Page 121 of Nearly Roadkill
Scratch:::waving hand impatiently:: You want me to fill in the blanks. But filling in blanks just creates more rigidity. More ways for people to become “illegal.” Those rules and categories turn into a juggernaut, hammering over people like me. Forcing genders, forcing identities, forcing Registration. And ultimately? That juggernaut runs right over you, too, my friend. The only ones left will be pod people.
Ms. Budge:What are you talking about?
Scratch:To follow a law just because it’s a law is not good enough.
Ms. Budge:I don’t give a fuck whether you Register or not…
Scratch:All I did was refuse to Register. And now you say you don’t give a fuck?
Ms. Budge:I AM NOT DISAGREEING WITH YOU!
Scratch:Huh?
Ms. Budge:I’m not saying what you’re doing is right or wrong. I’m saying right now it’s against the law. And it won’t be cops judging you, it’ll be a jury of your peers.
Scratch:My peers are too fucking scared of people like you.
Ms. Budge:I know, and I really wish to hell you weren’t scared of me.
Scratch:You know what? I’m *not* scared of you anymore. It’s liberating as hell. Maybe it’s because you’re less threatening as a “woman”!
If Budge could type what his own sputtering sounds like, he would. The thought crosses his mind to send an all-purpose Private Message to everyone online: “I AM NOT A WOMAN”
Scratch:Look, Budge. If this is bigger than both of us, then you can’t cut me any deals. You have no power here, be gone.
Scratch:I’m outta here. But it’s been great talking to you.
Ms. Budge:Wait, Scratch…
Scratch has left the room.
Ms. Budge:Aw, great…
END JABBA NARRATIVE ENTRY
TOOBE ENTRY
To:Toobe
From:Winc
Subj:Oh, ouch
::softly:: Hey there. I just wanted to know if you’re safe and well. Please let me know, soon as you can.
Have you heard from Scratch? Don’t tell hir I asked. Ze needs some space just now, space that doesn’t include me. But if you could pass any word back, I’d appreciate it.
Wanna know something funny? I thought Scratch was going to be a guy! I was all set to be the little woman in his life. ::sigh:: Next time this sort of thing happens, slap me!
The real world has become more and more threatening. Have you been reading *half* the stuff they’re saying about me and Scratch? I start crying, it scares me that much. Which prison would they put me in, Toobe?
Not joking here. In England, they put gurlz like me into the men’s prison, even after surgery. I don’t know what they’d do to me *here*, because all my paperwork still says boy. I’m too freaked to go to the corner for Diet Pepsi and Cheez-Its, it’s rice-cake city in myapartment. With peanut butter. Even the Pakistani family who runs the corner store is now asking if “Missy Winc” is the same Winc everyone’s talking about. So… ::deep breath:: I’m getting out of Dodge.
Out of my neighborhood, out of the whole damned state. By the time you get this, I’ll be “return to sender, address unknown.”
Cyberspace is the one place I found to splatter into all of who I am—free—so I’ll just stay there. Been doing a lot of surfing these past few days, in every kind of identity, but never my own; that’s under reconstruction.
I miss you. I miss Scratch. No… I miss what Scratch has been to me, with me, online. I don’t miss who ze turned out to be. But I miss something, someone.
