Lessons in Human Biology

A cartoonist chronicles the visceral shame that lies behind his funnyman façade.

‘There’s something you need to know about me, Bob…’

Lesson 01: Sexual Orientation

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t come out. When I realised what I was—what I am—I thought I was obligated to tell everyone about it. Which I proceeded to do in spectacularly embarrassing fashion. I outed myself to all my colleagues at the office Christmas party. To my sister on the way home from the cineplex, in a tone so grave she thought I was breaking the news of a terminal illness. To an old school friend too loudly in an empty arcade, my ‘I’m gay!’ echoing over the sound of Space Invaders and a Pirates of the Caribbean pinball machine until it reverberated back to me—then beyond me, around the corner where my mom was waiting by the air hockey tables.

We played a painful game that night, new to the arcade: Never Have I Ever.

I had. I still do.

‘What makes you think I’ll be the evil twin?’

Lesson 02: Genetic Variation

My sister is my twin, separated by six years but identical nonetheless. Except where it counts, where it matters. Valentine, I call her, but only in a whisper, beneath my breath, for that is her secret name, the name that delineates her virtue, her compassion, her empathy, her morality. Valentine is the name of Andrew Wiggin’s wise and noble sister in Orson Scott Card’s novel, Ender’s Game. I am Andrew in real life, while my sister is Valentine only in my mind.

I should stop now. But then I would end on a lie. For I am not really Andrew—the protagonist-hero, but rather Peter, his megalomaniacal, squirrel-skinning sibling, the one who would rule not only the world, but all the worlds, the one who believes the ends justify the means, the one who is not merely immoral, but amoral, even though he ultimately unites all humanity as its Hegemon.

This, too, is a lie. In truth I am Andrew and Peter, two faces of a spinning coin that costs those who hold it dearly. I cannot reconcile the twin aspects of my identity for they are irreconcilable. I will always be Andrew—Ender—xenocide bringer and Speaker for the Dead, just as I will forever be Peter, the sadist and the diplomat.

Valentine, I love you. Sister, forgive me.

‘Admit it, Frank—you’ve missed the exit.’

Lesson 03: Gastrointestinal Disorders

Some people sweat when they get nervous. Others stutter and shake, splutter and quake. A few even throw up. Me, I do that other thing. The thing deers do when pursued by a predator, voiding dung from their bowels like ballast from a scudding ship.

Unfortunately for me, what triggers my anxiety and its debilitating, peristaltic physical response is something I strenuously attempt to avoid, but can never entirely eliminate.

Other human beings.

Sometimes I wished that a plague would come and decimate life on earth, as it did in the days of the dinosaurs, giving some other species a shot at ruling the planet whose bounty we have polluted, whose riches we have plundered, denying our children’s children their inheritance.

It surprised me when the plague I prayed for finally arrived.

‘I ain’t no player, baby girl—let me in and I’ll prove it…’

Lesson 04: Epidemiology

When COVID came, I welcomed it like an old friend, embraced it like a lover. I wrapped myself up in the comforting anonymity it afforded: an oversized face mask; a branded black baseball cap I liked to think made my bookish face look thuggish; and wraparound sunglasses to shade my eyes, to shield my soul, to protect me from the contemptuous, condescending, condemnatory gazes of those who would judge me for my identity, my amorality, my anxiety and my misanthropy.

The pandemic is over. Life is back to normal.

But I still wear a mask.