Upside Down

by N.R. Walker

this was Surry Hills, hipster central, it was where all the nerds and geeks could come to be awkward introverts together. I quite often spent my Friday nights in a room full of like-minded people, avoiding eye contact and dying inside every time someone tried to make small talk.

I had enough hang-ups, quirks, traits, and societal boxes to tick and squeeze myself into. I didn’t need one more.

I couldn’t decide if having one more label was causing my anxiety to spike or if not having the label confirmed was what gave me anxiety. Maybe I needed the label. Maybe everyone could fuck the fuck off and let me live in my anxiety bubble of non-asexualness. Maybe whoever wrote that article online and said “asexuality is defined by the absence of something” can fuck off too.

I didn’t spend the first eighteen years of my life in the closet and not come out with some sense of style.

I mean, Jesus fuck, I’d only ever made eye contact with him once and I’d almost died. Literally. He’d looked up once and caught me staring at his beautiful face, I’d stumbled up the narrow aisle, almost fell, took out some poor kid with my messenger bag, and landed in the lap of a nun who, for the record, probably could have done without my “fucking motherfucker” expletive as I fell. On the bright side, Headphones Guy wore noise-cancelling headphones and was oblivious, and I’d slid into a seat up the back with nothing more than a bruised ego and death-stares from the nun. The whole experience had been horrifying.

“If it’s any consolation, your red shoes and scarf match your bloodshot eyes really well.” I sighed. “I’m not thanking you for that. That was not a compliment and I refuse to reward inflammatory behaviour.” “I meant it as a compliment.” I looked around dramatically. “Alexa? Alexa, what is a compliment? Merry needs a refresher.” “Alexa isn’t connected here,” Merry replied. Then she smiled and held up her phone and pretended to examine my face. “Siri, what are some beauty tips for exceedingly large bags under bloodshot eyes?” I pursed my lips at her. “Siri, what is a bitch?”

“If you do, I’ll be so embarrassed I’ll be forced to quit and move and join the witness protection program.” Merry stared at me. “Siri, what is an overreaction?” “Siri, don’t answer that, so help me fucking God.”

“So, tonight I wanted to talk about sexual identification and social media.” That earned me a few smiles and a few sighs. “On one hand, it can be a great source of information and research, and even a platform for acceptance and finding community. If you’ve googled support groups—such as this one or one like it—you can see you’re not alone and there are other people who are going through the same things as you, and that’s tremendously important. But then on the other side, you have what might be conceived as an oversexualised society. We see repeatedly, we’re told repeatedly, it’s shown, it’s implied, it’s blatant that sex equals love. That we’re not complete without it. That sexual intimacy is the pinnacle of all relationship goals.” I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. “We’re living in an age of dating apps and swiping left or right. Of Twitter and Tinder and Grindr and Instagram, where everything is sexualised to sell. Where beauty is an illusion, Photoshopped, and Botoxed in the name of perfection for one goal: sex. And let’s not even start on movies, books, hell, even music film clips are R-rated now. And to 99% of the population, it works. It sells, right? And it’s ingrained into each generation that sex equals love. Sex equals marriage fulfilment; I’m pretty sure even most churches say that marriage needs to be consummated and is for the sole purpose of procreation.” I shook my head. “I mean, really. Fuck that noise.” That earned me a few chuckles and e...

“There’s a difference between normal behaviour and normalised behaviour,” Nataya said. “Normal is subjective.

Jesus, fuck. Where is my dignity?” Angus looked around the room. “I dunno man. Did you lose it?” I slow blinked. “No, it’s around here somewhere.”

“What if he’s not on the bus? What if he moved suburbs to avoid me? And now he’s joined the witness protection program, his name is Hans Solo Gruber and he’s an intergalactic German terrorist smuggler, living in the Nakatomi Cantina—”

He was crying because of the book. Guess which audiobook he was listening to that puts him in the stratosphere of cool? Guess!” “The Social War by Simon Mohler Landis.” I stopped like I’d teleported to an alternative universe, blinked, then sputtered. “What the actual fuck, Merry. Who hurt you?”

Or what he does for a living.” “What difference does his job make?” “What if he’s an undertaker? Or a hitman?” “Undertakers and hitmen need love too, Merry. Probably more than other people.”

“Your question?” he prompted. “I mean, it’s no big deal. I get asked questions all the time. Like just today, I got asked why Sun-Beams May Be Extracted From Cucumbers, But The Process Is Tedious wasn’t included in all state libraries. Not completely random, but throw in the fact it was a guy literally wearing a tin foil hat who asked… And they look at me like I’m the one with a problem.”

Do you know what that kind of waiting will do to me? I’ll be like the critter in Ice Age who chases that damn acorn for four movies.”

“Well, it’s not like waterboarding or the old bamboo under the fingernail kind of torture,” I allowed. “It’s more like a dripping tap that you can’t shut off. Like a constant drip, drip, drip. Or when you’re trying to think of the name of a song but you can’t because you can’t remember who sang it or any of the lyrics, only that you think it was in a movie where some guy holds up a stereo or fist pumps the air or something. Like that Simple Minds song and you could have sworn it was John Cusack in Say Anything, and you can’t think of it for days—it drives you motherfucking crazy—only to find out it was really Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club.”

“Why would you say that?! Was it your mission today to come to work and inflict physical pain on me like that?” She deflated. “Yes. It was my sole mission. It’s my life mission, actually. My cover’s blown. I’ve been recruited to infiltrate your social circle, just like Hennessy the Headphone Guy, to ensure harm is inflicted upon you daily.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “I knew it.”

“So help me Jordan, if he was a no-show and there was no resolution to this freakin’ life-altering question, I’ll be changing my name to River Blossom and moving to Nimbin where I can make hemp-infused soaps, and I’ll grow carrots and smoke purple weed, and you’ll never find me.” “Well, it won’t be hard to find you because you just told me where you’d move to and your new name,” I replied. “And you’d be so high from the weed and vegan pot brownies, I’d only have to follow the pizza delivery guy and he’d lead me straight to you. You’d also probably be glowing orange from all the beta-carotene from living on carrots too. You really need to work on your witness protection schemes, Merry. If this was in the Bourne Supremacy universe, you would have died in the first book.”

“I’m sorry I drove you crazy today at work.” “That’s okay. You can repay me by coming into the city with me on Sunday. I need to buy my mother a birthday present.” “Ugh. Jeez. I said I was sorry already. No need to be mean.” She laughed. “See? And you understand me.” It was true. Merry’s mother was one impossible woman. “I will take my punishment for being an arse to you today. How old is Satan turning anyway?” “666.” “Sounds about right,” I said,

“If I ever say yikes in lieu of motherfucker, it means I’ve been kidnapped by aliens or some shady government agency, and yikes is my distress beacon and you should drop everything and call Jason Bourne or Idris Elba or someone.” Merry laughed. “Duly noted.” My phone beeped in my hand and I tripped over my own feet, almost falling to the ground but catching myself just in time. “Motherfucker.”

“Oh Jesus H Christ, Jordan. So help me, read the motherfucking message.” An elderly man who happened to be walking past, gasped at Merry, frowning. “Well, I’ve never…,” he said, hand to his heart as he scurried away. I grinned at her. “Yeah, Merry, you really shouldn’t swear.” She inhaled deeply, her eyes shooting daggers at me. “Siri, what’s the average prison time for grievous bodily harm?” “Siri, where can I find myself a new best friend?”

“You can’t just quote Lewis Carroll to me,” I said into the phone. “You can’t quote literary giants like Alice in motherfucking Wonderland to me while I’m in public. That’s not fair. You say stuff like that and I forget what oxygen is. You can probably watch the six o’clock news and there’ll be the headline Asexual Gay Man Forgets How To Breathe, and there’ll be video footage of me freaking the fuck out in the Pitt Street mall.”

“I’m with Merry. We’re shopping while we wait for Merry’s mother. She’s getting her talons done.” Merry laughed and leaned up close to the phone. “Accurate description is accurate.” Hennessy snorted. “Talons, huh?” I chuckled. “Yes, the finger-knives of the velociraptor are its weapon of choice.”

The lady in front of me turned and said, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. And yesterday’s. I think the questions are cute.” Then a guy across the aisle leaned across and said, “He’s been to Nepal? That’s smooth.” The lady behind me tapped me on the shoulder. “I think he has a crush on you.” I side-eyed the three of them. “Is this The Truman Show? Am I on television right now? Because what even is my life?” An older man one seat back across the aisle answered. “I heard your soup question, son. I think there’s a pretty good chance your life is a mess.” And so, for the remainder of my bus ride home, random strangers on the 353 bus discussed my life, The Truman Show, and soup. Fuck my life.

They’ve heard our questions every day, and I think they’re more invested in us than Merry and Angus. Which is a lot. That’s a shame. I like that bus. There’s a cute guy that gets on at the library. Tell me about it. There’s a total hottie that gets off on Cleveland. He wears headphones and I like to think he listens to audiobooks and not music. That reminds me. I need a new audiobook recommendation. Know anyone at the local library who can give me suggestions? Maybe… There might be a guy. Is he cute? Kinda. A bit awkward tho. Says motherfucker a lot. LOL I have a joke. Wanna hear it? Sure! What do Oedipus and Hamlet have in common? IDK. What? They’re both motherfuckers. HAHAHA best joke ever! I’m cry-laughing. Actual, physical tears. People on the bus have stopped talking about soup and are now staring at me. You’re welcome. I’m going to have that printed on a shirt. And a literary joke? You win all the points. Glad you liked it. I’ll have the best question ready for you tomorrow, so be prepared. Can’t wait

“Ask him why we send something by car and call it shipment but send stuff by ship and call it cargo? Or why do our feet smell and our noses run? Or why the number eleven isn’t pronounced onety-one? Is Disneyland a people trap operated by a mouse?” She nodded. “I can keep going.”

“Most political animal if they could talk?” “Pigs. But again, maybe that’s just an Orwellian response.”

“Do you think maths is something we invented or something we discovered?” His question took me by surprise. “Um. Okay, first, wow. Wasn’t expecting that.” People were getting off at my stop and there were only a few people to get on. I had to go. Shit, shit. “Secondly, I think it’s a human construct, like time. We are bound to it, it gives us order and clarity, and its importance is probably what confines us as a species.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants?” I asked, looking up at the sky before looking at him. “Not romance or love, exactly. I’m aware of my aromantic brothers and sisters.” I raised a fist before letting it fall heavily back to my lap. “But we all strive for something. It might not be hearts and roses for everyone, but doesn’t everyone want something to fulfil them or someone to connect with on some level?” I shrugged, feeling less confident now and more vulnerable. Here it was, the leap into the discussion we needed to have. “Is it not human nature to find our own tribe? We all want that one thing, whether it’s someone to meet your every sexual need, or maybe it’s someone who loves to cuddle on the couch, or maybe it’s someone who knows the last three answers in the cryptic puzzle you can never get every damn time, or maybe it’s someone who loves Dungeons and Dragons just as much as you do, or maybe they love olives on pizza and will pick them off yours for you. Finding someone to share your life with doesn’t have to be based on sexual compatibility. I mean, if you want someone to pound you into next week while you’re chained to a cross, then by all means, I hope you find them and live happily ever after in your red room of pain. Or if you want someone who doesn’t want to ever have sex but still enjoys hugs and kissing, hand holding, and snuggling on the couch to watch movies, then hell the fuck yes, you should find that person. Or two people, if poly’s your thing. Whatever fl...

I also want them to respect my desire to not have sex.” “Exactly.” I groaned up at the sky. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had people tell me maybe I haven’t met the right person, or I wasn’t doing it right, or maybe I wasn’t even gay. Have I considered fucking a woman instead?” I rolled my eyes. “My great-uncle Brian thought it was hilarious to ask me that in front of my entire extended family until I asked him how he knew he was truly straight if he’d never fucked a man before. I mean, maybe he just wasn’t doing it right. Maybe he needed to try bottoming, just to be sure.”

“Siobhan and Saffron,” I repeated. “And Hennessy. Did your parents write the book on How To Give Your Kids Cool Names?”

“Oh,” he added, then leaned across the table. “And you’re a great kisser.” I snorted out a laugh and let my smile linger as I studied him for a moment. “It was kinda great.” His cheeks drew a nice pink, and he rolled his eyes. “Actually, it was terrible. It was so bad, I think we might need to practise a whole lot more until we improve. And the hand holding needs work; there should be much more of it until we have it mastered. And we haven’t got to hugging yet, but I’m confident enough to know there will probably be a need for much training. I hear repetition is key.” I laughed. “Most definitely is key.”

“You’re not a walking train wreck,” I whispered, putting my hand to his jaw. “You’re kind of awesome and really cute. And I probably should find my manners and ask you if you’d like a drink or something, but I’m pretty sure if I don’t kiss you right now, my heart will explode.” He sucked back a breath and licked his lips. “Well, we can’t have exploding hearts. I mean I know CPR and I can keep a heart beating until the ambulance gets here but I don’t think there’s much I can do for an exploding heart and I’d much rather you didn’t die right now because the cops might think I did it and I’m far too cute to go to jail.”

“It’s just that things always start like this, and there’d be hand holding and kissing, and I’d say that’s all I want and they’d agree, but then they’d think kissing was just a tool for foreplay. Like no one can just kiss because they like it. It has to be a prelude to wanting more, and they’d always think I was playing hard to get, and then I’d have to say no, again, because how could anyone not want to have sex, right? And then they’d say, ‘But you like kissing, it’s not that different,’ but it really fucking is. Kissing and having sex aren’t mutually inclusive. Just because I want one doesn’t mean I want the other or have to partake in sex just because I want to enjoy kissing.”

“You were about ready to bolt for the door.” “I was working out the mathematical equation of hurdling your couch and escaping.” “It takes maths to jump a couch?” He nodded. “Yep. Distance of the jump required times the height of the couch, divided by the energy and exertion necessary. I’m sure there’s a cos, tan, sin equation in there somewhere but I failed year-eight maths so I really wouldn’t know. And you’d need to subtract the amount of food I ate at dinner and my absolute lack of athletic ability to do anything, really, so I’d also need to allow for an inevitable crash over the back of the couch, hitting your floor, possibly denting the wall, and in all likelihood, any bones that break when gravity reminds me that I’m no longer a teenager, fit, or agile.”

I totally did not call him when I was lying in bed just to hear the sound of his voice. It just so happened I was artfully reclined in my room and his voice in my ear is what happens when you speak to someone on the phone. But it was nice and it made me feel all gooey inside, so shut up.

“What even is your life?” “Fucked if I know.” “Jordan!” Mrs Mullhearn said, frowning at me. “Is there any emergency reason for the language?” “Well, emergency is subjective. I’m sure what I would deem as an emergency and what you might deem as an emergency—” “Is anyone in a life-threatening situation?” she said over the top of me. I looked around the room. “Um, no. Unless we count Merry’s lunch in the fridge. She cooked it last night and believe me, I’ve eaten her cooking before and although life-threatening is a strong word—” Merry whacked my arm. “Hey!” “Ow!” “Is there work to be done?” Mrs Mullhearn asked. “Always,” I replied with a smile, knowing my tactic of talking until she made me leave would make her forget about my swearing. Merry and I shoved out into the hall and she pushed my back. “What’s wrong with my cooking?” I laughed. “Absolutely nothing.

“I really do like your face.” That made me laugh. “Um, thanks? I’m kinda glad, I guess, because it’s the only one I have.”

“There was a man called Jay. Who liked men because, you know, he’s gay.” “This is going to end terribly,” Jordan mumbled. Merry was now trying not to smile and I put my arm around Jordan’s shoulder. Angus grinned. “But they were all out of luck, because Jay don’t like to—” “Angus Walter Spears,” Jordan whisper-shouted across the table. “You will not finish that line.”

“Siri, what is the definition of disaster?”

“Sometimes you drive me crazy.” I stopped again and frowned. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I think I have the wrong file or something.” “Here, let me,” Nataya said, getting up and quickly taking control of the laptop. She was some computer engineer wizard at Hogwarts or something, so if anyone could fix it… The next screen appeared. Sometimes you make me mad. “The fu…?” Nataya pressed the next screen. You never pick the wet bathmat up. “What the…?” And I know you used my toothbrush that one time, even though you said you didn’t. “I bought him a new one,” I said, defending my honour. “And it was a different colour, and he is a lying liar who lies.” But you make me laugh. I looked at everyone in the room, and they were all smiling at me. The next screen appeared. And you recommend the best audiobooks. “I work in a library, genius,” I mumbled. “But that is actually true. He loves audiobooks.” And there’s a hundred little things… Nataya pressed the next screens, one after the other. You give the best foot massages. You buy the bread I like, even though it’s not your favourite. You make the bed every day. I nodded. “That’s true. I don’t think he’s ever made it once.” Because you’re the last out of it. I gasped. “I resent that!” You are the light in my dark, my missing puzzle piece. Awww. I put my hand to my mouth. But something’s missing, Jordan. I blinked a few times. “What?” I looked around the room. My heart rate skyrocketed. “What?” Breathe, Jordan. Yes it said Breathe, Jordan ...