FOR COZ
January 2022
This is a story about moments missed and later seized, about courage and heart and respect, about a blizzard created and then cleaned up by clown janitors. About friendship and a small hand in a bigger hand.
It starts one evening when I’m invited to dinner at my new boyfriend’s house. Family dinner and board games with one of his kids, such an honor. Coz and I have met before, when I was a guest at their dad’s party. Back then I was “just a friend,” as they say. Now we’re in the kitchen and I’m more than a party guest. Could be prickly, if not for Coz’ generous, welcoming spirit.
Coz, a person unlike any other and yet like the possible best in all of us. Coz, twelve years old. Coz is non-binary, wears dresses and scarves and has lovely long, blonde, silky hair.
Coz tells me about the chocolate cake they baked and we cook together, we three, and Coz puts small squares of cheese on a cookie sheet to bake into cheese chips, carefully puncturing the centers so the air can escape.
At dinner Coz suggests a game. Say three things about yourself: middle name (which is collusion with me’ cause Coz’ dad refuses to tell me his). Also your gender and favorite genre of book.
Coz’ answers are Kornfeld (or something like that) and non-binary/trans-they/them or she/her pronouns; and manga, which is anime books. They say this in the same easy, bright way they say everything else and the conversation goes on.
Later I know I missed my moment. Later I wish I’d said something simple and welcoming.
Later I find another chance.
We are in Whole Foods, we three, and Whole Foods is deserted at dinnertime. COVID makes hash of everything but in this case it helps. In the middle of a grocery store at 6:30 at night it’s quiet, and I get my chance. I say,
“Coz, I missed my moment the other day. I wish I’d acknowledged you for stating your gender so bravely and clearly. I want you to know I respect that.”
Coz just smiles.
And shares a piece of their sushi with me. Shares a poem they wrote, with conditions they ask me to agree to first. Read it silently and make no comments. People love to comment on poems, on kids’ work, on everything. We humans revere our opinions, we go on and on—and promises are easily broken. So this is trust, this sharing. The phone placed in my hand. The poem.
I only thank Coz for sharing.
Our next stop is magic. It’s Cirque du Soleil, a world of its own. Planets, galaxies. A whole unknown universe. The first set ends with a snowstorm, whiteout and torrents, roaring wind, and then it’s back to the regular world for intermission.
By now we’re all fellow travelers in space, dazed and bonded, together in the wonder. Still, a moment surprises me and... something else. It fills me with a feeling that doesn’t go into words.
It’s time to go back and Coz grabs my hand and we run together. Dodging people and obstacles, running, running, through the doors and up metal stairs that clatter and vibrate ‘til at last we reach our seats. Hands held, running, dodging and climbing, finally reaching the goal.
Less than five minutes that mean... Well here the words run out. Here I stop and don’t comment because like the poem this moment deserves its own respect. Like the person that deserves their own respect.
Like Coz.