I used to be pretty good at pretending to be human.

  But my fiden that skill irreparably crumbled with the wink of a sharply winged eye.

  My hand assing a box of tampons over the ser ser when it happened. And while it wasn’t just the weird text that did it, that was the situation that sent my mind spiraling through a set of inappropriate responses. Why wink right then?

  I was also enduring Christmas music half a month past Halloween, and had memories of two of my coworkers talking during our st break about how nobody really knows how tnize flirting. The versation had coursed through a pop psychology evaluation of differeypes, including ASD, ADHD, BPD, C-PTSD, ASPD, and a few others, very briefly, with one of my coworkers saying that sihey were autistic they had always felt alien amongst other humans and that for them it was worse. Except, acc to the other coworker, studies had shown that it didn’t matter your ype. Everyone was equally bad at it.

  The ce of having Cassy and Ayden’s words boung around in my head, peting with “Santa Tell Me” by Ariana Grande, while holding a box of tampons and receiving a wink from a er I had never met before, kind of twisted my sense of self a hundred and thirty-seven degrees off from the axis of my p the world.

  I felt my face fsh the sort of rictus grin I’ve seen on Cassy’s face fairly regurly.

  And the er stuck their to at me, pushed up against the white of their teeth, nose wrinkled.

  And then.

  And then, to my utter horror, I held up the box of tampons before putting them in the bag, and asked, “Got any special pns for these tonight?”

  This was back during the time I took a job at Hayward Groceries, in Gresham, on.

  This robably one of the more id back types of retail jobs you could have at the time. If grocery is sidered retail. Selling food and household items to people tends to be easier tharonics or cars or music or whatever. You just check out their items, bag them, take their money, and chat a little bit. Giving them their receipt puts a nice cap oera, and then you move on to the one.

  And when I say that I took the job, I mean I walked into the business one day, logged into one of the registers, and started w the till.

  How I did this doesn’t o be known. I might o do it again someday.

  It seemed like a good idea at the time, and the way that I did it meant that I wouldn’t have to worry about any sort of paperwork or taxes. Of course, I didn’t get paid, but that didn’t matter to me. I was there to help and talk to people, and the job gave me the opportunity to do that.

  And as my eyebrows raised themselves iion, my left hand h the box of tampons over the pride-striped reusable grocery bag, my right hand reached for the item t up. A bottle of red wine.

  “Oh, you know,” the er began to say, “I’m thinking of a nice marinade ht.”

  “Ew!” blurted the er in line behind them.

  And while this was funny, and not unusual for w a ter, and we all ughed at it, all I could think was that no one had ever wi me before.

  If you take a tired clerk and put them into an unusual social exge, something slightly off script, their reas are likely to be even further off, as were mine. And that is one of the genuine joys of w with the publi a retively quick paced enviro.

  And nobody noticed that I wasn’t an actual employee. Everyone else got paid the same as before. The workload was shared by one more cashier. The business was able to handle more ers without having to pay for the extra work. And there weren’t any pints.

  It was a minor deception, really. And ohat ted by everyone.

  And so, during this era of my life, I was having a pretty good time, and I really enjoyed getting to know my coworkers and some of the regurs.

  And the events of this exge, beyond the wink, weren’t really b me.

  Had no one, in my entire existence, really ever wi me before?

  A wink was a spiratorial gesture, as I uood it. It could have been flirting, but it could also have been something else.

  It’s pretty intimate. It implies there’s some sort of shared knowledge. Or so I’m told. I’ve seen it occur in movies as a gag, a lot, where the unication breaks down pletely and the person being wi really doesn’t notice or doesn’t know what it’s about. It’s pretty clear that it’s uood that for a wink to be meaningful, both parties have to be expeg it.

  And I hadn’t been expeg it. Why should I? I’d never been wi before.

  Which is kind of bizarre in and of itself, but I figured there was a reason for that. I didn’t really know anybody. Or nobody knew me. Nobody ever really could.

  And then I’d made that rictus grin before I could take trol of my face. Like Steve Martin ging at his character’s own foolishness while fag the camera that caught his anti film.

  And I’d gotten a silly spiratorial smirk in response? From this person I didn’t know?

  I couldn’t see anything about us that we had in on, except maybe our sense of fashion and general gender expressions. And for me, those things are very superficial.

  Had they seen past my guise somehow? Did we have something deeper in on?

  I didn’t sense anything. Not that I’m particurly good at that.

  While everyone was giggling over the disgusting little versation about tampons, I finished ringing them up and bagging their groceries, putting the wine in its oer sack before slipping it into the bag. Then, as I hahem their receipt, I leaned forward, brow furrowed, and asked a question quietly.

  “What was the wink for?” came out of my mouth in a near whisper.

  Taking the receipt aing their bag from in front of me, they shrugged and tilted their head to the side and said, easily, “Your rea. I just wao see if a hunch was right, and it totally was. Have a great evening, Synthia!”

  I have a ag. It says “Synthia, she/her” on it. So it retty reasoo assume that's my name.

  Once, one of my coworkers asked me about the spelling and I told him, “My dad wao name me Moog, but my mom objected.” Everyone had ughed.

  I don’t have a dad. Never did.

  Without learning their name, I waved at the er and said, “Oh, goodie! You, too!” And then turo the one.

  And most of the rest of my shift went just fiernally. But internally, I was a wreck.

  What had been that person’s hunch?

  Was I making more of it than I should because the wink had been so o me?

  Or was I actually in danger of being discovered and outed?

  If you’ve ever had to hide something big about yourself for a long time, you probably uand my . Small things seem bigger than they are, especially when they happen for the first time. And there is a lot at stake, after all.

  I’d been discovered and outed before, but not with a wink and a smile.

  And now I was reviewing my owions and my tenacity to ask directly about the wink, and I was feeling like I’d given a lot away. It felt like my facade had slipped, and I’d reacted more acc to my nature than to my wisdom and experience.

  I didn’t think I’d behaved particurly inhuman. But I hadn’t matched the behavior of my ret past very well.

  I’d been doing so well, too.

  This worry irked me so much that when I was hanging up my apron and ag in the back with Cassy, after work, I asked her, “How often have other women wi you?”

  I decided, for the purposes of this question, that assuming the flirty er had been a woman was the shortest method of filtering potential ao something useful to me. They certainly had not appeared to be a cisgender man.

  Cassy frowned, and replied, “My friends and I do it a lot? But strangers? I don’t know. Sometimes? Why?”

  “It has happeo me only ooday,” I told her. “During checkout.”

  “Did you get her number?”

  “No?”

  “OK, but she knows where you work. So there’s still a ce of a sed date,” she said.

  “Sed…?” I started to ask.

  “I’m joking. But she might have been a lesbian!” Cassy expined. “Tell me more. How did you react? Did you wink back?”

  “I grimaced, like this,” I demonstrated.

  “Oh, yeah, OK. I get it,” she replied. “How’d she respond?”

  “By stig her to against her upper teeth and wrinkling her nose in this way that is usually cute,” and I demonstrated that.

  “That is phenomenally cute on you, Synthia,” Cassy snickered. “Has aold you you’re really good at imitating other people?”

  “But you didn’t see her do it,” I pointed out.

  She shook her head, “I don’t o. You’ve got my grimace down perfect, and I’ve seen you imitate Ayden when you don’t realize you’re doing it. You’re a natural!”

  “Ah.”

  “Seriously, Synthia, you’re a riot when you rex,” Cassy said. “At least, you are from my autistic perspective. Tell you what, I bet she just clocked you as on the spectrum.”

  “Weird,” I said. “I did ask her why she winked.”

  “Well? What’d she say?”

  “That I firmed a hunch she had by my rea,” I replied.

  “Well, then, that’s definitely it,” Cassy said.

  “Autistien wink at each other?” I asked, genuinely incredulous. The behavior didn’t match the stereotypes I’d heard about.

  “Oh, of course. Especially if we’re lesbians!” Cassy dismissed my question with a wave. “Sometimes we don’t know when it’s not appropriate to wink. e on, you should know this.”

  I bit my lip and made an “mmm” noise.

  She looked at me out of the side of her eye and admonished me, “Sweetie. Darling. Synthia. OK, we’re not all the same, but you ’t tell me you’re not autistic. I mean, there’s a reason we’re friends.”

  “Maybe I am,” I suggested. I’m not. I wouldn’t mind if I were, but I’m not. I ’t be measured meaningfully in that way. But I could see the role I ying in this versation and I let it happen.

  “Oh, OK,” she said, nodding and pushing her hand toward me. “I’ll eat my apron if you’re not. But that doesn’t matter. You’re autistiough, and she probably thought you were. Especially if you fshed her my grimace.”

  That did make me feel a bit better. A pusibly deniable reason for the exge. So, I said, “OK. Thank you.” But, to get a bit more out of her, I added, “I don’t feel autistic, though. How would I know?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s a whole bunch of things, big and small. Watg so many people able to do things you ’t do, but not knowing why. Being able to do things that nobody else , and not feeling like you’re even human because of it. That sort of thing.”

  “And that grimace makes me look not human like you?” I asked, knowing full well what autism was and that my feigned was meaningless. Cassy was definitely human. I just wanted a little more versation. Though, I really was also w away at my sense of self and whether my facade was still good.

  Cassy ughed. “You’re fi was harmless. And, hey, maybe you’ll see her again and make faces at each other some more,” she said, walking toward the door. “It’ll make the day go faster!”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  Cassy turo me and squinted, “Synthia. Wanna go to Shady’s with me and Ayden? It’s dark and quiet and they’ve got great drinks.”

  “I really o eat dinner,” I told her. “Sorry.”

  “Well, they have food,” she replied.

  “I ’t eat their food,” I expined. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t suffie as a meal. But I would ell ahat.

  “Of course! e after you eat?”

  “Maybe…”

  “Well, OK. See you there if you e. We’d love it if you joined us some time,” she said carefully.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  And then I walked home.

  Cassy’s expnation really did make me feel better about the whole day, but now I couldn’t get ahing out of my head.

  Even while I had been talking to Cassy, I had felt off. And watg myself respond to her I could see myself saying and doing things I wouldn’t have done before. Or, not doing things I would have done before. It had been as if I’d already accepted her model that I was autistic, even before she’d suggested it, and had subsciously followed a script based on my preceptions of what that meant. Or my observations of autistic characters on T.V.

  I’d had a ft affed said things in a matter of fact fashion instead of my usual quippy repartee. Which is fine, as far as humans behave. There are plenty of humans who do that. Just not me, usually.

  Something was off about me. And even if it wasn’t enough to be strange to anyone I knew or met, it was enough to make me wonder what was going on. Normally, I have a lot more trol than that.

  And there was still the slight ce that the er had not clocked me as autistic or queer or anything normal like that.

  I found myself staring at the sidewalk as I proceeded to my wooded lot between Elliot and Lireets. Much less aware of my surroundings than I usually pushed myself to be, I actually almost walked through a couple of red lights. And this startled me.

  Both times, I did look around up and down both sets of streets and up at the sky, to make sure I hadn’t missed anything else.

  And then I kept going.

  And by the time I got home, to my wooded lot, which I don’t know if it’s legally owned by anybody in particur, I was looking at the sidewalk again, deep in thought. Thinking the same thing I had been thinking when I’d left Hayward Grocery.

  And I just habitually turoward my woods, and then I looked up and turned, and did my usual thing of letting my gaze follow the path of a car as it drove by. To let me s my surroundings without looking too obvious about it. Though I'm sure I failed this time.

  And there, standing on the sidewalk before me, where my eyes nded after following the car, arms at their sides, pride-striped grocery bag in hand, head cocked slightly to the side, was the er. Grinning.

  theInmara