I stayed at Lark-Inn Shelter for more than two months. I worked hard and kept to myself, and eventually, my application was accepted by Castro Youth Housing, a program that provided transitional housing for homeless Queer youth. They moved me into an SRO, a single square room, in an old building with shared bathrooms on each floor. The walls were yellow from years of cigarette smoke. The carpet was a deep red that clashed with faded, green molding, but it was a warm space, and it was mine.

It took months before Larkin could afford to hire new caseworkers, but eventually, I was assigned one by the name of Dani. It was her job to counsel me and advocate on my behalf if necessary, and I thought she was the neatest person ever. She had more facial hair than I had, with short dark hair, glasses, and several tattoos. Her breasts were so tightly bound they were almost unnoticeable.

"Let's get to know each other," she smiled warmly when we met, and her voice conveyed professional compassion. I admired her right away.

"What do you want to know?" I shrugged.

"What do you want to do with your life?" She inquired.

I pondered the question and answered, "I used to want to be a therapist because people are fascinating, and I like helping people. But the more I think about it, the less I want to listen to people complain all day. Some folks are great, and I'm sure that would be rewarding, but most people are awful. I don't know how you do it.

"These days, I want to be an author. I've got this fantasy story I've been working on for a few years. But I'm not good enough yet. I need to go to college and learn how to write properly."

"You want to go to college?"

"Yeah! Very much. I feel like I don't know anything. The other day, I was at a party, and these guys were talking politics, and I made a total ass out of myself. I feel like an idiot. I can't speak my mind because I don't know anything. But I want to learn, and I want to be better."

"That's great. That's really great. We can work on your application for City College of San Francisco. It's a great school. But I read you've been in California for only five months, is that right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Is that a problem?" Her sympathetic face looked me up and down.

"Out-of-state tuition is thousands of dollars more a semester. Financial aid exists, but it runs out. If you're paying out-of-state tuition, your aid will run out before even getting an Associate's Degree. You're better off waiting a year before enrolling." I must have looked disappointed because she said, "That just gives you more time to prepare. Let's get back to you."

"Are you trying to shrink me?"

"Well, I'm not trying to bullshit you, Sebastian. I read your application. Quite frankly, based on the two pages you provided, I'm in awe; but I think you'll have some emotional baggage to sort through, and that's why I'm here. Sometimes, when we're in the muck of our own problems, we lose sight of the big picture. An impartial third party can be helpful to bounce ideas off of. I want you to think of me as a resource and this as a safe space. I'm not going to judge you or condemn you. That's not my job. My job is to help in whatever ways you need."

I considered her for a moment in silence.

"We can work up to it," she said with a smile. "In the meantime, let's start with the basics. Where is your family, and why are you here?"

I scratched my chest absentmindedly and sighed. "My parents divorced when I was three. My dad was more of a sperm donor. Last I heard, he has a replacement family, and they all live in Oklahoma. I don't know much about him or his family.

My mom still lives in Washington. We're in contact, but we don't talk often. It wouldn't make sense if I just blurted out the whys. I'll have to start at the beginning…"

My Gramma Nora was the daughter of Irish and Polish immigrant families escaping the potato famine and WWII, respectively. She went to school and got an engineering job at Boeing, where she met Grampa, and they had 3 children. Grampa left Gramma for another woman when Mom was 8, but Gramma got the house. Nora was our anchor, sometimes brutal, but she loved us immensely. My mom Patsy hated her.

Patsy once told me she felt like the black sheep of the family; the eldest child, but not a son; not the smartest, not the favorite, always overlooked and underappreciated. She said all she ever wanted was to be a mother, to have someone to love unreservedly and who loved her singularly.

Patsy was 21 when she gave birth to Tom, my older brother. This was in 1975. Tom's father wanted nothing to do with her or the baby. Gramma and Grampa were both super Catholic, so Patsy and her bastard baby were ostracized. Patsy took the baby and ran away to California.

That's where my parents met in 1984. Patsy was 28, raising Tom on her own. She found work cleaning hotels and houses. John was 24 and working at a mortuary. He was some kind of shaman, dressed all in black; and leaning into his Native ancestry, with a long black ponytail. They had a love affair and honeymooned in San Francisco.

Tom adored John. Like all abandoned boys, Tom desperately wanted a father figure. John was strong and tall, warm, with a generous nature. So when Patsy got pregnant again, everyone was elated.

But on August 8, 1985, Patsy gave birth to a stillborn girl they named Anna. The family was devastated. Patsy's postpartum depression was unbearable. They moved to Washington so Patsy could be with her family. It wasn't long before they tried again; this time, it stuck.

Morgan was born in July 1986, and she was the darling of John's eyes. They found happiness again but couldn't stay settled, moving to Salt Lake City for a year, but they didn't like it. Tom was picking fights in school and caught stealing electronics. They tried Washington again, but Tom was becoming more and more unruly. Their marriage became strained. Patsy hoped a son might fix it.

And on August 8, 1988, I was born, but something was wrong. The umbilical cord was wrapped around my throat, and my heart had stopped. The doctors tore into Patsy to retrieve me in time to zap me back to life; meanwhile, Patsy was terrified and in a lot of pain. Due to the circumstances, my birth was a cause for mixed emotions. Patsy was bedridden for months, so they moved again. This time to Oklahoma to live with John's mom.

Their marriage worsened. When Jude was born in 1991, John didn't believe he was the father. They divorced later that year. Patsy took the 3 kids to live with Gramma in Washington. John stayed in Oklahoma. I was three when this went down. Consequently, I don't know my dad very well.

A few times, Morgan and I would fly to live with John in Oklahoma, but Jude stayed with Patsy. Then visits became fewer and fewer until they stopped entirely. I haven't heard from my dad in several years.

It was Morgan who raised me. She taught me how to ride a bike. She convinced me to join the JROTC, Drill Team, and the Rifle Squad. We were always together. She looked out for me, and I did whatever she told me to do. Gramma called us Irish twins.

"Tell you the truth, my early childhood wasn't so bad. I mean, we were always moving. I went to a new school at least every other year. Patsy was stoned all day, every day, but we never starved. We didn't always eat well, but we never starved," I finished.

Dani took a moment to absorb my story and be sure I was finished telling it.

She chuckled. "I can see why you want to be a writer. Tell me about the fantasy story you mentioned earlier. You said it was set in Eden. Is God a character?"

Dani was probably only feigning interest because that's her job, but I was happy to talk about it anyway.

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"Not yet," I answered. "In my story, God is the consciousness of the universe. In the beginning, some stars randomly aligned in complex cluster formations, like cosmic ganglia, and that's how the universe became cognizant. Sometime after the Big Bang, God set about discovering Itself and testing its abilities. The first things God made were Heaven and the angels. They were perfect and subservient but soon became tedious, so next, God made Eden. Molding Adam and Lilith from clay, God gave them free will because God was curious. It was an experiment; to see how life reacts to freedom. Could free will be trusted?

"The first test was simple: would they eat a thing God told them not to eat? That went well. Neither Adam nor Lilith ate the forbidden fruit. But Lilith surprised God by refusing to continue the experiment. She wouldn't have Adam's kids. That was humanity's first defiance, so God exiled Lilith to the moon.

"God made Eve, and the experiment continued. When Adam and Eve failed the test, God cursed them with Original Sin but stuck around for a few centuries to watch the drama unfold, eventually leaving to explore the limits of the universe. Since the universe is limitless, God will spend eternity discovering Itself.

"God isn't omnipotent or omnipresent. God's mind wanders the universe. God can be anywhere with a thought but can't be in all places at once, any more than we can think of everything at the same time. When God isn't thinking about Eden or Heaven or Nod, God isn't there. Also, God can't stop or reverse the flow of time. God is the universe; therefore, God operates along natural laws. God can't leave the universe, and the universe is space-time. God can bend and travel space-time but can't escape; any more than you could escape your spine. There are infinite universes, but God is this universe."

"That's interesting. Send me anything you're working on if you like," Dani said. "But I'm afraid we're out of time today." I saw that she was right.

"Okay. Thanks for listening to me ramble on for an hour," I said.

"No, thank you. You shared your world with me. That's why I do this. It was a privilege. Let's meet again once a week for as long as you're in the program."

I shook her hand and committed to meeting every week. When I left her office, I felt lighter, as if talking to someone had lifted a real weight off. I was in such a good mood I decided it was time to go out and meet someone.

One of the things I came to understand about my predicament was if I put on a button-down shirt and slacks, I could blend in social circles that weren't mine. I was young, white, and clean-shaven. No one expected me to be homeless or to have a job in the Tenderloin cashing SSI checks.

Whenever I needed a haircut, I went online for a hookup and searched for someone with clippers. Half my paychecks went into maintaining the illusion that I wasn't destitute, buying new clothes and shoes. I felt like a super spy, infiltrating upper-middle-class houses, pretending I was one of them, mimicking their vocal patterns and vocabulary, and adopting their habits and behaviors.

But I wasn't as good an actor as I thought I was. People could perceive something off about me: my furtive omissions, evasive answers to common questions, the worn edges of my clothes, the way I didn't recoil when a dirty homeless person came into my personal space asking for money, that I often gave what change I had. No doubt, several oddities gave me away. I became an object of speculation and mystery, and I felt all the more powerful for it, but it left me more lonely than I'd ever been. No one knew how to relate to me, and I didn't know how to let them. I had torn down the walls I'd built to hide my sexuality and insecurities, only to build fresh new ones.

Maybe that's why I found myself attracted to outcasts, Deaf people, Poz guys, trans folks, and POC. I figured they must have felt as alien and removed from mainstream society as I felt, or more, and despite my self-imposed isolation, I desperately wanted a place to belong, to have a family.

So it shouldn't be surprising that I found August so attractive. He was positive, Portuguese and Puerto Rican, and the same age as me. We met up for pizza, and he was my first real friend. He had a stoic charm, great posture, head high, shoulders back, and a proud, protective nature. He trained his voice to be deeper than it would casually be. The habit was so ingrained he seldom spoke above a low baritone, except when drunk. He demanded that he pay for dinner, and I didn't argue because every little bit helped.

We talked about his ex, Travis, and August told me, toxic people will try to control you. When they can't control you, they try to control the narrative about you by spreading lies and rumors. But if you're consistent and don't play their game, their narrative fails because others will see the truth. If someone can't or won't see the truth, they probably aren't worth your time, anyway.

After our date, he invited me to go home with him. I said yes.

August was roommates with a middle-aged gay named Nathan. Nathan was a funny, irascible curmudgeon who owned a technical consulting firm; so their house was lavish, futuristic, and well-maintained by Latin house cleaners. Nathan had been in the scene for over two decades and knew Travis. When Travis and August broke up, August got Nathan in the divorce.

Nathan was a bitter queen who pushed people away. August was a simple, stoic nihilist, so they got along great, apart from the shouting matches Nathan usually instigated. He showed his affection by picking fights and criticizing. He was a complex, insightful, insecure man, and I found him fascinating.

As I mentioned, August and I didn't have all that much in common. It wasn't long before we transitioned from lovers to friends with the occasional benefit. Though we fought several times over the years, he became one of my most cherished friends. We rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything, but we learned to value our differences, and I'll forever be grateful for his friendship and brotherhood.

I also got close to Nathan. It wasn't a sexual relationship, but Nathan had a foot fetish, and I took my shoes off at the door. He always treated me like a person, never like a sex object, so I didn't care what he fantasized about. He took an interest in me as a friend, and despite his bitterness and penchant for picking fights over insignificant nonsense, he was always gracious and offered sound (usually unsolicited) advice regarding my life's petty dramas. Eventually, Nathan and I had a falling out. His need for conflict became exhausting and painful, and I moved on with my life, but for a couple years, I spent more time at their home than mine. They were my gay family, and Nathan was the big brother I didn't know I needed.

Nathan even helped me commit fraud. At least, I think it was fraud. It was definitely against the rules. I was eager to enroll in college but wasn't yet a Californian citizen. Out-of-state tuition cost thousands, so Nathan helped me by altering his utility bill to make it look like I'd been living with him since 2006.

I learned that college, too, had been a victim of harsh austerity measures. Classes had been cut in half. Teachers had been laid off. Nonessential departments were being merged and subsumed by major departments. Every class necessary for my major was capped early, and add-ons were admitted based on seniority. Since it was my first semester in college, thousands of students with seniority were vying for the same classes as me. So I had no realistic chance of getting into the classes I needed. I would have to wait until next year and hope my position in the queue advanced enough, or so I thought.

When I mentioned my predicament to Nathan, he said it was possible to log onto the college website and alter the text so my registration date looked earlier than it was. I still remember the conversation with Nathan when he brought it up. We were sitting in his living room. "Dragons" by Caravan Palace was playing over the sound system. He said he could hack the site, but then he tried to talk me out of it. As I said before, Nathan liked to argue for the sake of arguing.

He said, "You realize, by doing this, you're robbing someone else of the opportunity to take this class this semester. This isn't like before when you just wanted in the door; that didn't hurt anyone. This time, you're taking someone else's seat. Before I help you do this, tell me, how do you justify it?"

"Well, this whole system is bogus. It shouldn't be like this at all. If someone wants to better themselves, it shouldn't be a mad struggle to climb on top of others. I just want to learn."

"Now you're rationalizing. It doesn't matter whether or not the system 'should' or 'shouldn't' anything. It is. This is the system, and you agreed to it when you enrolled. Now you want to break the rules and push someone else down the ladder, someone more deserving than you."

"What makes them more deserving? Because they had the good fortune to enroll before the housing market collapsed? That doesn't make them worthy; it just makes them lucky."

"You're still rationalizing. None of that matters. Fact is, if I do this and you get away with it, you're taking someone else's spot. What makes that okay?"

"It's not okay! It's messed up, but I don't want to be homeless anymore. I'm not proud of it, but I'll do what I have to do to learn. I'm sorry to whomever for taking their spot, but they'll be with twenty other students who get turned away, and I won't be one of them. Whoever it is will still be able to enroll in other classes."

"You don't know that. You don't know how desperately they might need this class or what else they have going outside of it. What if you set someone back and they have no backup?"

"Then I'm sorry for that, too. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I'm not happy it's a matter of them or me. All I can say is I want to learn, so I can be a better person and get out of homelessness. I won't feel guilty about that."

Since the teachers only required a printout of the webpage with a registration date, I successfully lied my way into Advanced English, Intro to Psychology, Biological Psychology, Beginner Piano, and Musicianship. Once enrolled, I aced every class.

After my first semester, I stopped forging my registration date and applied for classes with everyone else. I figured with a 4.0 GPA, I would be eligible for more classes than the previous semester, and I got into several classes. I was turned away several times, too. But with every new semester, my GPA stayed high, so my class eligibility increased. I discovered that I loved college. I loved the challenge and intellectual stimulation. I loved making myself think in new and strange ways to adapt to different teachers and teaching styles. I made money tutoring students and loved every minute of it. I loved teaching as much as I loved learning. Had my financial aid not run out, I probably would have stayed in academia.

I changed majors so many times I lost count. But throughout my college experience, I kept returning to English and Creative Writing classes. Whenever possible, I turned in chapters from my fantasy story, getting help from countless teachers over the years, for which I am forever grateful.