This is where it starts.
Call me Max.
My name is Max.
I’ve always been drawn to the name Max. My first memory is of Maximillian, the robot from Disney’s The Black Hole.
Then there was Maxime, my father’s friend’s son. He was tall and blond. I wanted to be him. We watched Predator together in French.
I lost my virginity to a Max.
Maximus… I like the Latin meaning: greatest. I am great. I can be great. I want to be great.
The desert wasteland and the mad man. Mad Max. I am mad… in both senses.
Furious. Torn apart from the inside by wrath and rage and resentment.
Crazy. Barely holding onto sanity at times. Lost in my own head. Apart from the world.
The name fits, and thus I have chosen it as my own.
My name is Max. Maximillian, to be exact.
There. I’ve said it. And that is a big step.
My name is Max. My pronouns are his/him/he. Call me Mister. Better yet, call me sir.
That feels damn good.