I WANT TO TELL YOU ABOUT X. I’m calling her X because, unlike many people I’ve been fond of in the past, X hasn’t reappeared through the strange rubric of digital life since. There’s been no friend request on Facebook, no Instagram follow, no nothing.
There is a ghostly patina that hangs over this subset of old friendships now. In an age of oversharing, they are one of the few component parts of our individual histories that are intangible and otherworldly. A Google search of old acquaintances usually pinpoints their whereabouts. Three clicks later and there they are. When nothing appears, you can’t help but fear the worst. Because X was the first trans woman I knew, the likelihood of something having happened to her was significant. We all know the statistics. Or, at least, I hope we do.