. He scanned the crowd, dressed in his hobo's finest and with a coffee-ground beard, but still didn't see the one person he wanted to see. He put up his arms as Vladimir and sighed.

  "I'm beginning…" Oliver began. He told Vladimir to be reasonable about waiting for now, even if it was a struggle. Just as he finished his line, there was a shuffle in the crowd. A flash of red hair. Oliver saw Avery getting to the show—late, but still there. He watched as she scrambled into a seat in the back. Oliver paused, stopping his train of thought. Maybe Avery was a he today, and he was finding a spot at the back row before he turned off his phone. Avery was too far away, and under the shadows of the lights, for Oliver to really tell what they were wearing or how their hair was.

  Oliver went on with the show, saying some of his next lines just as Andy, dressed as Lucky walked out onto the stage. When Oliver glanced back out at the crowd, Avery came into focus again. As their eyes met, they exchanged a small nod.

  Oliver remembered what Lydia had said about the play: Why do Estragon and Vladimir wait around for something that will never come? Why don't they take a risk on one another?

  Lydia was right. Oliver knew the ending he imagined with Vladimir and Estragon together was much better than the one written down in the playbook. As far as he ever knew, Beckett had only intended on their being only one ending for Vladimir and Estragon, and that was to always wait. But even if Oliver waned to say "fuck it" to the original author, he also knew that the stage was the stage and his role required meeting certain expectations. So he spoke his next line with only a small delay.

  The play would go on. He would perform again a couple nights from now. Since it had been written, it would not be cha
nged. But as he sauntered across the stage, Oliver met Avery's gaze again. He knew that they could be happy together, whoever and wherever they were at this time.

  As Vladimir, Oliver asked if Estragon really wanted to leave. When Jordan replied with a simple no, Oliver smiled. Maybe these two really do end up together.

  Oliver crossed the stage towards Estragon, so they could sit in a heap, defeated, on the floor. Behind him, the starry sky backdrop shimmered. The entire set piece had been redone the night before, when Oliver and Lydia took on the mission themselves after one of the stagehands got sick. Oliver pointed at the constellation he had painted in the sequinned sky just for Avery. Each time he gestured towards it onstage, he hoped Avery saw the secret message inside of the performance. For you, my dear, is the world. And we, together, are The Good Guys.

  Avery smiled from their seat. They looked beautiful in amongst the crowd. When the performance ended and the audience rose to clap, Avery stood out as the loudest and brightest among them.

  Thank you, Oliver thought. But there is still so much to be done.

  FIN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Francis Gideon is a m/m author, editor, and essayist. He has appeared in Microscenes, Gay Flash Fiction, Love Lane Books, and in ‘To Hell With Dante: An Afterlife Anthology’ by Martinus Press. He lives in Canada with his partner, where he reads too many true crime stories and stays up way too late. Find out more about his work online:

  http://francisgideon.wordpress.com/