Nick name

He wasn’t sure how it had started. The name that everybody called him. You don’t know, she asked. I don’t, he said. For real? She said. Her pale blue eyes, verging on gray if they were but shade lighter, searching his for a moment of hesitation, a sign of withdrawal, a symptom of evade. For real, he said, and meant it. It wasn’t a cool nickname he had given himself. It wasn’t short form for jack-shit. It wasn’t cruel, or homophobic, or misogynist, or cold hearted, or for that matter even fun. He couldn’t even remember when it first happened. Have you always been called thiss, She asked, her brain trying to expand, trying to let room for some sort of undrstanding. No, he said, not always. So when did it start, she asked. He closed his eyes. People always ask this question, and more times than not he just brushes it aside, but not tonight, not now. So when? When did it start? She asked againAnd no matter how hardship he thought, no matter how hard he tried tobrecolllect his perfectly normal, goddamn boring, lower middle class upbringing, there was never anything there. Not once. Not ever. Not a defining moment, not an shining bacon of an idea. He can’t even rememberi the first time the thought stirred in his brain. Like a large warm animal about to wake up from hibernation. “kiss me” he said. “What?!?” She said. “You heard me” he said. Did I now Galaxatron? Stop. Oh Galaxatron. I have been such a bad girl. Can you stop now? Not until you tell me. Tell you what. How you got the name? The name? Yes, the name. I told you , I don’ know, that’s the gods honest truth. Okay, she said, stepping out of it