I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself

by Marisa Crane

Later on, I learn that Julian is trans and Dune is nonbinary, but Dune isn’t out. “Use they/them when we’re alone, she/her in public,” they say. “What’s nombinary?” asks the kid, examining our faces. Julian and Dune laugh, and Julian pretends to take a bite out of Dune’s arm. “A very delicious person,” says Julian, smirking at Dune. “Okay!” says the kid, a little annoyed. “But really.” “It means I’m not a man or a woman,” says Dune. “I’m just me.” The kid seems satisfied by this answer. She slides off Julian’s lap and begins to chase the dog around the courtyard again. Dune rolls another blunt and we smoke in silence for a while. Everyone seems to be in their own world. Then Julian stands up, closes his eyes, and does this slow side-to-side sway, stretching his arm out to Dune. “Dance with me,” he says. “You know I’m a terrible dancer,” they say. “But not with me you aren’t.” Dune smirks then stands up and takes his hand. They slow dance like high schoolers for either three hours or three minutes, I can’t tell. I think about how nice it might feel to do that again with someone sometime. The thought alone dizzies me with remorse.