Clever Asterisk.

"I am really smart for an idiot".

Smiler claims that he doesn’t enjoy the taste of cigarettes per se. Something about an oral fixation, mouth feeling unemployed; a lot of talk about cigarettes tasting better than a thumb.

His thumbs must taste like shit.

He wonders now why he is thinking about cigarettes, since his lips are presently engaged with sucking as much smoke in a draw from the limp joint ping-ponging between him and his friend, Bello. Bello, on the other hand, is coughing spiritedly in a corner, eyes newly-lubricated.

Bello is saying something.

“Cuh”, Bello says. “Cuh, you keep your thing close to your chest”. Cuh. Exactly like someone who grew up an isolated African child. Practically raised by TV. Culture thoroughly leached, with dated reference to ‘cool’. Smiler thinks of The Demolition Man, but cannot remember why.

“Mm?”

“I say you don’t lose your guard around me, cuh. Known you six months, you’ve never gendered me”.

“You mean misgendered”.

“No. You never call me ‘bro’ or ‘sis’”.

Smiler’s creaky eyelids slide up with considerable effort. Through the haze of the makeshift studio, he studies Bello: XXL T-shirt. Sweatpants. Obligatory beanie hiding some of the rich, heady aroma of the stiff locs criss-crossing the sallow face.

“Yeah?”

“You think I don’t notice, cuh. You still haven’t figured me out, innit. Am I a dude, or a chick? Chick turned dude, or dude turned chick?”

Bello, Bello, Bello. Government-assigned name: Isabella. As gay as there are sun rays, but definitely a woman.

“Dude”.

Bello scoffs, visibly pleased. To be honest, that’s why Smiler did it. He knows Bello (government-assigned name: Isabella) gets a kick out of being dude-passing.

Also, Smiler knows he’s repeatedly correctly gendered Bello in the past. Bello just forgets. The odd, earthy after-taste of the joint lingers in his mouth, and he idly wishes he could douse it with some cloudy menthol—

“—never notice, but that’s just the thing about my brain, it’s very—”

“What?”

“Oh, I was saying it’s because I fly under the radar that people misgender me, because I’m very chill, like a dude, and very smart, like, for a girl—”

Oh dear. Smiler smiles weakly. Not another one of those. He’d been friends with Bello six months, but this was the first time they were really discussing anything. He was immediately sorry, and fighting to retain the pristine recollection of their kinship, he starts to tune out the rest of the conversation.

As his brain beats a hasty retreat, he starts to think about other people he’d met in the past, who really wanted you to know they were smart. Smiler (government-assigned name: Ismaila) realized that although Bello’s “for a girl” was pretty vulgar and direct, there may have been hidden asterisks embedded in the intelligence claims of several of those people.

I am very smart for someone who attended a public school, for example. I’m really smart for a child of two stockfish traders. I am really smart for someone with ADHD.

I am really smart for an idiot.

The retreat is complete, and he is momentarily unplugged.

The Smiler smiles.