PHOENIX HOUSE was bright and spacious, the inside far bigger than it seemed from the outside. It was the first thing I’d noticed when I’d come for the first in a series of interviews last spring. The walls were brick and painted white, with a fifteen-foot rainbow painted on the far wall. The ductwork overhead was exposed, giving it an industrial look. The building had once been an art gallery but had sat empty until Phoenix House had opened last year.
There’d been another LGBTQ youth center in Tucson called Wingspan, but that had closed a while back due to lack of funding. Given the size of Tucson’s LGBTQ population, it was a harsh blow, especially to the queer kids. This new center had opened with a solid backing in place, though funding was always going to be an issue. It was a nonprofit. Donations and grants were the only reason it existed in the first place.
The problem with that was Tucson was a blue speck in a sea of red. It was only three years ago that Arizona came close to being one of those states, trying to pass a bathroom law requiring people to use the restroom of their assigned gender. I was pleasantly surprised when it failed. The fact that centers like Wingspan and Phoenix House still struggled was not surprising.
Phoenix House was meant to be a youth center, but it also was a community outreach group. And since there was no other place like it in Tucson, it had a few beds in the back for people who needed them (rare though it was), a psychologist who worked pro bono, and contacts with queer-friendly drug treatment facilities. Sometimes it felt overstuffed, like it was trying to do too much with too little, but it worked.
The director who’d conducted my final interview in April had been nice, but he was a lawyer—one of Tucson’s rich Super Gays—and he’d had to take a leave of absence due to his day job. I hadn’t met the interim summer director yet.
There were a couple of kids sitting over near a carpeted area on the floor, leaning back against old sofas that had been donated. School was out for the summer, and though I expected there to be more of them, it was still early. One was a tiny Latinx boy with a spiky black mohawk and a rainbow bar through his eyebrow. He glanced over at me, eyes narrowing suspiciously. The other didn’t even look up. Their shaved head was bowed over their phone, fingers typing furiously.
I stood near the entrance, unsure why I was uncomfortable. They were just kids, not much younger than I was, but I still felt nervous about it.
“Corey!” a bright and cheerful voice said. “You made it!”
I turned my head, relieved.
An older woman was walking toward me, a wide smile on her face. She wore jeans and a loose-fitting blouse. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her name was Marina, and as far as Phoenix House was concerned, she was in charge. I’d interviewed with her twice before moving on to the former director. She was, as she told me, an Original Gangster lesbian. In another life before she retired, she’d worked for the county in management at Public Works. We’d bonded over our disdain of Andrew Taylor, Vince and Darren’s father and former mayor of Tucson, who was currently enjoying freedom while waiting to be tried on a bunch of charges.
“I’m so glad you showed up,” she said, stopping to stand in front of me. She was carrying a clipboard, and a stubby pencil was stuck behind her ear.
I shifted nervously. “You’re welcome? I mean, I said I would. You did give me the job, right? I didn’t just hallucinate that whole thing?”
She laughed. “No, I don’t think so. Not unless I did too, but I haven’t dropped acid since the seventies, so it’s unlikely.”
God, I hoped I could be as cool as her one day. “That’s good to know. I’m pretty sure drugs are frowned upon here.”
“Of course they are,” Marina said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t smoke a joint every now and then, but who doesn’t?”
I didn’t, but I nodded politely. It seemed like the right thing to do.
“We weren’t sure if you would be here,” she said, glancing down at her clipboard. “I know you kids have a lot more opportunities these days, but we appreciate it.”
I was confused. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
She looked back up at me. “Of course you wouldn’t know.” She sighed. “We chose you and one other.” The skin around her eyes tightened. “I came in this morning to an email from her saying that she reconsidered and took another internship. Just like that. No notice at all.”
“That seriously sucks,” I said, angrier than I expected. “Why would you do something like that?”
She shrugged. “It happens. I will admit that leaves us in a bit of a bind. We need all the unpaid labor we can get.” Her eyes widened. “Wow, that might have been offensive. I apologize.”
I waved it away. “I know what you meant. Still, that’s a shitty thing she did to you.”
“Perhaps. But I should still remember to watch what I say.” She smiled ruefully. “So many people make the accusations that we’re becoming too politically correct these days, but isn’t it happening for a reason? Things aren’t like they used to be. More and more are coming forward with who they are, and it’s up to us to listen to what they’re telling us. Speaking of.” She pulled the pencil from her ear and lowered it to the clipboard. “What pronoun should I use to address you?”
I blinked. “What?”
“I remember you’re bigender. And it’s important to me to get it right.”
I fidgeted again. “He and him is fine with how I am now.”
She nodded as she scribbled something on the clipboard. “If I ever make a mistake
and call you the wrong name or pronoun or whatever, I expect you to point it out to me. It’s how I’ll learn. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Good!” she said. “Let me show you to your desk. I’m afraid it isn’t much, but it should work for now. Follow me, please.”