Even though this is about as bush league as one can get, it's still something special to me to officially have my first creator table at a convention. Sure, the convention is run out of the local high school gym of the city I live in, and the table is a shoddy folding table, and I think I've talked to, like, a single person per hour here, but it's the thought that counts, damn it. Today, I'm not boring bank clerk Zach, I'm the creator of moderately popular webcomic "Super Magical Girl Presto!", and there's people here genuinely excited to see me. My life beyond this little project of mine is incredibly boring and lonely, so the prospect of actually having people enjoy something I do is downright thrilling.
But then, somebody appears that just blows away all my expectations. There, standing in front of me, is the spitting image of Presto, the main character of my comic. From the long, black hair to the proper schoolgirl outfit combined with the rebellious leather jacket, she looks exactly like I imagined her. This woman must be really into my comic if she's going that far to actually cosplay as the main character, and she stands there, a nervous smile on her face. "Um, hi... c-can you sign t-this?" she mutters, holding out a sheet of paper with a sketch of Presto that she must have drawn herself. It looks really good, honestly.
"Of course! Who should I make it out to?" I ask, taking the paper and pulling out a pen.
She fidgets a bit before replying, "Ch-Chris..." God, she's really nervous.
Am I really notable enough to get awe like that out of a fan? Well, I should just be courteous, since it seems like she's really looking forward to this, and so I sign the paper, make it out to "Chris—a better Presto than I could have drawn" and hand it back to her, remarking, "Here you go. Glad to see girls like my stuff too; from what I read online, I get the impression it's just dudes."
But that gets a very surprising reaction from her. It's like the color drains out of her face, and a pained expression replaces the nervous smile. What could I possibly have said that makes her react like that? And then, like a bolt from the blue, a thought strikes me. What if Chris... is actually a guy? Would he think that because I thought he was a girl, he was tricking me and that's making him feel terrible? Well, I know I have to say something now, so I smile as gently as I can and just say "Hey, Chris. It's OK, I understand. Don't worry about it."
And that seems to do the trick. He takes a deep breath, and slowly, that devastated expression vanishes from his face. He mutters a breathy "Thank you," before taking the paper and walking away. I want to follow him, talk to him further, but at the same time, I don't want to seem aggressive or pushy. So for now, I just stay at my table for the rest of the convention time.
However, after I pack up and leave the high school gym that was acting as a convention space, I spot someone sitting on a bench outside. It's Chris, and he's clearly crying—he's trying to hide it, but it's unmistakable. Now I can't stand by, I have to try and help, so I walk over and ask him, "Hey, Chris, what's wrong?" His gaze bolts up from the ground and locks on to me, panic evident in his eyes, before he gets up and tries to run. Without much thinking, I yell, "Please, wait!" and to my surprise, he actually waits, letting me walk over to him. When I arrive, he looks at me again, and I can see his expression clearly now. Jeez, he looks absolutely devastated. "...what's wrong?" I ask again, trying to be as calm as I can.
It takes a few moments for him to collect himself, but eventually, he responds, "I... I m-missed my bus home... and I have n-nowhere to stay...".
Ah, hell. He must be some country boy that came from a village to this little convention just to see me, and now that he's missed his bus, he's totally lost. "Alright, I live just around the corner. You can stay at my place for the night, and then you can take a bus tomorrow," I declare.
Of course, he immediately protests. "I... I c-couldn't! Y-You don't h-have to..." he mutters, trying to find the right words.
Taking a risk, I take hold of his hand, wrapping mine around his. "Hey, Chris. It's OK, I understand. Don't worry about it," I tell him, just like I did before.
And just like then, it seems to work. His flustered behavior slowly melts away, replaced by calm, if heavy, breathing, before he eventually nods. I continue to hold his hand as I lead him along, and on the way, we get to talking, which leads to me learning a lot of things about Chris. He is, indeed, a guy, and just like I suspected, he's from a village a fair distance away from this town. He still lives with his rather conservative parents, and he snuck out under the pretense of going over to a friend's house to take the bus over to the convention. And my webcomic, its main character Presto in particular, has had a profound impact on his life, unleashing a desire to do what he wants to do for once in his life, but now that he's actually crossdressing for the first time, he's just been bombarded with new questions as to just what he wants out of life. I can't shake the suspicion that tonight is going to be a lot more involved than I had originally planned.
After a few minutes, we arrive at my place, and I invite him inside. Now that we're inside my house, a silence falls over us, since this is kind of an odd position for us both to be in, but then, Chris turns to face me. "Thank you, Zach," he says.
I shrug it off and just reply, "Ah, don't worry about it, I'm sure others would do the same for someone in need," but he shakes his head vehemently.
"No, you don't understand... thank you, Zach. For everything. For the comic. For creating Presto. For... for not being mad at me for being a guy and tricking you into thinking I was a girl. I... I come from a place where this sort of thing would've gotten me beaten up. Y'know, dressing like a girl. And... people look up to you, Zach. Not many, probably, but some, like me. You've touched the lives of people, and I don't know if you truly realize that... and... I guess what I'm trying to say is... I..." he says, his breath hitching more and more as he gets nervous, and I feel like he might start crying again at any moment. He's just such a scared and confused bundle of nerves. In girls' clothes.
At this point, I feel like words aren't enough. Instead, I just spread my arms.