A year passed, and after much muddling and processing, S and I found our way back to each other. In the years since, we have cultivated a deep, trusting relationship across our differences.

S is trans, and their body has shifted and transformed as they’ve gone on and off testosterone. I have long-standing insight into some of that experience—the frustration of clothing stores not carrying cute things that fit, the indignity of family members’ comments about your body as it changes. Sometimes my empathy is clunky: a bruised, childhood side of myself feels exasperated at their surprise at how the world shifts when you get fatter. But I also know there are nuances to their experience that are personal, and that I’m not privy to.

Our unruly bodies continue to surprise me in their overlapping struggles. We each face barriers accessing public space. Before we go on dates, I’ve taught S to research weight capacities and seat structures. While chairs are usually not a problem for them, S pays closer attention to restrooms, gender designations and the vibes of the other guests. Will they give S a hard time, or will we be in the comfortable company of other gays with crazy haircuts? We’re familiar with each other’s food needs, our energy limits, our precautions around COVID. We advocate for each other in turn.