Page 49 of I Can’t Even Think Straight

Sunday: The Best Medicine—Morning—Vass’s Bedroom

I wore one of Vass’s old T-shirts to bed

with the word “OBEY” printed across the chest.

I asked to wear

their “I Can’t Even Think Straight” T-shirt,

but Vass said it was too good

for sleeping in.

I slept here last night

because Mum said it would be “silly”

to move me “back and forth”

since Theía Estélla agreed to look after me today

while Mum’s at her market stall.

I’m trying not to mind, but it hurts my feelings

that Mum wouldn’t take a day off to take care of me:

my injured body feels like an inconvenience

that Mum doesn’t want to be lumbered with.

I feel like a sack of shit

sprinkled with the rainbow glitter of

Vass and Theía Estélla’s love.

I’m propped up in Vass’s bed

with many heavenly pillows

behind my back and head,

a large stack of colorful cushions

under my right arm,

and a few under my right foot.

Half my limbs are out of action,

but I’m lucky I’m left-handed, I think,

as I look to the evil eye bracelet

around my left wrist.

Beside my phone, notebook, and pencil case,

a book called Trans Teen Zine Volume One

by a Scottish author and actor called Finlay

sits atop a stack of other books

Vass has thoughtfully gathered

for me to read in bed this morning.

They’ve been bringing me things,

like I’m a fledgling in their nest,

kinda like Michael does for Skellig.

I’m lucky to have Vass, I think.

“You have a visitor, sir,”

Vass announces formally,

like they’re my servant.

Their long hair is all pinned up

like a maid or a matron.

“How’s the patient doing?”

A massive bouquet of sunflowers,

orange lilies, and orange roses,

followed by the bright white smile

of a grinning Obi,

appear around the open bedroom door.

Obi steps into the gaze

of the evil eye hanging above the door.

He wears a pink Sex Pistols band T-shirt

that I’ve not seen him in before.

It has the words “NO FUTURE”

in yellow capital letters across his chest.

“I’m sore,” I tell Obi melodramatically,

with a random hand flourish.

“Physically and emotionally,” I add.

“Mother dearest abandoned me here.”

I’m play-sulking but only half joking.

I know we need the money.

I know it takes a village to raise a child,

and I’m being taken care of.

But I still want my mum.

“Η μαμ? σου ?ταν εδ? χθε?,”

Vass says in Mum’s defense.

“And haven’t I been

looking after you, αγ?πη μου?

I gave you my bed

and slept on the floor.”

They point down to

their thin pillow and blanket.

“Yes,” I say, embarrassed.

“Ε?σαι τ?λεια, αγ?πη μου,” I tell Vass,

before reaching out to Obi.

He hands me the flowers

and they’re heavier than I expected.

I place them on the bed beside me.

I feel crowded by the orange and yellow flowers

next to my phone, notebook, pencil case,

and the stack of Vass’s books.

“I feel like John Keats,” I say,

“convalescing in Rome.”

A bemused Vass squints

and tilts their head at me.

An unreadable Obi

surveys the bedroom, silently.

Obi looks

dog-eared,

like the corner

of a page

folded down,

on a book

you meant to

come back to

but realize

you’ve lost all

interest in.

I remember

Matt’s hand on my shoulder:

Kai, come back.

Matt’s the one

I come back to.

“Who’s this?” Obi points to a poster

of Vass’s favorite drag performer.

“That’s The Black Flamingo,”

Vass says, then smiles at me.

“They’re amazing!” I tell Obi.

“They’re the same mix as me.”

Obi steps closer to the poster

of The Black Flamingo standing on one leg

with the other leg kicked back behind them.

They wear black high heels,

a black tutu, and a black feathered top;

they have cropped hair,

and a bright white smile

between bright red lips.

“So, they’re Greek Cypriot and Jamaican, too?

I’d never heard of that mix before I met you.”

Vass turns to me and says,

“Oh my! Kai! You’re such an uncut gem.”

I repeat the viral phrase “Uncut jaaaahms”

several times, in my best Julia Fox impression.

“You’re such a Julia!” Vass points at me.

“No, you are!” I reply to them.

Both of us burst into hysterics,

but Obi doesn’t get it.

Even though I’m grateful Obi has come to see me,

I already feel ready for him to leave.

I hold the flowers out to Vass.

“Will you put these in water, please?”

“Certainly, sir, much obliged,”

they say, like a servant again,

as they take the flowers off my hands.

“Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“That’ll be all, Matron,” I say,

in a posh-person impression,

playing along with their game.

“Righto, cheerio, off you go,”

I add before the penny drops,

and I realize I sound like Obi.

Vass and I both look at him.

Obi looks down at Vass’s pillow and blanket.

“Righto, I think I’d better go.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment.

It’s my turn to be the apologetic one.

“Obi, I’m so, so sorry,” I say.

“We weren’t making fun of you.”

I reach out my left hand for Obi,

but he’s farther than arm’s length.

If Obi reached out

or stepped toward me,

we could touch.

But he doesn’t reach

or step my way.

Obi looks at my hand

but doesn’t look me in the eye.

I look up at the evil eye hanging

above Vass’s bedroom door.

I look down at the evil eye bracelet

around my left wrist.

I rest my hand back on the bed.

“Honestly, it’s fine if you were,”

Obi says, keeping his distance.

“But we weren’t,” Vass protests.

“For goodness’ sake!” Obi yells,

“I can handle a bit of banter.”

Obi can’t handle it.

Obi can’t handle us.

Vass smiles but it doesn’t reach their eyes.

Vass’s smile tells Obi that he’s on thin ice.

“Shit! I’m sorry.”

Obi flashes his fangs, and he forces a laugh.

“Laughter is the best medicine.

At least, that’s what they say.

Anyway, I have band practice.

So, I should be heading home.”

Obi looks to me for permission to leave,

like a vampire who needs permission to enter.

I realize, Obi couldn’t get inside,

because my heart was already occupied.

“You probably need to rest,

don’t you?” Obi asks me pleadingly.

I know I should protest more,

for Obi’s sake, to make sure he knows

I wasn’t making fun of him.

But, like an energy vampire,

Obi has drained me

of all good feeling for him.

I don’t protest. I let him go.

“You’re right,” I say,wanting him

and my embarrassmentto go away,

as much as Obi wantsto leave.

“I probably do needto rest.”

I’m confused when

Obi doesn’t budge,

like he’s stuck in the mud.

“Erm, so, how long

before you’re back

at bouldering?” he asks.

“The doctor said six to eight weeks,” I reply.

“Two months?” Obi seems shocked.

“Yes, possibly,” I say,

then offer, “but if Coach lets me,

I’ll come as a spectator

and live vicariously through all of you.

You know, I’m not actually bedbound,

even though I look like I am right now.

I’m gonna go to school on Monday

wearing my boot and sling.”

I make to point to them, but I remember

I don’t know where Vass put them.

“Where are they?” I ask. “Never mind,” I say,

quicker than Vass can respond.

“Last night I managed to hop along

to the toilet by myself

while Vass was asleep on the floor.”

“I have a confession to make...”

Vass makes the sign of the cross.

“I woke up as soon as your foot hit the floor

but I enjoyed your hopping so much

I decided to leave you to it.

You were doing an amazing

Black Flamingo impression.”

With the flowers in their hand,

Vass copies the pose

of The Black Flamingo in the poster.

Vass bursts out laughing,

and I can’t help but join them

despite the pain in my elbow as I laugh.

“I’ll let myself out,” says Obi.

“See you at bouldering,” says Vass,

striking the one-legged pose again.

My laughter is irrepressibly painful,

for me and perhaps for Obi as well.

“I’ll text you, shall I?” Obi asks me.

“Yes, text me,” I say,

gasping to catch my breath.

“Thanks for the flowers.”

I squeeze out the words

through laughter and happy tears

as Obi disappears

around Vass’s bedroom door.

Vass hands me a tissue

from the box on their desk.

I dry my eyes with it.

And when I hear the front door open

and close behind Obi,

everything clicks into place for me.

I remember

Matt telling me:

Real life is messy,

it doesn’t always make sense.

Real life isn’t a story with symmetry

and a satisfactory ending.

Things with Obi are far from satisfactory.

T and Jyoti told me

seeing each other means

seeing how it goes.

It’s not been going well.

It’s not the dream it was.

Obi is fresh-from-the-oven hot,

but something about him

leaves me feeling cold,

and that’s not his fault.

They’re not red flags, as such.

It’s not a crime to be posh,

privileged, or to show off.

It’s not a crime to apologize

for yourself all the time.

It’s not a crime to be anxious,

if that’s what Obi is.

But I find these things annoying,

and I’m easily annoyed.

I’ve been thinking it, but

I need to say it out loud.

“I don’t wanna be with Obi,” I tell Vass.

“I want to be with Matt.”

They roll their eyes and tut.

“Well, that’s extremely obvious.”

“Is it? Is it extremely obvious?”

I mock Vass’s mocking of me.

“Whatever, girl!” Vass laughs,

walking off with the flowers.

“I’ll go put these in water,”

they say, over their shoulder.

“Text Matt. Invite him over.”

“Vass, wait!” I say.

They come back to me.

They cradle the flowers.

They reminded me

of the goddess Persephone,

returning to earth

from the Underworld.

“Thank you for looking after me,” I say,

with more tears of gratitude in my eyes.

“I know it’s not the same thing,

but I wanna look after you, too.

But I don’t always know what to say or do.”

“Ε?ναι εντ?ξει,” says Vass.

“Ε?ναι ωρα?α, αγ?πη.

I’ve got my mum.

I’ve got my support group.

It’s not all on you.

You don’t have to

say or do anything different.

I want our friendship

to carry on as normal.

You’re the best friend

I could ever wish for.”