I sit in my room. It’s a nice room but a bit dusty, and I’m allergic to dust. So I’ve been struggling to breathe since I moved here.
My trans friend sleeps across the room, on the small mattress we found on the street. She’s been transitioning for 10 years, though she’s much younger than I am. She used to update her video blog. She’s always telling me to get some real problems. Every day we wake up head-to-toe in that tiny bed. Would we have it any other way?
She insists she isn’t my girlfriend. She doesn’t like to be touched. I remember what that was like.
We share food, share our lives. Thick as thieves, I wear the ring her boyfriend gave her.
And something interesting has happened. She walked the path I started upon, took it to the extreme. Gave herself nothing and no one to lose, but it ends nowhere. So I found something to care about. It’s obvious. It’s inevitable. As sure as I would die without her, I need to complete my science work. It’s not a question of discrimination or profit, I need to be what I’ve become.