It took some trial and error, but now I follow a bunch of TikTokers who talk about queer rights issues and social issues in general, and the more I watch, the more it speaks to me.
I always knew I was poor. I always knew I had a raw deal in life and so did most of the people around me. And I was pissed about it. But I think I never realized just how deep all those injustices went in the world, or how deliberate most of them are.
Once I started listening, I couldn’t stop. It’s addictive. I just wanted to learn about Stonewall and shit so I didn’t seem like a complete waste of space, but now it’s like a switch in my head that I can’t turn off. And the more I understand about the causes of it all, the more I see the effects of it everywhere.
Unfortunately, that also means I’m getting angrier and angrier with every fucking day that passes. But I can’t do anything about that.
At least it gives me something to think about other than obsessing over the creaks in the house, or stopping myself from going through the trash to see if Silas really ate something, or waking him up to cry and scream and beg him to promise me that he’s not silently slipping away from me, even after all the progress we’ve made.
I take a sip of my drink, tangle my fingers in the horse blanket, and thumb up to the next video. I’ll keep doing this until I feel ready to go to sleep, and in the morning, things won’t seem so bad.
Chapter Three
The only sounds in the shop are the constant metallic ones of the work I’m doing, and it’s filling me with a deep sense of contentment. No TV on in the background, no constant chatter, nothing. I love the whole family I got when I ended up with Cade. I’d be nothing without them. But they’re so fucking chatty, sometimes it’s nice to go to work so I can let my mind breathe.
I can already feel all that malaise from yesterday drifting away. How I feel each day is unpredictable, which I hate. I think I used to have just all bad days, but they were constant, so it seemed normal. Now that I have more good days than bad, the bad ones seem that much worse. And I can see how it affects Cade, which breaks my fucking heart.
It’s better. I’m a lot better. I ride out the bad days and then days like today, I feel like a normal person. But Cade doesn’t seem to have that kind of patience, and wants to fix everything. Which makes me feel guilty, and the cycle continues. On and on and on.
We’ll snap out of it, eventually. I’m sure. I just need to be patient, and focus on the shit I can do right, like fixing this fucking engine and basking in the peace and quiet.
Ford is in the office working on something owner-ey that I don’t have to worry about. Not that he makes much noise when he’s in here. We were always quiet together, because neither of us is naturally talkative and Ford only communicates by texting, writing, or sign. But I’ve been working hard on learning American Sign Language so he doesn’t feel alone.
It’s amazing that he found a partner who knows ASL in this tiny town, but that’s still only one person. It seems fair for him to be able to communicate how he naturally wants to communicate, so I’m really trying not to be lazy about it. Which has turned into me signing to him half the time instead of speaking to him. I don’t have to, because he’s mute, not hearing-impaired, and I only need to be able to understand him signing for us to communicate, but still. It helps me learn.
The pall of silence that has fallen over this auto shop as a result wasn’t the purpose of my plan, but it has been kind of a happy side effect. It’s more peaceful than anywhere else I spend my time, and I want to cling to that with both hands.
I love Cade. He’s my everything. But sometimes I worry that peaceful is the last word I’d use to describe what we have.
There’s a loud tap of metal on metal, startling me out of my thoughts. I look up and see Ford standing a few feet away, putting down the wrench that he obviously used just to get my attention. It’s not like I hate people touching me, but it still startles me sometimes if I’m not expecting it, and Ford gets that. He’s the same way, although for very different reasons.
“You okay?” he signs, his brow furrowed.
“Yeah,” I sign back. “Why?”
“You’ve been frowning at that thing for like ten minutes. Do you need help?”
I blink, because I really didn’t realize I’d been lost in thought for that long.
“No, I’m fine.” I figure out how to explain what I was thinking about and end up explaining my whole thing about how peaceful it is here, in a mixture of ASL and spoken English.
Ford nods, obviously understanding what I mean. He values silence as much as I do, I think.
“But everything’s okay at home?”
A little smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I spent the majority of my life with very few people caring if I lived or died, and the ones that did focused mainly on my ability to generate money for them. I’m not sure how I ended up surrounded by a bunch of misfit guys—all of them weighed down by a bunch of their own issues—who genuinely care about me now. Even if they act like it’s no big deal.
It’s a really big deal.
“Cade seemed stressed last night,” I end up saying. The thought bursts out of me unexpectedly, so suddenly I forget to sign. When Ford doesn’t reply, I continue. “I don’t know why I think that. On paper he was acting like normal. There was something off about him, though. I feel like it’s happening more and more. Or maybe I’m being paranoid.”
I sigh, because how anyone is supposed to tell the difference between those things is a fucking mystery to me.
“Did you ask him?”
I shake my head. “No. He always says he’s fine. I think he thinks he needs to be happy all the time or I’ll get upset or something.”
Ford’s eyebrows raise, and he takes a few seconds to chew over the thought.
