Who They Were

Who They Were

Camden, close your eyes. She whispered it to me like wind through the grains, and I felt my bones quiver. Close your eyes… It’s time.

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A drive on the interior highway, late in the morning, heart of the summer heat, head leaning on the shoulder of the passenger’s seat in the old Scottsdale. Tim driving, time flying by, ticker tape tapping along in the shadows of the utility poles looming over the road. You could actually capture the passage of time there, derived from the speed of the car and the distance between each pole, as long as both remain constant as far as they go. The brightness still singed on their twitching eyelids, the flutter of the telephone wires, and the beat from the whip of the cars passing by, the unfettered sunlight a blanket on their bare skin; manure in, smoke tails out, a cocktail of marinated spills and sweat on the spongey fabric. The prairies.

Every once in a while a breeze sweeps up the tender grains, blurry pale gold sketched alongside the pavement. It brings the taste of that sweetness, dry in the heat, to the tip of Camden’s tongue through the open car window. They swallow it deep into their tepid heart. There’s something about the prairies, the last of the soak sapped up, the final drops squeezed from a wheezing sky, like the crackle of a dying fire, to the bone: dry. Taste the sugar in her pores and name her sweet grass, bite her lightly on the lip and sip. Had they known it’d be their last trip they might have held on more tightly.

Suddenly a thick rip in the blue sky above, as the spinning morphs from sweet swirls of scent and sound around them and becomes them, tumbling. Their eyes pop open. In a second their world and their body both tear in two.

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“Camden, close your eyes,” came a sweet voice from the round shadow hovering over them, blocking the bright light searing from above, a mouth masked but smiling.They lay back with a crackle, frigid in their gown, willing the sterility away with their eyes shut tight conjuring up that bright sunlight, the taste of her: sweet grass on the tip of their tongue, one last sip.

“Ok, I’m ready.” They couldn’t say it out loud, with their jaw clenched under metal and wrapped around a tube. It wasn’t for anyone else to hear anyway, just for them now. As a final thought: they could have sworn they’d only closed their eyes a moment. A blink… a blink and a half, perhaps. Then everything shattered.

Camden hadn’t seen the prairies for 10 years. They were 17 when they left. They’d always known, and were sure it was obvious to everyone else, so they hadn’t guessed that that was how it would go. They were thrown out of the house.

“Why?” Ash had asked, when Camden told her they were leaving.

“Because Ash, I can’t live up here as a trans.”

A flash and a slight loss of colour in Ash’s pale face, but just as quickly the concern was replaced, the colour returned, and with a glint in her eye, she smiled. 

Ash and Camden left on New Year’s Day, as the horizon crept into view, with the dark winter night turning a soft purple hew. The stars were blazing, and the teen’s fingers were burning cold as they hauled their suitcases through the crisp, crunchy snow, realizing they should probably have thought about where to go.

They arrived in Vancouver after two full days, and two very shady motel stays. Camden had only been through the mountains once before then, in the summer. Now, in the winter they, though they seemed so much more… at home. Safe under the weight of the snow, so powerful, so calm, like they already knew they were the kings and queens towering over this land that they shape, over the people they keep in their place. Yet this road wound right through them, when back in the day they planted bombs in their bellies and made their way through the cracks. Camden marvelled at their height and their wisdom, and shrunk under the scars on their armour, they whispered, "forgive us" as Ash's used Subaru drove through.

Highway 1 feeds into Highway 5, which becomes Highway 7, and then Highway 1 again. If you keep driving straight, as you would if you didn’t know where to go, you would find yourself driving along Hastings Street, toward the downtown core, until it becomes East Hastings, or the downtown Eastside. The gate that you pass through on your way from one pocket of wealth to the next is striking so to speak, these few "sullied" blocks of East Hastings un-housing those left for dead.

As bad as Northern Alberta seemed to be you’d never see life left like this, sprawled out on the street. Camden gaped as they passed by the crowds, most hunched over at the hip or wheelchair bound, yelling at nothing as the night slowly fell. Camden watched most of the weep as their coping medicine kicked in. They seemed fighting the fear of their heads, inside and out with no safe place to rest.

“Where to next?” Ash asked, seeming somewhat oblivious to the horrors they’d just passed. While Camden trembled at a fear for their own possible fate being just like this display, Ash was still glowing in the thrill of their escape.

Before long, to both teens' surprise, they were making it... making it work, at least. Sharing a micro-unit suite on Pender street, perched just above the Bird and the Beets where they’d go to eat fresh sourdough toast and drink thick fruity coffee every Sunday morning before leaving for their evening work. Ash at the Grand Hotel changing the sheets, and Camden at the old Hostel bar downtown, called The Cambie. The owner called "her" "Cammie" because he thought it sounded the same as the Cambie, but they really didn't mind it there besides. It was full of interesting stories, probably because the drinks were only $5 a pint.

For a while everything seemed so, so sweet. Ash met a man in a band and started singing with them at the Guilt & Co, Tuesday nights at first, then Thursday, then actual paid shows booked across the city. Camden never missed a beat, if they could make it out. After few years they had enough to move to a one bedroom in East Van and Camden was talking about going to school. Ash was talking about touring, and Camden enthused, encouraged Ash to go. "Go! You have to!"... If only either of them had known.

Before she left, Ash proposed. It was a warm summer night and they’d just biked home from Jericho beach, where they sipped on wine watching the sun sink into the ocean, celebrating Ash turning 23. Sprawled on the floor in their dimly lit kitchen, half the light bulbs burnt out, snacking on blackberries picked from their outing, Ash held Camden’s cold feet in her hands, warming their toes between her palms. She asked calmly, like it was something she'd been sure of since the beginning.

When they were 16, Camden took some ecstasy, and had a taste of what feeling their body might mean. It was terrifying. From then on they chose to drink, for the numb, for the safety of an emptiness that felt more familiar, for the comfort of their mind and world swirling like when they had spun in too many circles, crashed into the prairie grass, looked up at the stars, and saw once and for all that the earth was indeed spinning too fast.

After their night at the beach, on kitchen floor, engaged. After their first night together, as in, together, Camden wasn’t quite so afraid. They felt safe. Ash left for her tour just a few days later.

Ash, didn’t like to drink but would sink for hours into other worlds with her eyes closed. It was almost always in micro’s. But when Ash came back from the States after a few months away something had changed. Something had happened… but Ash wouldn’t say. She just kept coming home further and further away, until one cold, grim January day. 6 years after they’d first found the street, Camden found Ash slinked over on East Hastings street…. _____________________________________

Camden woke in a cavern and instantly wept. Then realized they didn’t know why they were crying. I think I just died? Or maybe that was a dream. Where am I? Everything seemed to echo. 



“Hello…o…o….?” No. This is a dream. Camden thought for a second, then screamed, and the sound stumped, like a dull thump on a rubber wall, falling back to Camden’s feet. I mean. They could see it. A fiery blue ball flaring, falling, and fading… was that a frown? Did Camden just see sound…frown? 

Ok, great. Well I think it’s time wake up now… Like. Now, now.


Fear started to seep in, slowly, like a sore growing in their chest. Bulbous and apparently trying its best to choke them. Until… I can’t feel my legs. Had they even felt their legs before to know they couldn’t feel their legs now? How strange that before they felt nothing at all, and now they definitely felt specifically and very strongly the absence of feeling where their legs should be. How do I even know I’m feeling the rest of me? This was crazy.

They were sure this cavern was dark and empty, but there was enough of a glow just over where their legs should go for them to see that they were not feeling their legs because there were no legs to be felt at all. The sizzling sore in their chest grew, with a hint of pressure on their thin throat now too.

Ok it’s fine because this isn’t real. A searing struck the side of their cheek. Did something just slap me? Their whole left side felt tender like bruises being poked relentlessly. Then a burning. A thick, heavy, boiling kind of a burn, like blisters building then bursting and building back on their bursts, replacing all of that blissful unfeeling in their legs, as before. There was still nothing there, so how now were they feeling this so awfully. They shut their eyes tight. Make it stop… make it stop… a shimmering hint of the sight: skin, bubbling. No. Nope. Don’t make me see it, don’t make me see it. They willed themselves to see nothing where their legs should be, rather than their pale skin being licked by flames, but I’m already in a dream. Then flashes of light, one after another, blue electric lightning flashes with a hot white head (along with the kind of feeling you’d expect) before the cavern walls started caving in.

And like the wheel of an old View-Master spinning behind their magnified eyes, whipped passed every moment of Camden’s life. First, the faces of their parents: her father’s, purple and bloating, veins showing on his forehead, their mother behind him staring blank-eyed but crying, saltless tears running down her porcelain skin, disappointed and grim. And Tim… halfway down the stairs with his mouth open slightly, surprise in his eyes, trying to understand but too late for goodbye.

And Ash. Ash’s pale face, lifeless, lying in the pavement, her vibrant blue eyes dull and grey.

Then Tim again, but older. His pubescent smile turned into a smoulder under a moustache, a flicker of some clever thing just said. The flashes ripping, and billowing, and now Ash’s face was Camden’s, and it wasn’t cold, wasn’t dark, wasn’t winter. Camden felt something nagging, like they were laying on a rock, and their bare skin felt warm, except their legs which were cold, or burning? They couldn’t tell. It felt the same as their bare hands in the winter, up North, as they hauled the last bag into their car. Was that the sound of sirens or was Camden’s mind just being shredded into pieces with this flashing oh. my. GOD… STOP.... for one second, honestly.

Quiet. Camden stayed as still as they could. They kept their eyes fixed straight ahead. A suggestion of a thought played in some dark corner of the cavern, and they refused to look at it. A feeling in their chest, an attempt to assess but they pushed it away. Stay. Still.

Then the cavern filled up with a sweetness. Camden’s curls flickered in front of their face, tickled their cheek (no longer searing). I know this smell… it smells like… They thought the heard the faint sound of a yell, a voice in the distance, sirens in the distance, a memory much the same… distant. They let loose their stiffness and for a moment, quiet. With a light glow beside them.

Then on their arm, a touch so soft, and that smell even sweeter and stronger, close, it was something so familiar. A light breeze played with their curls, and caressed their cheek, Camden took a deep breath and remembered that sweet, dry grass. Ash.

Ash was right there, smiling, and her blue-green eyes were so, so bright. Camden was alight. She hadn’t seen Ash’s eyes shine like that since their last summer together, in those days right after Ash turned 23.

The cavern became serene. All around them a soft yellow-pink, and a warm golden orb taking its sweet time to sink into a deep, dark blue ocean, glowing. Camden felt their toes warm in the sand. They wiggled them, crunched them in and splayed them out, again and again. A warm, thick, salty breeze held their head in its hands, laid them down gently. They felt, and smelt, Ash lay down next to them, weightless but warm. They lay feeling everything they could think to feel. They watched as the sky above turned to a deep heavy golden, pink into red, until the day’s blue turned to midnight and pulled the night over them. They counted the stars. Every single star, then started over, and all the while it never grew cold, and the light never came. A full moon left a sweet glow in the room, and the sound of water lapping echoed around them. Then the glow from the moon came from Ash, too, as she turned and said, 

“I have to go…”

No. Please don’t.



“Come with me!” That smile. That same smile that gleamed on New Year’s Eve, when they were 17 and decided to leave.

Ash started to dissipate, dissolving, left a warm pocket of air where she lay, then her smell, that sweet dry grass, melted into the walls of the cavern. The soft salty breeze became dry and barren and then again Camden's legs were gone again, yet screaming with pain. The flashing, the burning, and billowing crashes all back and then the cavern crumbled and caved in.

Camden woke again. Still in the cavern, the instantly wept. Then realized they might never leave this horrible dream.

Please. They whispered between their gasps.

“Come with me!”



Please, help me Ash.

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“I just wanted you to come for a brief discussion.... if she doesn’t wake in the next few days, we should really consider alternative options for you and your family.” Dr. Schaef had called Camden’s family into her office after two weeks without any sign of change.

“Camden goes by ‘they,’” Tim mumbled, his head hung low. He was in his wheelchair by the window, arm in a sling, right leg sticking out stiff straight. His femur was shattered, his shin bone was shattered, his collarbone, shattered, and his right frontal bone snapped and drooping down over his bloodshot red eyes. He’d been foggy on opioids for weeks and among all other things was terrified by it. He felt helpless to protest, but he’d been at Ash’s funeral and knew her cause of death.…

Dr. Schaef was charged with the sibling’s care, at Beaver Lodge Hospital, where they’d both been many times before. It was a small town and she knew both of them well, from their childhood bicycle crashes to now with this hell. Tim couldn’t believe what she was about to tell them.

Camden’s father tsked, clicked his tongue and said “That’s not important, Tim,” and Tim wished for a second he was (nearly) dead, instead.



“No you’re right, I’m sorry Timmy…. I forgot, I didn’t mean to.”

How could you, he thought at her next suggestion: maybe for Camden, death is the best option. 


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One more time, Camden begged. Just one more night like this.

Camden woke in the cavern and instantly wept. Woke? Had they even slept? Could you dream within a dream? It seems like they had been - dreaming about their last night living with Ash. She was thin then, and cold, Camden missed her warm hands. She had dark under her eyes and had just left her band. Ash was hardly ever fully there anymore, but tonight her eyes seemed a little brighter. Camden could see Ash there behind them.

“Ash,” Camden begged then, “what happened?” So with tears in her eyes Ash told Camden everything then, exhausted, she slept, while Camden processed and quietly wept. Camden hadn’t stopped weeping, it seemed, until they got caught up in their sun-soak moment in the spoiled passenger seat of the old Scottsdale, counting the tick’s of the telephone poles, before...

Then, once again, the whole cavern smelled like the sweet grass Camden had sucked in with their last full deep breath. Again Ash came, and again before long Ash was beginning to fade. 



“Camden,” and this time Ash wasn’t smiling, without realizing Camden started to cry. “I can’t come and see you again. It’s time. You have to decide.”

Camden closed their eyes. They took a deep breath, sucked in the humid warm ocean air, tasted the salty stream - tears that had fallen past their cheeks onto the tip of their tongue, as the wet sunk in, the salt turned sweet like that dry yellow grass.

Will it be like this?

“No, not quite” Ash surmised.

Have you been? To the other side?

“Why?”

How could you know, then, how it will be?

Ash tilted her head, gave Camden a knowing look, “Camden, if we’re going go, it has to be home.”

For the first time since this all began Ash leaned in, and kissed Camden and together they both drifted off at last.

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When Camden woke they were frozen. It was too bright and too cold. Then they noticed, the hair on their arms being tickled. “Ash!” No it feels like a breeze, and their eyes finally opened. They blinked endlessly, the arid air puffing on their parched eyes, stinging under the fluorescent lights. Laboriously they turned their metal clad head toward the window. They saw the sun setting ever so slowly, with its hand waving over the gold yellow grains that were shimmering like gentle candle flames.

Too soon came the sounds of their family rejoicing, they’d hoped to have more time before voicing their claim, that they had only came back to ask to leave again.

Dr. Schaef explained, Tim holding Camden’s hand. Their parents were banished before they could speak to the matter. Camden couldn't speak with their jaw clenched dawn under metal wiring, so Dr. Schaef told them to write it. “This isn’t a life...” they were asking to die.

As if Camden wasn’t already sure, they were talked through what had happened before they had entered the cavern. They’d been barely alive for three weeks on a life line. The truck had come headlong into a caravan rounding the only corner in all of Grand Prairie and Camden, without their seatbelt secure, had been cut in two by an impossible chance when the car rolled over the top of the barrier, and landed on Crosscut Rock. “Give me a break,” they thought, but it was more of a slice, they supposed. Apparently it would have been swift, which Camden guessed was a good thing?

Their jaw, now clamped, had been broken, they had internal bleeding mostly down their left side, their legs were both barely hanging on, and a surgery was scheduled to finish the job, and, though they seemed sound enough, their memory was most likely drowned in the lake next to where the car landed. All to say, they probably wouldn't recall anything before that day. As if Camden wasn’t already sure.

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“Camden, close your eyes,” Dr. Schaef whispered sweetly. They lay back with a crackle, frigid in their gown. With their eyes gently shut, they called on that bright sunlight, the taste of her: sweet grass on the tip of their tongue, a wide open sky, a road, endless miles. A pink-yellow sunset and salt on their skin, then the soft touch of Ash, pulling them in.