ALL NOVEL 1. Remembering Her
I was jolted out of another daydream by the harsh jarring whine of some obnoxious power tool somewhere outside. My first thought was a neighbour's lawn mower, but it didn't sound quite right for that. Ignoring the math books I was supposed to be studying I got up from my desk and emerged from my bedroom.
With a growing sense of dread as I realized the sound seemed to be coming from the empty lot next door. My feet moved slowly as I felt torn between needing to see for myself and not really wanting to know. I made my way down one step at a time, then into our living-room where my dad was standing by the window.
"About time someone cleaned up that eye-sore," he grumbled.
My stomach felt like lead and I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry or be sick as I stared past him at the awful scene going on outside.
Three guys in cover-alls, high-viz vests, sun glasses, and ear protection were casually razing the wild flowers plants and shrubs to the ground. They were all using noisy gas-powered tools, two of them had professional-grade weed-whackers for the flowers and tall grass while the third used a brush saw on the bushes and sturdier plants.
I felt tears pooling in my eyes as the blue and purple wildflowers were cut down and shredded, the blooming shrubs felled, and the tiny green oasis in our subdivision was brutally erased, one step at a time.
"It was alive," I sighed as I slowly shook my head. "Why would they do this? Did someone finally buy that lot?"
Dad rolled his eyes, "I've been complaining to the city for the last three months about that eyesore. Bunch of weeds and trash, it was nothing but a magnet for bugs and wildlife. And your mother saw rabbits eating her irises last month, you can bet those pests were attracted by all that crap. I'm glad the city finally got off their asses and did something about it."
He turned away from the window, probably to go back to whatever he left blaring on the TV in the family room. Except as soon as he saw my face he stopped and scowled, "Damn it boy, don't tell me you're crying over some stupid weeds!"
"They weren't weeds dad!" I insisted as I blinked a few times to try and clear my eyes. "They were wildflowers! I know, I planted half of them!"
Dad's scowl shifted to disbelief before settling back into a scowl, "You what? Why the hell would you waste time and money on that? If you wanted to do something about that mess you should have been out there with the mower keeping it clear, not encouraging more weeds and wild animals!"
I took a deep breath then let out a deep sigh. I knew better than to argue, and I should have known better than to say anything at all.
"I have to get back to my studying. I have a math exam tomorrow," I mumbled as I turned and headed for the stairs. Meanwhile the whine of the gas-powered tools outside continued to rattle my nerves, while the sight of the utter devastation in what was once a pretty little meadow next door was frozen in my mind and left me with a visceral pain somewhere deep inside.
I closed my bedroom door behind me, but instead of returning to my desk I flopped onto my bed and closed my eyes. I put my hands over my ears in a hopeless attempt to block out the noise from next door. And finally, I tried to focus on some happy thoughts. It didn't work though, and instead of finding something to cheer myself up I ended up thinking about her again.
A decade ago I was eight years old, and I met a girl. I only knew her for a week and a half, but she changed my life. And now, ten years later I still cried whenever I thought of her.
Even back when I was eight my dad thought I was too soft, too sensitive. He wanted his son to be tough and strong, instead I was a 'cry baby' and a 'mommas boy'. Somehow dad got it in his head that I needed to get out in the wilderness, that nature would toughen me up and make me a man. Maybe it's because he grew up in the country, his dad was a farmer, and us living in the suburbs meant I wasn't out learning to shoot guns and fix fences and whatever the hell else he thought an eight-year-old ought to be doing to get tough.
So in his infinite wisdom dad convinced mom to send me off to summer camp. Only we were on a budget and there weren't a lot of cheap options for camp or wilderness, so I ended up going to one of those summer day-camps.
To an eight year old it really did seem like it was way out in the wilds. Mom put me on a school bus every morning after breakfast and it took me and a bunch of other kids on a long drive. Then we ended up in groups with a camp instructor who took us on hikes in the woods. Or we went wading in a creek looking for crayfish and water bugs.
The third day of camp I was already bored with the activities, and when our group leader wanted us to form teams for some kind of sports thing I made a point of wandering off to explore on my own. Even at that age, thinking I was off in the wilds someplace I was never scared of the woods. The plants and trees always felt friendly to me. So did the animals who lived in them.
So I slipped away from the group and went on my own private little nature hike. And for a little eight-year-old kid it felt like a big adventure, but I probably never got more than a hundred or two hundred meters away from the adults and the rest of the kids.
I found myself in a little meadow, filled with wildflowers. And in the middle of that meadow was a girl. I could tell she was older than me, but there were older kids at the day camp so I didn't think much about that. She might have been eighteen or nineteen in fact, which was definitely older than the kids attending camp, but I didn't know enough to question those sorts of things at the time.
She was just sort of standing there with a sad expression on her face as she quietly looked around at the flowers and trees that surrounded her. I didn't find it weird that she was off on her own in a meadow, since I was basically doing the exact same thing. What I found odd though was her hair. It was pink. I know that's not a big deal anymore, people dye their hair all sorts of anime colours. But as a little kid I'd never seen anything like it and I was completely mesmerized.
Her hair hung down past her shoulders in a combination of loose and tight curls. It was actually kind of messy and chaotic, but none of that meant much to me. All that mattered was I loved it. And I wanted to know who this girl was, with the beautiful pink hair.
So I wandered out into the meadow and said hi. I asked who she was, what she was doing there, and how she got her hair to look like that.
She smiled and said hello to me too. She told me her name was Cynthia, then she asked me my name.
I told her what it was, but I also told her I didn't like it. I wanted a pretty name, like hers. I also told her I wished I could have pretty hair like hers too. Thinking back, that was probably one of the first times I realized I really wanted to be pretty or cute.
Cynthia must have figured that out too, long before I did. She smiled and asked if I wanted pink hair like hers, or if I liked some other colour better. I looked around at all the colourful flowers that surrounded us, then told her I liked purple the best.
She told me I could pick some flowers with the colour I liked, but I refused. I told her I didn't want to pick them because I knew that would hurt them. Instead I just carefully pointed out the ones I liked. For some reason she seemed both happy and sad by my response. I definitely didn't understand that at the time.
Then the girl with the pink hair offered to show me a magic trick. She did something with her hands, and somehow a pretty purple flower appeared. She told me it was called a hyacinth, she said that many of the flowers around her were different kinds and colours of the same thing. It was a pretty flower and I carefully tucked it into my pocket.
Then she asked if I liked that name, if I wanted to be called Hyacinth. I told her no, it didn't sound right for me. She offered a few other suggestions, till she came up with one I liked. Violet. I didn't know at the time that violets were another kind of flower. In fact all the names she suggested were kinds of flowers or plants. Back then all I knew was Violet was a pretty name, and I wanted pretty purple hair.
I wanted to be cute and have cute clothes and cute hair and a cute name. What I really wanted was to be a girl, but I didn't figure that out until a few years later.
Eventually I had to leave Cynthia and go back to the other campers. That night at dinner I told my parents about my new friend and showed them the flower she gave me. I got as far as saying I wanted pretty purple hair the same colour as the flower, when my dad got angry with me. He took the flower and tore it up, then threw it away while he told me purple hair was stupid and flowers were for girls. He reminded me I was a boy and I wasn't allowed to be cute or have pretty hair.
He also told me I wasn't allowed to see my new friend anymore, but when I went back to day camp the next day I went into the woods and found the girl with the pink hair again anyways. She was always there in that same little meadow, surrounded by her wildflowers.
I cried as I told her what my dad did to her flower, and when she tried to give me another I cried even more as I told her boys weren't allowed to have flowers. Cynthia told me I didn't have to be a boy if I didn't want to, and gave me another purple flower anyways to prove it.
After that I visited her every single day of camp. We sat in her meadow and talked about nature and flowers and trees and plants. And every day she gave me another purple flower. I did my best to hide them when I got home but my dad always managed to find them and destroy them.
Then the last day of camp came. When I visited Cynthia I told her camp was ending and I didn't know when I could come back. I promised her I would though, that I'd get my mom to sign me up for more camp. Or I'd come back the next summer.
She looked sad and happy at the same time, and she gave me one more purple flower. This one was different, she said it was a violet instead of a hyacinth. And she said it was magic, she promised nobody could ever take it away from me. That made me happy, except the flower disappeared as soon as I held it in my hand. According to her, that's because it was safe in my heart instead of my pocket.
That night I begged my mom to sign me up for more camp but there wasn't any more. I cried, I begged, I told her how I needed to see my friend again, but nothing worked.
The next summer I was nine and I insisted on going to day camp again. But when I got there it was different, it wasn't the same place. There was no meadow and no Cynthia. I didn't understand, and my parents didn't care enough to listen to me try and explain that I needed to go to the other camp.
It wasn't until four or five years later when I finally figured out what happened. The place I went when I was eight, that summer was the last year they had camp there. The land had already been sold to a developer, and less than a month after I met Cynthia the forest was razed and the creek diverted. Eighteen months after that it was a subdivision.
"Fuck," I sighed as I wiped my eyes again. "Cynthia I wish I could see you again. Even just to say thank you."
I didn't actually hatch until I was fourteen, but a big part of that was thanks to her. I never forgot what she told me, about not having to be a boy if I didn't want. I never forgot the name she gave me either. So far I was only Violet online, where I could be safe with my other trans friends. It felt more 'me' than the name on my drivers license though. And a lot more 'me' than anything either of my parents ever called me.
The awful noises from the empty lot next door finally ended a little while later, but I couldn't bring myself to go have another look. I already knew what I'd find. Mangled plants and dirt scraped bare. I felt nauseous again just thinking about it, and ended up wiping away more tears.
Instead I made myself a quiet promise. The full moon was tomorrow night, and I still had a bunch of flower seed packets in my desk drawer. I was going to go out and reseed the empty lot, for me and for Cynthia.
