Pride Essays

Early Days

Pride month opens. Year by year from 2009 to now — Olly's in Indianapolis, the parade I got pulled into, the wedding-dress shots for Obergefell. And the night my sister sat me down with an armful of makeup and a mirror that ended boy Austen for good.

Wicked Little Town

The cornfield kid finds a furry IRC channel and a rabbit named Kristi. The first time I ever heard the word "trans" used in a sentence — not as a slur, not as a punchline, just a woman casually mentioning she was transgender. Origin story.

Beneath These Bones

The Pulse anniversary essay. I came out like a monster truck — loud, imposing, destructive — and ran for four years straight. Then one day it all just stopped. This is the quiet, hard shit no one talks about: picking up the broken glass after transition is done.

Letters and the Sun on My Face

Letters to my younger selves at 11, 15, 19, and 22. It's not a fetish. It's not a fetish. It's not a fetish. And the Halloween at Wabash where I finally felt the sun kiss my cheeks — and dove right back under.

A Fucking Riot

The Stonewall finale. The numbers I carry in my body — 30%, 46%, two bathroom doors — and a thought experiment about what would happen if we treated tonsils the way we treat trans medical care. There'd be a fucking riot.