I am completely divorced from myself. Floating out of my body, looking down at where I’m standing. There she is: Vyella Feyen, a cashier at McDonald’s, mindlessly rolling one of her thin gray antennae between two fingers. My mind is above her, surrounded by starlight. 

I’m pulled back to earth by my coworker Kelly Harldson poking me in the neck with a straw. “Hey Vyella, I need you for something.” She’s older than me, a short-haired tabby cat who I conspiratorially believe to have a punk thing going on outside of work. I blink away the stars and respond, “Uh, sure. What do you need?” I assume it’s sides; I’m already moving toward the kitchen, ready to help with whichever mindless task Kelly wants to unload onto me. 

“Come with me out back.” Kelly walks by me and reaches under the front counter for the box where we keep our phones. She turns to me. “We’re going to have a talk.” I feel my face burning. As we head out back, my wings flutter uncomfortably against my T-shirt. I think of a million responses to a million criticisms she could hit me with and hold my breath. Kelly leans against her car in the parking lot and pulls something up on her phone. “I’m just going to rip the band-aid off, is this you?” She sounds concerned; my irritation turns to horror. She’s holding up an old picture from school.

*Click*

I didn’t even wince at the camera flash. That day, I was wearing an oversized dress shirt and jeans. It was one of the good days; we compromised on what I was going to wear, keeping things mostly androgynous, and my smile was nice enough in the picture as to not warrant any criticism. They didn’t hide food from me or look through my room and phone. They were good to me for the day. In retrospect, I should’ve tried to enjoy myself during those times that felt easy. 

Kelly literally snaps me out of it. I’m dizzy and staring down at my knees that I’m already pushing against to regain my balance. She snaps her fingers again even closer to my face this time; the sound feels dull and distant. I surprise myself by pushing her away; the gesture is sloppy and ineffective, and in response she simply takes a few steps back. “Are you ok?” she’s looking at me with her brow furrowed, I can’t tell what she’s thinking. “You were unresponsive for like fifteen seconds… Sorry if the snapping made it worse.” Her tone is steady. I think to myself:  “You ought to be sorry” and then speak: “It’s er, fine. That just happens sometimes.” My voice cracks a little, so I take a second before continuing: “Where did you find that picture?” 

“It popped up on my Facebook. It’s a missing persons case.” My heart sinks. “The name is wrong, but I mean… this is you, right? The resemblance is uncanny.” I can’t lie to save my life, so I don’t. “It, uh- yeah. That’s me.” Her eyes go wide. “So you’ve been on the run for what, four years? That’s horrible-” I cut her off. “Look, let’s just get to what you want, Kelly.” I struggle at controlling my volume.

“What?” She looks shocked. 

I can’t stop what comes out: “Whatever you think you’re doing with this, you’re not. Confronting me like this is pathetic and- and honestly, it’s manipulative.” I’m breathing heavily, I shout: “Just tell me what you want from me! I’ll do it goddammit!” 

Kelly frowns, and in an instant, I’m a kid again. Looking up to someone waiting for a punishment for my transgression. The thing I could never handle when I was a kid was the space in between when you don’t know what’s coming next for you. It’s like the rules are rewritten just to hurt you worse every time. It traps you in the free fall between a mistake and its imagined consequence. “Dude, calm down. I’m not going to turn you in. This is really just a check-in.” 

Kelly fidgets with a patch of fur on her wrist that’s knotted up from working the fry station. She clears her throat, “I never really got a read on you, Vyella. I always assumed something was up, and when I saw this, I got super worried.” I can’t find any dishonesty across her face, she genuinely doesn’t care that I yelled or that I lied. “So yeah just- are you okay? If you need help keeping your family away or other kinds of support, I’m here.” I feel the eye contact burn against my skin. I try to speak but just fall apart.

–

A few minutes pass as Kelly lets me cry. She digs through her car and finds a box of tissues. I feel a little lightness come back to me as I see in her back seat a folded up spiked leather jacket covered in patches with political messages and pride flags. After I use a few tissues, there’s a long, awkward pause before Kelly breaks the silence. “Let’s close early tonight. Help me clean up, it’ll distract you.”

 The work is therapeutic; I turn up chairs, sweep, mop, and shut off the lights. Kelly takes care of the “back of house” closing duties; afterwards, we lock the doors behind us. I nervously speak for the first time since I had my breakdown. “I, um- I can call Mr. Devon. It’s my fault that we had to close this early.” 

Kelly shakes her head, “Nope. Boss owes me a favor for covering his’ “peak week” shifts before he was manager. I’ll take the hit.” She smiles. “Besides, this was my idea.”

While Kelly is on call with our manager sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, I text my partner, still a little shaky. I tell them I’m going to be home early, even though I know they’re asleep and won’t see the message. I smile at the profile picture I put for their messages, showing that soft green glow they carry. I am exhausted; the stars swirl in the sky, and I trip my feet on nothing.

 Kelly perks up and leans out of her car to address me, “Are you good to get yourself home?” 

I could kick myself; I don’t have enough for a Lyft right now. I was going to get a ride from a friend after the full shift. I try to hide my rising panic, “Um, yes. the bus should be alright…” 

Kelly’s voice weirdly peaks, “Right now, are you kidding?!” She pauses. “You are getting a ride. Either from me or I’ll pay for a driver.” 

As embarrassing as tonight has been, I can’t bring myself to get her to pay just to avoid her. We get in the car. I tell Kelly my address, and we drive in silence for a while. Eventually, she breaks the deadlock, “I’m sorry for this, Vyella. I didn’t mean to bring up something that painful. I just wanted you to know I was here if you needed anything.” She waits for me to reply and then continues: “I probably could have just said that without bringing up what I saw. I’m sorry for making you feel exposed like that.” I choke on a response; I can feel my heartbeat in my throat and see stars in the corner of my vision. “I, uh, did need it. I needed to talk.” She has to make a turn and then looks over at me, “Do you still need to talk?”

From there, my life just pours out of me across the dashboard of my cool older co-worker’s car. I talk about everything but mostly just the one big thing: leaving home as barely an adult because some part of me was certain that I would lose myself to my family.  I talk about their rules and deprivations, the ways that I was hurt. Then, I speak of the rules and deprivations that I had to build for myself when I was on my own. Eventually, I settle on seeing my partner as a guiding light. They kept me stable through my first years of college and transition and real, meaningful life.

 Kelly doesn’t say much, but I could swear that for a second while I was talking, she glanced directly at one of the stars. When we pull up to the apartment building, I’ve completely emptied the tissue box. My work clothes are also a little messy. Kelly reaches across my seat to the glove box in front of me, she scribbles something on a post-it note in the compartment. “Take this.” The note has a phone number and two addresses; only one of the two has an apartment number. “You can call me if anything comes up. The apartment is mine. People are always coming in and out to crash, so you’re welcome to swing by if you need to hide or lay low.” I nod. “Um, what’s the other address?” 

Kelly grins. “It’s an NA bar downtown, ‘Shays.’ They host live music sometimes.” I tilt my head in confusion. “I have a feeling you and your partner have had a few conversations similar to the one you and I  just had.” I can’t help but look guilty, thinking of times when I unloaded everything with them. Kelly laughs a little and continues, “I’m inviting you to swing by sometime, maybe on a weekend. I play shows there every once in a while and know a lot of the regulars and staff.” She considers her next words carefully, “I think that weight on your back might be an easier lift if you went and made some friends. Maybe you could even bring your sweetheart. What do you say?” I look down at my hair spilled messily over my lap and say, “Thank you. I’ll genuinely consider it.”

She drops me off at the base of my apartment building, and already I’m far away again, watching myself walk away from Kelly. Kelly watches me in return, making sure I get into the building safely before driving off. It occurs to me that the apartment that she said was her’s is on the other side of town. For the first time, it feels like the life waiting for me back in my body might be the one I was always meant for. For now, I rest in starlight and pray that this feeling will still be with me when I wake up.