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Your name is Dirk Strider, you are twelve, and you just got your first period.
After the initial pains calm down from internal shredding to a dull throb, you manage to drag yourself to the computer screen and open up the folder at the top right hand corner entitled “Lil Sis”. It takes a moment of scrolling and sifting through some master bullshittery before you cautiously open up a video message for “When the Kool-Aid Guy Oh Yeahs! In Your Pants”
The blurry image of your older Bro peers out of the screen like he has thousands of times before, although now with a slight tint of pink to his otherwise dark complexion. Dave chews on his lip ring for a moment, seeming to deliberate, before beginning. “Hey Dani, sorry for being a useless fuck who knows jack shit about this kind of thing, but if you’re watching this it means that your body is going through some serious changes – unless you’re like nine and got curious, in which case, stop skipping ahead…” There was less flowery prose and more incomprehensible hand gestures than you were used to, and the shift was enough to make you falter.
You are now equipped with a new arsenal of faintly embarrassing knowledge; (shower every day- you will smell – and wash your clothes once a week too you filthy animal, actually I have no idea what your hygiene habits are, this could be totally unnecessary) Your Big Bro has a tendency to ramble on and on, you just learned to tune in when it was appropriate. You do learn that there’s something called “pads” in the closet behind the mountains of orange soda, whatever the hell those are. You figure you’re just gonna have to rely on the box to tell you what the fuck’s up. You wait for the tell tale flicker of static before getting up and shedding your ruined MLP boxers before stepping into the shower and turning it up so that the steam fills the room, ignoring the red emptying down the drain.
Your name is Dirk Strider, you are fourteen, and you have what many of the guys in Bro’s movies would call “a rack”.
Luckily for you, said rack wouldn’t be able to hold much (not even your SICKNASTY rhymes) and you can get away with layering a few tight tank tops on under your shirts whenever the sight of the slight curves on your preteen chest make you queasy. You have just started to become active on an internet forum for Robot enthusiasts, and while you’re aware that you are literally hundreds of years ahead of everyone else on the board, it’s still nice to pretend that there’s someone else out there messing around with metal scraps too, even if robotics is only a hobby to them, and a way for you to feel less alone.
There is one person on the forums that you have talked to a handful of times about wiring limb movement and the proper way to fashion blinking eyelids, and even though it’s stuff the great D-Stri already knows how to do, it’s just so nice to feel counted on for once, and the thought that the things you say are sinking into another person’s brain, finding a niche in grooved grey matter, is enough to make you shiver even in the post apocalyptic heat of Texas.
You end up with (1) online protégée that becomes your (1) online friend, his green text an oasis in a life of ever expanding blue horizons. You’ve only seen grass and flowers and growth in old TV series on the discovery channel, but you imagine that the feeling you get when golgothasTerror logs on is the same as when a seed takes hold, reaching down through air pockets in cold earth and spreading it’s roots, then breaking through surface soil, tasting air for the first time.
Within the next few months, you eventually move on from robot mechanics to actual conversations, sometimes streaming movies together and typing out snarky comments with artificial butter grease coating your spidery fingers.
TT: Dude, if you like your ladies so blue in the face, maybe you should invest in some rope.
GT: That is *RATHER* uncouth of you to say and I would never engage in such debauched shenanigans with Mystique!!!
TT: Whatever bro, no need to explain to me, I don’t kink shame.
TT: Might want to save it till the second date though.
TT: Wouldn’t want to scare away your sapphire siren.
GT: Oh *shut* up!!!
Even though you don’t know what your Internet bro looks like, when you crawl into bed after hours of conversation you picture a nose broken one to many times – the risk is part of the adventure!! – and a smile that takes up a face.
You are still Dirk Strider, now a blossoming 15 year old, and your bro GT is getting cagey.
You deflect any personal inquires as if you were wielding your unbelievably shitty katana, but it’s less swordplay and more wordplay – laying on the irony shtick so thick GT gets sidetracked into another conversation altogether. When things seem to go to shit it is not with the boundless recklessness you have come to expect from your friend, but with the stumbling sincerity that seems to be all the more threatening.
GT: My good sir I dont care if youre some blasted ninja who prances around wearing wooden sandals you are just wrong about this!!
You stopped breathing after you processed the first two words. You don’t know why it’s so surprising to hear.
GT: Erm good lady?
GT: I actually never thought about that before!
GT: If you can believe it hahaha
You are acutely aware of the smoothness between your legs as you press trembling thighs together. Your friend is waiting for an answer, but you don’t know what answer to give him. You know that you will never meet, (and that hurts more than you care to admit) but you feel a sudden insecurity in the smoothness of your neck, your narrow shoulders, and round hips that knock unpleasantly against counters and corners. You have always been assured in your identity, but you don’t know if GT would feel the same about it if he knew.
And even though you grow up knowing that the file on your laptop should have been to Dave’s Lil Bro, and that Danielle just felt weird on the tongue, you are afraid of sharing this with someone other than yourself.
You think of the Wikipedia articles over woman’s health and the disconnection that they weren’t really talking about you, were they? You think of how you barely know the sound of your own voice because the high tones it reveals make you nauseous. But you also reflect on how GT has called you his best pal, his good chum, and you know you don’t want to have to hide yourself from someone who is rapidly becoming your whole world.
Nervous fingers skate across the keyboard, the fleshy pink undersides of your palm sweating as you slowly formulate a response, trying to sound as unaffected as possible.
TT: First time is obviously a charm.
TT: That was a direct hit, headshot.
TT: No one’s getting up after that brutal display.
TT: Your intuition has gotten you promoted from Baby’s First Pistol (it never comes out of the shitty safety plastic) to the highly esteemed Super Soakers
TT: Be sure to aim for the chest
TT: Wouldn’t want to get a hard blast of chlorinated water straight to the face.
You wait for the words to stick, shoving clammy hands in-between knobby knees in a pathetic attempt to stop the shaking, watching as the dots blink while GT hurries to respond.
GT: By golly old boy! You sure have a roundabout way of answering things.
GT: And since we’re all on the revelation road here i think i might break some positively vital internet safety rules by revealing something truly *scandalous*
GT: *waggles eyebrows*
You immediately think of dumb boy smooches. That was stupid. And also kind of weird, but admittedly not all that unwelcome of an idea, if you’re being honest with yourself. GT was still typing
GT: My name is Jake!
GT: Jake English.
GT: Hehe its almost weird saying it at this point.
You smile to yourself. Jake. It fit somehow, the enthusiastic optimism, the over the top emotions, the ridiculous jungle boy stories. It wasn’t exactly Tarzan, but you think that’s chill with you. Dirk and Jake. Jake and Dirk. It doesn’t sound half bad. Pesterchum chimes again.
GT: This is me giving you a *subtle nudge* to perhaps follow my lead?
GT: If that isn’t being too forward of course.
He’s such an idiot. You smile wider.
TT: Dirk Strider, at your service.
TT: It fills my blushing maiden heart with joy to meet your acquaintance, Mr. English.
GT: Likewise Mr. Strider! *sticks out hand for a manly shake of brohood* A true pleasure.
There is an unraveling in your chest as you read his stupid green text and his obnoxious old-timer diction. You love this kid. You unabashedly love this kid.
TT: *takes the idiot savants hand *
(You can almost hear the outraged hey! from across the ocean)
TT: A pleasure indeed.
The conversation does not end there of course, but rather continues on until the wee hours of the morning for you and the darkening of night for him. When you log off, instead of your usual “bye bro” you watch as Jake squeaks out a “Night Dirk!” before logging off in a hurry. You send him a pester back anyway, because you are bros and think his nerves are adorable, and end the conversation with a “Goodnight, Jake.” The dim glow of the screen against your eyes makes everything seem hazy, and when you finally lie down in a seldom used bed, you are finally able to stop the whirring thoughts in your head and fall asleep.