Xavier George (they/them) is the story-telling alter-ego of academic political theorist Dr. Gwen Ottinger. Curious about things most people take for granted, their fiction imagines how social and political change can happen through the actions of individuals who are neither paragons nor monsters. George is inspired by their experiences in communities on the front lines of petrochemical pollution across the United States and the peculiar challenges of being an autistic, female-bodied GenXer.

Dumbstruck

At dinner on Friday, Roderick proposed to Clementine. That was what he called her, as he knelt in his seersucker suit, proffering a diamond ring still greasy with icing from the red velvet cupcake it had recently adorned. No one had called her that since her grandmother passed away a dozen years ago.

At dawn on Saturday, Clem went for a run. She got halfway around Audubon Park and chucked the ring at the lagoon. When she got home, she shaved her head with Roderick's electric razor while he slept in the next room.

Clem ate eggs for breakfast. In this she was as steady and loyal as she was in her devotion to the Washington Mystics. She hardly felt hungry, but her world was upside down enough without skipping breakfast. She dumped a pat of butter in the cast iron frying pan and turned on the gas. She ground coffee beans.

Roderick awoke to the coffee grinder and the usual feeling of dread at another day to get through. He had to be perfect. He couldn't screw up. He couldn't let anyone see what a fraud he was. Then he remembered. His proposal had gone flawlessly. Clem was going to marry him. For the rest of his life, he would have at least one good thing to get him out of bed in the morning. He was on his feet in record time. He couldn't wait to see his ring glinting on Clem's hand.

Clem wasn't expecting Roderick to appear in the kitchen quite so soon. Normally he scowled silently through at least half a cup of coffee. Today he threw open his arms and cooed at her.

"There's my bride!"

Clem hurled the egg at him before she knew what she was doing. It splattered on his shoulder, and Roderick looked at the mess with such bewilderment that a giggle burbled out of Clem. The first guffaw took over her body and suddenly she was laughing so hard that the butter in the frying pan caught fire. Roderick had to forget the egg and clamp a lid over the pan. Clem couldn't actually stop laughing, or else she would cease to breathe all together.

Oh god, Roderick thought. His fiancée was broken. His fiancée was bald. His fiancée thought he was a joke. He had to fix it. He handed her a paper bag to breathe into and looked for something to mop up the egg on his robe. She must be pissed. He had to apologize. He had to figure out what he'd done wrong.

A sense of injustice welled in Roderick's chest. He hadn't done anything wrong. Clem hadn't had to prod him to propose. Not at all. He would have married her when she moved in three years ago, but he waited until her 30th birthday to ask because she mentioned once that she didn't see herself settling down until her 30s. He even fulfilled her birthday wish for red velvet cake despite the fact it wasn't on the menu at Commander's Palace and he'd had to call the restaurant every day for a week before someone agreed to plate a cupcake from Publix. No, he hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't fair he had to fix – whatever this was. Baldness, for starters. Before the engagement party Clem's mom was throwing this afternoon. Without spoiling the surprise for Clem.

Roderick felt like jumping out a window. He stifled his panic. He had to be supportive. He had to say something.

Clem watched Roderick over the paper bag. She knew his scared face. She wanted to comfort him. That's how it usually went. She took the bag away and opened her mouth to say soothing words. They didn't come out. A pile of angry words were in the way. Do you even know me? was what she really wanted to say. She didn't. She couldn't. She preferred not to say mean things in general, and she never wanted to hurt Roderick in particular.

It was the same problem she'd had last night. When Roderick forced that diamond onto her finger, she'd wanted to say, who's Clementine? She'd wanted to tell him to wipe the icing off the band. She hated being sticky, why couldn't he remember that? She knew she couldn't say these things. She was allotted one word. Its three little letters ballooned in her throat and stuck there. Roderick didn't notice that she didn't actually say "yes." He'd accepted the congratulations of other diners and posted the news on Facebook without ever really looking at her. She'd felt like a prop in someone else's play.

Clem had stopped laughing. That was a good start, Roderick thought. But now the stillness was eerie. He'd never seen her make that face before. He had to do something. He had to get them back to normal.

"Come here," he beckoned her into his open arms. Clem liked nothing better than being hugged. She took a step toward him and his arms prepared to close around her. "My beautiful bride."

Clem froze. Her insides screamed, how dare you call me that! She gave up trying to be good and gave her angry words permission to come out. They wouldn't. So she huffed hard into the paper bag and popped it in Roderick's face.

"What was that?" Roderick demanded, but Clem was already out the door.

On the lam from her nonconsensual engagement, Clem shivered and realized she should have grabbed a hat. She wasn't used to needing one. She ran her hands over her bare scalp. She remembered what it felt like to be herself. Clem Landry, who finished this year's Crescent City half marathon three minutes faster than her personal record. Clem Landry, who led a thousand demonstrators to the steps of One Shell Plaza to demand an end to drilling in the Gulf.

Clem eased her running-away pace to a saunter. The smell of coffee reminded her she'd abandoned her breakfast.  She strode into La Madeleine.

"Mocha espresso, please," Clem said. Then she said it again. "Mocha espresso, please." She pretended she was James Earl Jones booming into a megaphone. She wished she could have done this last night. Or ten minutes ago. "I will not be your bride." She said the words to her coffee cup in a Darth Vader voice and made herself giggle. Maybe she was still a little hysterical.

Clem sipped at her mocha espresso and tried to puzzle out why Roderick's proposal had made her so mad. He was just trying to be nice. He loved her and she loved him. So it would be logical, Clem thought. To propose. Not to start throwing things. Maybe it was because he took her by surprise. Sometimes Clem just needed time to adjust. It was a thing about her that Roderick refused to understand. But you're so decisive, he'd say. She'd shrug. She didn't know how to explain that both things could be true.

Never mind, Clem thought. Now that she knew it was coming, she replayed his proposal to give herself a redo. The woman in the scene flushed. She answered with a demure, definitive "yes." That was better. Except that woman wasn't her. Clem forced her actual self into the scene. Her actual self flung champagne in Roderick's face.

Last night's feelings unspooled in Clem's gut, in slow motion this time. She felt betrayed. She felt vulnerable. She felt humiliated. She didn't understand why she felt any of those things. The woman who Roderick thought he was proposing to wouldn't have.

She felt angry. That was the last feeling to appear. Clem felt angry because she felt betrayed and vulnerable and humiliated and confused. Those were the worst possible feelings, and it made her mad to have to experience them.

Naming her feelings helped Clem feel powerful again. She remembered that now, from those awful months after Deep Water Horizon. It had been the perfect time to recruit new support for the Sierra Club, and Clem was so choked with fury she couldn't talk to prospective members about the issues. She'd had to take a leave of absence and pay for therapy out of her non-existent savings.

Therapy! Clem slammed her cup on the table. People stared. Clem got up and did a little dance. That was all she needed, someone to talk it over with. She could go back to Dr. Keeley. And as long as she was getting help, Roderick would give her some time to figure things out. Roderick was a big believer in therapy.

Roderick ricocheted through the house. He had to put on some clothes. He had to clean up the egg. He had to find his phone. He had to take a shower. He had to get some coffee. He had to clean the kitchen. He really had to have some coffee.

He poured a cup and made himself sit. Clem was bald. Clem wasn't wearing her ring. Roderick's stomach lurched. She'd changed her mind. She didn't want to marry him after all. He couldn't think that. Of course she did. They were in love, and he would do anything for her. Not that she ever needed anything. He was dead weight. He was holding her back.

He was being ridiculous. Roderick took a deep breath. He channeled his therapist. He was catastrophizing. It was a choice. He could choose logic instead. Clem had a reason for taking off her ring. She'd gone for a run. Of course she took it off. She never took anything on her runs. It drove Roderick nuts. What if something happened? he'd asked her a million times, until finally she'd agreed to tuck a twenty in her sports bra. She rolled her eyes when Roderick wrote his phone number on it in waterproof ink. I love you. I worry. So sue me, he'd wanted to shout. It was almost like she heard him anyway, because she kissed his forehead and said, "you care about me a stupid amount," which gave him a little glow inside. She got him. She appreciated him. Everything would be okay. Another deep breath. Whatever was going on with her now, they would work it out. Of course they would.

Roderick's phone pinged. Yes, he texted back to Clem's mom, he'd be sure to remind Clem that she took better pictures when she wore makeup. He added that to his list for—he checked the time—the next five hours. He had to buy Clem some makeup. He had to get her to talk. He had to get them in the same room. A room with no slimy projectiles.

Roderick gulped some coffee and called Clem's phone. It rang in the other room. Of course, he thought. It would be on Clem's dresser with her ID and billfold. And the ring. He could prove to himself that everything was fine. She wasn't rejecting him. He just had to… Roderick stared at the pile on the dresser and willed himself to keep breathing. No ring. There was no ring and she had left him forever and it wasn't catastrophizing if it was true. He bolted out of the house, shouting for Clem.

Clem emerged from La Madeleine with the back collar of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head. With only her face sticking out, she felt like a turtle safe in its shell. It was a good way to feel while she practiced her speech. She'd borrowed a pen from the barista and burned through a dozen napkins searching for just the right words to say to Roderick. She hoped if she memorized them they would come out this time.

"I love you, Roderick, but I'm having a lot of other feelings, too. Confusing feelings." Clem consulted her napkin. "I'm confused by my feelings right now, so I think I need—"

"Clem! Clem, honey!"

Clem looked up to see her Aunt Alice headed right for her. She was preceded by a stream of words, dragging Uncle Joe along behind her.

"What a treat! We didn't think we'd get to see you until this afternoon."

Clem shrugged her sweatshirt off her head and braced herself for Aunt Alice's perfumey embrace. What's this afternoon? gathered itself on Clem's tongue. The words disbanded when Alice gasped.

"Oh. Oh, honey." She grabbed Clem's hand and held it as though her life depended on it. "Your mom didn't tell us."

Tell you what? Clem almost had time to think before undemonstrative Uncle Joe gripped her shoulder.

"Chemo's a bitch, kiddo."

Oh. Clem thought. She shook her head "no." No, that's not it. No, you don't have to worry about me. These sounds might have come out of her—she willed them to—but Aunt Alice was still talking.

"I have to say I was wondering why now. After five years, you do have to question a man's intentions. Not to be ugly, but why buy the milk?"

The angry words started flooding back to Clem. I am not a cow! locked horns with I don't have cancer! Neither managed to interrupt Alice's monologue.

"Not that he should have needed this—well, this tragedy, really, to make an honest woman of you. At least he's stepping up now. That's what counts."

"Health insurance counts," added Uncle Joe. "Engineers get real benefits, not like your hippie causes."

"Joe!" Alice chided. "Don't listen to him. It's admirable, honey, especially while you're young and don't have dependents. Oh, dear! I hope someone talked to you about freezing your eggs."

Now she was poultry. Clem saw great potential for sarcasm. She gave herself permission, but no wisecracks came forth. Every snarky thing she might say only made her shake her head more desperately.

"Clem!" Her name rang out from the next block. "Clem!" The panic in Roderick's voice matched her own.

"Over here!" shouted Aunt Alice. "Isn't that sweet," she said to Clem. "He worries the moment you're out of sight."

Roderick jogged up, dried egg on his robe. Clem looked at him and saw safety. She saw comfort, and solace, and sanctuary. She saw the one person with whom she had never had to feel anything but ordinary. She pressed herself into his side and melted when his arm found its place around her waist.

"You're here," Roderick said to her. Clem nodded. "I worried," he whispered, but they were already awash in Aunt Alice's next torrent.

"I was just saying to Clem how happy we are that you kids are finally tying the knot. It's a shame it has to be under these circumstances, that's the truth. But praise God and Clem'll be in remission in no time flat."

Cancer. The word flashed into Roderick's head and sent a wave of relief out through his limbs. Everything suddenly made sense. Clem wasn't rejecting him. She just didn't want to burden him. He felt a pang of love for his sweetheart. Always so thoughtful. Always looking out for other people's feelings. He squeezed her tight. He'd do research. He'd find the best doctors. He'd tell her she didn't need to worry. He'd tell her that it didn't matter if her hair never grew back, as long as he got to grow old with her.

He looked at Clem, not sure where to start. Her eyes beseeched him. He understood. He couldn't act surprised. He had to show her aunt and uncle that they were a team. They were. He'd no doubt that she was getting ready to tell him last night but didn't know how after he'd proposed. It was okay. They'd work it out. They'd have a good marriage.

Clem was still shaking her head as she looked at Roderick. He could clear this up, she thought. All he had to do was say she wasn't sick. She just cut her hair. A person was allowed. A person could shave her head, just because.

Just because? asked Dr. Keeley's voice in Clem's head. Well, no, she admitted. She'd definitely shaved her head because. Because…? Clem pictured Roderick kneeling in front of her and the answer tumbled out. Because the person she loved somehow forgot who she was, and she'd had to do something to jog his memory.

That wasn't the point. She shouldn't have to justify a haircut, for Pete's sake. She bumped Roderick with her hip so he could set Aunt Alice straight. He squeezed back reassuringly.

"We have faith. She'll make it through. Clem's the toughest lady I know."

Clem shoved Roderick away. She wanted to roar. She tried. She sounded like a gored pigeon. Aunt Alice looked alarmed. Clem was too mad to care. She dashed away.

Roderick felt less desperate now. He didn't need to chase her. He could give her the space she needed. He wasn't going anywhere, and he could show her that.

"Poor thing," said Alice. "Do you think she'll be okay for the party?"

He'd forgotten about the party. You idiot, Roderick thought. But no. He couldn't think like that now. He had to be there for Clem. He had to tell her he'd want her no matter what. He had reassure her it was okay to wear the ring. He had to help her look good for the party.

Alice and Joe were staring at him. They wanted an answer. They thought he was slow. Stop it! he told himself. This wasn't about him. He forced himself to meet Alice's perfectly mascaraed eyes, and suddenly he knew the right answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, she will. But maybe you could help me buy her some make-up? And a wig?"

Alice couldn't have looked more pleased. She swept him off toward Royal Street, talking all the way.

Clem barreled into the house. The smell of burnt butter assaulted her. She headed for the kitchen to clean up the mess. Maybe she should resent that she made all the breakfasts and washed all the dishes and folded all the laundry, Clem thought with suds up to her elbows. Maybe subconsciously she did, and that's why she didn't want to marry Roderick? Clem checked her insides as thoroughly as she could. She couldn't find anything like resentment. It was nice to take care of both of them, actually. Nicer than having to do all the same things for only herself. 

Anyway, she didn't not want to marry Roderick. Okay, maybe not marry per se. As a six-year old flower girl, Clem had caused a stir by declaring that marriage would be obsolete by the time she grew up. She still felt that way, if she was honest. She didn't see the point of tying the knot, whatever that meant. But unlike her 6-year old self, she now understood the appeal of sharing your life with someone special. She could do forever with Roderick. She didn't want to do it without him, that was for sure. If she'd really wanted to be rid of him, she wouldn't have fought that goose to get the engagement ring back after she lobbed it at the lagoon.

Clem imagined explaining all that to Roderick. He would listen. He would frown that adorable frown and ask question after question. She would be annoyed. She would call him obtuse. But then she'd see that his most obtuse questions were the smartest ones. She'd have to sharpen up her thinking to answer them. They'd end up feeling closer.

Okay, then, Clem thought. As soon as Roderick got home, she resolved, but she could already feel her throat tightening. The Roderick she was imagining was the Roderick from three days ago. The Roderick from today and yesterday, he wasn't a guy who listened. He was a guy who pushed things into place. He wasn't a guy who asked questions, not even annoying ones. Clem started to cry into the dishwater. Maybe he hadn't forgotten who she was? Maybe she had never really known who he was?

Roderick heard Clem sobbing as soon as he walked in the door. He was there in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around her waist before she even had time to turn from the dishes.

"Oh, darling," he murmured to the place where her neck met her shoulder. "My darling." He breathed in her Clem smell. Would chemo change how she smelled?, he wondered, and he instantly hated himself. No wonder she didn't want to marry him, he thought, and he hated himself that much more. This wasn't about him. He was being supportive. He was cheering her up. He was getting her to the party, where there'd be a hundred friends and relatives who would all show her how special she was.

Roderick gave Clem a little extra squeeze before letting her go and gently spinning her around. "I bought you a present." Clem cocked her head and wiped her eyes. Hope stirred in her insides. Roderick gave the best presents. For their first Christmas together, after watching her make batch after batch of cookies with just a wooden spoon, he bought her a manual egg beater. From the flea market. Anybody else would have saddled her with a stand mixer from Williams Sonoma. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for a gift that said he knew her after all.

"Ta-da!" Roderick exclaimed. Clem opened her eyes. He held a wig aloft on his fist.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable at the…" Roderick sounded less and less sure of himself as Clem started to cry all over again. "I mean, a lot of people are going to be taking our picture?"

Clem pushed past him out of the room. Her tears were different this time, hot and stingy without any "poor me" sniffles. These were mad tears. Clem clomped up the stairs just to hear the angry noise of her feet. The rhythm of her footfalls launched a chant in her head. That's not me! This isn't you! That's not me! This isn't you! She imagined picketing their house with her bullhorn, demanding the return of the man who knew her. It gave her an idea.

"She's having a hard time." Roderick said it out loud. It was a technique his therapist taught him, for steadying himself when his thoughts started to spiral out of control. "She's just scared," he told the kitchen sink, to drown out She's gone forever. "She just got terrible news. She's processing," he reassured the fridge, so he wouldn't have to think, You didn't deserve her anyway. You might as well just call it off now. "It'll be okay!" he shouted at the ceiling to ward off the sick dread he felt when he tried to imagine life without Clem.

Roderick's phone dinged. He grabbed for it, hoping—absurdly, he realized—for a message from Clem. It was a text from one of her flaky friends. Where was the party again? There were a dozen others he'd failed to notice. What time were they supposed to show up? Did they need to wear a tie? Roderick almost smashed the phone onto the floor. He imagined taking his heel and grinding its screen to smithereens. "It's not her fault," Roderick told the phone. He didn't deserve to be mad. He had to stay calm. He sat and started composing impeccably polite responses as penance for his anger. By the time Clem clomped back down the stairs, he was nearly finished and notably calmer. Thank god, he thought. The party was in an hour. He had to get it right this time. He had to be calm if he was going to fix this.

"Hey, have you showered?" Roderick called. No answer. He looked up from his phone to see Clem in the doorway, a look of eerie determination on her face. Once she saw she had his attention, Clem grabbed a wooden picket to which she'd stapled a hand-drawn message and thrust the sign into the air.

Ugly is not an illness

Holding her message aloft, Clem felt almost confident. Placards had always been her superpower. Her colleagues complimented her pithy slogans and defiant lettering. Now she needed her powers to work on Roderick. She studied him, reading the sign. He looked guilty.

"No one said you were ugly," Roderick insisted. Clem rolled her eyes. They both knew how he felt about women with short hair. "What a waste," he'd said, every time they passed an attractive woman with a pixie cut, until CIem explained that that was dehumanizing and just gross. But that wasn't the point, she reminded herself. She pounded the picket twice on the floor and underlined "not an illness" with an upturned palm.

"You mean you aren't sick?"

Clem made a "duh!" face at him and reached for the next sign.

"But—" Roderick felt like a trapdoor had opened underneath him. He knew he should be glad Clem didn't have cancer. He should be elated. Except that was the only thing that had made any sense at all. If she wasn't sick, then he couldn't imagine—

Roderick saw motion in his peripheral vision and realized he was staring at his shoes. Clem was waving another sign at him.

Only "yes" means "yes"!

He went hot and cold all over. She couldn't be accusing him of— No. No. He was the most respectful of lovers. He made sure of it. Clem knew it, too. He was positive. She even teased him, once, about having had to initiate everything herself. The fury he'd felt at the text messages came screaming back. "I never, never, ever…" he spat. Clem grabbed his hand and forced her engagement ring onto his pinky finger. She raised one eyebrow at him as she thumped her sign.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Roderick insisted, but even as the words left his mouth, an image began to nag him. Clem's face, right after he'd asked her to marry him. Her mouth was agape, not forming words. Was it possible she hadn't actually… Roderick suddenly felt queasy. He sat in a chair and put his head between his knees. He knew it. He'd ruined everything. Of course he had.

Clem sighed. She hadn't wanted to send him to this place. Trying to coax him out of his feelings of worthlessness was her least favorite part of their relationship. Part of her knew she shouldn't even engage when he got like this, but she couldn't bear to let him suffer on his own.

Roderick felt Clem's cool hand on the back of his neck. "I love you," he said, hoping to hear the words from her in return. She massaged his neck with her fingers, but remained silent. He wanted to weep. He had to stay strong. He had to take it like a man.

"So it's a 'no,' then? You don't want to be my bride." He spoke to the baseboard on the other side of the room. He didn't know what to do with his face.

Clem smacked him gently on the arm and maneuvered a third sign into his field of vision.

Brides are for Frankenstein

Real men choose partners

There it is, Roderick thought. He didn't know how he knew, but he was sure this was the crux of it. She was telling him something complicated and thoughtful and completely, totally Clem. He had to figure out what it meant. He had to make sure he didn't lose her to his own stupidity. He had to say the right thing, but he was sure everything he could think of was wrong.

Crouching awkwardly beside the sign, Clem watched Roderick's reaction. His defeated slump had morphed into something taut and curious. He was starting to look like the Roderick you could reason with. She held her breath and waited.

Maybe he had to go ahead and be stupid, Roderick thought. He’d just have to hope that Clem would forgive him. Of course she won’t, said his catastrophizing self. She always has before, his logical self retorted. He took the plunge.

"You are my partner. What's wrong with being a bride, too?"

Clem banged the sign. "You are so obtuse!" she shouted. Her eyes went wide at the sound of her own voice. Roderick sat up straight. He wanted to gather her into his arms and swing her in circles, but he couldn't afford to scare her into silence again.

"So you've said."

"Obtuse, I say!" Clem jigged to her words. Don't celebrate yet, she warned herself. Nothing's solved.

"Yeah. So explain it to me." Fast, Roderick thought about adding. He had to get them to the party. He had to make sure they didn't disappoint her mom. No, he told himself, no. He had to remember what mattered. Clem. Clem mattered most of all. Roderick grasped both her hands and looked into her eyes.

"I want to understand," he promised.

Clem nearly strangled Roderick with her embrace. Those were the best words she'd ever heard. Roderick had said them before, and he always, always meant them.

"Okay," she said. "Okay." She took the ring off Roderick's finger and tested it out on hers. She still wasn't sure that was right. She took it off and held it in her palm. Whatever the right thing was, they'd figure it out.