by Robin Talley
“Where’s Andy?” I ask.
“He went to hide in 7-Eleven while we waited for you,” Eli tells me. “He thought he saw someone trying to take a picture of him by the Starbucks sign.”
“How is 7-Eleven better than Starbucks?” I ask.
“Don’t ask Andy that,” Derek says. “He wrote thirty pages on it last year for his corporate social responsibility seminar.”
We cut through the food court and find Andy by the Slurpee machine.
Andy glares at me. “I know you’re new here, T, but punctuality is key. One picture in the Crimson of me by that stupid green logo and my life is over.”
“I’m sorry.” I hold up my hands. Andy’s the only person in our friend group who not only tries to look like an aggressive, stereotypical frat boy but actually succeeds. It makes me kind of nervous. “It was an emergency.”
Andy sips a Slurpee with narrowed brows. “Tell me your excuse. I’ll judge if it was an emergency.”
“It was Chris, my best friend,” I say. “From high school, I mean.”
“Oh, right.” Kartik chuckles. “You’re a freshman. You still talk to your high school friends.”
“Leave him alone, dude,” Derek says, even though Kartik was only joking. Derek does stuff like that. “So, Toni, what was your friend’s emergency?”
“Uh.” Well, Chris didn’t say it was a secret. “Maybe it wasn’t technically an emergency. Well. My friend just had sex for the first time.”
Andy whoops and holds the Slurpee high. “Great! We’ve got an excuse to celebrate. Tonight, we drink in honor of Toni’s high school friend’s devirginification.”
I cheer at that with the rest of them, but as we leave the 7-Eleven I remember I don’t know how the alcohol part is supposed to work, exactly. None of us is twenty-one except for Eli, and Eli doesn’t like to show ID because Eli’s license still has an F on the “sex” line. No one seems worried, though, so I don’t bring it up.
“Is Nance coming?” I ask as we take the steps down to the T.
“She’s at a thing for the Dems,” Derek says. “They’re making phone calls to Texas about another abortion ballot measure. She’ll meet us at the bar later with some of the other girls.”
When we get on the train, I ignore Derek’s warning and ask Andy about the 7-Eleven versus Starbucks issue. I spend most of the trip listening to Andy talk about sustainable agriculture, which actually turns out to be really interesting.
Everyone else in the group has clearly heard the speech many times before, though. They keep sighing and generally indicating dramatic boredom.
After we’ve transferred to the Orange Line and Andy has shown no sign of letting up in the agriculture rant, Derek barks, “Okay! He gets it! Now please let’s talk about something else!”
Andy, who’s sitting on the other side of the aisle from us, mutters something about geniuses never being appreciated in their own time.
I turn to Derek. There’s something I’ve meant to tell the guys for a while.
“So, for the record, I don’t actually use male pronouns,” I say.
“Really?” Derek says. Pete twists around to look at us. I swallow and make myself keep talking anyway.
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, it’s just that I haven’t before.”
Derek groans. “Sorry! We shouldn’t have assumed. Damn, I should know better by now. Especially since you have that i in your name. What do you prefer, those gender-neutral pronouns like ze and zir?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never used those. I get why people do, but it just seems kind of disrespectful to the English language to start making up words, you know?”
“You think so?” Derek asks. “Language is supposed to evolve. Did you know the word sexism wasn’t invented until 1965?”
“But sexism makes linguistic sense,” I say. “The fake pronouns just sound weird.”
“Hey, now, lots of people use those,” Derek says.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, I know.” Crap. I try to backtrack. “That’s totally cool. I’m all for people using whatever words they want. Maybe I’ll decide to try them at some point.”
“Do you use they?” Pete asks. “That’s what I used to do.”
Hmm. So Pete is somewhere on the trans spectrum, too. Interesting.
Well, probably. Come to think of it, Pete could’ve gone by they and still been cis. That’s almost like what Gretchen does. Except Gretchen only does it for me.
Gretchen. The anxiety flares up in my chest, the way it always does when I think about my girlfriend. We only texted once today, hours ago, about a girl at the middle school where Gretchen volunteers. The girl got in trouble for munching on baby carrots too loudly during church, and she was trying to use that as her key example in a debate speech on government regulation. Gretchen told me the story over text and I sent some laughing emoticons back. We haven’t actually talked talked since the day before yesterday.
That’s my fault. Gretchen sends texts and calls on video chat way more than I do. And sometimes I don’t answer right away.
I want to talk to Gretchen more. It’s just that... I don’t know.
This is all so overwhelming. Being up here, thinking about all this stuff, having conversations like the one I’m having right now.
I need Gretchen more than ever. But I need Gretchen here. With me. Not hundreds of miles away.
“I’ve tried using they,” I tell Pete, “but it always makes me groan a tiny bit inside. I mean, I know there are linguistic justifications for using it as a singular pronoun, and at least they is an actual word, but—”
“You say guy and girl,” Pete says. “I’ve heard you say that. You talk about your girlfriend, too. If you don’t use he or she, why use other gendered language?”
I swallow. I can’t tell if Pete is annoyed at me or just curious. Half the group is looking at me now.
“Yeah, in theory I’d like to stop saying words like girl, too,” I say. “It’s just really tough in practice, you know? Staying away from he and she is hard enough, even though I’m mostly used to it now.”
“Hey, what are you guys talking about?” Across the aisle, Andy’s attention is back on us. So is Eli’s. All the other conversations have ended, and all eyes are on Pete and me.
“Pronouns.” Pete stands up and stretches, smiling down at me in a reassuring way. “Sorry, folks. It’s just yet another conversation about pronouns.”
“We’ve been total jerks, dude,” Derek tells Andy. “It turns out T doesn’t use male pronouns, after all.”
Andy stands up and comes toward us, gripping the pole for balance. Eli slips into the empty seat next to mine.
“Don’t tell me you still use girl pronouns.” Eli’s voice is gentle. “You don’t have to do that. You have us now.”
“Stop, don’t rush him—I mean, don’t rush Toni,” Derek says.
I don’t like Derek talking about me as if I’m not here. Or, worse, as if I’m a kid. Their pet project.
Besides, I hate pronouns. Why do we even need he and she? Neither one feels right. Why can’t everyone just use the same pronouns? Or if they have to be separated into categories—if our language absolutely needs multiple pronouns—why divide them up by gender? It’s so arbitrary. We might as well have different pronouns based on how old you are, or what your favorite color is, or your astrological sign.
Mostly I hate having conversations like this one. I hate having people look at me like I’m crazy for thinking so much about this stuff. I wish I could make up my own language where everything made sense.
“I never use gendered pronouns at all,” I say. “I don’t want to reinforce the gender binary.”
Andy snorts. “Please. Don’t be one of those hypergenderqueer people who’s always ragging on the rest of us for wanting to
look like guys.”
“That’s not what Toni said at all,” Derek says. “Relax, dude.”
“I’m just saying, I had to go through a lot of shit to get people to call me he,” Andy tells us. “I don’t need some kid coming in here and deciding I don’t get to just because binaries are evil.”
I sit back in my seat, stunned.
I don’t know what to say. Maybe Andy has a point. Is it disrespectful for me not to use gendered pronouns to talk about people like Andy? And Derek and Eli, for that matter? I don’t like pronouns, but is it rude not to use them for people who do?
Maybe I need to rethink all of this from the beginning.
“I would never say that.” I raise my voice. “I think everybody should use whatever pronouns they want to. This is just a personal thing.”
“Hey, don’t worry, T, it’s cool.” Derek looks at Andy. “It’s cool, right?”
Andy shrugs and says, after a pause, “Yeah, I guess. Everybody makes up their own rules, right?”
I nod. I’m shaking, I’m so nervous.
“Look, pronouns don’t have to be a huge deal if you don’t want them to be,” Derek says. “Toni, did you ever meet Lisa? The girl with the dreadlocks? She used to be in the UBA but she left it to start the HQSA?”
I shake my head.
“She identifies as trans, but she doesn’t care about pronouns at all,” Derek says. “I asked her once what pronouns she preferred, and she just said, ‘I come when called.’”
“I like that way of doing it,” Pete says. “Having to always tell people your preferred pronouns just puts everybody all up in your business, whether you want them there or not.”
“Yeah, I can see that, sort of,” I say. “I don’t actually care what you call me. I just didn’t want you to think I used male pronouns all the time. No one calls me by them except you guys.”
“What does your girlfriend call you?” Derek asks.
“Gretchen doesn’t use gendered pronouns to talk about me.”
“Wow.” Andy whistles. “That’s a lot of effort. Must be true love.”
There’s that anxiety in my chest again.
We’re finally at our stop, thank the lord. Andy punches me lightly on the arm as we get off the train. I hold back, not sure what to expect.
“Listen, dude, no hard feelings, right?” Andy asks. “That came out wrong, what I said back there. I don’t want you thinking I judge or anything. Are we cool?”
The expression on Andy’s face is totally sincere. Nervous, even.
“We’re cool,” I say. “And I get what you were saying. I’m going to think about it some more. Maybe I don’t give pronouns enough credit.”
Andy puts out a hand to shake. I smile. We clasp hands and turn to follow the others up the steps.
The bar is smaller than I expected, but we can tell even from the outside that it’s packed with people. There’s a line at the door but the bouncer, an enormous drag queen in a bedazzled halter top, sees Derek and waves us to the front.
“Hey, sweetie,” the drag queen says, kissing Derek on the cheek as the rest of the line grumbles. The drag queen looks at me. “Did you bring me a new boy tonight?”
“Uh. I guess.” Derek motions me forward. “Barb, this is Toni.”
“Hey, handsome.” Barb winks at me and squeezes my shoulder. I fight to stay upright. Barb’s biceps are no joke. “You a little Harvard freshman?”
“Yes,” I squeak, terrified of this mammoth woman smiling down at me. I feel myself blushing and resist the urge to add “ma’am.”
“You be sure to save a dance for me, okay, sugar?” Barb says.
“Oh, uh—okay.”
People in line chuckle.
“Careful, Barb, you’ll crush the poor kid!” someone calls out.
Barb waves us inside without asking for IDs or making us pay the cover charge. Now I know why the guys like this place so much.
Kartik and Pete fight through the throng to the bar and bring back two pitchers of beer. We find a spot on the wall and check out the crowd. It isn’t what I expected at all. I’ve never been to a gay bar before, but I’ve seen them on TV, and it was always a bunch of well-dressed white guys. This place is a big mix of people, though. Men and women, all different races. Some straight couples, too. Plus a few women who I think are trans—not drag queens like Barb, but normal-looking women, wearing flowy dresses and high-heeled sandals despite the cold weather. I think there are other trans guys mixed in with the crowd, too, but they’re harder to spot because they look the same as the cis guys.
“How do you know Barb?” I ask Derek.
“She’s friends with Nance’s ex,” Derek says. “She’s worked here since our freshman year.”
Kartik juts a thumb in Derek’s direction. “We met her when he and Nance were going out.”
Derek is suddenly looking away, taking a long drink of beer.
“You went out with Nance?” I ask.
“Everybody makes mistakes freshman year.” Andy laughs. “You’ll see, T.”
“YO! PEEEETE!” someone with an Australian accent shouts from the other end of the bar.
“YO! DOMINIC!” Pete shouts back. “GET OVER HERE, YOU USELESS ASSWIPE!”
A group of guys pushes over to us, sloshing beer onto the floor and their clothes. I can’t tell if they’re queer. They all have baseball caps on, but then, so do most of the guys in our group.
“YO!” the one named Dominic yells. “GUYS, THIS IS MY BOY PETE FROM CAMPUS CONSERVATIVES! AND HIS FRIENDS! PETE, WHO ARE YOUR FRIENDS?”
Pete introduces us. Dominic and the others are drunk already and in very good moods. At first I assume the “Campus Conservatives” thing is a joke, though I guess I don’t actually know Pete all that well. Maybe Pete and these guys really are Republicans. The sort of Republicans who come to a mostly gay-and-trans bar anyway. We don’t have those kinds of Republicans where I’m from.
“ARE YOU A FRESHMAN?” one of Pete’s friends yells at me.
“Yeah,” I say. “By the way, I know expressing your thoughts at the top of your lungs can be good for stress relief, but you really don’t need to yell. We’re not on the other side of the room anymore.”
The guy laughs.
“I like this kid,” one of them says.
“Dude, don’t get any ideas,” Andy says. “T’s taken. Got a little girlfriend down at NYU.”
“Like that matters, man,” the guy says. “Nobody makes it through freshman year. This kid’ll be hookin’ up with other chicks by fall break.”
“That is such an irrelevant stereotype,” I say. “As if it’s impossible that my relationship would be durable enough to sustain a few months apart.”
“What, you gonna stay with your girl forever?” One of the other guys laughs. “You gonna get gay-married?”
“How amusing,” I say as the other guys chuckle. “In fact, I find jokes about the decades-long sociopolitical movement to ensure legal and cultural equality for all simply hilarious.”
The guys all stare at me. Huh. I used that line all the time in high school and it always got a laugh.
“Uh,” Pete says. “T, we need to get you another drink.”
Pete’s right. Two beers later, I love everyone in the place, and they all seem to love me back. I joke around with Dominic and the other guys for half the night. It turns out they’re all in the same final club. Final clubs are these exclusive all-male secret societies that have these crazy parties, but everyone on campus who isn’t in a final club sits around mocking final clubs. When Dominic and the others get sick of hanging out with guys who want to talk only about yachts and how many BU girls they scored with that weekend, they come here to chill.
All night long, Dominic and the guys make fun of the people in their club
and ask me and my friends questions about our exotic, non-final-club-centered lives. They don’t even mind when we don’t want to satisfy their curiosity. When one of them asks me how Gretchen and I have sex, I answer, “That is none of your damn business, you useless asswipe,” and everyone just laughs harder.
It’s the best night I’ve had since I left DC.
Nance shows up later with two cis girls I don’t know named Laura and Inez. I try to say hi, but Dominic has just finished telling a story about one of the guys in his club who’d gone snorkeling while stoned on spring break and thought a shark was attacking, and I’m laughing too hard to talk.
Nance sees me and turns to Derek. “You let him get drunk?”
“He’s fine,” Derek says. “Oh, wait, crap. Sorry, T. Nance, we’re not supposed to say he anymore. Turns out Toni isn’t into that.”
“Whatever.” Nance leaves to go to the bar.
“I’ll get us some water.” Derek goes after Nance.
“Did they really used to go out?” I ask Eli.
“Oh, yeah,” Eli says. “For, like, a year.”
“Was that before...”
“Oh, yeahhh.” Eli nods vigorously. “Derek was a girl then. Our freshman year really kind of sucked, to be honest. You’re doing a lot better than we were. Anyway, that’s how we got stuck with Nance. Derek made us put her in our blocking group freshman year, so now we’re stuck living with her till graduation.”
“You don’t like Nance?”
Eli shrugs. “Do you?”
It never occurred to me to dislike anyone in Derek’s group. I assumed they were a package deal.
Derek and Nance are fighting their way back from the bar. Nance is awkwardly holding three pint glasses and Derek has four bottles of water. The music hits a low point, and we can hear them talking.
“She’s such a little babydyke,” Nance is telling Derek. “She’s as bad as my sister. You shouldn’t bother. It’s not like you need another charity case.”
Nance’s stories are always weird. I turn back to continue my conversation with Eli, but Eli shifts, not meeting my eyes. Then Pete says to Derek, way too loudly, “Hey, did you see the babe in the blue skirt? Hot.”
