Burn the Line: A Machismo Spin on Gender

The Macho Man Chronicles: Volume 2

The fire cracked in the Solo Stove, its stainless-steel sides glowing in the dark. Bruce sat back in a wide wooden chair, the kind he built himself. His beer sweated on the armrest. The night was cool, but not cold. The kind of air that felt clean. Lake Orion was quiet at this hour. The big houses set back from the road, dark windows, porch lights clicking on with timers.

The kids sat in a loose circle. Rhi leaned close to the fire, her hood up. She wore a faded Carhartt hoodie, sleeves pulled over her hands. Briana talked too much; her Stormy Kromer hat tipped back on her head. Jen smiled at the ground, tugging at the worn tread of her Merrell boots. Rain passed a joint slowly, fingers deliberate. Nine watched Bruce, his Carhartt beanie pulled low.

Bruce drank.

"So, Rain," Bruce said. His voice was low, gravel rolled smooth. "What happened to Laurie?"

Rain smiled, smoke slipping from their mouth. "Didn't fit. Rain does."

Bruce nodded like it was weather. "Names ought to stick. Feels like folks change names more than they change oil these days."

Nine shifted. "Not always."

Bruce looked at him. Nine didn't flinch.

"Fair. But where does it end? Change your name, your hair, your mind. Can't change what you are."

Rain passed the joint to Rhi. "You think that?"

Bruce leaned forward, warming his hands. "I got a theory. You want to hear it?"

Briana groaned. "Oh God, here we go."

Bruce smirked. "It's like a pH scale. Zero's all acid, fourteen's all base. Middle's neutral. Same with people. Gay, straight, bi. Simple. Natural. No confusion."

Rain looked at the fire. "Where do I land?"

Bruce drank. "Somewhere. It's a line."

Rain tapped ash into the dirt. "Maybe I'm not on your line."

Bruce stared at the flames. "Then maybe you're in the ash. Or maybe you're still figuring it out. Hell, maybe that's fine. But you can't reinvent the wheel every time you feel different."

Nine's jaw tightened. The fire cracked.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, looking into the fire. "You know, this whole pH thing? It started on the sub. Me and a couple of guys in the engine room—Keeney and Keeler—we'd get into these dumb debates on night shifts. Had nothing to do but babysit the reactor, so we talked about everything. People, personalities. Keeney said people are like chemicals, some mix well, some explode. Keeler stretched it into the pH scale. Said folks are either acid, base, or somewhere in between. It stuck. Dumb, maybe, but it made sense in that steel tube."

Rain smirked. "So, a bunch of Navy guys invented this? Figures."

Bruce chuckled. "Yeah, well, in a metal tube under the ocean, everything gets simplified. Life had to be. Didn’t have room for complications. Maybe that’s why it still makes sense to me."

Rhi spoke soft. "Dad."

Bruce looked at her. She was small in the firelight.

"I don't know what I am either."

Bruce let the words hang. He drank. Set the bottle down.

"That's fine," he said. "But you don’t need a new name or a flag to figure it out. You just need to live."

The door to the walkout basement creaked open. Ferris stepped into the firelight, red beard catching the glow. He scratched his head and yawned, the leather band of his Shinola watch catching the firelight.

"Where's the beer?" Ferris asked, voice casual.

Bruce jerked his chin toward the house. "Two Hearted in the basement fridge."

Ferris nodded and disappeared back inside. Briana reached for a mason jar sitting by her chair, ice clinking softly. She took a sip and smirked.

"Vernors and Butcher's Cut," she said, holding it up. "You guys are missing out. Sweet with a kick. Michigan in a glass." The group sat in silence until the door clicked shut.

Briana laughed. "Ferris always has perfect timing."

A few minutes later, Ferris returned, bottle in hand. He cracked it open and took a swig, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He looked at the group, then at Bruce.

"You're talking about the pH thing again?" Ferris smirked. "Makes sense to me. People overcomplicate everything."

Bruce chuckled. "Finally, someone with sense."

Rain raised an eyebrow. "Oh great, another one."

Ferris sat on the edge of a chair, leaning forward. "Look, life's already confusing enough. You don't need fifty labels to tell you who you are. You just... are. And if you're still figuring it out, cool. But changing your name every six months? That's noise."

Nine scowled. "Easy for you to say. Not everyone's as 'figured out' as you."

Ferris shrugged. "Doesn't mean you need to advertise it. Just live your life. People will figure out who you are by how you act, not what you call yourself."

Bruce leaned back, satisfied. "See? Runs in the family."

Rhi pulled her hood tighter. "You're not helping, Ferris."

Ferris took another sip. "Wasn't trying to. Just saying what I think."

Rain exhaled smoke. "You guys think the world’s that simple?"

Bruce leaned forward, poking at the fire, watching the sparks rise. He reached into his flannel pocket and pulled out a worn cigar, the wrapper slightly frayed. He turned it slowly in his fingers, staring at the embers. Then he pulled out an old steel Zippo lighter, its American flag logo scratched and dulled with age. The distinctive clink echoed as he flipped it open—a sound as familiar as the fire itself. Bruce flicked the wheel, and a steady flame rose. He lit the cigar, drawing in slowly, the tip glowing hot. The heavy scent of tobacco mixed with the wood smoke, drifting upward, twisting with the sparks. His voice came low, steady.

"Look, I know I ain't great with pronouns or keeping up with all the name changes. But don’t mistake that for me not caring. You’re all welcome here. Always. Doesn’t matter what you call yourself."

The group fell quiet. Rain glanced at Nine, then back at Bruce. They smiled.

Bruce leaned forward and picked up the fire poker, slowly stirring the embers. Sparks drifted up into the night air.

Without looking up, he passed the poker to Nine.

Nine hesitated, then took it.

Rhi slid closer to Bruce, her shoulder brushing his. They sat in silence, watching the flames.

The fire crackled and settled. Bruce leaned back, breathing in the cold air. Somewhere in the dark, a loon called from the lake.

Bruce stared into the fire.

"Maybe."

And the fire burned on.