Chapter Text
He was constantly reminded of how startlingly different a place the world was when viewed from a point only three feet to the left .
Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt
“‘What kind of gay are you?’” Amanda asked, half-distractedly. She was reading from her phone, one leg hooked over the office couch in a casual, relaxed sprawl.
“Sorry?” Dirk replied. He’d been staring out the window at nothing in particular, letting his mind wander freely to wherever it went when it checked out.
“It’s an online quiz. ‘What kind of gay are you?’ I took it and it came up punk.”
“Naturally.”
“Naturally,” she echoed. “Now it’s your turn.”
She grinned at him and motioned for him to come share the couch with her. “I’ll read the questions and then you pick the multiple-choice answer that fits you best.”
Dirk nodded knowingly. “Like a Cosmo quiz.”
“Oh my god, dude, just get over here. Don’t let anyone under forty hear you talk like that, they’ll put you in a retirement home.”
Dirk flopped down at the end of the sofa. Amanda put a leg familiarly across his lap while she read.
“‘Question One: How would your friends describe you?’”
“Holistic.”
“No, Dirk, you’ve got to pick one of the answers they give. Your options are: ‘snobby, friendly, adaptable, serious, poetic, creative, or athletic.’”
“If I must pick I suppose I’d say ‘friendly.’”
“Okay, good.”
“Or poetic? Not that I am, but I’d like to be seen that way.”
“Dirk.”
“Right, okay. Friendly. No waffling. Next question,” he said, getting into it.
“‘What kind of music do you listen to most – 80s Euro invasion, 90s grunge, 70s folk, early 2000s techno, classical, indie rock, or whatever’s on the radio?’”
“Whatever’s on the radio.”
The questions went on in that vein for what felt like forever, eliciting his preferences on clothing (bright colors), alcohol (yes please), hobbies (changes daily), exercise habits (frequent), makeup and nail polish preferences (unknown), genre of books (self-help), ideal date location (what’s dating?), ideal location in general (beach), gift most likely to be appreciated (something hand-made), favorite season (spring), even what mythical creature he’d most like to be (fairy, so sue him).
“This is fun,” Dirk said cheerily. “I rather like this test. Not like most tests, which in my experience end badly. What’s my result?’”
“‘You are Eclectic Gay,’” Amanda read. “‘You haven’t picked an aesthetic, whether because you’re indecisive, boring, or haven’t found yours yet.’ Geez, that’s a little harsh.”
“Told you, I’m best described as holistic,” Dirk said, getting to his feet. “Who needs silly old Cosmo quizzes anyway?”
He tried to glimpse his reflection in the sheen of the window as he paced.
“Don’t take it personally. These things are usually written by fourteen-year-old kids and half the words are misspelled. You know how it is when you’re that age. Everybody’s so focused on what group they fit into and how much they wish they were cooler. They’re still trying on who they want to be, y’know? All that’s over for us, thank fuck.”
“Right,” Dirk said. “Over and done with. 'Course.”
***
Dirk’s full-length reflection preened uneasily at him. He wasn’t especially tall. Not especially handsome or young anymore. No recognizable personal style. No strong preferences for movies, books, music. No hobbies to speak of.
The quiz had been right. He was boring. There was nowhere he belonged. Secondary school hadn’t existed for him, let alone cliques to align with. By the time he’d escaped the age for youthful self-discovery had all but passed. He’d focused on staying in the Stream and getting back to England more than emulating any particular look. Even his jackets – the one thing that could be called unique to his “style” – were more chance and habit than deliberate choice. (There was that whole thing with having to trade his beloved red hat for a yellow jacket at gunpoint. After that he’d sort of kept falling backward into the same brand of jacket in different colors, so took it as a Sign and embraced them with gusto.)
But come to think of it, what he wore was more of a school uniform than anything, wasn’t it? Pressed trousers, shirt, tie, simple jacket. Was he merely chasing the normal childhood he hadn’t been given the chance to experience?
Dirk tried to work out what the most adult, macho thing to be was. What would project I can build my own house and fix everything in it because I am master of my environment?
He tried saying it aloud to see if that helped.
“I’m the sort of man who could build a campfire and feed my friends from what I find in the forest without breaking down or relying on coincidence,” he said.
It did help, a little.
He needed something woodsy. Rugged. Manly men spend time sweating in the outdoors. They stomp around with gusto while wearing a great deal of flannel.
“Ah!” he said to mirror-Dirk, who was pointing back at him ecstatically, a look of sparkling epiphany on his face. “Ah-ha! That’s just the thing!”
He turned his back on the reflection and dashed for the door.
***
He returned to the room for his keys, forgotten in his haste to get out the door.
***
Then returned a second time for his wallet.
“Now we’re in business,” he assured the mirror.