Page 6 of I Can’t Even Think Straight
Paranoia—After School—Yiayia and Bapou’s Garden
“Why are you friends with this Matt guy?
Not only is he a closet case,
but he’s also a master manipulator.
That’s a toxic combination.”
Vass takes my hand
and asks with mock-sincerity,
“You’re not in love with him, are you?”
Vass wears a lime-green Charli XCX T-shirt,
the word “brat” in black lowercase letters across their chest.
It’s cropped to expose their midriff.
I pull my hand away
because Yiayia and Bapou are just there
in their garden chairs by the back door,
while Vass and I sit on a swing set
we’re far too big for
at the far end of the garden.
Yiayia and Bapou watch on
like they don’t quite understand us,
but they’re happy to provide for us, nonetheless.
Like we’re winged visitors at a bird feeder:
a different species from them.
When we were little, we swung high
and it felt like I could fly.
Vass’s hair was long, even back then,
and they loved it when
they were mistaken for a girl.
Sometimes we’d hold hands,
and Vass would pretend
to be my girlfriend.
Pulling my hand away just now
wasn’t intended to be cruel.
It felt involuntary,
like Matt’s paranoia
has rubbed off on me.
Growing up together,
Vass has always been tactile with me.
Yiayia and Bapou
never comment on it.
Neither does Mum nor Theía Estélla.
It’s never felt like a problem
for me, until recently.
“Οχι, I’m not in love with Matt,
but I don’t wanna ruin his life:
if his parents’ reaction would be
even half as bad as he says,
I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”
I stand and turn to face Vass,
the most out and proud person I know.
“I was just so inspired by you
and how you came out at school.”
“I know, αγ?πη μου,
but you know it hasn’t been easy for me.
It’s different for you;
you’re not coming out as nonbinary.
You wouldn’t believe
how many people still misgender me.
People who claim to be allies
don’t even seem to try,
like there’s no ‘T’ in LGBTQ+.”
“You should move to my school,”
I say, half joking, half wishing.
“I bet you’d get sick of me
if we were at the same school.”
“I mean, I’m pretty sick of you already,”
I tease, feeling more at ease with Vass.
They laugh.
So, tentatively, I venture my question:
“Have you kept in touch with Adonis?”
Vass waves my question away:
“Μαλ?κα! Forget about him.
It was a holiday fling.
Why would I keep in touch with him?”
I think of all the possibilities
with photos and video calls.
I’ve zoomed in on the photo of Adonis
on several occasions at night.
“Don’t answer that,” says Vass.
“It’s a rhetorical question.”
As Vass begins to swing,
I have to jump aside
to avoid their javelin-long legs.