A Kid Named Kip

It was two months ago in early June, just before the rains started and the hot, muggy, sweltering air brought with it biting insects and wet socks. She had just landed a new job in a new city, scared and lonely, a little desperate but not wanting to show it; and so she had gone for a hike out in the woods down by the lake, nearby her new apartments that tilted and creaked like old buildings are wont to do in old towns like this one.

She was walking, kind of jogging but not really, not wanting to tire herself out; and she was listening to an old band, one from high school before her life had changed, on headphones that still have a cord because the cordless ones are expensive and she always loses one of them, every time, without fail. She has no idea how anyone can tolerate cordless headphones these days. They drive her nuts.

So she was walking, down by the lake, listening to old music on old headphones, and this person came swerving out on the dirt path she was walking on, riding a mountain bike, going faster than they probably should have, and they ran her right over.

It hurt. It definitely broke her arm and maybe a rib. She was on the ground for what felt like ages, just staring up at the pretty blue sky. It reflected up above her in silent, infinite tranquility as the person who ran her over fell right off their mountain bike.

“Shit!” the person said, smacking the dirt ground hard and fumbling as they fell into the ditch.

They scrambled up from the ground, brushing off forest from their front as they hurried to crouch next to her. Their face came into view, and she observed that this person reminded her of someone she once knew, a kind person, their face unmarred by the trials of life; and she found herself not really all that angry even though her arm and probably her rib were broken.

“Can you call this number?” she asked, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her cell phone. “I can’t afford an ambulance.” She didn’t need to scroll through her contacts since the one she needed was right at the top, alphabetized with an open parenthesis and the word Emergency, followed by a closing parenthesis and a name, and then almost no one else in her phone book. “I’d call him myself, but I think I might pass out in a moment.”

How ironic, she thinks to herself, that she’s familiar with this sort of thing—that she’s observed it in another person and knows what to expect. She’s prepared for it.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” the person said, taking her phone and dialing the number immediately. “What’s your name?” they asked as the phone rang.

She had to think about that for a moment. It didn’t come to her naturally yet. “Kyla,” she said, and then she passed out.

-

Andy picked her up in his old Ford, the one with the backside passenger door duct-taped down and the dent in the fender. She woke up briefly as Andy and the stranger loaded her inside in the backseat, curling up her legs and trying not to jostle her arm or her rib cage too badly. It didn’t help much; they still jostled her.

She woke up again when they got back to Andy’s house, and she found that the stranger was still with them, in the passenger seat, helping to move her body inside after Andy parked the truck.

She wanted to ask why they were still here, still helping, because she really wasn’t used to this type of behavior unless it was covering up something duplicitous; but she found herself a little disoriented with speech at the moment, mumbling something incomprehensible besides. Andy gave her a worried look, reaching to tilt her head up so it was elevated on a throw pillow from the couch. Her body was on the dining table, all of the trash and other detritus knocked to the floor in their haste.

Kyla’s broken bones before. She’s familiar with this kind of thing. The whole situation was so surreal that she found that the pain she was in barely registered until Andy set her arm back the way it was supposed to bend.

“Fuck!” she shouted, and then she passed out again.

-

When she woke next, the stranger was there, peering down at her. It freaked her out.

“Fuck!” she shouted again, swinging her broken arm up at them, an instinct built in dark corners; but this hurt, and the pain stopped her and she groaned.

“Sorry!” the person said, floundering. They held up their hands in surrender. “I’m so sorry! Andy told me to make sure you kept breathing. He said it’s a myth to keep a concussed person awake, and you didn’t vomit so that’s good, and I was just worried ‘cause you started mumbling in your sleep and—”

“Please stop talking.” Kyla held up her unbroken arm, a hand coming to her throbbing temple. What was Andy doing leaving a stranger to watch over her like this? He should know not to trust people so easily. “Did he leave any painkillers?”

“Yeah,” they said, reaching for a bottle and a glass of water. “Here you go,” and they helped to prop her up so she could drink.

She settled back down on the table, uncomfortable but relieved from her drink of water, wondering what in the hell she was going to do now.

“I can’t go to work tomorrow,” she said, more to herself than to the stranger, as she stared up at the ceiling. She could feel tears trying to break through, but she didn’t want to cry in front of them. They could use it against her.

“Oh,” they said, not knowing what to do with her practicality. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at them. Their gender was hard to place, their voice too, and their clothes didn’t help at all either. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“My friends call me Kip,” they said with a smile, and this didn’t help either. What kind of a name is Kip?

“Okay,” she said, and now she felt like she had to ask, because otherwise she really had no idea how to refer to this person. “Um,” she said, hesitating, “what are your pronouns?” Man, did she hate asking that question. It sounded so dumb.

They smiled. “I use gender neutral pronouns, so they or them, or other pronouns, but those aren’t too common so you don’t have to worry about it.”

She nodded as well as she could, lying down. “Okay,” she said, and she looked back up at the ceiling. “How old are you, Kip?”

“I’m twenty-four, but I’ll be twenty-five in two months,” they said. 

This surprised her. She looked at them again. They had a sort of baby face, innocent and doe-eyed, with a kind quality she’s unfamiliar with. “No way you’re out of high school.”

“I swear!” they laughed, holding their hands up again. “I just graduated college!”

Her brow crumpled a bit in confusion. “Recently?” she asked.

They looked down, a little sheepish. “Yeah,” they said quietly. “Had a bit of a tough time in school, but I finally got my degree.” They looked up, braver now, smiling. “I just got a job here a few months ago doing samples out in the woods for a lab. I love the field work.”

Kyla smiled, though it was small. Kip seemed nice, at least, even if they did run her over with a mountain bike. “That’s good,” she said, and then she remembered her own predicament and sighed, looking back up at the ceiling. “I suppose Andy might let me crash on his couch until I can find the money for another apartment when this heals.”

Kip was crestfallen. “I’m so sorry,” they said again, fidgeting with their hands. “I’m sorry you can’t go to a hospital either. It’s so fucked up.”

“It is.” She took a breath through her nose and sighed, looking over at Kip again and trying to be more positive. “Andy’s a nurse practitioner. He’s always helping me like this, so don’t sweat it.”

This didn’t really perk Kip up though. “There’s gotta be something I can do,” they said, so earnest. “I can help, really. I don’t make a whole lot, but I have an extra bedroom. I’ll go buy a bed and we can get you moved in, that way you don’t have to sleep on Andy’s couch.”

Kyla smiled. Kip’s kind of insane. “Andy will give me his bed; he’s a sweetheart. He wouldn’t make me heal a broken rib on a couch.”

Kip frowned again, looking down at the floor. “Sorry, maybe that was a bad idea.”

Kyla laughed then, but only just a little. Kip is way too sweet for this sort of thing. They’d never have lasted where she came from. “You’d end up inviting some kind of serial killer or something to live with you, offering things out like that.”

They looked up, all nervous even as they smiled. “I’m stupid. I do dumb shit like this all the time.” They stopped, a little shocked with themselves it seemed, holding up their hands again. “I mean,” they said, “not like running people over!”

Kyla laughed and it hurt her ribs. “Ow,” she said, smiling, “don’t make me laugh.”

Kip blushed, looking away. They’re cute, she thought, the shy type. She sighed. Why not let them help her? “Why don’t you help me by helping Andy get all my stuff? I have a snake at my apartment. He can’t be left alone so his terrarium needs to be set up here first thing.”

“Okay!” Kip said, standing up, and then they sat right back down. “Sorry, I’m eager.”

Kyla stifled another laugh. “I can tell.” She sighed again, eyeing the lanyard around Kip’s neck. “What’s on your lanyard?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, this?” Kip pulled it off their neck, offering it out for her to look at. It was pink and blue, braided, probably by hand, and on the end was a little charm made out of brass shaped in the the form of a bunny. “My friend Lane made this for me. I love rabbits.”

What are the odds, meeting someone like Kip out in some backwater forest trail, getting run over by a mountain bike and connecting over a lanyard like this? “I’m trans too,” she said, and it wasn’t a secret.

“Yeah?” Kip said, smiling. “I didn’t want to assume or anything.”

“Yeah,” she said, and what are the odds? Maybe getting run over by a mountain bike isn’t all bad.

-

So that was two months ago, and Kyla’s on the mend. She can walk around again, not too much though, only a little; but the occasion calls for it and getting out of Andy’s stinky old bachelor pad seems like a good idea anyway.

“Happy birthday,” she says, hobbling her way into Kip’s apartment. She takes a seat on the couch immediately, and she’s early, like she likes to be, even though dragging Andy out to stuff like this is always a trial. “Andy has your gifts out in the trunk. We didn’t wrap them.”

Kip shrugs. “That’s alright. Wasted paper and stuff, yeah?”

Kyla just rolls her eyes. “Whatever, like Big Plastic needs any more propaganda on individualistic recycling practices.”

Kip laughs. “You’re always saying shit like that. Do you really not recycle?”

“I do,” she says, frowning, “but I’m not happy about it.”

Just then one of Kip’s other friends comes over and steals them away. Kyla sinks into the soft couch, curling up on herself a bit. She hates all the noise and the people, but it’s Kip’s birthday, so she came.

Andy comes bumbling in. He’s got these big trash bags to hold Kip’s presents. It’s so tacky. 

“Kip!” he shouts over the noise. “Where should I put these?”

“What’d you bring me, garbage?”

“Only the best for our resident hit and run.”

Kip flushes, bad, stumbling over their words a little. “What! But I—I didn’t run away though!”

Andy laughs. “Just tell me where to put this.”

Kip leads him down the hall to the extra room and Kyla takes stock of the guests. Most of them are their age, twenties or thirties, but there’s one man who’s a bit weathered, hunkered over at the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. He’s got his legs propped up on the little piece of wood that connects the legs of the stool he’s on, his head propped on a hand that’s propped on an elbow on the counter. He’s looking around the room, his eyes scanning over the guests in a similar way that Kyla had done until she’d decided to settle on this man, and then his eyes meet hers.

She’s not sure what to do with the eye contact, so she shrugs and nods, looking away. The man takes this as an invitation, rising from his stool to walk over and sit next to her on the soft couch.

“Kyla, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, unsure. She’s not good at small talk.

“You’re the one my boy ran over.”

Kyla smiles. This is Kip’s father then. He’s gendering Kip in a weird way, but he’s trying.

“I am,” she says.

“Sorry about that. Kait—Kip always tries his best. I mean, their best. Sorry.” He looks embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” she says. She’s not sure what else to say. She appreciates him. “Kip talks a lot about you.”

“They do?”

“Yeah.” Kyla offers him a smile. “You helped them find this apartment and that job out in the forest. It means the world to them. They hated working at McDonald’s.”

Kip’s dad smiles, a genuine one that meets his eyes and tugs at Kyla’s heart; she can’t remember ever seeing a smile like that from her own dad. “I was looking for ages. I knew that degree would be hard to find a job with, but conservation is all that kid cares about. You know, she was always bringing bugs into the house. I kept telling her to leave them outside, but you try convincing that one of anything. Stubborn as hell.”

Kyla laughs. “Yeah, they’re stubborn. It’s a good quality, though. It makes someone loyal and trustworthy.”

He smiles again. “Yeah, just like her mom.”

Their conversation lulls, filled by the laughter of Kip’s friends and a foolhardy acoustic guitar. Kyla’s just glad they’re not playing Wonderwall.

“Hey!” Kip says, wandering over to the pair on the couch. “Kyla, this is my dad. Dad, this is Kyla.”

“We’ve met,” Kyla says with a roll of her eyes.

“Right,” Kip says sheepishly. “Well, Dad, you wanna play beer pong?”

Kyla laughs. What an amazing relationship these two have.

“Sure,” he says, standing, dusting his hands off on his old knees. “I’ll beat you just like last time.”

Kip smiles, looking down at the girl on the couch. “You good here?” they ask. “I can get you a chair so you can sit closer to the chaos.”

“I think I’m good here,” she says. She pulls out her phone. “Come get me when there’s an activity that doesn’t involve debasing myself.”

Kip grins that crooked grin of theirs. “You’ll be bored all night, I think.”

“Good.”

Kip laughs. “I’ll bring you a drink, hold on.”

Kip brings her a drink, and the night is long, and she doesn’t debase herself. Finally the time comes to open her tacky garbage bag, and Kip pulls out a canvas as long as their torso.

“You made this?” they ask, and all of the people in the room are looking at her, and Kyla wants the couch to just swallow her up.

“Yes,” she says, not looking at any of them. She studies her nails.

“Thank you,” Kip says, and then they let it go, moving on to the next present and the next, the night moving forward like she wants it to and not lingering on the painting at all.

“Kip can drive me back to yours,” she says to Andy from her place on the couch that she hasn’t left all night.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. You have work in the morning.”

“Alright,” he says with a tired smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

He leaves, followed a little later by the last of Kip’s friends, and then finally by Kip’s father. The apartment is finally quiet, filled only with the hum of the freezer and the quiet indie music Kip likes from the entertainment system across from her.

“I love your present,” they say, sitting beside her.

“I’m glad.”

“You gonna let me ask you on a date now? You know, for my birthday.”

She tries not to blush, staring at the fancy foreign plant next to her instead of at Kip. “You know I’ve got baggage. Are you sure?”

“If all your baggage is like that trash bag, I think it’ll be alright.”

She laughs. “It’s not.”

“That’s okay too.”

They take her hand—the one that’s not attached to a broken arm, that is.

“I’m not so sure.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m sure enough for the both of us.”

She looks away from the plant, studying Kip’s crooked smile and the way their pretty brown eyes sparkle with earnestness in the yellow light from the cheap lamp behind the couch. She’s not sure about this, but she says it anyway.

“I’ve killed someone in self-defense before.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve committed three felonies.”

“Alright.”

She sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, fine. Where do you want to go?”

Kip laughs.