Gender Screened by Jacob Graysol

‘Trans Bathroom Tips!’ Lou said.

Axel grimaced. ‘Who’d follow that blog?’ He turned to me from his hospital bed, eyes yellowed from his failing liver. ‘Well, Chad? Majority rules.’

I turned to Lou. ‘We decided on funny.’

‘But this is perfect! All the men’s rooms with a hundred urinals and one stall… Our peeps need to know.’

I gestured to the whiteboard, FTM under Axel’s name. The ICU was probably the only place we’d tolerate being called out as female-to-male, records alerting medical staff that Axel retained his female genitalia, that his beard came from testosterone injections he’d need every other Monday, and that he’d tolerated general anesthesia when his breasts were removed. ‘Urinal-imbalance only matters to guys like us, top surgery only, or no surgery. And what would we know about MTF bathroom issues? We won’t get famous appealing to just some trans men.’

‘That’s one example,’ Lou snarled. ‘Hygiene… safety, in those red counties… There’s plenty—’

‘Humor,’ I said.

‘Humor,’ Axel repeated.

Lou turned to Axel. ‘I heard him! You offer something, then.’

Axel stared straight ahead; he was stumped, too. Then he winced, the third time today, and dropped his head. ‘Let’s not get angry now.’ He pressed the morphine button, then flashed us a fake smile.

I couldn’t make myself smile back, not even for him.

His grin faded. ‘It’s OK if we don’t get famous in time, guys.’

‘No way we’re not trying,’ Lou said. ‘Celebrities don’t die waiting for organs—’

I grabbed Lou’s wrist and glared. ‘He wants funny!’

Axel took a deep breath with a grunt at the end. ‘Maybe comedy’s a bad idea. Being FTM isn’t a joke.’

‘Everything else we tried flopped,’ I said. ‘And we’re funny. That’s the only strength we share.’

Axel raised his left eyebrow. ‘Surviving childhood as ‘Alexa,’ ‘Lucy,’ and ‘Chelsea’? School pictures in dresses? Disowned by our parents? We’ve been strong in the same ways for twenty-two years.’

‘Fine. But also embarrassed the same ways. There’s got to be humor in that.’

‘Humiliation isn’t a joke, either.’

‘So we twist it,’ I said. ‘Ridicule the people who embarrass us.’

‘Trashing the God Hates Fags crowds?’ Axel said. ‘Funny as getting your period.’

Lou nodded. ‘So many sites already, hating on the haters.’

I said, ‘Then we mock the ones who embarrass us without meaning to.’

‘Boomers who can’t remember your pronouns?’ Axel said. ‘It’s 2020. At some point the ignorance becomes willful.’

‘Ignorance!’ I said. ‘People who embarrass us and don’t know we’re trans.’ I nodded at each of them; they returned blank stares. ‘What happens every spring break?’

‘Stupid questions about the chest surgery scars?’ Axel said.

I huffed. ‘That… But long before, and after.’

‘Airport screening!’ they said together.

I nodded again. ‘Those full-body scanners… With the breasts gone, and you two with the goatees, they punch M and we get patted down for what’s lacking. Like we’re hiding bombs in our missing dicks? Or turned our scrota into invisibility cloaks to hide explosives?’

Lou smiled. ‘And who besides us gets frisked every single time.’

Axel grinned, sincerely this time. ‘That is ludicrous enough to be funny. Once. But a blog has to keep people coming back …’

‘Getting picked on by the machines is the introduction. The blog could feature the screeners, new ones every few days, separated into categories. Like those ‘Best and Worst’ lists at New Year’s.’

‘Most surprised!’ Lou called.

Axel and I stared at him.

‘Our first category. Remember that Florida one, looked barely our age? He goes all the way up—all the way up—then realizes the scanner’s right, nothing there. He blushes, jerks his hands down, and gets all flustered, like I’m going to sprout pigtails and yell ‘Rape!’

Axel cracked the biggest smile he’d had in nineteen days.

I laughed. ‘That was hilarious!’

Lou pointed at Axel. ‘Coldest hands!’

Axel nodded. ‘Florida also, the year before! I was wearing polyester shorts, and he reached right between my legs. I swear he had no blood circulating through his fingers.’

‘Mr. Zombie, the crotch grabber!’ Lou said.

‘Lingers the longest?’ I offered.

‘When there’s nothing there!’ Axel said. ‘I mean, maybe born-males, with natural woodies.’

Lou said, ‘Or if you had bottom surgery and it looked like that Thai infomercial.’

I intoned, ‘We’ll give you one that looks like a paper towel roll inside an orange peel.’

Axel laughed.

‘Most pitiful expression…’ Lou said.

‘Winter-break ski trip,’ I said, ‘like it’s just a too-tiny package, “oh, sorry, man.”’

Axel laughed again.

Lou tapped his chest. ‘Diverts the blame…’

‘Thanksgiving?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘Going to your cousin’s house. The guy called over all the other screeners, like, “why’d you flag this chick as a dude.”’

‘Yeah, “the bearded ones have cooties.”’

Axel held up his hand, and we let the laughter die down. His cheeks had color, for a few seconds. Then he tried hiding that he was gasping for air, and I caught him pressing for morphine again. But it hadn’t been ten minutes, not even close; he might as well have been trying to summon a genie, but for only one desperate wish.

‘Don’t look like that, Chad. I needed a laugh today more than anything, whether we get famous off it or not.’ Axel forced another grin. Even exhausted and jaundiced, he was going to be the strong one.

I struggled to hold back tears.

‘You goofs need to leave now. End this on a high note.’

I shook my head.

‘Go start that blog.’

‘No way,’ I said. ‘Today could be—’

Lou grabbed my shoulder, then squeezed until I turned to him. ‘Majority rules, Chad.’

I looked back at Axel, then got up. ‘We’ll get you famous.’ I couldn’t stop a tear from running down my cheek.

He nodded. ‘I know—friends for life.’

Jacob Graysol lives and writes in central New Jersey. He wrote the lawyer-laden police procedural Righteous Judgment, and published its sequel, Righteous Endeavors, in February, 2020. Find Jacob at jacobgraysolnovelist.com.