Re: Billy/Tandy: the neighborhood
“Let it be known forevermore that you, Tandy Bowen, are a very hard man to win over.” Billy’s smile was wide enough to make his cheeks ache a little, which was sort of awesome. There were a lot of boxes getting ticked, here. Stomach full of bread and cheese, the world’s wealth of pillows at his disposal (okay yes, he had gone entirely overboard with the concept of pillows, so sue him, Tandy). Connection with no money exchanging hands. Maslow would be proud, he decided. “I thought you might. I miss getting to see the clock painting of his at the MoMA. I remember being like, mind totally blown the first time we went there on a field trip and I realized that art wasn’t all flowers or portraits of famous dead guys.”
With the name thing - and by extension, the sex - Billy figured they were basically different sides of the same coin. They both held onto their names because of identity, the personalization and reality of it. Billy’s name held extra weight because part of that identity of his was being an adopted kid, getting absorbed into a chosen family of chosen kids and figuring out who he was, who he felt like within that context. He had to imagine that Tandy's did the same because how else did you hold onto the connections you felt to your home when you had no way of getting back there? And that wall, the compartments he’d carved out all had to do with protecting those pieces of himself that he still felt like he had.
“Naturally,” he agreed with a wry edge twisting at his smile. “This may be the first time in the history of the universe that someone has felt conflicted about the things they want. We should call some scientists to document this.”