NOVEL SIMPLE Tuesday: Going out
My alarm clock ticks to midnight. How much time did I spend crying, exactly? And what the fuck is Ash on about?
“The guy part?”
Ash blushes, like he just said something he didn’t mean to. “Forget about it. Right now, I need you to trust me. I have a plan, you see?”
“A plan for what?”
“For you to be happy with how you look, doofus. Alright. Here’s the thing: right now, I’m not a fan of how I look either.” I try to interject; Ash looks great — again, from a completely neutral, platonic, heterosexual point of view — but he silences me with a hand in the air. “Tut-tut, not a word. That’s just how it is. Actually, it’s the reason why I’m here at the moment. It’s why I came back here a week early myself.”
“What does that even have to do with anything?”
“I’ve done some experimenting over the summer. And I have a pretty good idea of what I want to look like—”
“Well, good for you! I don’t.”
“—but it’s going to be a big change. I need to do it step by step. And this is where you come in; you’re going to do it too.”
“I… what?” I look at myself in the mirror on my closet door. The same guy from earlier is looking at me, and he seems even more like a mess now. He could do with a haircut, I guess. Maybe some skincare as well. Oh, and some nicer clothes for sure; he’s still wearing his worn-out summer clothes, and today was rather chilly. I try to imagine what I would look like with all of these changes implemented. Hm. Yeah, I suppose it would be an improvement, even if I’d need a miracle to actually look good. I contemplate this current version of myself for a while, and finally give in. “What do you have in mind?”
“That, Jo, is for you to decide!”
“Okay, so let me get this straight. You’re gonna change over the week, and presumably adopt a new style or something.” He nods, a grin on his face. “And you expect me to do the same thing with my own appearance, even though I have no idea where to even start?”
“Yup! Pretty much.”
“What if I end up not liking whatever new style I choose to go with?”
“Well, you can just stop, then. Or try out other things. I’m not gonna force you or anything. It’s all about experimenting, Jo; if you want to find something that works, you need to try new things.”
I look down at my knees. Ash is not wrong, and I know it. I don’t need to look into the mirror again to know what I look like, and to know how I feel about it. I don’t like my appearance, plainly and simply. And he’s right about the other thing, too; if I want to know where to even start in order to like it, I need to try stuff out.
I feel his hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he says in a calming voice. “I know all of this can be a lot, I really do. And what I can tell you is, you’ll still be you. You won’t come out of this a different person,” he says, winking at me.
I chuckle bitterly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Even if that wouldn’t be a bad outcome all things considered, I add in my thoughts.
⁂
“Ash?”
“Jo?”
“What the fuck is that?”
“What do you think it is?”
“Wh— No, I mean, why did you do it?”
“Because I like it! What, did I do a poor job?”
“I mean, no, it looks good, but why?”
“I’ve already answered that question.”
It’s ten in the morning and I’m already holding onto my coffee mug for dear life. I try to steady my breathing and tentatively take a sip from my drink. It’s too strong; Ash barged into the kitchen while I was preparing it, and I likely messed up the coffee-to-water ratio out of pure shock. I reluctantly open the fridge and grab some milk to make it bearable. I’m more of a black coffee type person, at least in the morning. I’d rather avoid having a zombified blob in the pilot seat of this wretched clump of organic matter I dare call my body, and if all it takes is drinking some bitter and mildly enjoyable hot liquid for breakfast, then count me in. But with the way I physically reacted to this drink, my face sort of imploding as if I’d just bitten a lemon, I have the feeling some milk won’t lessen its effects. “Nevermind, actually. You do you, bro.”
“Uh… could you, perhaps, not call me that?”
I feel my heart drop in my chest. I’m still looking down at my drink, but I’m a bit shaky now. “Oh… I mean yeah, I can stop… Is— Is it something I did?”
Ash closes the gap between us in an instant. “What? No, you’re fine, don’t worry… What’s wrong?”
“It’s just… I don’t know, we’re friends, right? Friends call each other like that, sometimes.”
“Jo— Oh, by the way, is it okay if I call you Jo? I probably should have asked earlier, but you didn’t seem to mind.”
“Yeah, it's better than ‘Josh’, that's for sure.”
“You’re my best friend, Jo,” Ash continues. “It has nothing to do with you.” He looks slightly hesitant but puts a hand on my shoulder anyway. “I’m just… not a fan of being called, like ‘dude’, ‘bro’ or stuff like that? If that’s okay with you?”
I feel something tingly in my belly. I don’t think he’s ever called me his best friend before. “Huh. I think I get it, you know? It’s, uh, kinda like when my dad calls me ‘son’, or ‘young man’. Sort of patronising, I guess.” I manage to look back up at him.
The make-up suits him. I’m not sure how to say that to him without, you know… sounding weird, or disingenuous, so I keep it to myself. He’s got the full ensemble too; eyeliner, eyeshadow, presumably some mascara, and the apparent smoothness of his cheeks suggests he did something there, too. Why not, right? Guys can wear make-up, as long as they don’t mind some bigots giving them shit for it. I couldn’t, it would just make me look weird and goofy, and I’d rather avoid getting called out in public if I can. Ash, though… People might just think he’s a girl, in which case he wouldn’t get in trouble for wearing make-up. He’s got long, wavy brown hair, dark eyes, a small, round face, and with the baggy hoodie and jeans he’s wearing right now, one could understandably mistake him for a girl.
Who are you fooling, Jo. He’s wearing full make-up, and his nails are still painted pink. He totally looks like a girl. That doesn’t mean he looks bad though. Like, if he were a girl, he’d totally be my type… Not that I have specific types, but, you know, he’d make a cute girl, I suppose.
I sit down at the kitchen table and slowly finish my cup of coffee — which the milk has rendered… drinkable — while browsing social media. Ash is doing the same thing, but he looks preoccupied.
“Jo?”
“Mhm?”
“Did— did you mean it? When you said it looked good?”
I gulp, and take some time to answer. “Yeah, I did.” Ash visibly relaxes. “And I guess I should apologise for the way I reacted. I just… wasn’t expecting it, is all.”
“Thank you,” Ash says, relieved and now smiling again. “I understand, it was a bit sudden. Maybe I should have told you last night that I was gonna do it.”
“No worries,” I reassure him, then chuckle. “I was kind of a wreck. But yeah, it totally looks good on you.”
He blushes. “Thanks… I think you’d like it, you know?”
I’m confused but hide it with a shrug. “Uh, I mean, I like it already? I think it suits you.”
“Oh no, I meant, like, on you,” he says lightly.
“On me?”
“Well yeah, dummy. Forgot about what we said yesterday about trying new things already?”
“This is part of it?”
“It could be, if you want it to!”
I feel my face heat up way more than usual. “Okay, so first of all, I’d completely forgotten about that, and second, there is no way in hell I’m wearing make-up. I’d look ridiculous!”
“Do I look ridiculous?” Ash asks.
“No! But it really wouldn’t fit me! Like, alright, the nails were one thing.” I stand up and start pacing around, throwing my hands on the side to punctuate every sentence. “I can just bury my hands in my pockets when going out— Not like you did a bad job or anything, but also like, it’s super common for guys to wear nail polish, whereas make-up? I’m sorry, Ash, but I don’t exactly feel like getting yelled at by some kind of hateful bigot!”
“I would advise you to breathe.”
I oblige, feeling stupid for ranting like that. It’s only step one of his plan and I’m already deflating? I suck.
“Here’s the deal,” Ash continues. “We’re going out today, and if at any point I get treated by someone in a way you wouldn’t want to experience yourself, then I’ll back down. But you need to learn to forget about the way people look at you. That’s not even step one of the plan, it’s step zero!” he adds, as if he can read my mind.
“Ash…”
“Anything to object?”
“...I don’t look like you.”
“And? How is that a problem?”
“You look like a girl, Ash.”
There.
I said it.
He doesn’t reply.
“Right now, you look like a girl,” I repeat with a shaky voice, “and that means people won’t give you shit for wearing make-up. But I don’t look like you.”
To my surprise, he giggles. “You would never expect what some make-up and a hoodie can achieve.”
What? “M— maybe I wouldn't, but still… What's the point? Like, I do think anyone should be able to look however they want, but why like that?”
“Because I think it looks cool! And as long as the people I care about are fine with it, I’ll feel good!”
I try to think of something to say back, but I don’t find anything. It sure does sound simple when Ash says it like that. But it can’t be, right? Otherwise everyone would want to put on make-up, nail polish, and wear dresses and stuff… This feeling of dread and worry, about how I’ll look and what people will think of me if I do it, that’s also what keeps every other guy from doing it as well. It’s obvious Ash doesn’t care about it, which, good for him, I suppose; but I do.
There is still a funny sensation in my stomach, but I’m not sure whether it’s due to me having just finished a coffee that was drowned in milk, yet strong enough to power a generator, or if it’s got to do with something else. At the end of the day, that’s what Ash’s plan is all about, if I remember correctly. Getting me to forget about how others view me? Yeah, I can see why I’d need it.
Still no way I’m wearing make-up, though.
⁂
“The Eiffel Tower? Are you kidding me?”
“Well, you gotta admit it’s a cool place to hang out!”
I frown, about to inform him that it’s far from my first time here, but actually, the last one was probably several years ago, so I don’t follow through. I didn't grow up near Paris, but each time we went to the capital to see some friends or family, we’d pay a customary visit to the old iron lady (no, not that one, jeez). Judging by the queue at its feet, early September on a weekday seems to be a pretty good time to come here; I’ve never seen the place so quiet, we only have to wait around ten minutes to get to the ticket office.
I do my best to hide my anxiety. On the way here, no one has even batted an eyelid at Ash's make-up or my nail polish. But well, Ash just looks like a normal girl at this point, and for my part, I’ve been keeping my hands hidden in my pockets as best I can. But I can’t do it for much longer; we’re arriving at the end of the queue.
“Ash, is it okay if you, uh, do the talking and buying? I’ll refund you later,” I try to say in the most casual tone my knotted stomach will let me.
He shrugs. “Oh. Yeah, sure, I guess you’re always the one to do this stuff.”
I look down at my feet. I know he appreciates it a lot when I handle the social interactions while we’re together; it’s not really his cup of tea. So right now, I feel pretty bad delegating the task to him just because I don’t want people to see my fingernails. Heck, I can see he’s slightly nervous as well, despite all his talks of forgetting about other people’s opinions. Makes sense; he is relying on people thinking he’s a girl, but what if they see through him? I clench my jaw. Whatever Ash looks like, he’s my friend, and if anyone wants to give him trouble they’ll have to go over my dead body.
I feel a sudden pang of worry in my chest. What about his voice? He’s gonna have to speak, and there is no way the overly enthusiastic lady who’s been switching language from tourist to tourist — how does one even do this — doesn’t figure out that—
“Hello miss! So that will be… two tickets, for you both I’m assuming? Student rate?”
“Hi! That’s right, and I guess you need to see our student cards?” I hear a girl reply.
I look up, and Ash is at the counter. Did sh— I mean, was that him speaking?
“Jo? Don’t tell me you forgot to take it!”
Oh yeah, that was him. Alright then, didn’t need to worry, it seems. Wait. I look at him, a dumb smile plastered on my face. I need to get my student ID card out. I embarrassingly rummage through my backpack to get my wallet, under the patient gaze of the ticket seller, and lay my card on the counter. I hold my breath, but she doesn’t even go as far as looking at my nails.
“Alright, enjoy your visit!”
We make our way to the staircase and start climbing the three hundred and twenty-seven steps to the first floor, without a word.
“Are you alright?” he finally asks, already slightly out of breath from the climb.
“Uh… Yeah actually, I thought it would be worse. But, how did you do that?”
“Well, I figured, since I kinda don’t look like a guy at the moment, that it was best to come prepared!” he says, still in this same feminine voice. And he giggles. That’s gonna take some getting used to alright.
“I see.” And I truly do, it just makes sense really. If I looked like a girl, I sure wouldn’t wanna speak with my current voice. “Wait, should I call you something else while we’re there, then? Is Ash still fine?”
“You bet! It’s a gender neutral name, dingus.”
I frown. Ash’s family is from Britain, so his name is rather uncommon here. “Really? Huh, doesn’t sound like it, but I trust you. People might still find that weird though, I don’t think I’ve ever met any girl called Ashley here.”
“Don’t give a shit,” he says with a grin. Good point. “But, uh, I think it’d still be best for me to use feminine pronouns for the time being? Since, you know…” he says, letting go of the railing to gesture at himself.
“Pronouns?”
“She/Her, dummy. Like, referring to me as a girl,” she explains. “We don’t want anyone to give us weird looks, right?”
“Sure, I guess it makes sense.” And I almost used them by accident earlier, I add mentally, so it’s not like I’ll have trouble switching. But something still feels off.
She’s not supposed to care about this stuff. I’m absolutely not about to challenge her, of course; she’s my friend and she does whatever the fuck she wants. But still, why does she go to such lengths to be perceived as a girl when she simultaneously doesn’t care about how people look at her? A cold shiver runs through my body. What if she’s switching specifically her voice and pronouns for me? So that people don’t look at us weirdly? So that I don’t feel scrutinised by proxy of being around her? Am I that much of a burden?
I push the thought out of my mind. Ash knows she can be honest with me; if something was the matter she would have told me by now, instead of doing all that. You know what? If she is actually doing this because she likes it — and I can start to see why she would, being so goddamn good at it — then the best thing to do is to follow her example and get over the gaze of others myself; so far, literally no-one has paid attention to my manicure, and I’ve even spotted a few guys with painted nails in the queue. And if she is speaking with a feminine voice so that I don’t feel weird being around a boy who looks like a girl, letting go will show her that she doesn’t need to act any differently for my sake. She can just be herself, whether that means being him or her. For now it’s her, so let’s roll with it.
I shake my head to exit my thoughts. We finally clear the last few steps and I take in our surroundings. It’s totally different from what I remember; there was scaffolding everywhere last time, as the place was supposedly under renovation. Now there is a large glass floor, and children are frantically running around everywhere pretending to fly. There are even some adults tentatively taking timid steps on it, in the hope of finally feeling something, I guess. Truly no sense of self-preservation; I know better than to do this myself. Or I’m just afraid of heights, even here where guardrails are so high no-one could ever possibly fall, even if they tried to. Who knows, maybe I, the fifty million, three hundred and thirty thousand, six hundred and twenty-fifth tourist to step on it, will be the one under which the centimetres-thick reinforced plexiglass finally breathes its last.
“Hey, ladies! Want your picture taken?” a young photographer who seems to be working here asks. There is a small gathering of them near a wall of thick glass.
I look at Ash. “Wanna give it a go?” I ask her. “They do this all the time, it probably won’t take long.” I’m usually not a fan of posing for photos, but she is, probably even more so now that she likes how she looks.
She grins. “Let’s do it! I didn’t spend that much effort on my make-up not to be photographed, after all!” she says as she winks and runs a hand through her hair. I can’t disagree; even in the unremarkable clothes she’s wearing, she looks gorgeous.
We walk towards where the photographers are idly sitting, waiting for tourists, and the one who called at us gets his camera. “So, just wait here for a few seconds, gi— oh wait… my bad, only one girl here, sorry man,” he adds, looking at me.
I freeze. Did he think I was a girl? With Ash the mistake is understandable, she looks just like a girl, but me? And wait… he said it earlier, too. How did I not flinch or even notice it?
Ash takes my hand and drags me to the glass wall, and the photographer follows us. “Alright lovebirds, just stay exactly like that for the first one, and look towards the city in the background!”
She doesn’t let go of my hand. My heart picks up speed. Lovebirds?
Click!
“Okay, for this next one, hold both of your hands and look into each other’s eyes, please!”
Ash grabs my other hand, and I feel blood rushing to my cheeks. She looks at me, and after a few awkward seconds I manage to make eye contact. She has a bright smile on her face. My brain stops functioning.
Click!
I’m lost somewhere in her black eyes. She is so beautiful I don’t even know how to exist anymore, and the photographer thinks we’re a couple and for some reason she hasn’t corrected him and her smile is adorable and the wind makes her hair dance in mesmerising waves and we’re still holding hands and and and and.
“Something specific in mind for the last one?” I faintly hear the photographer ask me from another plane of existence. Hah, how presumptuous of you to assume that language is something I'm capable of.
Ash replies in my stead. “I think I’ve got an idea,” she says, still grinning. Gosh her voice is so freaking cute.
I feel myself simultaneously freeze and combust as she puts a hand on each side of my body. She flashes me a questioning look, and I somehow reply with an imperceptible nod, surprising myself that I’m able to move. Her hands slide behind my back and she holds me against her. The small conscious part of my mind that was left withers away.
Click!
“There we go! They should be available for you within a couple of minutes,” the photographer says, pointing towards some sort of printing machine with displays on all sides.
Ash shyly lets go of me, and I practically collapse on the ground, my back still warm where she held me.
She blushes slightly. “Uhm… was that too much? Oh my gosh I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked…”
I slowly breathe in and out a few times. “Don’t worry, it’s okay,” I reassure her with an attempt at a smile. I will definitely have to think about what just happened and what it means, but not right now. Let’s just, like, shove it in the back of my mind for another time. “Wanna grab a drink, or something?”
“Should we not go buy the pictures?”
“Oh, y— you actually want to buy them?”
Her smile fades a little. “Well… yeah. You don’t want them?”
I blush. I said the wrong thing, didn’t I? “No, I do, I just— I didn’t know y— you would want them after…”
She smirks. “Well, I do want to see how I look in these.”
“Right. How you look.” Gosh how can I be so awkward.
She slides her credit card into the machine, which promptly regurgitates the results of our little photo shoot. I watch her review them, lost in my thoughts. Is this actually Ash? The Ash I knew was way more awkward when going out, he never talked much and always looked like he tried to take the least amount of space possible. Now, she is positively glowing. And her voice is so much more expressive, and she just looks free. Have I been missing out on this part of her for so long? I always liked being around the old Ash, but the new one is definitely causing some new and interesting feelings to sprout inside my belly. Not only because she looks like a girl, and a pretty one, but also because she just seems more like herself.
She slides the photo pack inside her tote bag. “Alright, now let’s grab a drink. But you’re paying,” she adds, wagging a finger in my direction, “because I’m not sure I’ll ever financially recover from buying these.”
⁂
The cool thing about living near Paris is that we can just come here. During my childhood, it was just this faraway place where some family members lived that we only visited every few years. Now I get to actually come here whenever I want, and it really feels weird to just hang out at famous spots you’ve heard about all your life. Take the Parc de la Villette, for example; it’s like this weird cultural hub with all kinds of museums, auditoriums, cinemas, and concert halls scattered around a park that’s cut in half by a canal.
“You know, maybe leaving isn’t actually number one in the list of things to do in France,” Ash remarks.
“Right? I knew you’d like the place.”
“It’s not bad. Leaving is still number two though.”
“Dork.”
We sip our bubble tea in silence, just looking around us as we walk. After some time we finally find a free bench to settle on, and talk about everything and nothing for some time, while the sun sets.
“I can see it, you know? That you’re so much happier like this,” I say. It’s obvious; she hasn’t even used her boy voice a single time, even now that there's nobody else around us.
Ash blushes. “Yeah… I’m not gonna lie, I like it. A lot. Do you know what it means, Jo?”
“I mean, I guess there’s not much to it after all. You’re happy like that, so why should I care? You seem so much more like… you. It’s like the Ash I knew before was numb, held back, or something. You see what I mean?”
She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it. “Yeah. I do see what you mean,” she finally says.
I chuckle. “It’s almost as if you’re actually a girl.”
