 I cut off all my hair and kept a lock in a rubber band and told my parents I would mail it to them. And they were on the same phone line in different rooms. When I told them this meant I wasn't a woman anymore. And dad said, that was just my opinion. And mom cleared her throat in that way that she did when she already knew something. And all the while, I was holding the hair in my hand so I could remember what it might sound like. And when I hung up, I have the strands and smoothed both pieces into nautilus shells around my finger and fossilized each as two black glass brooches like Victorian mourning jewelry. Osteer, because it came from a time when grieving was a science based on calculations of eras as both tonic and tincture. In the note, I slipped in the package for my folks so the jewelry would show I bore the weight of a ghost. And whether or not they wore it would tell how many children they really thought they lost with my haircut. So they left the brooches on display out of sight until the glass on one shattered from a short fall to the floor. And in the moments before it was interrupted by the broom, the hair lay still in its spiral moving further from its origin with each turn in on itself. And after its pieces were discarded, its twin remained canonized, a fractal just setting out on a curve. So that's a fictionalized version of my coming out story. It actually didn't turn out that way at all. But that's how I thought it would go, and it didn't go that way. So I've had the privilege of being a artist in residence at an arts high school in Twin Peaks for the past couple of months. And tomorrow's actually our last day. And these students are so brilliant, y'all. Let me tell you. Well, I'm about to tell you, but I'm so happy that I've been teaching creative writing to 11th and 12th graders. And I'm so happy that they're about to be adults in the world. We're going to be OK if they're the future. We can't put all the burden on them. That's our job too, but we're going to be fine. They're brilliant. But I was really privileged to be able to witness two other young non-binary students having this really intimate moment. And as an educator, beyond the classroom and beyond curriculum and stuff, that's kind of what you live for and what you don't expect to do. But it was such a pleasure. So I'll tell you a little bit about it. This is for A and LP. There are two young people in front of me. And one of them is holding the other's face in their hands after a lengthy talk in which they assured the other that they were real. That they weren't going to die over someone else's opinion on the matter, that they better not die. I'm here. I'm not trying to eavesdrop. I'm trying to grade. I'm trying to grade the papers of the two young people in front of me who are making a pyramid of themselves to look into one another's eyes and say they are real. And I'm afraid to puncture their moment, but I also cannot help but feel that they are speaking to me, even though they are not speaking to me. And even though they are not speaking to me, I feel like I am them. One they says they want to be seen as them. I know what it's like to be a girl and not want to be. I know what it's like to not be a woman and still be a woman. Holding your breath until you're interpreted correctly, I toe to them can't not must because there are few many of us. I have to tell them that once they are themselves, they get to be themselves. That I can tell they are loved by the way they talk about people. And one day they won't have to live in two worlds. And the other day says, see, look, we are older and we know. And there is a must that makes me listen, instead of say, you're right, most days. There's a must that apprehends the this is going to hurt, the sometimes you are going to be jealous without reason, the what you answer to will change, and you will still be human, the your daily work will be to convince yourself a body, the you will always be desperate for words. I want to tell them we never stop mourning most things, especially ourselves. But no, because they already knew, and I had to tell them they were wrong, because they have seen enough to prove that they are right, because they need to know that enough being wrong will make them want to live. There is a coffee cup in my hand, and the cling heat of it keeps my feet on the ground. I am bent over listening, but really watching because the monument of them, like any good pyramid, is on sand, small and enough to be solid ground. So I tell them that I am a soothsayer, and I say that I see them in the future, that they are in the world that I want. In class, we have discussed how writing can transcend time, can be thrown in the dark, past space, find the ear it is meant for. They pull a book from the shelf, and in ceremony, silent, they open to a mid-summer page, and they point. Say, that is the name that I want, and we look. And in the opening of this dream, someone must say, if a name, if a name, if a name, then a future. Oh, so this is gonna be my last piece, and it's a little bit longer. But before I read it, I always, before I read this one, I always like to do a little poll of the audience. Is anyone here in love? Oh, that's so nice. Well, I'll let you folks know that the exit's right there, and I'm just kidding, queers deserve love. Damn it. But that doesn't mean that it's not work, and that doesn't mean it's not hard. I'll just read it. You should know. I woke up with a hangover and an empty water glass, and it made clear to me that I was alone. Have I only loved so people would give me things? I have no excuse to hate you, and you've rebuked my crying with kindness, and we wrote such good poetry for one another. I'm trying to let myself only feel, at night, leave myself in compartments, and I wonder if this is why we came to pass, because we became night habits for one another, how we felt ourselves splitting and spreading over opposite hours, and I don't wanna believe in time, but it imposes itself nonetheless. I keep having this dream where I have to keep a rabbit alive. I feel him squirm in my arms, scared of my size and intentions, and after I calm him, he starts to convulse again and again. This happens, and after that passes, he passes. When we had a rabbit, I had to learn how to show him I wouldn't eat him, and when he started to trust me was when he died. Rabbits die quickly for their own sake. It wasn't our fault, but I wanted so badly to take care of a fragile thing, and when I couldn't, I thought myself a monster. I've reached a point, you should know, that every song is about us. I listened to Otis Redding on repeat, duh. I told you I wanted to do this White Orbison act, right, where I come out on stage and cry, with mascara streaming down my face behind signature black Wayfarer frames. It's good, you said. Cross feet deeper in a grin, encouraging, adoring, even if I never made this happen, and I sang it, and I mouthed it, and I couldn't make it work, couldn't make it convincing, and now I know why. And it's because before, I had just felt the melancholy of a sweet man's voice, the story of his dead wife hovering over everything he did, but now I get it. I hadn't felt it before, and now I do, and you're not dead, but we are, and nature is brutal, and I told you with the rabbit that I didn't wanna live in a world where small things died for no reason. We suffer from cute aggression, always acting like we're going to eat each other because we couldn't help but love with our appetite. When I came back from the coast, I decided I wanted to have children, and you should know, but I didn't tell you, I wanted them to be with you. I let you wash me down and never said, never said I am so attracted to you, I want to eat you. Never said, let's try again for a rabbit of our own. And you should know, I left that water glass empty. You should know I wanted to stay forever on your balcony where time caught up to us. You should know that I've been crying over you. You should know too that when the rabbit died, I hated nature, I hated the quick death. You should know that I think often about sleeping over water with you and waking up in the middle of the night as one mind and one body. You should know that when we left the rabbit to be turned to ash and scattered, I knew I wanted too much by wanting to love as long as it suited me. You should know, you should, because I do. Thanks. Thank you.