Mystery Lake

[39] Rossabilities

And I just wanted to get out of there when those crazy supernatural creatures started fighting each other. Just fucking leave; just run away. You don't have to be there.

But he was still there; he still found a way to meet up with us and spook us with a face that felt friendly but really wasn't. Just drive; run him over if you have to. I didn't wanna go anywhere he recommended. I just wanted to go home, back to my quiet, cold bed, to start fucking up this life too.

I felt empty; I felt lost. So much and so little, all on and within me. The silence was so destructive. I wanted a door to lock and make sure it held every protective layer possible. We were all devastated, but that wasn't camaraderie. That was just being stuck together in the same disaster. Only movies and creepy TV shows would presume that throwing a bunch of people together in trauma would suddenly make them wanna be friends. I hoped that I never saw anyone else in this car for weeks, at the very least.

Maybe Miranda. I could cozy up to Miranda. Not because she sucked, boob swaddled, and teased my boy stick off. Barry seemed nice and a very focused and determined driver, but I worried about needing to catch her if she ever fainted. I didn't mind Layla either. Her energy level had declined closer to mine, which wasn't what I wanted, but it felt better not to be roasted by her frantic, chaotic flames. Nor did I mind Jess. He was beautifully consistent, even though I felt pinpricks of jealousy about how protective he was of Joel. But Joel, I could absolutely do without.

Too much to think about, though. I just wanted to play my music from my phone. But it was impolite, or at least it felt impolite right then. Up front, it looked like they were trying to get some musical distractions going, but consensus is difficult and would likely be impossible with the six of us and our widely separated interests. The kind of music on my phone was a variety of classic rock to lift me up with energy-infusing techno, dance, and electronica.

Maybe a couple of alternative and indie suggestions that Jess had given me at random. I had no idea what Joel was into, nor did I particularly care. In the front seats, they were probably into pop, maybe from foreign shores. Yeah, no way any of that was going to mesh for relaxation. Oh well, my imagination had enough of a soundtrack to keep the dark feelings and memories away.

Even though I didn't want to go to either one of those suggestions from that dark, creepy guy, we had to go somewhere. My stomach was still sharply sour from getting dark fairy crap shoved in there masquerading as food. I needed something real, at least as real as any of these places could actually offer me and anyone else who still had an appetite.

Arriving at the closest but most mediocre option meant no more moving. Moving was progress; moving was escape; and it represented serenity. Standing still was horrific, and I fidgeted in my seat. Layla had kind words, as she always did. Words that felt mature, balanced, and focused in ways I could scarcely imagine. How could someone my age, our age, actually have their shit together enough to say something as calming as that? That's what you get from a grandmother who knows from experience that these things come and go. It made sense—no surprises—but hearing it spoken and actually feeling it helped it stick. We had to move on.

Seeing Barry and Layla kiss was sweet; they really were meant for one another. And all the little notes of courtship were playing out without me even noticing. Was it possible for me to ever find love? Was Miranda someone who meant more than just a fast fling? I wanted to be happy; truly, I wanted to be.

Inside, I had trouble. I knew it was practically impossible for this place to be another lie from some dark creature fantasy. Even my imaginary friend wasn't that worried. But I couldn't tell my brain that—my terrible, flammable brain. It had to see outside the window; it had to see even an illusion of being able to escape if things got bad. The brain always responds to the last trauma in the worst way and learns lessons that can't be applied for the future, but it tries.

Peeing in the restroom felt as real as anything I have encountered so far. I was standing in a private place with a bunch of guys. I wasn't going to the urinal, too public. It was so weird to see a lineup and feel all that ingrained automatic embarrassment. Maybe I'd get over there eventually, but just unpacking things in one of the stalls with the toilet seat safely up was enough of an adventure.

All the expected muscles were involved, even though it was an ungainly attachment. Not a bad addition, although flushing the last of the leftovers from my time with Miranda felt momentarily uncomfortable before it cleared up. Having all that down there was supremely weird. The way it wrinkled was both oddly familiar and yet eerily strange. I watched a movie where this guy was abducted by aliens, stripped naked, and had all sorts of things done to him.

One of the nastiest-looking aliens kind of resembled the skin of my thing. Angry scrotum alien. Knowing about it being there between my legs made me painfully aware of it, especially when I bumped it too hard, and it was like smacking Jell-O on a fish pole directly connected to every pain center in my body. Gave a whole new context to nut shots I used to laugh at.

Back at the table, I noticed that Joel had the same apparent anxieties about making sure the world still existed beyond this space. Can't I just be irrationally upset at someone without finding points of common interest and connection? But, like with my parents, just because they weren't horrible all the time and just because I could see human things in them didn't alleviate how pissed off I could be at them. Joel probably didn't deserve my stewing irritation. He'd tried to save us. But I needed some internal consistency.

And I needed to fill my tummy. Everyone else was eyeing the pizza, but who knew how long that had been out there under the heating lamp. Everything else also looked thoroughly warmed over, except for the Asian fusion noodles with meat that they had to cook up right there in a wok. Not the cheapest thing, but definitely the soothing my body needed.

Joel went away for a while, and the others discussed what they wanted to get. The opportunity arose to talk with Miranda. It was weird that we'd done things in the most intimate way, but now it was like we were sent back to before the beginning of any kind of flirtation. I thought they liked me. Was it just a momentary compulsion? I didn't know what to think, and I should've asked her, but it didn't feel like my brain had enough space along with everything else.

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Dammit, don't be a bitch. Just talk to them.

"Miranda…"

"Huh? What's up?"

I didn't feel any more in control of the conversation than with Duncan. So many times, I told myself that talking to other girls should've been the easiest thing. But there were always complications rattling around in my brain. When will I find comfort in simple questions and talking?

I chickened out, as I always do. "What are you thinking of getting?" Something I already knew the answer to, since the rest of the group alluded to the fact that they were in solidarity about pizza, just minus what Barry couldn't eat. She politely clarified this but also opened up the possibility of getting something else while also mentioning caution and caring for her stomach. How had she managed to slip into the role of a girl so effortlessly?

Maybe she was following the template presented by Jess. She certainly wasn't taking any tips from old me and good on her for that. Miranda had to be some form of gender fluid, if not outright trans. But not an exaggerated, bombastic form of that. Maybe I was being discriminatory to even expect that possibility.

It was good to have her close, even though I had no idea what I was going to do with her. Her calm, centered expression gave me the impression that she totally knew what to do with me. I guess I wasn't much of a boy.

Closing our meager distance, she held my hand and sought to reach for even more. We could do so much with just a few gestures, as the lovey-dovey flirty pretzeled couple of Barry and Layla clearly demonstrated. Why couldn't I just find myself in a place like that instead of getting twisted up in the tangled web of my own thoughts?

I needed to be better. I needed to let go of my ego. I needed to let go of the trappings trapping me in place. I like Miranda, and she needs to know that. We aren't just a fling, we should be a thing. But I'm afraid of myself and what I'll do to this. Miranda deserves better; she deserves not to get wound up in all my issues and have to deal with them.

Just do it. You're a man; act like one.

I bit my lip when Jess went to the lunch counter area to arrange the whole pizza deal.

"I like you."

Don't do it like that! Too late to retreat.

Miranda took several sincere moments to absorb my words, checking that she heard them right and fluttering through her reaction.

"… I like you too. I mean… Clearly. But do you...do you think that means something?"

"It means whatever we want it to mean."

So corny. We talked in vague, uncertain terms. Miranda seemed happier, although I kept what I felt bottled up. When my food arrived, I used it as a method to smother the fire of cute romance. I have to eat; I will talk to you later. It was sad since Miranda kept wanting to poke her head over with a beaming smile that eventually returned to Earth. I couldn't take it back, but I could keep it down until exactly the moment that I finally felt like I was ready for it. Despite how filling the noodles were, I was gonna need a little bit extra. Just one slice of pizza. Maybe get me back in with the group.

When Joel returned, something was bothering him. I guessed he'd been crying, but I didn't wanna focus on that. A lot of reasons that might be happening. With a flood of female hormones, it could be for any reason at all, even the absence of one. Would the testosterone blasting through me soon blunt my emotions, make me angry, or toughen me up? I wasn't sure which result I wanted. I just wanted to eat, so that was probably a peak manly response.

Poor Miranda looked like she wanted to say something else, but she started nibbling on her food. Yeah, she had to have a girl brain already to be taking this as well as she was compared to the others. Barry was trembling but happy to be close to the girl he loved, and not even Joel could put up an indestructible front against the forces of estrogen. Not that it mattered to me or even invited an "I told you so", but it made sense.

And then I got hit with something unexpected. I thought one of the staff at the truck stop had come over to make sure we were all right, offer us a comment card, or inform us of some deal. But she was wearing a dress—a dress I could remember Jess wearing. That wasn't Jess. The fact that I didn't recognize the person next to me for several alarmingly long moments filled my head with awkward confusion. It was like a trance had fallen over me.

I braced myself. I always have to be ready for the worst, because I've lived through the worst plenty of times. But a hug wasn't the worst; it just wasn't anywhere close to what I was expecting. Joel's... Roxanne's voice didn't sound like her voice. It didn't have the measured and muted simplicity and focus I was expecting from that guy.

The true sign of a girly voice is the length to which it rises, falls, drops, and flows. A sentence you speak doesn't end but suggests the next. It's one of those unconscious things that society, moms, and a whole host of pressures and feelings push us towards. Girls pick up a way of speaking that is them, how they want to be heard, and how they don't want to be heard. You can tell a voice is a certain way, even though it's impossible to pick out all the pieces involved. My extemporaneous speaking class also helped there. Some lesbians and some girls are raised a certain way, and some girls of a different sort carry their words differently, but there's something fundamental in the process of speaking.

The voice embracing me couldn't possibly be Joel. She cheerfully called me a friend and hoped for the best for me. Then she made a random comment to Miranda. I lashed out because my first instinct was that she was... That he was playing with me, messing with me. She looked sincerely shocked, and I felt the same shock in me. Out of anyone I have ever met or thought about, I never considered that Joel could be so thoroughly transformed as to be unrecognizable. It was a bigger transformation than the physical one.

I was stunned and totally flabbergasted. Her presence radiated something that I couldn't wrap my head around, beyond the level of mere Layla perkiness. It was like looking at a real princess from one of my books as a little kid. Ridiculous.

Not ridiculous. It is true; it is she rising to the surface. Princess Asherah, I knew you still existed, and now you are reborn.

What are you talking about?...

Before I could give focus to any further questions, it felt as though my position inside my own head had been usurped and I had been shoved into a literal corner.

LET ME OUT!!!

It actually complied with my request, but with strings clinging to places I could feel. I was there, and yet it still had a deep sense of control over me. What the hell was this?

Not my imaginary friend... Not my friend at all.