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queer-triple-a · 1 year

Text

A Hopeful Proposal

Introduction

Hello, Lovelies!

Today I want to show you a letter between two super tight friends!

But first-

Since today’s document is shorter, I wanted to discuss something. When I’ve told my friends about this, more than one has suggested I am looking for Aphros stories. I’m not, but I wanted to address it because I get where they’re getting that impression.

In case you don’t follow the news, evidence has surfaced of some different types of love stories that have defied science (i.e., immortal couples, couples with proof of reincarnation, psychic soulmates, etc.). People call them a lot of things (I’ve also seen them referred to as “Eros”), but in what little scientific literature there is, they seem to have settled on Aphros.

Aphros love stories are so rare that there are only a handful of examples worldwide. I know there’s a lot of hype around them, but I don’t follow much of that. I understand the interest, but it’s just something I never had a big fascination with.

From what I know (which is admittedly limited), there’s no proof of a relationship that counts as Aphros that is “queer,” as we would call it today. They’re all either heterosexual romances, friendships, or siblings. I’ve seen some queer scholars point out that this is likely at least partly b.s. cause we know a lot of people in history aren’t as cis and straight as we think. Also, we suspect there are a lot of people who are in an Aphros relationship who intentionally hide it (I think).

Obviously, if we find evidence of an Aphros story in the documents I’m finding, it would be amazing. For right now, I think they’re all relatively normal people living their normal lives.

So to summarize, I’m aware that Aphros relationships exist, but I’m not actively looking to find one. I just like looking at this stuff. Nothing extraordinary needs to be here for it to be beautiful.

Now, onto our document for the week!

This artifact is about titled “A letter between friends.” It is a letter that was found by a distant relative of Elouise in a book that had been passed down. I’ll let you decide whether or not you think these two women were friends or not.

Content Warnings:

Mentions of Death (Spousal)

Mentions of Infertility

A Letter from Veronica to Elouise

[Back of an envelope with a gold floral wax seal on it The paper is yellowing]

Veronica

720 Bay Street

Keslo, England

[Front of an envelope. The paper is yellowing and stained]

Elouise

36 Bloomfield Lane

Thorndron, England

[The outside of a paper folded to be the envelope. It has both adresses above in a different perspective as well as the seal]

[A yellowing creased sheet of paper. The text of the hand-written letter is below]

September 5, 1814

My Dearest, Elouise

I apologize for the fortnight without communication from me. It is too long. In truth, I have been trying to write this letter since I received mail from you last. I want to ask something of you, but I realize this proposition will ask more of you than any question I’ve asked you yet. I do not take this lightly, my dearest. Therefore, in an effort to remind you of my love for you (and perhaps of your love for me), I shall spend most of the letter recounting our personal history. I hope this recantation will persuade you of the seriousness with which I make my final proposal.

Of my thirty-two years of life, I lived the first half without your presence. I did not meet you until, by chance, we stood by the same shelf of my favorite bookstore at the same time. I had a pocket full of money from my recent sixteenth birthday, and you were looking for a story which would delight you during your travel back home. Though our conversation started with book recommendations, we continued to talk for nearly an hour.

Our first encounter came to an end when your elder brother (if I recall correctly, it was Charles) arrived to bring you to the train station. I must admit, my heart ached even then when you walked away. To my surprise, you had ensured that it would not be the final time in which we spoke. Your home address was left inside the cover of the book which you knew I intended to buy. I will never understand how you managed such a feat, and I suspect you will never tell me.

Our correspondences were immediately long and frequent. Though the trip between our homes was 3 days drive, we made do with letters. When the post would be delivered, I would rush downstairs in the hopes that a letter from you had arrived. When this was the case, I whisked it away to my room to enjoy it in private. I do not believe I ever told you, but during our early days of communication, before our families had met, my mother was convinced I was communicating with a suitor whom I did not tell her about. She suspected me of the same deceit she herself had committed when my father courted her. Have I told you how their love began? It is a story remarkably similar to our own. I shall make space for it in a future letter or conversation.

As our friendship blossomed, so did our respective social lives. Though we had met in person only once, you knew more about me than my closest friends as I began the dreadful work of searching for a husband. I will not bore you with a recantation of my trials and tribulations during this time.

You were fortunate and found a man with which you could live amicably. We were able to meet in person again when you invited me to your hometown for three weeks to prepare for and celebrate your betrothal to dear Edward. I had come with joyous news of my own. Between the letter I had written and my arrival, I received the offer of a job. The local seamstress was so impressed by my work she took me on as an apprentice. My mother held her promise to halt her search for my suitor if I became employed. I was a free woman, and your husband was a lovely man.

That visit was wonderful for me. It is the first time I remember hearing your laughter and feeling my own face form a smile at the sound. You were sat in the golden chair your mother kept aside the window. I do not remember what I said which invoked such a reaction in you, but I recall with perfection the way your chin tilted back as your shoulders shook with joy. There were creases beside your eyes that pointed toward your beautiful hair, which bounced as you moved. I knew then that I would be your friend for as long as you would have me.

For ten years, our relationship kept us both afloat. As I struggled with the trials of my apprenticeship and then my own store and learned intimately the difficulty of being a single woman in an economy built for married men, you offered me solace and advice. Your kindness and gentle humor kept me optimistic on my darkest days. You offer not just precious advice and kind humor but an open ear to which I can regal my struggles. Elouise, you are my rock.

In turn, I did my best to offer you the care and peace you deserved as you and Edward began the trials of marriage and tried desperately to begin a family. I knew of the heartache you felt and did everything in my power to support you. Your sorrows and anguish became mine, but I shared in your joy as well. We learned from each other, we grew with each other, and in the end, we mourned with each other.

[the back of the above sheet of paper. It has half a page of text which is transcribed below. Words and ink stains from the front are visible through the paper on the bottom half of this side]

I still remember in vivid detail what I was working on when your letter arrived. To learn you had lost your husband filled me with such pain. I shall not dwell on that suffering, for I do not wish for you to have to relive that pain for my sake. I will only say I hope my visit to you during your time of mourning brought you comfort.

In the three years since, I have seen more of you than I could have hoped. I am afraid this is a double-edged sword, for though I greatly treasure our time together, it has made me even more desperate for your company when you are away. I hope I am not ignorant in assuming you feel the same about me. I have felt the joy in your heart when we reunite and seen your downcast expression when we must part. We both seem to feel much more attached now than we had in years prior. We are closer than I ever thought was possible. I have heard it said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I cannot imagine this is true. It is through our closeness that I have become more endeared to you.

It is with this endearment in mind that I make my proposal: Elouise, will you move to Keslo and live in my home with me? There is no one on this earth who I would rather spend my days with than you, and it is much more possible to do so if you live nearby. Should this move be too much to ask of you, then would it be too unbecoming of me to make my way to your town? To start my business over may be taxing, but it is nothing compared to the thought of continuing to live away from you.

I understand that my question begs time to formulate a response. I do not expect haste in your answer. Know, I have spent the past month ruminating on this question and the past fortnight drafting my letter to you now.

If this proposal is too much or you feel it is inappropriate for a spinster and a widow to share a home, please know I will think nothing less of you. No matter your response, I hope to remain your best friend, as you are mine.

All My Love,

Veronica

Outroduction

Love when Gals are Pals.

Despite thinking they were friends, the archive this letter was stored in did some research on these particular girls. I am happy to report to you that in the census following this letter, Elouise and Veronica were living together in an apartment in Keslo.

I really hope these two women were able to live out the rest of their days together in happiness and love.

In two weeks I’ll have another story for you all; in the meantime stay queer and take care of yourself.

Chrys

#An Assumptive Anthology #fiction #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia+#queer triple a #epistolary #historical fiction #lgbtq history #lgbtq+ story #queer story #lebian #lesbian story #gals bein pals #gals being pals #letter #love letter #world building #fantasy

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queer-triple-a · 2 years

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A Shared Experience

Introduction

Hello! For those who read my last post thank you for returning. For those who are new, welcome.

This post will show you a selection from the journal of a person who lived around Cincinnati, Ohio in 1858. This is the same year as the Civil War started yet there is nothing in the journals I’m showing you that has to do with that. The author does mention the conflict before the story I wanted to share begins, and they do seem to be on the side of the Union. So I do not think I’m sharing with you the story of someone who had confederacy sympathies. I just wanted to make sure that context was here though.

Additionally, the writer of these journals, who goes by both Oliver and Charlotte, uses the phrases “dressed up as a man” and “dressed up as a woman” frequently. They use this terminology to describe what might be interpreted as going out with different gendered presentations. This seems to reflect a fluidity of gender within themselves.

This terminology might be uncomfortable for some as it reduces their identity to clothing or costumes. However, it’s the language the writer had at the time to express their emotions and actions so we’re going to respect that and use their words.

I do recognize that this type of terminology can sometimes be hard to hear. If that’s the case this might not be the story for you. Maybe come back next time.

Without Further Ado here is a selected portion of the journals of Charlotte/Oliver

Discussion of gender as “dressing up” or putting on a costume

Discussions of gender fluid as “two identities”

The Journal of Charlotte/Oliver

[left page]

Do I love my friend Tillie? Absolutely. Does she have an unbelievable skill of tricking me into agreeing to help her when it’s not at all convenient for me? Also yes.

How on earth am I going to have any semblance of a social life while Jean’s living with me? If it was anyone else's little sister I could maybe manage, any other week and I could maybe be alright with Jean. Next week is gonna be particularly difficult though. Not only does Tillie have her monthly women's luncheon, an event which I will need to dress up as Charlotte for, but Tillie’s husband Hubert is expecting me to go out dressed as Oliver that Thursday night. I bailed on him the last two weeks- I cannot do it again or I may lose that group of friends. I’d like to think they’re not fickle enough to stop inviting me after 22 years of friendship, but lately, David has been quite a grumpy curmudgeon with me so I’m uncertain how long I’d remain in any of their good graces.

I know Jean needs a place to stay and I know it’s a good sign that Tillie trusts me enough, trusts her friend Charlotte enough, to recommend her sister live with me for a short while- but I’ve been friends with Hubert much longer and he’s never made it feel like if I didn't offer his brothers lodging when they came to town I was a bad person.

It’s not that I don’t like Tillie, or that she’s a bad person. I met her once at Tillie’s and she’s quiet and lovely. I’m just frustrated that this visitor is being imposed upon me.

[right page]

Tillie may not know that I dress as a woman some nights and as a man on others, but I still have a right to privacy. Plenty of people have plenty of reasons for not wanting a visitor to stay at their home for a week or so.

That’s another thing. She cannot give me an end date. She has essentially asked me to become a free hotel while Jean finds a permanent place to stay in the city.

I don’t have a roommate because I don’t want a roommate. If this is Tillie's way of trying to make another friend for me she should mind her own business. I don’t have a lot of girl friends, but I like the ones I do have. I’ve only been Charlotte for a few years, and she doesn't know this, but I have plenty of friends as Oliver. Those friends are just guys and not also friends with Charlotte.

I’m just scared. I suppose I can admit that here. I’m scared Jean will find out and tell Tillie. I can’t lose Tillie. She’s annoying me right now but she’s still my friend - she’s still Charlotte’s friend. I don’t want to lose a friend as Charlotte or as Oliver.

I’ll just have to be careful I suppose. Figure it out day by day, as if that’s not how I approach every other part of my life.

[left page]

Jean has been here for one full day and I have good news on the secret-keeping front. I was able to go out with the boys as a boy tonight and Jean was none the wiser. I left 3 hours earlier than planned so Jean was napping as I donned the hat and clothes I’d chosen for that evening. It felt like a good day to dress up as Oliver so the extra time before dinner was nice. I was probably the only guy at the bar with a hat pin, but needs must when you’re trying to hide a full head of hair.

The evening went so well. Even David was less grumpy-though he did cuss up a storm when I beat him at pool. He should have seen it coming though. I beat Hubert at pool all the time and David’s only marginally better than Hubert.

I’m burying the lead-if you can even do that in a journal where you’re writing for yourself.

Milton came!

No one told me he would be there and it immediately made the sneaking around worth it. First of all, he is a proper rival at pool, second of all it becomes hard to call someone your best friend when you haven’t seen them in nearly a year. I did not intend to stay out so late, but even after the rest of the guys left, Milton and I played 3 more games while we talked (In total I won 3/5 games). It reminded me of how we’d gotten good at playing in the first place. We spent so many evenings in the late 40s in that bar on 10th street playing until they kicked us out.

[right page]

It was fantastic to catch up with him. He recently moved in with a friend named Joel. They’re in the city together today. I asked why he hadn’t brought his friend tonight, and Milton said he didn’t want to intrude. I insisted that I meet his new close friend. We also agreed to meet for lunch in two days so hopefully, he will bring the man who is making him so happy.

I stayed out late enough that Jean was asleep by the time I returned so I did not need to sneak too much. I only needed to be sure she didn’t wake from her place on the couch. Now it is time for me to go to sleep as well.

Given what occurred today I would have assumed I had a long story to share, but it wound up being a sort of non-event. I had agreed to get lunch with Milton today so I had to go out dressed as Oliver. I had assumed Jean was out of the apartment because I’d heard the front door open and shut. So I left my room with pants and a tie on. I wasn’t wearing a hat yet so my long hair was visible, but I didn’t shave as close as last night so there was some stubble along my jaw. All this to say I was not Charlotte as I walked out of my bedroom door and straight into Jean. She must have opened the door and then realized she’d forgotten her hat and returned for it.

[left page]

She froze and stared at me as I held my breath. I don’t believe she’s ever met Oliver properly. I thought perhaps she would think Charlotte had brought a man home the night before. It was wishful thinking. I saw realization creep over her face. First, her eyebrows rose then her mouth dropped to an “o” shape.

I braced myself for - well I don’t know what. No one’s ever found me out before. I wasn’t sure what was coming but I knew well enough to be afraid.

Then Jean’s face relaxed. It was more of a curiosity than a shock. She let out a small “huh” sound and looked me up and down. I saw her eyes stop where Charlotte’s chest is normally larger. I wasn’t wearing any feminine undergarments today. As her eyes rose again they landed on my cheeks-dark red hair visible on the surface.

“Okay,” she said, then shrugged and left the apartment with her hat in hand. I could not say what tone she said the words with, for all I remember is the confusion and relief that “okay” was the only word she said.

I do not know how long I stood there transfixed in that spot, only that I was late for my meal with Milton. I don’t think he noticed I was distracted because he was quite talkative himself. I asked where his friend was and he told me Joel was busy today, but that we could perhaps meet another time. Then he told me how they’d met and of the many good qualities the man possesses. I was grateful to hear this, not just because it took my attention away

[right page]

from my moment with Jean, but because Milton seemed happy. The two of us have always been close, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him light up like he was at lunch. I insisted again that I needed to meet the man who makes him happy. He smiled at this and touched my knee beneath the table.

“He makes me very happy,” Milton said to me. There was hope in his eyes.

I nodded and I think I understood what he was trying to tell me. Regardless of whether these suspicions (which I have held for some time) are true, I intend to meet Joel and congratulate him on the honor of being friends with such a kind and loyal man as Milton.

I returned home from lunch to see Jean sitting in the living room reading Monsieur Venus. I may owe her an explanation, she may desire answers as to the scene she saw today, but I was so stifled by the costume of Oliver that I ignored her and went to my room. I write this undressed and covered only in a spare sheet. I do not know if I would prefer she see me as Charlotte or Oliver right now-so she will see me as neither-rather she will not see me. Until this confusion passes I shall remain in my room without the perception of others or the prescription of clothing. I can simply be.

[left page]

I suppose I ought to journal the day's events in the order in which they occurred even though the end of the day held much more intrigue than the beginning. I don't know precisely why this feels necessary to write in chronological order, but it wouldn’t feel right to begin in the afternoon.

Well, the first thing of some significance that occurred today was Tillies’ luncheon. It was a lovely day. Hubert had spent much of the night and morning ensuring the brisket cooked well, and then got out of our hair so there were no men around as we ate.

I spent much of the meal on the fringes of conversation. As Charlotte, I do not have many long standing connections. Tillie is my nearest friend by far, and I only know about a dozen other women, most of whom were in attendance today. Jean was there too of course. Yet despite being Tillie’s sister she left early. She said she had a splitting headache. At the time I believed her.

Today was a good day to be Charlotte, so I was very grateful to have the company of so many other women. Being in such an environment gave me the confidence to make friends with the women I met. It took me some time to adjust to a few of these women calling Tillie by her Jewish name “Miriam”, as they knew her from Synagogue. Fortunately, as Charlotte, it is assumed that my mother only gave me one name. At least two of the women I met, Beth and Raisel, are coming over in a week to celebrate

[right page]

Shabbat with dinner at my apartment. Fraydel said she would try her best to make it, but she has a toddler so it depends on how much her husband has to drink the night before. Apparently, they rotate between houses for the meal one week every month.

I think Tillie enjoyed her event as well. She seemed somewhat tired, but from what little I know of pregnancy this is to be expected. I am grateful for Tillie’s invitation and for being able to attend such a party dressed as Charlotte.

Now I shall write of what I saw when I arrived home. Standing in the kitchen preparing dinner was a man. Or at least that’s what I first thought. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was Jean. She had taken the outfit of Oliver’s which had been in a pile to be washed, and put it on herself. We met eyes for several moments, both holding our breaths.

The water began to boil on the stove and Jean turned back to it. I couldn’t take my eyes off her though. I know it was rude and not just with hindsight- I knew it was rude while I stared.

But she looked so at peace standing there. Her arms hung loosely at her side instead of the tense way she’d held them that morning-with her elbows practically glued to her sides. The cut of the jacket did enough to disguise what breasts she had that, had I not known her, I may not have second guessed my original assumption that she was a man.

I stood long enough to realize that Oliver’s pants did not fit

[left page]

her and she was not wearing shoes-then she cleared her throat and told me it would be a little while yet before dinner was ready. Her voice seemed affected to be lower than normal.

Dinner was nearly silent as I did not know how to broach the subject and she did not seem to see a need to. So we ate, I as Charlotte and Jean as - well I suppose that may be what is happening. Perhaps Jean also feels the need to be a man sometimes. Well now that I’ve said it-well wrote it- it seems idiotic that I had not considered it before now.

Well, now I do wish to know if she sees herself as I do-constantly sliding between 2 versions of oneself, never changing yet constantly wishing to. That wasn’t right. It sounds kinda pretty but there must be something in me that changes between Oliver and Charlotte.

Perhaps Jean has this same... what to call it-confusion? Perhaps it is common, maybe everyone has it and I am merely unable to cope as others do- no I do not think this is it. If it were more common I would have heard of it. Humans are, on a whole, terrible secret keepers. If Jean is like me it must be lucky that we found each other.

I shouldn’t assume. I should talk to her. I will-soon. Not today though. I need to keep reading this story by Bayard Taylor. I just remembered I was near the end. I shall go read that to distract me from the strange goings on of my life.

[right page]

I had no plans for the day except to clean up the apartment thoroughly, do the laundry, and read the Sunday Papers. I woke up feeling quite certain that I ought to wear my Oliver clothes today. I considered dressing as Charlotte anyway for Jean’s sake, but the idea grated on my mind and I suppose if she can wear Oliver’s clothes while doing women’s work, so can I. It is I who made the clothes Oliver’s anyway... I don’t know if that makes sense... Anyway, I wore Oliver's clothes around the apartment today. Jean definitely noticed. Her eyes lingered on me frequently as I made my way through the apartment.

The whole day went on like this. She would watch me but pretend she wasn’t as I cleaned and cooked dressed as Oliver. The only thing of note to come out of this exchange was just before dinner.

Jean said, “Charlotte, would you like help with the cooking?”

I flinched at the name and before my mind could catch up I was saying, “Call me Oliver.”

There was a pause and I was quite afraid that by acknowledging what had been silent I would break the spell of acceptance.

She said, “Always?”

I blinked back at her for a moment and said, “Just today and just when I wear his clothes.”

I think it would be too much to say she understood, but she did not question- well she did, but only to say “Would you

[left page]

like help with the cooking, Oliver?”

I tried very hard to hide the elation this brought me. If Jean didn’t treat this as a big deal neither would I. Yet my heart flew as I accepted her assistance. Jean, who knew me as Charlotte, wasted no time calling me Oliver when requested.

I write it down now in part to ensure I wasn’t dreaming. Whatever hesitancy I felt at allowing Jean into my life has vanished. She may stay as long as she wants. To live with someone who shows such passive willingness to know me as Oliver and as Charlotte is striking.

---

Though I was ambivalent about which name I took this morning, I chose to dress as Charlotte. I own more clothes for her so she tends to be my costume for days which feels like a person in between Oliver and Charlotte.

Perhaps it is a shame I did not look within Oliver’s drawers, for I might have had a warning of what I saw as I left my room.

The person I knew then as Jean stood looking in the mirror on the wall. It feels false to say I was looking at a woman. At that moment I knew he was a man. I could not describe well what change suggested this to me, but I began to think of his fingers, his tie, his sly smile, his confidence. Actually, it was not his tie. It was mine. All

[right page]

of the clothes were clothes I wear when I am Oliver. And the tie was a mess. I’ve not seen someone tie a tie so poorly in my life. Well, except Milton, but he was exceptionally drunk.

I didn’t know if I should address the outfit, but I couldn’t leave him looking so unkempt, so I took a step forward, making eye contact through the mirror. I glanced down at his neck.

“Would you like me to tie that?” I asked.

“Are you Charlotte or Oliver?” He asked in response.

I frowned and thought for a moment, “Call me either,” I decided, “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

He nodded as though this were common, and removed his own hand from the knot.

We were silent as I moved behind him. I undid his “knot” and began to tie it onto him as I do when I dress as Oliver. As I finished I moved to his front and tightened it with a smile.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome, Jean. Any time,” I responded.

His eyes dropped to the ground and after a moment's pause he whispered, “Call me Emmet?”

“Just today?” I asked.

He shook his head and said, “Always.”

I nodded and said, “Okay, Emmet.” Had I not been standing so close I might not have noticed the tension release from his shoulders. He looked at himself in the mirror and I stepped away for a moment, moving into the kitchen. He needed a

[left page]

moment with himself, to see the reflection he could cast back.

I set the water to boil and watched the pot heat. Moments and memories flashed through my mind. Events from my past and hopes for his future. Emmet will not do this alone. As I cooked I decided that I will not let Emmet grow into himself in silent confusion. We can talk about it. We will talk about it.

We didn’t talk about it today. I couldn’t find the right time or the right words.

Regardless, neither of us is alone now.

---

Milton stopped by this morning on the way to pick up his friend Joel from the train station. Apparently, something in their plans changed and he was wondering if I wanted to do dinner with the pair of them tonight. I invited them to eat at my apartment with my roommate and me and they accepted.

It was only after he left that I realized how rude it was of me to assume Emmet had no plans tonight and that he would want to spend the evening with me, my friend, and his friend who I have never met. He was a little worried when I told him I’d made plans, but seemed excited at the opportunity to be Emmet amongst others.

We spent the day dressed as men. I went to the market to

[right page]

get food for the evening, and by the time I returned home, he was dressed in clothes I had bought for Oliver. As we started to prepare the ingredients for the stuffed cabbage rolls I confronted him about this.

I told him we should buy him new clothes, clothes which fit him better.

He seemed skeptical at this. He seemed skeptical at much of what I said in this conversation.

First, he asked if I was upset that he had taken my clothes. I wasn’t upset. I had been confused the other day, but I understand more now and I just think he should have clothes of his own. I told him this.

He asked why buy clothes he would likely just wear around the apartment. I wasn’t sure why he would just wear them around the apartment. Part of the fun of wearing clothes is being seen in them. I tried to ask him about this and he said he wasn’t ready to try to be seen. I accepted that, but still thought it was worth it to wear clothes around the apartment. I see him in the apartment don't I? He shrugged at this, which I tried not to be offended by. It meant a lot for me to share my costumed existence with him. Not that it was hard to do- obviously that was an accident, but it means a lot now. To have someone who I know will change the name they use means a lot. I suppose offense isn’t the right word. I tried not to feel ashamed at what wearing both outfits in front of Emmet means to me. Maybe it’s silly that it means so much to me to have him here. Maybe I was imagining how important

[left page]

this all was to Emmet.

I’m going down this rabbit hole when I don’t need to. I had all of these worries already today. I don’t think it does me any good to write them down.

I told him that even before we lived together I would dress up as Charlotte or Oliver depending on how I felt. There was a bit of a pause then he asked why. I tried to put it into words, and I don’t know how good it was. I tried to use big words and talk about seeing myself in the mirror and thinking about myself differently, but now that I’m thinking about it, it boils down to this: It just feels good. I kind of wish I’d said that because it’s true. It just feels so much better to be in women's clothes when I feel like Charlotte than it does to be in men's clothes and vice versa. I suspect it would feel better for him to be in men's clothes too.

No matter how stumbling what I said had been, my words must have had some effect because he said he would think about it.

We kept at the cabbage rolls for a while, then continued with the meatballs I had planned. We were using his grandmother’s recipe which his sister had given to me a few weeks ago. Occasionally one of us would ask a question and the other would answer.

He asked why I switch between names, and I did my best to explain that some days I feel more like I can exist as Oliver, some days I feel like I can exist as Charlotte, and

[right page]

some days I feel a little outside myself no matter who I’m dressed as.

I asked why he chose Emmet. He said his train conductor had that name when he moved out of his dad’s house. He liked it.

He asked how I knew his sister and her husband and I told him those stories.

I asked if he really always felt like he’d rather be Emmet, and he said yes. It seemed to shock both of us to learn how the other felt. I’ve never lived with one name and one feeling for so long, and his has never changed.

As we finished preparing our meal, he asked about Milton and Joel. I spent the rest of our time together talking about Milton. I told him about how we’d known each other for years and all the time we spent together growing up. I made sure to tell him how good Milton was at pool and how happy he looked talking about Joel the last time I saw him.

We finished dinner only a few minutes before our guests were set to arrive. I took that time to go find some clothes which were a little more suited for a formal dinner than for cooking around the house for both of us. There were even some pants that were too small for me but fit Emmet perfectly.

Dinner went really well. Emmet seemed more confident than I’d seen him before, even if he still spoke very little. Milton was, of course, wonderful and I enjoyed our conversation so much. Joel was also great. He’s a black man

[left page]

who is probably about the same height as Milton, but his hair gives him an extra inch or so which makes him appear taller (though he is still shorter than I am). He seemed slightly nervous at first, but after a few smiles and an assurance that the meal tonight would be Kosher, he settled in. He seems to be a kind and warm man. Soft spoken and intentional with his words. I enjoyed him and it was clear that he makes Milton happy.

There was something in his eyes when Milton spoke. It was like he also wanted to hang onto every word Milton was saying. They sat close together, their shoulders nearly touching. They knew each other well and clearly had been close for some time. There were unsaid stories that passed between them in glances and chuckles.

Time passed swiftly between the four of us. Tonight we were four men in companionship.

When dinner had ended Emmet excused himself to his room. He had to be up early the following morning for breakfast with his sister. I was also going to attend that breakfast but felt no need to get more sleep because of it. Joel left to use the restroom, and I was alone with Milton for several minutes before they left.

He smiled at me as I gave him my review of Joel. He took my hand in his, it was warm. He told me he was glad I liked him and then added, softly, that he loved Joel. I think he expected surprise from me but found none when

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he met my eyes. I told Milton it was clear that Joel loved him too. He blushed.

In tender terms, I tried to learn what I could of their relationship. They seem to have met 5 or 6 years ago and they realized they were in love only 3 months ago. I asked about their future and Milton said he didn’t know exactly what it would be, but he knew it would include Joel.

The pair of them left shortly after Joel returned. I finished cleaning up the living room and put the dishes into the sink to be dealt with tomorrow.

As I left for my room Emmet came into the hallway. He said nothing, merely pulled me into a hug. I held him for some time. His gratitude for the evening, the day, the week, was palpable as we stood together. When he let go he smiled up at me and retired to his room for the night. I did the same.

I took off my clothes and set out clothes for myself to wear as Charlotte in the morning. I wasn’t sure what kind of day it would be, but I would face it. And I wouldn’t face it alone.

Outroduction

I hope you guys enjoyed reading this story!

There are at least a few more stories after this! I have a spreadsheet that I’ve been keeping for a while which I’m pulling from.

Thanks for reading!

(background image of the journal was made using this DeviantArt image)

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