2

I stepped out the patio door to visit with J__ by the grill. He shook my hand extra tight, and I matched it. I wasn’t dumbfounded by these male rituals anymore, because I had Remembered the inherent danger each man could pose to the other.
He practically asked point blank the same questions Ms J__ had alluded to and I basically gave him the same spill. He seemed satisfied, but he’s the type to not want to talk about Real stuff for too long.
I felt awkward again while talking and joking with Ms J__, as I helped her with the dishes and pans. I straightened my neck back, and flexed my shoulders, reminding myself to be brave.
The kitchen window looked out onto the yard. The other males were outside smoking cigarettes or playing basketball or both. The other women were sitting out on the patio.
My life had not allowed me much time to play, not to mention learn sports, so I shied away from exhibiting my athletic abilities, not being sure of them since I’d had little practice. In comes one their grown daughters insisting I play kick ball with the rest of the family. I got out of it for a little while but then Ms J__ made the call that the kitchen was finished with for now.
The older boy, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, would stare at me sometimes. I’d notice, and let him know I had registered it by meaningfully twitching my right eye without actually looking at him. He didn’t stare in a rude way, just an interested way. It made me uncomfortable.
His name was C___, and remained in sharp contrast to the other boys, who were mostly insecure, snappy with their parents, quick to argue with their peers. It was obvious he was his own Him, comfortable in his own skin, Knowing the things all Hims know. He was young, good looking enough, obviously not from horrific. Someone like that can make me feel behind, embarrassed. He pitched the kick ball and I was on the other team.
I’m a Him, and know how to use my limbs. I know my natural movements just as well as I have known the unnatural. Sports don’t make me nervous, I can move with the best of them, but I’m not used to it. I would look at C__ sometimes to remind myself that it was okay to be a Him amongst all these civilians. C__ made it look easy. I was a Him, born a Him, and the whole world tried to destroy me for it.
It grew dark and Ms J__ needed a few items from the grocery and asked J__ if he would go. In this family the grown children couldn’t really be trusted with tasks because they were all a little spoiled. J__ seemed to know to nod for me to tag along and I seemed to know to expect it.
It wasn’t until later that I noticed this was in sharp contrast to J__’s other unofficial son -- his actual son-in-law -- who had wanted to go to with J__ to one of those super hardware stores to hang out for awhile. J__ had made some excuse. I always had the feeling J__’s son in law didn’t really like me very much. He always seemed to talk extra loudly around me, always overwhelming the social situation.
On the way to the grocery I suggested that we should go get a drink somewhere. I had been getting into beer lately, especially the lagers and stouts, which was new for me. J___ didn’t seem to get the hint.
When we got back from the grocery -- with the correct bottle of corn syrup -- and were crossing the front yard toward the house, I said from behind him, _Remember how I could never remember anything before twelve years old?_
_Huh?_ he said.
_Remember how I could never remember anything before twelve years old?_
_Uh, yeah._
_Well that’s over._
_Was it good or bad?_ he said, still walking.
_Horrible, but good in the end._
_Good. Maybe it’ll help you to you know -- ease on down,_ he replied, making the motion with his hands.
That made me angry for a reason I couldn’t put my finger on at the time. J__ implying like I was substandard back when I wasn’t at ease. That’s when I realized he truly was civilian, only knowing Horrific as a word.
That’s all that was said, and we were back in the house. I had decided it was best I get going. J__ said, _No, stick around, hang out a bit more._ So I did, even though I found it awkward, just sitting around watching TV with a dozen other people. No one talking or seeming to be engaged.
Ms J___ said it was getting hot in the house and that we should get on outside, but she went out the back door to the patio and J__ the front. I seemed to know to follow J__ as he sat out under his car porch. We were a long ways from every one else. He asked me about the house, and some other precursory questions. Finally I blurted out, _So I killed someone when I was little._
_Huh? What?_
_I said I killed someone when I was little._
_What are you talking about,_ he said, almost with a laugh, _What are you saying?’
_I said I killed someone when I was little. That’s was the thing that I couldn’t unlock. I remembered the body at my feet but I couldn’t remember how I got there, couldn’t make sense of it. So I was all numbed out and couldn‘t remember, and now it’s over._
At that point he stopped trying to act casual and just listened.
He seemed to hear my story the way the mainstream American audience saw the film Precious. As something he could only process intellectually. He heard the words ‘abuse’ and ‘horrific’ but it seemed like he didn’t have enough reference in his own experience to know their true definitions. It was just a Story. He couldn’t see me.
When I get to the point where I can use words, I lose a little of my Realness, making it harder for people to see me. I compromise in order to connect with the other person through words. Ironic, huh ..
I told him I could remember conversations the adults were having before I was old enough to understand English and I saw a look of recognition in his eye. I saw it again when I explained how the shifting started to get fun.
_Like a game,_ he said.
_Yeah, exactly,_ I said, relieved.
I knew it was hard for him. He’s used to being the Patriarch. He’s used to being The Man. I had incidentally laid out for him evidence that The Man might be standing in front of him. It meant that I might could judge him.
When I talk I have to go all the way to the other side of my brain to articulate, while the Real me -- Him -- is on the opposite side. I find it taxing, and hard to get my self back after having to articulate.
It’s not like I can say things exactly as they are.
Imagine me telling the story the way I have it written here .. Instead I have to edit it as I tell it, simplifying it while implying without saying some parts all the way.
I couldn’t tell him about the sexual side of it, though I alluded to it; of course I couldn’t tell him about the dreams and the violence and the unmemory and rememory and what it’s really like. I couldn’t tell him about the soul place which I had at first known as the timeless place. I couldn’t tell him about how Trevor will still touch me now and how he held my hand when I would go to sleep when I was little -- even though he was already dead.
A long time ago I read a book called Undoing Depression wherein the author explains how human beings experience the world around them: He uses the example of a father teaching his kid to ride a bike. If the father used words, it would take weeks for him to explain to his kid didactically the laws of physics and perpetual motion and phonetics. But by showing the kid, by his manner and actions, the father teaches the kid within an afternoon. The kid now knows something which would have taken libraries of words to explain.
In the end it’s the only way I have to communicate with people like J__ -- by the How I act, the How I handle myself, the How of every moment I make. In each movement the whole world is implied.
Same as the whole world can be seen in a moment, in a piece of wood, in the feel of wind against your cheek, looking into a person’s face -- the whole world, including every story, every experience, is implied.
We went back inside because they had decided to watch a movie. It was like J__ and Ms J__ had been waiting for everyone to leave, then my visit with them really began. There were no heavy questions directed at me anymore, instead the two of them did the talking, and the answering of questions about their lives, and joked around.
　
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(Sunday)
　
Woke from dreams where my family wasn’t my family but kept changing to J__’s and then to ones off TV, including the show Brothers and Sisters, yet the world stayed the same, the house, the same dark clouds outside it. Reality stayed the same, and the requirement to remain Him stayed the same.
Meanwhile there was a very sexual element to the dream, as characters came and went, I saw them under a new light, saw their physical features just as clearly as the raw shrimp I shelled and worked with to make the bisque and I wanted certain ones, badly.
It’s like I had never noticed before, the absolute beauty of the world despite it being so esthetically displeasing compared to what’s shown in movies and on TV and implied in books.

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In the evening I watched a slew of British comedies while I worked. Something about shows like Are you Being Served and Keeping up Appearances remind me of when I was a little boy and would watch the adults around me in the same way that adults would watch stories on TV.
Watching these particular comedies unlocks a lot of memories from me. I think it has something do with the way the insides of the houses are decorated. Reminiscent.
Now that I’m home, the Ian__ triggers are back, and the memories are circling, and I’m still okay, maybe.

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