Growing Distance

"What is it?" I ask him, "You've got a look."

He shrugs, "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

I should let it drop but I press on. I know the answer, but I think a part of me needs to hear him say it. Because it's going to hurt to have the truth, to know that even with me in this body I'm still capable of fucking up in the same ways I used to. It tells me that I am, fundamentally, the same person inside.

And that person is broken. But at least they're broken in a way that's a little familiar to me.

"You've got a look," I tell him, grinning.

"Well," he says, hesitating as he picks his words carefully, "It's all just a little surprising, I guess. A bit unexpected."

He overcorrects, getting louder as if that will make it more reassuring and then just blatantly lying to me, "But games are cool! I like games. I play them all the time with the team. You know... football is a game."

"That it is," I say, intending for that to come off as a joke but it only sounds morose.

"Look," he says, "I'm not going to shit on your interests or anything, don't worry. Different people like different things and what's cool for you isn't necessarily cool for me. That's cool.

"I guess I'm just a little surprised about it. That's all."

"I think you said that already," I say, half mutely.

He sighs, "I just didn't know you'd be into that kinda stuff. I mean look at it from my perspective. This girl comes to my booth and she's talking sports and she's cute and beautiful and everything like that. I get this idea in my head about her, expectations. You know? I think that maybe you're into the same things that I am, but now you come to me with board games and **** and I don't have a clue about any of that. It's all new to me. Not necessarily bad, but... different."

I nod, watching him leap backflips to try to salvage things.

"And that's not bad. It just means we're different people... than we expected. Than I expected, at least. I mean I like beer and sports. I guess I kind of am what you expected, right?"

I smile at him and I lean in a little, "Who knows. Maybe you've got something hidden and you'll surprise me too."

He shakes his head, "Nope. I'm an open book. What you see is what you get, ya know?"

"Everyone has layers," I tell him.

"What? Like an onion?"

"Yeah," I reassure him, knowing that movie reference is also a few years down the line, "Like an onion."

The conversation drifts from there, becoming increasingly banal. I tell him about my major and he tells me about his, kinesiology. He's a third year and he asks me whether I'm looking forward to classes and we talk about the ones I'm most excited about. I listen to a few war stories from the football field and the whole conversation is pleasant, it is. It honestly is. I can't deny that it is.

But nor can I deny that it is entirely surface level.

There are people that you can be frank and honest with and then there are those around which you need to be cautious. Jake is far from the **** end of the latter, but when the danger zone subjects include basic interests then it's hard to look at someone and see something like a future with them.

But that is reassuring too, in it's own sad way.

My time as Emily had left me questioning a lot of things, from my sexuality to my gender orientation. It had me wondering whether I had the measure of myself wrong this whole time. It had me worried that I didn't know who I really was.

And maybe saddest of all is that striking out here and having this all go so horribly wrong is reassuring in it's own way. Because failing on a first date and missing a connection with someone you were excited to be around was familiar territory for me.

So maybe that meant I was still my own person, even if I was in a whole new body.

That even if everything else changed. I was still me.

Even if me wasn't someone I was wholly pleased to be.

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