“I wasn’t out at school,” Dion says, his voice so much quieter than mine.
I blink at him as I try to arrange the pieces of this puzzle into their rightful places.
“So, if you weren’t trans at school then you were…” I don’t finish that sentence because I don’t want to hurt him.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Oh, then…” I find his eyes again and suddenly I do speak their language. I know exactly what they’re saying to me. I know exactly who he is. “Oh, my God. D-”
“Dion,” he says loudly and firmly. “I’m Dion.”
“Yes,” I quickly correct myself wanting to punch my own lights out for nearly making such a stupid, hurtful mistake.
“But at school,” he says. “I had a different name.”
I can’t help my smile as I remember the way he used to look back then and wonder why I didn’t see it. He has the same hair, the same golden brown skin tone, and the same full body. Yes, there are now more tattoos and I strongly suspect he’s had top surgery, but the same lushness is there. His thighs still fill his jeans in the most delicious way. And those eyes. Those big, talkative eyes. Nobody else has eyes like that. I feel foolish I didn’t see it before, but it’s an insignificant feeling compared to everything else that’s happening in my body. My heart has sped up, excited to have found somebody I’ve often wondered about over the years. My breath comes quickly as a tsunami of questions fills my mind. There’s so much I want to know about him, about how the years have treated him. And my whole bodyis aware of his physical presence in a way that makes the desire I was feeling earlier feel like it was a shadow or a ghost of the yearning I have now.
“I remember you,” I say before adding, “Dion.”
It has the desired effect as a small smile tugs at his lips but just as quickly, it disappears.
“So that’s probably what you’re feeling.” His gaze drops to his hands as he brushes away some invisible fluff from his ripped jeans.
“What do you mean?”
“You were saying you felt…something between us. That there was something about me. I was saying that it’s probably the fact we knew each other at school. That’s probably what it was.”
It’s not easy to say for sure, but I think Dion is blushing and that has me taking the smallest step forwards, inching closer to him.
“No, I don’t think that’s what it was.”
He looks up, and I see how his eyebrows are different now too. Thicker, fuller. But his eyelashes are still impossibly long and curled. I can’t help but smile, knowing I’m looking at them once again.
“But it must be?—”
I don’t let him finish. “Maybe it is that…history we have,” I agree. I don’t know where my confidence has come from but I gently stroke the material of my jumper that lies above where my new tattoo is. I lean forward again, just a little bit more. “But I don’t think you really know the full story of our…history.”
He doesn’t move back, but he also doesn’t stretch any closer to me. In fact, Dion seems to be holding his body very still and very stiff.
“Oh, I know our history,” he half-laughs, half-scoffs. “You were a football lad who hung around with a bunch of twats. I was a weird queer kid who hated almost everyone. We did French A-Level together. We got on sometimes, but that all went belly up at the Leavers’ Ball.”
My frown of confusion takes over my whole face as I reel back slightly. “What are you talking about? At the Leavers’ Ball?”
His eyebrows draw together. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember the Leavers’ Ball but I don’t remember what you’re talking about.”
That night, Dion changed my life. That’s what I want to tell him all about.
“Selective memory.” Dion steps away and sinks back in his armchair. I begrudge the additional distance between us immediately. “How convenient.”
“Wait a minute.” I hold up a finger. “There’s also a whole side of our history that you’re unaware of, or are being selective about withyourmemory.”
“My memory is perfectly fine!” His voice is raised and there’s a definite edge to it.
“If it is then why did you laugh at me?” I demand. I’m painfully aware that whatever tension that stretched between us a moment ago is gone and if I’m not going to get that back, I at least want answers about what happened — or didn’t — between us back then.
“Laugh? At you?” Dion is looking at me like I’m growing an extra head.
