Ten Years I Love About You

 

December 07, 2023: 

 

I think they changed the lamination on driver’s licenses. 

 

I was not positive, of course, but as I turned the driver’s license of one Miss Candace Queen around in my hands my fingertips registered a more smooth and laminated surface to the small 2 ⅛’’ x 3 ⅜’’ piece of plastic that immediately stood out to me. I was conflicted on the new feeling of the modern Washington State driver’s license, but nevertheless kept that to myself. I had bigger fish to fry.

 

The doctor’s office was busy as can be for 1:13PM on a Thursday, but what I found more stimulating was the eyes on me. I had tried to go light on the makeup for such a casual—if unscheduled—visit to my primary care physician, but I still found that I was drawing nearly every eye—and smile—in the office. 

 

Unwelcomed as I had expected all of the looks and smiles to be, I was nevertheless relieved to find the glances from men brief—rather than leering—and the smiles and looks from women complimentary, rather than stricken with fear at the sight of a perverted freak of a man in drag.

 

The thing being, of course, that I wasn’t really in drag. I was wearing a unisex tee shirt for Gravelly Lake High, and a pair of sweatpants that mostly obscured my curves. While the tee shirt—no doubt handed out to teachers by the school—helped emphasize my chest, I was technically still just wearing ‘guy clothes’. Well, barring my shoes. And a bra. And panties.

 

And the pink accompanying Gravelly Lake High hoodie currently tied around my waist. 

 

So then, was it Drag to be a guy in guy clothes if you were a guy who looked like a woman? But then again, if Michael was right, and this was something that I have chosen to do to myself, then was it actually Drag for a woman to be in men’s clothing? Or was it actually just drag because I was trans? Or not drag because I was originally a m—

 

A young girl stepping before me snapped me from my existential crisis. Pointing a finger at me, the seven—or thereabouts—year old pointed at my face and said, “Your makeup is really pretty!”

 

Unable to process what was happening, I immediately replied, “Thank you, honey! I love your dress!” It was hard not to see how whoever had purchased the girl her dress would have gone with this particular dress—the green definitely popped against her red hair. 

 

The girl replied with a bashful smile as her face with a soft pink, “Thank you! My mommy bought it for me yesterday!”

 

“No problem, dear,” I gushed back, my enthusiasm surprising myself. Noticing the girl’s mother watching her from afar as she stood to follow a nurse behind the counter to be seen I shot the woman a look and was repaid with a smile that seemed—yet again—unthreatened, “I think your mommy needs you to follow her to go see the doctor now, sweetie.”

 

Turning around, the young girl caught sight of her mother, then turned back quickly to face me, “Oh, sorry! I gotta go now, pretty lady!”

 

“It was nice meeting you, little pretty lady!” I smiled back.

 

The girl turned and jogged off with all the free spirit that I child usually does, crashed into her mother for a hug, and then followed the woman and her nurse through the door into the back of the clinic. 

 

“What the heck was that all about?” I muttered aloud, a strange disconnect flowing through me like a cold current, “I’ve never been good with kids…”

 

“You’d be surprised,” Michael interjected, looking up from his phone as he sat hunched over in the seat next to me, “I know there’s a difference between teenagers and younger kids, but you’re still a good teacher, Candi.”

 

“That makes me…” Michael sat up in his chair, raising his arms high above his head to stretch, and as he did so his shirt rode up his carefully defined stomach, the sight of which distracted me just enough to make my reply fade into a whisper, “...sound like a…stripper…”

 

“Huh?” Michael replied, fined with his stretch and lowering his arms. The re-covering of his abs was like seeing bigfoot but being unable to capture it on video because one’s phone battery had just died.

 

With a hard swallow and a deep inhale I repeated myself in a less hushed voice, “‘Candi’ makes me sound like a stripper, Michael”

 

For his part, my supposed boyfriend just laughed. 

 

“Hey, there’s—”

 

“—nothing wrong with sex work—”

 

“—nothing funny about me being—oh, uh, I mean—yeah, that.” It was infuriating talking to Michael, because it always felt like he had a leg up on me. How was a relationship supposed to work when one of the partners was always one step ahead of the other? If Michael wasn’t accurately guessing what I was saying, he was confidently telling me what great, moralizing bullshit he thought I would say in any given situation. How the hell was I supposed to be a good boyfriend—girlfriend? Whatever!

 

Why the hell did I even care? I was straight! Or gay! Or…I don’t even fucking know anymore?! Ugh!

 

A vaguely familiar voice called out a vaguely familiar name: “Candace? Candace Queen?”

 

Turning to face the direction that the voice had come from, I found that the one calling the name on the driver’s license in my hands was the same nurse from just a moment before, “Oh, uh…? Yes?” I replied, dropping the driver’s license I had been stimming with in surprise. “Oh, shoot!”

 

As I struggled in vain to pick up the driver’s license I shot a look back up at the nurse, “Uh—be right there!”

 

Attempting to pick up the license with my acrylics was a special kind of Hell. Noticing my plight, Michael bent down and managed to get a nail beneath the card and picked it up. Handing it to me Michael just mugged the most understanding of smiles, “Not the first time I’ve had to help you with that, babe.”

 

Smiling back as I accepted the card, I couldn’t help but hate how it felt to be the subject of the look in his eyes. I couldn’t stand it—none of my old girlfriends ever looked at me like that. Why did he keep looking at me like that? I didn’t—

 

—I didn’t deserve to be looked at like that.

 

***

 

December 08, 2013: 

 

“Holy shit, you slept together?” Ash was incredulous, and that was apparent in more than just how she looked—it was apparent in her cute, tomboyish voice as it cracked on the word ‘slept’.

 

“Uh…yeah, I mean, just sleeping—no , er, anal sex…yet?” God, my voice sounded so tiny. Why was I always so petrified around Ash?

 

And then I realized what it meant to say what I had just said.

 

“‘YET’, says he?!” Christ, Ash nearly alerted the entire cafeteria to our conversation.

 

Ugh, I was doing the thing where I stared at her gorgeous shoulders again. Adjusting my line of sight down to the table we were sitting at I countered, “Maybe? I don’t know?! Forty-eight hours ago I thought I was straight!”

 

“Are you bullshitting me? I thought you were some flavor of fruity gumdrop-stuffed fruitcake the second I first laid eyes on you?” For emphasis, Ash took an impassioned sip of her latté through the straw that she kept partially in her mouth at all times.

 

“Wait, you thought I was—jeez! I’ve never heard a—wait, are you allowed to say that?” Was I allowed to be offended? Was I offended?

 

“Well, yeah—’sides, I’m fruitier than a Broadway musical cast, it’s fine!”

 

“What do you mean, ‘well yeah’? Also, you are?” She was?! Had I seriously crushed on a lesbian?

 

Had a lesbian seriously given me a handj—wait, no, that didn’t make sense. Was she bisexual, too? ‘Too’? Was I allowed—fucking hell, this was confusing.

 

“Harri, I know that there’s no concrete ‘We Can Always Tell’ gaydar thingy, but you gotta admit…you’re hardly the most stereotypically masculine guy around!” If there was a way to whisper in such a way that one’s sentence still felt like it should be written with an exclamation mark, Ash had found it. Another impassioned slurp of her latté succeeded what I could only describe as her beating around the bush, “Also, you’re cute!”

 

“Hey, just because I’m cute it doesn’t make me ga—bisexual!” Shit, I needed to get better about that.

 

“See, even you know that you’re cute!” Ash giggled, rocking back-and-forth most capriciously in her chair. 

 

I could practically feel my face boiling through the different shades of pink and red, “I’m just sayin’—ugh, you’re as bad as Michael!”

 

“Gawd, you sound just like a gir—” Ash nearly choked on whatever she was about to say next, before continuing, “Gawd, you sound so in love with the guy,” Ash’s final impassioned slurp ended with the sound indicating that there was nothing left in the container, yet she continued to slurp nevertheless.

 

“I am not in love with Michael!” I reasoned, “He’s simply…ugh, listen, he’s just the first romantic partner that’s been easy for me to be intimate with, y’know?”

 

“...I didn’t just give a gay man a handjob the other night, did I?” For the first time Ash since I had known her, Ash looked a bit off-kilter—like she’d just done something terribly, definitionally wrong. 

 

“What? No!” I had to make sure she knew that it wasn’t her fault, “I just—oh, god, please don’t think that I’m some sort of freak?”

 

“Promise.”

 

“—It’s just…women are so beautiful and cool and cute, and they deserve respect and I’m such an ugly freak—”

 

“—I like ugly freaks—”

 

“—Hush, you! And, like, fuck, please don’t think my discomfort was about you. It really isn’t, I just don’t—I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Sorry,” God, I was a fucking mess. I was used to the heat from wearing a hoodie all the time, but as I spilled my guts out to Ash I felt an exhaustive, suffocating heat that made me want to tear off everything I wore, even including my very skin and flesh.

 

“Harri, you don’t have to apologize. I get it, I used to be the same way in high school,” Ash took my hand as it rested on the table in hers and gave it a squeeze, “There’s nothing wrong with you. Heck, if anything I’m glad that you’re not like other guys. If you didn’t already have a boyfriend—well, basically—let’s not go there. Either way, I’d love to date a guy who actually thinks about womens’ feelings.”

 

“M-Michael isn’t my b-boyfriend,” I quickly corrected, “N-not that there would be anything wrong with that. I mean, he’s really…and…”

 

“Do you like him?” Ash asked with such simplicity that I was taken off guard.

 

“Do I like him?” Did I? I mean, that date was…well, it was a date. We’d agreed on that. I went on a date with a man, I—he made me feel—Jesus, I thought I’d already settled on this!

 

Ash was still waiting for my answer. 

And then, in the smallest, quietest voice possible, I replied: “I think so.”

 

“Wut?!”

 

“I said, I think so!”

 

“‘Think so’ what?”

 

“I like him, Jesus Christ, will you stop it with the interrogation?” As much as I feared my sudden aggressiveness, a part of me almost felt like I was closer to Ash now, without even realizing it. I sure as hell felt less uneasy, as much as she was grilling me.

 

Ash just laughed and laughed.

 

“What’s so funny?!” I yelped back, a grouchiness that I wasn’t expecting to show Ash seeping into my tone.

 

“You didn’t say ‘think’,” Ash delivered the biggest shit-eating grin I’d ever seen.

 

My face was likely breaking new records for shade of red, “Oh, go fuck yourself!” 

 

“Fuck me yourself, fairy boy!” Ash shot back, deciding to make a game of it.

 

“Hah! I can’t, I have a boyfriend,” I shot back, the selfish desire to self-actualize my relationship with Michael into official boyfriend status was intoxicating.

 

Ash just laughed harder and harder, probably because my face had turned another shade of red at actually calling Michael my boyfriend out loud.

 

I didn’t know if I was just talking out of my ass now, but the more the idea sizzled on the grill of my mind, the more I needed to make sure I wasn’t living in a delusional fantasy. 

 

As Ash tried to calm herself down I pulled out my phone and texted Michael: “Can I see you? I’m at the Center Table, but I can meet you elsewhere, if need be.”

 

Michael’s reply of “Of course! Be there in ten minutes! ♥” either saved me from a heart attack or just lined me up for a different one a little while down the line.

 

“Has he texted you back yet?” Ash asked, resituating herself on her chair while checking her hair in a compact mirror.

 

“Yeah, he’ll be here in ten,” I could feel a groan of self-loathing coming on, “What in the actual fuck am I doing?”

 

“Asking your boyfriend if he’s officially your boyfriend, I presume?”

 

“Hardy-har-har,” groaning at Ash was becoming something of a second nature, or language, or whatever, “How the heck do you two know each other, anyway? Michael said you went to school together, and he dated your brother?”

 

“Yeah, he dated my brother, Brandon. Hard not to hang out with your twin brother’s then-boyfriend, especially when said twin brother breaks his foot, so there was plenty of video gaming going on for many a month.”

 

“That sounds painful,” I mused, pouring my nervous energy into shuffling my apple cider cup back and forth between my hands.

 

“Yeah, I kicked their asses a lot in Smash—oh, you mean the broken foot part? Yeah, he whined a ton about it,” unsure if I should be laughing at someone else’s misfortune, I nevertheless gave Ash a courtesy chuckle. “Otherwise, they would be up in Brandon’s room doing Boyfriend Things. Capital ‘B’ and ‘T’, y’know?”

 

A terrible part of me—deep in the recesses of my mind—felt an awful jealousy about that, but I decided to push the thoughts out of my mind, “Oh no, yeah—totally get it. So…did you two ever…?” 

 

“Me? And Michael? Oh, GAWD no. I wasn’t admitting that I was bi to myself at the time, and Michael felt more like another brother to me, anyway, what with how close he and Bran were.”

 

As a simultaneous relief spread over my wound-up shoulders, I could feel the jealousy of Michael’s relationship with his previous boyfriend creeping up to replace it. I knew at once that it made me a disgusting person, but I couldn’t stop myself from being happy that Michael was—kinda, sorta?—with me now.

 

Even if I didn’t deserve him.

 

And then, it occurred to me to ask: “Wait, you used to think that you were a lesbian?”

 

“Aah, well, that’s a complicated story, actually…you see, I—”

 

The swinging open of the door to the entrance of the Center Table caught my attention, and only half a second later my ears caught the sound of a familiar breathing pattern, and my nose caught the whiff of a familiar musk: Michael, drenched in sweat from a morning run, appeared in the university cafeteria full minutes before he had promised.

 

Be normal, be normal, be normal, be normal, be normal!

 

I couldn’t help but stare. There was no being normal about the slight movements of the sculpted curves of muscles like those. Traps, delts, triceps and all the way down to the brachii had the inflamed look of a man who lifted regularly. 

 

And lifted hard.

 

It was normal to stare at the lines of abs on your ‘crop-top wearing, muscles exploding from his thick arms’ maybe-boyfriend, right?

 

Michael approached our table like a leaf caught in a playful breeze, and each painstaking movement toward me felt like my heart was going to threaten to crawl up into my throat, get stuck, and then burst its way through my throat—or neck, or whatever the fuck its called—to its freedom—at the cost of my life. Finally, when Michael and his completely oblivious, carved god self stood above our table, looking down with that goofy, wide grin of his, I considered the possibility that perhaps my brain was not built to process such a god of a man, and I was therefore destined to die on the spot.

 

Instead, Michael’s smooth, low voice broke me from my own self-eulogizing, “Hey Hare, what’s up?”

 

Panicked, I quickly turned to Ash only to find her mocking me by mouthing the words “Like a bunny?” as if that was the important part here.

 

Ugh.

 

Quickly shifting my eyes back up to meet Michael’s, I found myself unable to stop my stupid fucking eyes from scanning the outline of his form along the way to ‘grandmother’s house’. When I finally stopped to look at him in his kind, dark eyes, I realized that I had completely forgotten why I had asked him to talk, “Uh…hi?

 

That unforgettable smile once again spread across his face like a master maker of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches spreading their sweet and salty ingredients over their bread of choice with a smooth, unclumping precision, “Hi!” Why wasn’t he more annoyed with me? I was being annoying!!

 

“Oh shit, would you look at the time,” Ash feigned, getting up from her seat, “I gotta go help my roommate with…a thing. Doing a thing! Right! Yeah! See you boys later!” Ash was out the door faster than Clark Kent on Smallville, leaving me without my moral support or a clue as to how to ask whatever the fuck I was trying to ask. On her way out the door she turned back to me and mouthed, “Good luck, Bunny!”

 

That might’ve fixed the problem of my having a crush on her, though. 

 

Michael sat down in the little chair, and hunched over, as if he was expecting me to have something important to say. Everything about his body language was torture.

 

Everything about his body was torture.

 

I had to speak—he was expecting me to speak, so, arms crossed to somehow defend myself in this vulnerable moment, I said the only thing that came to mind, “God, you’re hot.”

 

Ugh, you fucking fruitcake loser, keep it in your pants!

 

“Oh, jeez, thanks! You’re really cute!” Michael’s bashfulness wasn’t even an act, he was just too fucking pure for this world. My man was bisexual, polite and hot as hell, and somehow he’d avoided becoming this cursed, cynical thing that I was, and I just couldn’t believe it.

 

Calling me cute did not, in fact, make it easier for me to form a single fucking sentence, “Omigawd, thanks Mikey!!” Fuck, fuck, fuck—I sounded so gay when I said that. But I was! It was okay! I think?!

 

I’m allowed to be bisexual, even if I was lying about being bisexual, right? Or something? I don’t fucking know anymore?!

 

I just wanted…well, him.

 

“Was there something you wanted to talk about, Hare?” Asked the bigger, buffer walking personification of the Statue of David. It felt like the gods were mocking me as Michael leaned back in his chair to stretch his back. Good lord, his crop top was rising up and I could see his abs and—it’s December, why was he wearing something so—ugh!

 

Just say whatever comes to mind, dumbass! “I was wondering how your night was? After you left my place, I mean?” There, that’s a start!

 

“Oh, it was fine. Had a gym session with some of the guys from the team. We have a game Friday, and…y’know, gotta work out,” Michael tapped his hands on the table as if it was a drum, before finally continuing, “Actually, I was wondering…if you maybe wanted to come? I mean, to watch and all. It’s fine if you don’t want to! Like, y’know, if you’re not into football—”

 

God, he was adorable when he got nervous,  “—No! No, no, I’d love to cum—come watch!” I knew next to nothing about football, but if it meant I could see Michael in his element…well, I wasn’t going to turn that down.

 

Especially if he was sweating.

 

Ugh, I’m such a freak.

 

For his part, Michael just smiled goofily. 

 

“Oh!” I realized, “That reminds me, do you live nearby? I keep seeing you here, and, well, you came here mid-run…”

 

“Oh, yeah, I actually just come here to run on the track and then usually shower before class. I actually live outside the city with my mom and little sister.”

 

Wow, still living with his mother? That was precious. 

 

“Oh, wow, nice! I guess she’s…okay…with, uh, y’know?”

 

“Oh yeah, she’s very cool. Met all of my other boyfriends, too!”

 

“Other?” You know what he meant, you stupid freak.

 

“Yeah, y’know, back in high school?” Michael clarified, a bit of confusion showing on his face.

 

“Oh, yeah, sorry, still waking up!” I laughed, hoping to play my fucking idiocy off as morning brain.

 

Michael seemed to buy it.

 

“That’s so cool, though,” a weak smile crept up on my face before I could say anything about it, “Having a supportive mom, I mean! I kinda doubt any of my parents would support me. Actually, I know that they wouldn’t—especially my dad.”

 

How in the fuck was I supposed to come out to them? Was I just…never going to come out? What if they tried to force me to marry a woman?! Rich white parents didn’t—couldn’t—still do that sort of thing, right? But then, if I didn’t marry someone who they approved of…would they cut me off? I didn’t have my own financial independence! How was I going to—?

 

—Did it really matter right now? I was only nineteen, and it wasn’t like Michael was guaranteed to propose to me someday. We might not even stay together for that long! Hell, we’re not even together! And Jesus Fucking Christ, have some dignity, Hare, it’s not like Michael was the only guy out there for you to date!

 

Oh, goddamn. The more I thought this through, the more a vile, bubbling pit of black tar churned in my gut. If I asked Michael now to be my boyfriend For Real, what would—

 

“Shit, that sucks so much, Hare,” Michael replied, his low whisper snapping me back to the scene at hand, “My old man was really supportive. The best dad you could have, really.”

 

That was ominous, “...did something happen to him?” I asked, fearing that I already knew the answer.

 

“He’s in a coma,” okay, I was not expecting that, “He protected me from—” Michael’s face twitched with a lightness that did not betray how hurt he was as his eyes glossed over, and he stifled any tears that were trying to escape as his face took on a white hue. 

 

Oh shit, “Mikey, let’s go back to my place, okay?” I took Michael by the hand, and quickly led him out of the cafeteria entrance. 

 

***

 

December 07, 2023: 

 

My doctor’s office wasn’t actually in Gravelly Lake, which produced two distinct feelings within me.

 

The first of these feelings was pure annoyance: apparently when I had needed to find a new primary care physician four years ago I had to drive out of town to Tacoma to get an appointment as quickly as possible and simply had never tried finding a closer doctor in town. This inevitably led to a thirty minute drive out into the bowels of Tacoma, where the streets were always busy and the nearby Dairy Queen consistently tempting for its tendency to add more toppings to their Blizzards than they were technically supposed to. Small victories, I suppose.

 

The second of these two feelings produced within me was the desire to simply continue the seven minute drive down to Point Defiance. If you’re going to be forced to make a half-hour drive to see your primary care physician, why not just go to the zoo afterward? Being that it was the middle of winter, I was nevertheless unperturbed, and as I sat in the passenger seat of Michael’s beat-to-hell old car I realized that I was probably going to need to actually put my hoodie on if we were going to walk around.

 

Especially since I was literally eating ice cream. In the middle of winter.

 

Only now I was way more susceptible to the cold, and quickly regretting the not-so-sweet choices in life. 

 

Which, really, only further beckoned the question: Did people still use ‘sweet’ as slang?

 

Merely catching Michael’s jaw moving out from the corner of my eye was enough to catch my attention before I even heard him speak, “So, the doctor said that you’re good to take a leave of absence, right?” Michael asked as he eased to a stop at a four-way stop. A freshly renovated co-op grocery story sat to our left, and I wondered what the hell a co-op was instead of immediately replying to my companion. 

 

Fiddling with the strap of the pink purse laying on my lap I processed what I wanted to tell Michael for a moment. There was an odd familiarity to the little frog-covered pink purse, most especially in the way that my fingers seemed to so readily have a pattern for the way they liked to rub and turn and bend the faux-leather strap, “Yeah. I just gotta submit the paperwork she signed off on and I should be good. I didn’t think it’d be that easy, but she said that other than the amnesia I seemed to be completely okay, so…yeah.”

 

“I can show you how to do that when we get home, if you don’t remember…”

 

“Thanks, I’ll need that,” there was a quietness in the car now that I wasn’t sure if it was because of me accidentally putting out some mood that I didn’t mean to, or if there was something on Michael’s mind. It was a positively uncomfortable mood, so I turned to my would-be boyfriend and asked, “Are you okay?”

 

Michael smiled weakly as he kept his eyes on the road and ease forward with the turning of the light to green, “I’m good. Just…I’ve had a lot on my mind, you know?”

 

I waited a beat before replying, “Yeah, I can imagine. Your…uh…girlfriend suddenly gets amnesia? And she’s, I guess, not exactly a regular girl? Talk about a lot to deal with!”

 

“You being trans isn’t a problem, Candace,” Michael replied in a strained, hushed tone, “I’m just thinking a lot about the future.”

 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” I realized, turning back to face the street before us as we steadily approached the familiar city park, “I guess dating me would be a bit of a headache if I don’t get my memories back. Do you wanna—”

 

“—Don’t even say it, Candace,” Michael’s voice took a sudden turn into outright irritation, jolting me in my seat, “We can’t—I can’t do this ag—Candace, I’m here for you. Always. That’s all I want.”

 

I felt like I knew so little about Michael, and yet so much about him all at the same time. The way he pushed out his jaw when he was upset, or the way he gripped his steering wheel, all said to me that he was hurting.

 

And the origin of his hurting was I. Me. Why did it feel like all I ever did was cause harm to the one person I— 

 

Why was I like this? I had spent the past two days doing nothing but accidentally hurting a guy who was just trying to be a good partner to me, all because of my own hang-ups?! Michael deserved better than this. I needed—I needed to communicate with him more. Better. Something!

 

“I’m sorry, Michael,” I finally said, just stopping myself from letting a slight whimper fill my voice. “I know—I really appreciate how much you’ve done for me these past two days. As disorienting as it is to say this, I really do believe you when you say that.” 

 

It was hard to find the words to describe what Michael made me feel as they swamp in a whirlpool around in my chest. As scary as it was to suddenly wake up in this adult life that I didn’t recognize how I could have possibly created for myself, I knew that my time with Michael felt right, and good, and real.

 

Among all the craziness of exploring this new life I had in the face of only remembering my life as a bitter shut-in college student it was my time with Michael that felt more real to me than any day I had ever lived prior.

 

As scared and unprepared as I was for the future, I was a lot happier now than ever in the past.

 

I couldn’t believe in myself, and yet I could believe him. Was it anyway to live to not trust yourself, but to trust others.

 

Or was that just how it felt being in a relationship?

 

***

 

December 08, 2013: 

 

Once back at my apartment, Michael sat down on the living room couch with as little presence as possible. Speed walking to and from the kitchen to grab water bottles I sat a bottle down in front of Michael on the expensive coffee table and sat next to him on the couch to console him, but before I could even put a hand on his right arm Michael crashed down head first on my lap, and stared out at the TV before us. Our reflection was barely visible in the powered off screen, and it was how I could tell that maybe Michael needed that hand on his arm now.

 

Minutes passed before either of us spoke, and the prolonged lack of dialogue reminded me only of how badly I sucked at emotional moments like these. 

 

Whether Michael was my boyfriend or not, he was definitely my friend. A friend is a funny thing, though, because as much as I was ostensibly friends with other guys back in high school—or even online in forums and on Twitter or whatever—it was Michael that made me realize that friendship was something deeper than just having the same hobbies in common. In less than forty-eight hours Michael’s care and ability to be vulnerable with me had changed me forever, and in a lot of ways, I still wasn’t sure what the fuck to make of it. 

 

All I knew was that little had ever hurt me as much as the powerlessness I felt while caressing the hair of the man I loved.

 

I didn’t even know if it was really romantic love, or even just on a platonic level—

 

—but that didn’t matter right now.

 

“That tickles,” dead as it sounded, Michael’s muffled voice bounced off of my anterior thigh and traveled back up into my ears.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Your nails,” there was a degree of warmth back in his voice, as if he found my humor in something. 

 

Looking down, I noticed that my pinky and ring fingernails—angled such that they were—were lightly grazing Michael’s inner ear as the rest of their long untrimmed right hand siblings laid partially into Michael’s thick dark hair.

 

“Oh shoot, sorry,” readjusting my digits, I briefly considered just removing my entire hand from Michael’s head. Perhaps perversely, I decided to simply dig the two stragglers into Michael’s scalp and gave the weirdest massage of my life. 

 

“Don’t be,” he replied, laying his right hand on my thigh. I almost immediately felt a twitch in my crotch, and then prayed that Michael didn’t feel anything poking into his head. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been calling me Mikey a bit.”

 

Readjusting himself, Michael leaned up and sat upright against the couch. Staring him in the eyes so as to hopefully keep his eyes off of my own awful fucking body I managed to reply, “Sorry, is that a problem? I know that you don’t like going by ‘Mike’, and all.”

 

Good grief, it would be just my luck if I was unknowingly irritating the guy I was trying to convince to be my boyfriend.

 

Resting his head on the top of the couch backing the earnest boy gave an uncharacteristically knowing smile, “No, no, I love it—from you, I mean.”

 

That last part was enough to fill me with concern. It felt weird feeling this feeling of Michael maybe knowing something that I didn’t, and the longer I stared into his eyes, the longer it became apparent to me that that was exactly what it was.

 

I couldn’t let Michael suspect anything, though, so I pinned a casual giggle to my inquiry, “What do you mean, ‘from me’?”

 

There was a teasing smile now underscoring Michael's knowing eyes, and I loathed the big bastard for his games, “It’s nothing. I just love watching your face when you’re thinking.”

 

That last one-liner was like an arrow shot into my heart. I had never been that smooth with any of my past girlfriends, and yet here I was, being so easily conquered on the battlefield of love by a guy that could actually decimate me on a battlefield of war.

 

Shit, that would be hot as fuck, actually…

 

Without even confirming that my face was beat red I did the only thing that I could think of to extract my revenge and leaned forward, connecting my lips with Michael’s and waiting for him to wrap his arms around my waist to pull me in.

 

I had never been so glad to be so much daintier than another man before, especially as Michael rubbed his giant, powerful fingers up and down my spine. “Fuck, I love that so much,” I whispered, breaking from Michael to catch my breath. 

 

“Hare, you’re so—” quick, sloppy breaths between kisses broke Michael’s sentence apart, nearly word for word “—god, you’re unlike any man I’ve ever been with before. I love—I love this!” Michael’s admission was enough to coax a wider smile out of me even as I felt his hands surging up and beneath my hoodie and patented four tee-shirt combo.

 

“M-Mikey, please, no—” Michael’s hands over my chest was enough to make my digestive system threaten to bring last night’s dinner back up, “—I—I can’t have anyone touch my chest!” Michael instantly withdrew his hands, and the look of horror on Michael’s face was enough to break my heart. “I-it’s not you, du—it’s not you, Michael. It’s me—I hate having my chest touched—or seen!”

 

Michael’s face didn’t look much better, even after a few small changes to match my explanation, “I’m sorry, dude.”

 

It was like beating a beat puppy even more, but I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out in my nausea, “Don’t call me ‘dude’, either!” From the quiver of his eyes alone I could tell that I had let some dark venom seep into my words, and terrible regret filled my heart. I couldn’t bear the thought of being physically touched quite yet, but I knew that I had to let Michael know that he wasn’t at fault here, so I cupped his right cheek with my left palm, “Mikey, I—I want to know where we stand, y’know?”

 

“What do you mean?” Michael asked, a cautiousness wrapping around his words, “Like, our…our relationship?”

 

“Yeah,” I rasped, my heart beating irregularly, “I—I don’t really think we’ve—y’know—settled on a label for us?”

 

Even if we did, I’d still have to break up with him eventually.

 

Grabbing my left wrist as my thumb brushed at the prickly stubble on his cheek, it felt as if my wrist was being swallowed whole by a prehistoric shark, “I mean,” hope fluttered in my heart as Michael’s voice showed signs of the warmth that I had so quickly fallen for, “I was hoping that you’d call me your first boyfriend, y’know?”

 

This time, my chest was pounding for a different reason. Tears welled in my eyes as Michael’s words replayed in my mind over-and-over a thousand times. “My first boyfriend…”

 

“Well, yeah?” I truly did love how much Michael just cut to the point sometimes.

 

“A-are you sure? That you want me, I mean?”

 

“Very, Hare.”

 

As uncomfortable as I was, I leapt at Michael and wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly. I never wanted to let go.

 

And judging by Michael’s tight grip on me, neither did he.

 

***

 

December 07, 2023: 

 

“I think the ice cream was a bad idea,” I groaned as Michael pulled into an empty parking spot at the zoo park. 

 

“I told you when you said you wanted me to pull over,” Michael mused, shaking his head back-and-forth with a light touch. “As far as I know you haven’t eaten ice cream in months, and certainly not that much,” Michael added a quick glance towards the ice cream-filled cup in my left hand. 

 

“Ugh, yeah, but it sounded so good, too!” I wanted to tell Michael off for dictating what I did, but I knew that the jacked gym teacher probably knew a thing or two about food. Gathering my bag and the half-finished ice cream, I opened the passenger side door and stumbled out of Michael’s car and headed for the nearest restroom, dropping the treacherous ice cream into a nearby trash can before entering the women's restroom.

 

As I finished my unspeakable business and then washed my hands I turned around and noticed the additional toilet stalls. Where were the urinals at—?!

 

Dashing outside, I checked the sign of the restroom that I had entered.

 

I had entered the women's restroom without noticing.

 

Michael, who was waiting for me outside, looked at me like I was crazy.

 

Probably because I looked crazy. 

 

“You okay?” Michael asked as he leaned on a nearby car barrier pole thingy.

 

“I just used the women’s restroom, Michael, of course I’m not—”

 

“It’s not exactly the first time you’ve done it, dear,” Michael’s lips pulled inward, as if he was feeling awkward about this situation. It didn’t stop me from pushing, however. “Besides, I think you used to follow Ash and the other girls into the women’s restroom all the time in college.”

 

A rapid fire drum beat threatened to burst out of my chest, “B-but, I’m—”

 

“—Literally seen as a cis woman, Candace. You’re fine,” Michael held out his hand, a gesture that oozed with romanticism. Was I really going to accept it?

 

Then again, we’ve probably had sex before, so I guess holding his hand wouldn’t be—Jesus, sex? Me? With a man? But…I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being gay, right? Or whatever the hell I am? Wait…what is my sexuality if I’m dating a guy?

 

His right hand still out stretched, I looked up at Michael to find the weak smile that he was wearing was somehow ‘precious’. 

 

What the hell did it matter if I was gay? I looked like a woman, and he looked like a man, and we were technically dating, so why the fuck didn’t I just—

 

—taking Michael’s hand I was instantly stricken by the difference in size and skin texture. There was a roughness to the man’s hands that—while mitigated by regular hand lotioning—still contrasted against the softer hands that I had seemingly developed over the past ten years. The difference in size left me with an odd feeling of surrealness digging away at the back of my mind. I was used to having ‘big’ hands and I was used to being tall, but not only did Michael have probably a hundred pounds of muscle on me, he was taller, broader, and just straight up bigger in general.

 

And yet…I never felt afraid of him. I wasn’t afraid of him finding out that I was…not like the other boys, like all the guys back in high school. Michael was ultimately a goat in a petting zoo, seeking only those pellet treats you had to spend a fucking quarter on to buy and then feed to the goats.

 

And instead of pellets, I was his treat. The way he looked at me when we were talking—I didn’t know how to describe it, even as we walked hand-in-hand through the entrance of the zoo. Even as my purse got caught on one of the prong thingies of the entrance, or even as Michael stopped and immediately helped me disentangle myself as it became apparent I was just making it worse.  

 

Why did my boyfriend look at me like I was the most important thing in his life?

 

***

 

December 08, 2013: 

 

Laying on my side on my bed, I looked my official first boyfriend in the eyes and let myself giggle, despite the way it made me feel so—I don’t know, ‘gay’? That was the weird thing, I technically was a guy dating another guy, and I loved that I could date a man and not hate it—so then why did I just keep feeling so weird about being some feminine twink—or whatever Michael said I was?

 

I really enjoyed how he took the lead in our relationship—Michael did everything I had tried to do in my relationships with women, only he did it so effortlessly. When Michael took the lead in the way a ‘man’ might traditionally do he actually enjoyed it. I was in awe of how he made me feel so loved. Was this what it felt like to not be miserable all the time? A ball of endless anxiety?

 

At the same time I had this awful feeling that I just couldn’t put into words. 

 

But, if I looked deep enough into Michael’s eyes, I tended to stop thinking about that weird feeling.

 

With his left index finger Michael brushed a golden lock out of my eye and tucked it behind my ear. I had managed to dodge my parents’ insistence that I get a haircut before college, so my last haircut hadn’t been since the week before senior year of high school started fifteen months ago. It was a bit of a pain to have hair getting in my way when I tried to eat, but I was enjoying the way it made my face look less...angular, and it was pretty interesting having hair hanging just past my shoulders now. 

 

“You know,” I whispered, afraid that any louder and the dream would all end, “I did bring you back to my apartment to console you, not have you console me.”

 

A tipsy little tune slipped into Michael’s tone, “I do enjoy being the big spoon, you know.” For emphasis, Michael gave me a little squeeze, which closed the distance between us on the bed just a little more.

 

Beside myself for not being able to keep a serious tone, I replied, “Pfft, are you ready to talk about what happened earlier, or what.”

 

Perhaps as a way to defy my expectations, Michael just kept smiling, “My father saved me from a hate crime from one of my ex-boyfriends’ dads. The boyfriend’s dad wound up in prison, mine in a hospital coma ward. That’s all there is to it, really.”

 

“Jesus Christ, how long?” I could practically feel the color drain from my face, “Are you okay?”

 

“It happened during Homecoming in senior year,” I wasn’t sure what emotion Michael was filled with, but he didn’t care, nor did he grow angry, “Sometimes I relive that night, and it’s Hell. Others, I’m just glad to not break down crying in public—did it in a public restroom once, though.”

 

I didn’t have any words, so I just hugged my boyfriend tighter.

 

“The doctors don’t know when he’ll wake up. Or if ever. My mom didn’t want me to waste my scholarship, so I went to college anyway. She and my younger sister hold the fort down.”

 

Michael’s eyes betrayed the boundless, machine gun energy he typically had in his cadence and the sway of his stance and his walk. It was impossible not to get lost in his eyes on a good day, but even now it felt like peering into a galaxy that I would not regret getting lost in, never to return.

 

Never needing to.

 

I began to realize that perhaps I was as much a bright spot in his life as he was in mine.   

 

***

 

December 07, 2023:

 

The petting zoo area was flooded with children. Their voices and their little feet as they ran to and fro to get more of the feeding pellets for the goats all churning like butter in a bucket into a chorus.

 

At the back of my mind gnawed a sense of everything being out of place. I hadn’t visited this zoo since I was a child, as it was deemed far too small and ‘plain’ by my mother’s standards. The petting zoo I had remembered for its rustic feel was now situated to the left of the entrance, whereas in my youth it had been placed to the right. The flow of time had seen the arrival of renovations at some point and now it sat in a pristine—if somewhat drably modern and gray—area where the old herpetarium used to be.

 

Gone were the faded browns of the wood fences and railings, now met with the cold gray of concrete and metal. My own nostalgia elicited simultaneous sentimentality and self-loathing. Things were not at all so rosy when I was younger, I simply remembered the quaintness of life in place of the unease of being me.

 

As the screaming of the excited school children filled the area dedicated to small, cute little goobers one can pet, I turned and looked up to the man whose hand I was holding and asked, “Teenagers aren’t also this energetic, are they?”

 

“Aren’t you the one who still thinks she’s a teenager?” Michael replied, a little smile tossed in there just to egg me on.

 

Unfortunately, I had a habit of playing into this man’s traps, like a rabbit stalked by a hunter: “Oh hush, you!” Taking my right index finger I planted it firmly on the behemoth’s chest, “I’m just saying, how the hell am I supposed to be a teacher if I’m getting overwhelmed by all these kids?” I yelled over the roar of the dozens of children eager to stuff the ever-hungry goats with pellets. “You’re say…ing…” the longer my finger stayed on Michael’s chest the more I began to realize I was firmly planting my finger into not just a chest, but a pec. “You’re saying…that I’m a beloved teacher? Bullsh—baloney!”

 

“Did we remember that there are children around?” Michael asked smugly, before looking down at my finger still lodged against his pec.

 

“Stop acting like you can read my mind, Coach Summers,” it was hard not to growl back at Michael, but I felt relieved that my voice didn’t sound masculine even when I was agitated. I really didn’t want people to realize what I was while in the middle of a petting zoo. How was I going to answer questions like “Hey Tits, why do you sound like a man?”

 

Michael’s smug amusement only bothered me more as the mounting pressures of the past two days grew in number. Standing on my tip-toes, I decided to do something to shut him up.

 

So, I kissed Michael.

 

On the lips.

 

The fact that I was kissing a man percolated a small panic at the back of my mind, but the longer my lips and tongue tasted the indescribable taste of Michael, the faster that small panic was strangled to death. 

 

Michael was a terrific kisser, making the entire experience so much less awkward than anything I had ever felt with my previous girlfriends. Heat flared in my stomach, like a bonfire raging at full force. The warmth in my belly spread across my entire form, up and down and out—I had to grab Michael by the collar of his shirt just to steady myself as my legs buckled.  

 

It was impossible to deny just how fucking hot this man made me.

 

My colleague wrapped his right arm around me and placed his palm behind the small of my back before gently pushing me back into his palm, “Candace, please. It’s not right—”

 

Landing into his palm, I looked back up at Michael with a seething ire at having my lust disrupted, “What, to kiss a…” but what began with an accusatory tone progressively petered out into a whimper as I found myself at a crossroads. Call myself a ‘man’ and I risked exposing myself to some stranger, but it also meant calling myself a man…when I had supposedly put a lot of effort into not looking like one anymore. Or legally being one, according to my driver’s license.

 

Gone was Michael’s teasing bedroom eyes, replaced only with a look of concern that only reminded me of how much he cared about me. He was practically a stranger to me. I hadn’t ever truly had friends before, and now the sexy, sculpted meatheaded bastard was supposedly my boyfriend? And I supposedly had friends later on in college?

 

With a gentle push I put some distance between Michael and myself and walked over to an unoccupied bench to calm my nerves. Michael joined me on the bench, and as if I were being tugged by the wind I leaned to my right to rest myself on his body, so unmoveable that I felt like he was no trouble at all for him that I moved to lean against him.

 

“What the hell is the matter with me?” I whispered to nobody in particular.

 

Taking the question literally, Michael replied with but a hint of his usual suave, “You’re going through a lot lately—we both are.”

 

“You mean besides the whole losing my memories thing?” I retorted with light sass.

 

“Being a teacher’s tough, Candi,” Michael wrapped his left arm around me and pulled me in, as if he had done it a million times before. 

 

As if I had leaned into Michael’s inviting embrace a million times before, I leaned into Michael’s invitation and sighed, “Who would have let me of all people teach teenagers? I am practically a teenager! Still! Again! Whatever!!”

 

Michael bit his lip as he unconsciously tightened his arm around me, “You need to rest and relax, Candace. It’s the only way you’re going to recover and get your head on straight again.”

 

“Curious choice of words for your partner,” I droned back, rolling my eyes.

 

“Curious choice of yours for yourself, Ms. “‘I’m-Not-Really-a-Woman-But-Now-Don’t-Want-to-Misgender-Myself’,” Michael mused back, turning to look me in the eye as I slid down and rested my head on his lap.

 

“C-curious choice of words,” I fumbled, “T-trying to avoid calling me a you-know-what, and all—Jesus Christ, I sound insane.”

 

“We both sound insane, dear,” Michael said with a soft chuckle as he brushed the gold locks out of my eyes with his right thumb, “Candace?”

 

“Yeah?” I replied, shifting my sight back from the ceiling of the goat enclosure overhang back to Michael’s eyes.

 

“I haven’t said that name in six years. I’m never calling you that word or that name again. I’m never using that name in any way ever again, even if it’s to talk to or about someone else.”

 

I wasn’t sure why, but as I looked into Michael’s eyes and heard the determination in his voice, I struggled my damndest to not let that name appear in my mind. To not remember the sound of it on someone’s lips. 

 

Luckily, the tears of joy welling up in my eyes made that easy enough, “Goddamn it, why is it so easy to cry now?”

 

“You keep saying it’s because your brain has the right hormones now,” Michael hummed, “Also, have you realized that you’re resting your head on my lap?”

 

“Oh, shit, that I am…” I hadn’t even noticed until Michael pointed it out. Just like with my purse, or my bra or my makeup, my body just seemed to know what it was doing on its own.

 

So then, if my mind still felt awkward around Michael, did that mean that my body felt comfortable? Was that how that worked, like a form of muscle memory? Shit, I kissed him without really thinking too hard about it earlier, was that just instinct taking over? This was the weirdest case of memory loss I had ever heard of. 

 

An approaching pregnant woman—blurred by the tears in my eyes—entered my field of vision as she slowly followed behind a boy rushing to pet the goats from behind the guard rail. “Hey, Michael?” I asked as I snapped up from my position on the very uncomfortable bench, immediately regretting no longer being able to rest on Michael’s lap.

 

“Yeah, Candace?” Michael replied as I pulled him off of the bench, and then signaled to the heavily pregnant woman to please take the bench for herself.

 

Pulling Michael back into the sea of school children I finished: “Let’s go pet some goats.” 

 

***

 

December 12, 2013:

 

In the reflection of the store window, under the mostly filtered sunlight through gray winter clouds and the skylight windows of the mall, I could see the uncomfortable look on my face as I peered at the mostly bland designer menswear on display. Was I really going to spend a ton of money on clothes that would neither fit me, nor even look good on me? Clothes shopping had been a hellish nightmare for me for probably ten years now—it was why I’d always stuck to just wearing cheap hoodies and jeans or sweatpants. Better to see a blob of black or gray in the window than ill-fitting clothing on my weird Jack Skellington body.

 

Or to even try drawing attention to myself. 

 

A voice from my right, “Hey, are you coming or what?” drifted right into my ear. 

 

Turning, I spotted my companion for the morning: Ash. 

 

Dressed warmly for the day—a bit of a surprise, considering how I usually only saw her in tank tops and military-print cargo pants—Ash wore form-fitting jeans and a feminine cut tee that showed off her—why was I gawking at her breasts? Ugh, don’t be a freak, Hare!

 

Tearing myself from my reflection to join Ash on the walk to our destination felt like coming just barely above water. I almost felt bad for not subjecting myself to the awful sight anymore.

 

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, joining Ash by her side. 

 

“Positive. I know I don’t usually dress all that much to impress, but I’ve learned a thing or two over the years, if I do say so myself!” The air of faux expertise was hard not to repay with an amused smile. Ash was the kind of woman who sucked the air out of the room without even trying, so to see her trying to give some of that effect to someone else—to me—felt like an invitation to curiosity.

 

Hopefully a pussy like me wouldn’t die.

 

Moments later, Ash and I arrived at a small store tucked into a little corner of the mall that was stuffed to the brim with plenty of clothes and accessories that I didn’t quite recognize.

 

It then occurred to me that this was a store for women. 

 

“Ash, I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but this is a store for…well, uh…”

 

“Oh come on, Harri,” Ash exaggerated her words with a prolonged glee, “Putting aside that there are plenty of ways we can give you a cuter look, you are some flavor of gay, right?”

 

It was beginning to dawn on me that, yes, LGBT+ people could dress…a certain way…sometimes, “I mean, yeah, I’m…bi, I guess?” A week ago I was lying about being bi, and now I was kinda-sorta not, and that just felt so surreal. “I guess looking nice comes with the whole package? Do I need to sign a contract stating that so long as I’m going to be chuggin’ cock I need to dress up nice?”

 

“Pfft,” Ash grabbed her sides and nearly collapsed on the spot outside of the—admittedly very inviting appearing— store in a fit of giggles.

 

I quickly realized that I had said the quiet part out loud, “Oh, fuck me…”

 

“It’s okay, Bunny,” Ash snickered as she straightened herself up, “I’ve chugged plenty o’ cock myself over the years!”

 

I wasn’t sure I liked knowing that about the girl I had a crush on, but I suppose I didn’t have much of a leg to stand on considering I was dating perhaps the hottest man on Earth—jeez, it was wild having thoughts like that now. How did I manage to miss this my whole life? Was this why all my relationships with women failed? Did I need to suck dick first, then suddenly get the confidence I needed to fuck my girlfriends without developing a profound need to vomit anytime I tried to put it in?

 

But first, there was a more pressing matter, “What’s this with the whole ‘Bunny’ thing?” I asked, crossing my arms as I followed Ash into the store. Trepidation felt like my middle name.

 

“I mean, your boyfriend calls you ‘Hare’,” Ash laughed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She had a habit of doing that with me a lot across the past week, “And besides, it’s cute!”

 

Blushing at the implication of being called cute, I couldn’t stop myself from firing back, “My name’s Harrison! Of course he’s going to shorten that to ‘Hare’! It doesn’t mean I’m his fuck bunny, or whatever!”

 

“I mean, I didn’t say anything about you two fucking,” Ash countered, flipping through nearly stacked jeans on a display, seemingly searching for the right size, “But as they say: ‘better a fuck bunny than a fuck buddy’!”

 

I hated her habit of telling the truth like she was the most clever woman on the planet, “Ugh, Jesus Christ, Ash!”

 

Ash had another giggle at my expense as she pulled a pair of jeans out of the middle of the stack and handed them to me to hold, “Hey, you’re the one who likes being called ‘cute’! Don’t shoot the messenger—at least not with something dangerous!”

 

“Please tell me that wasn’t a sex joke,” I groaned, letting my thumbs feel the material of the jeans in my hands. It felt more pleasant than I was used to.

 

“It wasn’t a sex joke,” and yet I didn’t believe her, but I didn’t have much time to retort before we were off to another side of the store and she began flipping through tops hanging off of a rack. “Cute, cute, cute, something cute for Bunny to wear~”

 

Even Ash mildly musing aloud was beginning to get to me. Taking a deep breath to keep calm, I stared at the floor, hoping nobody was looking at the tall freak of a man in the shop for cute clothes. The noise of a metal hanger screeching across a metal rack was strangely easy to get lost in. Was that a good thing?

 

Well, better than having a panic attack and making a scene, I guess.

 

The clerk manning the store was a tall Goth woman with long, dark hair, that contrasted with the lavender pastel dress shirt she wore, and pastel yellow apron. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen a woman who was even an inch or two taller than me, and it thankfully made me feel a little less bad about sticking out like a sore thumb.

 

In all of my cowardice, like shooting a glance from the corner of my eye to check if she was concerned about the presence of a man in the store, I found that she did not have any fucks to give about me. 

 

I snuck a sigh of relief before then returning my attention to Ash. With several items in hand, Ash excitedly rushed me to the fitting room, pushed me inside of the ungodly cramped stall and wished me, “Good luck! Try it on, then show meeeeee!!!”

 

Dropping the clothes—save for a pastel green sweat-esque top, since that was on a hanger—on the small bench I finally let myself begin to panic. I wasn’t just going to look terrible, I was going to look like an idiot. An affront to all queer people! How did I let myself get caught up in this?

 

“Hurry up, Bunny!”

 

Ash wasn’t going to drop the hyperactive kid act until I showed her how terrible I looked, so I doffed my trusty hoodie and sweatpants and donned the outfit that Ash had picked out as quickly as possible. I couldn’t believe how comfortably the pants wrapped around and stuck to my thighs. The jeans I normally wore were basically just baggy, rough sandpaper meant to hide my freakishly long legs, but there? Not only did they show them off, they made my legs look good. 

 

Too bad the pockets weren’t deep. How was I supposed to put a wallet or my phone and keys in these things?

 

I wasn’t sure how to feel about the pink tee-shirt that Bunny_Master69 intended for me to wear beneath the pastel sweater, but it was a cute enough cut, but was probably made for someone with, well, breasts. 

 

With the sweater added I immediately turned around to check the mirror, following from my legs up. I could see why Ash had chosen it. The outfit actually fit my body for once. The sweater was long, and almost fit like a dress of sorts. It hugged my wrists and torso just right to hide my upper body with its bagginess, while not being too look around my arms. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that I was looking at the body of a cute, tall girl—especially with the way I was standing. I’d always been made fun of growing up for my feminine gestures—something I had tried hard to hide after hitting seventh grade—but under the soft materials it just felt right to loosen up.

 

And then I looked at my face, and nearly threw up.

 

I was lucky to not need to shave often, but there was still something about my face that always made me feel ill. My skin was red and blotchy, and my eyes looked like I hadn’t slept in years—mostly because I hadn’t slept in years! How was I supposed to show Ash how awful I looked in the cute clothes she’d picked out for me?

 

A sudden bang on the dressing room door snapped me from my self-loathing, “Hurry up, Bunny, I gotta pee!”

 

“This isn’t a toilet, you know…” I shot back, wrapping my arms around myself to feel the soft material of the sweater some more.

 

“It will be if you don’t hurry the hell up and show me how you look!”

 

My stomach felt like it wanted to lurch, only I hadn’t eaten anything in over sixteen hours, so it didn’t have anything to vomit up, anyway, “Promise you won’t laugh?”

 

“Hon, I’ve been where you are. Women aren’t just born with fashion knowledge, you know?”

 

I hated how right she was. Defeated by Ash’s logic, I tepidly turned the handle to the fitting room stall I was in, popping the lock out as a result, only for Ash to grab the handle on the other side to open the door faster. Before I knew it, I was in her unobscured sight.

 

“Holy balls, you look amazing!”

 

An obvious lie, “I look awful. My face is awful. I look like a f—”

 

“Baby, you are a faggot,” Ash giggled, taking me by my hand and leading me out of the cramped stall.

 

I didn’t want to leave the stall dressed like this, but it seemed rude to tear my hand away. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. What if the other customers saw me? “I’m so sorry, I love the clothes you picked out, Ash, but I look like a man!”

 

“Last I checked, you were a man,” Ash countered, but with a seriousness I didn’t expect. Where was the usual teasing?

 

“But, like—I mean—I don’t look cute!”

 

“Because of your face?”

 

“I mean…kinda? I think?” Why was it so hard to put this awful feeling into words? This was almost as bad as how I felt that night that Ash gave me that han—ugh, out of mind, out of mind, out of mind, Hare! 

 

Ash seemed unperturbed, “What if we could fix that?”

 

“What, with surgery?” That seemed drastic, not to mention outside of my price range, lest I asked my parents for an even bigger allowance. 

 

“No dingus, with makeup!”

 

“What? But I’m not a—”

 

“Men can wear makeup, too!” Seeing Ash frustrated was a bit of a shock, “Jesus, you’re queer, stop thinking you hafta look like a cishet guy just ‘cause you’ve been doing it up until now! You’re in a rut, you need to experiment!”

 

Upset with myself for upsetting Ash aside, I felt like a freak even for finding her passion so terribly intoxicating, “You promise I won’t look weird?”

 

“Promise.”

 

Replying with a forced smile, I nodded, returned to the stall, and switched back into the clothes I’d come to the store in so that I could purchase the new outfit. 

 

On the journey through mountains of clothes back to the checkout counter I came across where Ash had found the large pastel green sweater that I loved most, and found that there were more than one color for the design.

 

In particular: it came in pink.

 

People wouldn’t think I was too—I wouldn’t get hate crimed if I wore that outside, would I? The pink was such a nice pastel shade, and I really could use more than one of these cute sweaters. With Ash ahead of me to save me a spot in line I looked back and forth between the two. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to me, so I quickly walked over to the rack, grabbed a pink copy of the sweater in my size, and hurriedly rushed behind Ash in line, just so that she wouldn’t notice my additional purchase.

 

That, however, didn’t work. Ash turned around, looked down at my hands carrying an extra item, and smiled, “Finally starting to have fun, I see?”

 

I meant to groan, but all I did was blush.

 

And then I remembered about the pants, “Um…so, the pockets on these pants are kinda…”

 

“Oh shit,” Ash gasped, “That’s right, those things are always small on women’s clothing!”

 

“So, I am wearing women’s clothing?” I shot back, confirming my suspicions.

 

“Tomato, to-mah-to! I do have a solution, though!”

 

Ash’s face looked devious as could be. Clearly she was planning something irreversible—something that I could never come back from.

 

Unfortunately, willingly walking into Hell was beginning to feel fun. 

 

***

 

December 12, 2013: 

 

I couldn’t believe that I was wearing a purse.

 

Admittedly, it was a very cute purse—pink and plastic on the outside, with cute little green frogs sprinkled across the surface. 

 

But I still couldn’t believe that I was wearing a purse.

 

Or women’s clothing.

 

Or makeup.

 

In a mall full of people.

 

“I hate how this strap feels on my chest,” I grumbled to Ash as she swung her head to-and-fro, looking for a place to grab a bite to eat. 

 

“I told you that you should get the hand bag,” Ash laughed, not even looking back at me. 

 

“I mean, yeah, but it would be a pain to hold it all the time. And besides, I like being able to hold the strap!” Like I was currently doing to keep it off my chest, “It gives my hands something to do about the anxiety!”

 

“See, problem solved!”

 

“Yeah, but I can’t keep my arms in this upright position all the time!”

 

With a casual shrug, “Then don’t!”

 

“But my chest!” I barely stopped myself from stomping my ill-matching sneakers on the mall tile flooring, lest I appear too gay or whatever.

 

Okay, perhaps it would’ve looked more appropriate. 

 

“Okay, like, what exactly is it about your chest?” Ash asked, finally turning around to look me in the eye, “Do you have some injury I don’t know about?”

 

“N-no?” I answered, suddenly regretting my complaining.

 

“Then what?” Ash’s stare was piercing, as if she was trying to look into the depths of my soul. She always caught me off guard when she suddenly acted so serious.

 

“I-I don’t know? Like, I just hate how hard it feels and how flat it looks? It’s weird, and pale, and I just look like a sickly…thing? Right?” I’d never understood why I hated my chest so much, but it had bothered me for years, and the strap of my purse being a constant reminder of how weird my chest felt was not helping one bit.

 

After a pause, Ash finally replied with a slight caution in her voice, “Let’s finish this conversation in the food court, yeah?” Weird.

 

“Umm…sure?” I slowly replied, unsure of what Ash meant by that.

 

After some more searching Ash finally found the food place that she was looking for—Cinnabon—and ordered a roll that was just oozing in hot, melted, white icing. Too ill to eat myself, I ordered a bottle of water and then joined Ash beneath the massive skylight that kept the center of the food court nice and toasty.

 

Well, not nice.

 

Digging in as quickly as she could, I could tell that Ash was mulling something over in her mind as she chewed away with great abandon. 

 

As the water from my freshly purchased bottle hit the back of my throat a funny little thing occurred to me, “Didn’t you need to pee, ma’am?”

 

“I lied,” Ash countered, her timing so sharp it almost felt like she knew exactly what I was about to ask. “That’s besides the point, though.”

 

“What’s the point?” Ash seemed to want to play a game of questions, so I indulged.

 

“The point is: do you hate being a guy?”   

 

Nobody had ever asked me that question before, and I wasn’t quite sure how to answer. Did I hate being a guy? “Well, there’s nothing special about it, right?”

 

“Ethplain!” Ash shot back between bites of cinnamon roll.

 

“I mean, it’s just…whatever? You know? I mean, I know I’m not your average guy—before last weekend all I did was go to class, watch anime, or surf the net—well, that and dread my post-college future.”

 

Ash nodded, but I couldn’t read her face.

 

“What about you, Ashley?” I asked with a hint of jovialness, “Do you ever hate being a woman?”

 

“Love it—way better than being a guy,” the little gremlin fired back, nibbling on another piece of her unraveling cinnamon roll.

 

“How do you know that?” I asked back, a deep confusion—and dread—settling in. Wearing a sweater while under a skylight was a bad idea.

 

“Tried it for fifteen years, it sucked.”

 

What?

 

“What do you mean, you ‘tried it for fifteen years’?” I asked, putting as much caution into my voice as possible.

 

“I’m also the T in LGBT, dingus,” Ash grinned after swallowing the piece of roll in her mouth. 

 

Wait. The ‘T’ stood for—oh God, “You’re a tranny?”

 

“You can’t say that word, cis boy, but yeah, I am—well, I’m transgender. Or trans. Whatever.” Ash looked calmer than I’d ever seen her. No teasing, no trying to push my buttons: she simply was. “Also, you can’t say ‘shemale’, either, bucko.”

 

“Shit, I’m sorry, that’s what my dad calls them—you guys. Girls. Women. Oh God, kill me,” I couldn’t help but cover my face in shame. How the fuck was I blowing things so hard with the most incredible girl I’d ever met? I wasn’t even trying to date her anymore, I just really liked being friends with her, and here I was calling her a fucking tranny—ugh, don’t even think that word!

 

“I’m not surprised that he would,” Ash’s eyes were practically rolling backwards in her head, “Most men call me slurs. You aren’t like most men, though, are you, Bunny?”

 

“I’m so sorry, Ash!” I was practically begging, hands fully on the table in case she wanted to stab something through them and pin me to the table like a crucifix, “I’ll never say it again!”

 

“Not unless it’s to refer to yourself, of course,” Ash laughed, but not in the way she normally would. She didn’t break composure, nor did the seriousness of her body language change. “I can trust you not to make a big deal out of this, right?”

 

“Of course! Of course!” Between the conversation with Ash, the heat from sitting under a skylight, and the discomfort in my chest from having a purse around it so long, I could barely breathe. “It-it’s not a big issue for me! I mean, it—it’s not an issue at all, I swear!”

 

Ash broke out into a wide smile, as if she was back to playing her games with me, “That’s good to know, Bunny.”

 

God, I hoped I wasn’t soaking my cute new clothes with a terrible, awful, no good sweat right now, “W-why did you decide to tell me this now?”

 

Thinking it over for a moment, Ash tossed a piece of her cinnamon roll into her mouth and chewed on the thought. The wait for a reply was torture, “I decided to out myself to you because I figured I might be able to help you with that chest problem.”

 

I wasn’t following, “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, you hate how hard and flat it is, right?”

 

“I mean, yeah, I guess—I mean, I do, definitely. I don’t know what this has to do with you being tra—wait, are you suggesting I get implants?”

 

“I mean, I was going to suggest that you try HRT, but implants are certainly one way to go, too,” Ash laughed, letting herself slink down the back of her chair, hands in pockets.

 

Her eyes never left mine.

 

“I can’t just pay for—and even if I did, my parents would kill me?!” Unpleasant images flashed in my mind, “What’s HRT?”

 

Ash dug through her messenger bag—a military green affair littered with pins and buttons that I didn’t recognize—and pulled out two prescription pill bottles, “Spironolactone for suppressing testosterone and Estradiol for raising estrogen. I have taken these every single day since I turned sixteen and after four years I look like the cute little thing you see before you.”

 

“Jesus, there’s a medicine for looking cute?” I was stunned at Ash’s revelation, but still checked to make sure my jaw wasn’t hanging down on the title of the mall floor. 

 

“I mean, basically. Testosterone is what ages skin and fucks up bone structure for women like me. The longer you’re on it, the more you begin to look like a forty-five year old man in your mid-twenties.”

 

Nearly ten years of nightmare fuel came rushing back. I knew exactly what Ash meant, because I had feared growing into an old man just like my dad for as long as I could remember. I liked looking cute, even if I was afraid it made me sound gay to think that way. Hell, it turns out I actually was bisexual, and not straight, so it wasn’t weird to say some gay shit like “I hate this” whenever I started growing body hair, or when I started to need to shave, or when my face started looking all…weird.   

 

Ash must have sensed I was processing a lot, and gave me a moment before finally adding, “So, basically, if you take HRT, your chest will obviously…well, soften up. All of your skin will, actually—it redistributes your body fat in a feminine way, after all—but you won’t have to deal with going through further masculinization, if that’s not your thing.”

 

If my parents caught me taking hormones to look cuter, and to stop my body from getting more masculine, they’d probably kill me—or at least disown me. But at the same time, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Ash was proposing. Would HRT basically make me look young longer? I wouldn’t get all...masculine looking, like my cousins did? Up until now I’d been lucky that things hadn’t been quite as bad for me, but who knows how the hell long that would last?

 

“So, like, I can…take HRT, even if I’m a guy?”

 

“I mean, basically. Cis people take it when they have hormone imbalances, but in your case you just gotta lie to your doctor about being a trans woman and they’ll prescribe them to you at a high enough dose that they’ll make you even cuter!” For emphasis, Ash sat up straight in her chair again, leaned forward and then poked me in the cheek—a surreal enough feeling. “Or you could probably try buying some off of the internet, but I don’t know how that works. My parents were supportive when I came out as a trans girl and told them that I wanted—needed—to take hormones.”

 

I couldn’t imagine my folks ever supporting that sort of thing for me, if I were trans, “That’s good, I’m glad that your parents aren’t assholes. Unfortunately, mine are.”

 

“Sign up for the state healthcare plan, or whatever. That way they won’t ask you what you’re going to a doctor for—because they just won’t know that you’re doing to a doctor!”

 

Ash’s advice seemed sound. My folks just dumped money for expenses into my checking account, it wasn’t like they would know what I was spending my money on. Shit, thanks to me being able to convince them to not stay on my account after I turned eighteen they wouldn’t know that I’d just dropped $300 at a clothing store for women, either, so what’s the big deal about buying hormones? Especially if I just didn’t tell them?

 

“So, like, how apparent would the changes be?”

 

“I mean, I didn’t feel up to doing my makeup today, and I look like this,” Ash laughed, sitting upright to give me a better look of both her face and her figure. “And you can hide the boobs if you want pretty easily. You already wear mostly baggy clothes, and unless your body decides to give you big ol’ knockers from taking HRT, you should be just fine.”

 

“So, HRT gave you…”

 

“Yeah, I was pretty lucky. I got D-cups, although I’m so tall—like, maybe 6’1’’?—that they kind of just look average on me. That’s the wonders of being a trans girl, I guess,” Ash’s demeanor betrayed a sense of discomfort, but I decided not to press forward.

 

“It’s not, like, insulting to trans women if I lie, is it? About wanting to take HRT?”

 

“Naw, I don’t care—and I don’t see why anyone else should. Doctors love to gatekeep trans health care, and while you might not be trans or whatever, if you want HRT you’re going to have to at least pretend to have gender dysphoria and ask for HRT to solve the problem.”

 

“‘Gender dysphoria’? I assume that’s, like, thinking you’re one thing, but your body is thinking something else?”

 

“Eh, kinda? Basically, I look in the mirror and expect to see a cute girl. I didn’t see that for a long, long time, and it hurt like hell. Hell, even now I’ll have bad days, and think I look like an ugly man—”

 

“—you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met!” I almost immediately regretted my embarrassing interjection. 

 

Ash just laughed at me, which echoed in the food court, “Oh God, thank you sweetie, you’re such a dear.”

 

Ugh, god, it was hard not to shrink inward when women did that, “Th-thank you, Ash…”

 

“Of course, Harri,” Ash smiled, scooping up the remainder of her cinnamon roll and stuffing it into her face, “All-in-all, I really, truly am happier now than I ever was trying to be…someone else. Whoever I was expected to be when I was born.”

 

I had to admit, I was really enjoying not being a straight man anymore, so I could relate. I had a wonderful boyfriend who looked at me like I was the most important thing in his world, and as much of a disconnect as I felt over that, it was still an absolutely amazing feeling and the mere thought of Life After Michael was scary enough just on the surface.

 

Between classes and assignments all I had was free time to spend with Michael. Free time where I didn’t have to think about the future. Free time where I didn’t have to think about my family, or how they would hate what I was doing—or hate who I was doing it with—heck, who I was, really.

 

Drumming the food court table with my hands I stared at the half-empty—perhaps, ‘half-full’—water bottle that I had bought minutes earlier. If I was going to do this…I was going to have to be prepared to hide some things from my family. For how long, I didn’t know…

 

…but I did know that I had waited long enough.  

 

***

 

December 07, 2023: 

 

There’s a certain warmth and calm that washes over one as they scratch and rub under the chin of a goat in a petting zoo. From the tips of one’s fingers, into the palm of one’s hand, and then spread throughout the whole of one’s body, one realizes something about themself. In their hands lies a creature filled with the simple pleasure of wanting to be shown love, and by simply giving their love a bond—however brief—is formed.

 

The nearly nineteen years I spent holed up in my room after school kept me from this simplistic bond in any meaningful way, but like when petting this goat through the guard rail, or holding hands with Michael, I truly began to understand the depths of what I had denied myself. 

 

As the goat wanted only more scritches and pats, I realized that I needed—more than wanted—to give them. To make up for lost time.

 

As the crowd of children turned into yet another overwhelming chorus of noise I eventually broke off from my happy little white goat and watched him wander off to find some new source of affection. As I watched the goat wander off and slowly backed myself away back towards Michael I wondered if this was how a mother bird felt when her child left the nest?

 

***

 

December 13, 2013: 

 

The day of Michael’s game had finally arrived, which meant I was now going to be surrounded by hundreds of other people seeing a part of me I had only just discovered, now proudly on display.

 

Bleachers at the stadium filled quickly, but thanks to some behind-the-scenes shenanigans Michael had managed to get me and Ash inside earlier than general admittance. I had never been inside a stadium this large before, but the vastness of the stadium was more exciting than overwhelming. 

 

Admittedly, I think that what excited me the most was getting to see Michael do the thing that he loved to do.

 

Well, besides my mouth, of course! ♥

 

“So, like, I finally got transferred to electronics,” Ash casually announced as the seating around us filled up little by little. I gripped onto the pink strap of my purse to keep it from touching my chest too much, and luckily I could just rest my hands on my lap—along with the purse itself.

 

“Electronics?” I asked, rocking back and forth in place on the silver, metal, and very uncomfortable surface, “At the store you hate working for?”

 

“Yeah, like, it’s hella tight. Way better than being stuck on a frontend cash register all day. It’s also easier to goof off and hide from customers, so that’s like a win-win.”

 

I wasn’t sure how appropriate it was to reply “Sounds like you kinda hate your job?” in an amused tone, but it was hard to stop myself from being in a good, teasing mood. 

 

“Oh trust me, I very much do,” Ash fiddled with the wrists on the sleeves of her gray cardigan, which only fueled my working theory that she had ADHD or something. “I’m there for the health insurance and being able to build up my savings.” 

 

“Aren’t you still on your parents’ insurance?” I asked, “They seem like they’d be cool about helping you with any medical needs, right?”

 

“Yeah, but, like,” Ash paused to pull out their phone and idly scrolled for a moment before continuing, as if they were looking for the forwards to continue with, “It’s just in case it’s cheaper for my needs, y’know?”

 

“I suppose, but, like, what needs?” It was hard not to shoot a look to my sides as the chorus of feet walking on metal around me grew louder, “You’re not sick, are you?”

 

“Eeeh, well, that’s a bit—basically, I need some work done.” 

 

“Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry! Is everything okay?”

 

“It will be in a year or two, when I can afford a new nose.”

 

Ash’s nose wasn’t exactly small or anything, but I’d always considered it part of her charm—and it certainly never tipped me off to her being transgender. Then again, I knew that women didn’t like it when men—or anyone, really, but especially men—commented on their bodies like that. I felt closer to Ash now than I ever had to my actual older sister, and I didn’t want to lose that. Especially since she was teaching me about liking myself for who I was—apparently, a very fruity queer guy.

 

I had originally planned on wearing the pastel green sweater to the game today, but I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing the pink one instead. While the green of the sweater and pink of my purse—I still couldn’t believe that I was using a purse—bounced off one another well, I found myself more infatuated with the soft shade of pink of the sweater. I was used to only wearing black hoodies, so the pink made me feel like I was further away from what I normally looked like. 

 

It was such a refreshing feeling—like feeling the sun of a satisfying summer on your skin for the first time after nine long months of rain and snow.

 

“God, I hope Mikey likes this outfit—or, whatever,” I don’t know why I was so self-conscious about what Michael thought—I couldn’t stop checking my makeup every five minutes, either. He seemed to be pretty open about being bisexual, and being seen with dating a feminine guy was probably more expected than him dating someone more masculine. And besides, he said I was cute! The big lunk should be happy that his boyfriend wanted to accentuate that cuteness that he seemed to love so much!!

 

Resolved, I turned to Ash and added, “By the way, I made an appointment with that clinic you told me about! Next Friday was the soonest they could get me in, though. Ugh!”

 

“Hell yeah! Congrats, Harri!” Ash said, wrapping her arm around me. Now cheek to cheek, I couldn’t believe how soft her skin was, “It’s a big step, but I think you’ll probably really enjoy it—and you can stop anytime you like. Breasts aren’t really permanent until, like, six months in, if I remember correctly? And that’s only if you want a high dose!”

 

My voice down to a low whisper, “I’m probably going to ask for as high a dose as I can, to be honest. I’ll hide my br—Jesus, I can’t believe I have to say this—my breasts, if I have to. I need this, Ash. I can’t stop thinking about it.”  

 

Ash squeezed her arm around me even tighter, “It’s okay, Harri, I get it.”

 

“Besides, I seriously doubt that I’ll ever date a straight woman again after the past week!” It was hard not to laugh about it, but the more the week passed by, the more I realized what my problem had always been: All my ex-girlfriends in high school had wanted me to be the exact kind of guy that I didn’t want to be. 

 

And better yet, I didn’t have to be that guy. I could be…I don’t even know what? A feminine guy? Bisexual? Cute? I could get fruity—faggy—with it! 

 

That was way better than being the guy everyone expected to knock up some poor girl he didn’t even love and marry her. 

 

The roar of the growing crowd filling the stands snapped me from my inner soap opera and brought me right back to the then and now. Using my eyes to track if something was happening on the field, I eventually spotted the players for our university showing up. As if by twist of fate, I spotted Michael—number 02—right as he spotted me and Ash in the stands. 

 

Moment of truth—

 

—oh shit?! Was he smiling wider than I’d ever seen him smile?!

 

He was! Michael liked my fit—or at least, from what he could see all the way down there!

 

My heart raced as if I was crashing down from the peak of a roller coaster. I wasn’t making an idiot of myself, right? It was okay to love this feeling, right? I wasn’t insulting—or desecrating—trans people or queer people or who the fuck ever, right?

 

Even as the kick-off kicked off, I couldn’t stop myself from buzzing in place. I felt Ash’s hand take my left hand, to help me stay still. It was impossible not to just buzz and buzz and buzz—thank god I didn’t have any classes tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to stop buzzing! Or jittering! Or what the fuck ever I was doing!

 

When Michael tackled a guy, I just about cried out from a different kind of excitement.

 

 ***

 

December 13, 2013: 

 

Night fell, and as the stadium parking lot emptied, Ash and I waited for Michael in front of the front entrance gates. It would have probably been inappropriate for me to sneak into the locker room to surprise my boyfriend, but I couldn’t wait to show him my makeup and outfit in closer detail, so I stuck to Ash and waited patiently—if loudly—outside.

 

The uggs that Ash had suggested I buy came in handy at night, and kept my feet very warm, but at the same time, the blistering coolness of a winter night in Washington smacked me in the face relentlessly. Paranoia spiking regularly, I found myself checking my makeup numerous times over the course of the night just to make sure it was still perfect, and thankfully, it had been nearly every time—or required very little touching up. Although I had practiced applying makeup a lot since yesterday morning I still asked Ash to help me get it right before the game, and for that I was grateful for her patience and expertise.

 

Wing tips were so fucking cool.

 

Doing something special with my hair was surprisingly fun, too. Ash took me to a cool queer place to get my hair done, and the trim and styling had thankfully not involved the loss of much in the way of length. I’d never kept my hair this long before—enough for it to touch my shoulders!—and I was really enjoying how different it made me look. The bangs alone being able to cover my forehead was worth the price.  

 

The best part of the day was that nobody had seemed to notice a guy basically crossdressing at a football game, either.

 

Sometime not too long after 9PM, I noticed Michael trotting out of the stadium and then ran straight into his arms. It was hard to wrap my arms around my boyfriend, but he had no trouble practically bear-hugging me down a dress size before lifting me off of the ground and spinning around in a circle.

 

“OH GAWD, MICHAEL—NO?!” As slow a spin as it was, I couldn’t help but let out what was something between a yelp and a giggle. The difference in size between me and Michael was actually closer than the size difference between me and my ex-girlfriends, even so, in Michael’s embrace I finally got to enjoy being the small one. 

 

I never wanted to go back to being the big one in the relationship.  

 

Mal, one of Michael’s friends and teammates from the team, had followed Michael out of the stadium, and laughed at him, “Traded your new boyfriend in for a girlfriend already? Sheesh, Mike!”

 

When Michael finally sat me down on the ground he made a funny face as he examined mine, “Th-that is you, right Hare?”

 

“Yup!” I squealed, throwing up a peace sign, “All me, Mikey!”

 

“Holy shit, I didn’t know you were—uh, sorry, Harri. You just…look different,” I wasn’t sure why Mal apologized, but I was in too good a mood to question it, so I flashed him my best smile, then grabbed onto Michael’s right arm so I could lean on his sturdy body. 

 

It was gay as hell, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have to be that guy anymore. Not dressed like this! Not when I was with Michael! Or Ash!

 

Leaning up into Michael’s ear I said something that I never thought I would say, “When we get back to my place I’m gonna congratulate you so fucking hard for winning today, baby.”

 

“Fuck,” Michael whispered back, “I gotta get something to eat, first!”

 

“An appetizer sounds yummy, too! ♥”

 

***

 

December 13, 2013: 

 

I did not drink or do drugs or whatever, but I kind of imagined that whatever adrenaline was pumping through my brain now was no doubt a thousand-times better. Sitting beside Michael in the booth of a certain major restaurant chain—opposite Ash and Mal—I wasn’t sure how to take my left hand off of Michael’s right thigh. Stroking it as Mal recounted the game, Ash traded between checking her phone or interjecting into the conversation, and Michael weakly trying to converse with his friend while my hand was precariously close to his erection, was only feeding my worst impulses. 

 

Sometimes you just want to make your boyfriend suffer a little, y’know?

 

A voice in the back of my mind told me to be ashamed of myself for touching another man like I was—especially very thinly veiled in public—but between trying to remain semi-present in the conversation, and thinking about all the dirty things that I wanted Michael to do to me, it was pretty easy to tune out the voice calling for me to do something terrible to my body again. 

 

Ash shot me a look, her back against the wall that our booth was connected to, then down at the basket of chicken tenders and fries that Michael and I were sharing. Not quite sure what she was getting at, I sent her a text with my right hand.

 

“Wut?”

 

“Nothin just noticed this is the second time in as many days that you aren’t eating.”

 

“Can’t blow my bf if im too stuffed lol”

 

“Just be careful, yeah?”

 

Ugh, Ash really was beginning to sound like my sister. 

 

I had my eating perfectly under control. 

 

***

 

December 13, 2013: 

 

Michael and I stumbled into my apartment around 11PM.

 

Probably.

 

I think.

 

I dunno, we were making out the entire way in, and knocking over the shoe rack on the way to my bedroom. 

 

Dinner had been great, or whatever, but I was eager to get Michael back home, so I pretended to be a bit under the weather, and that eventually led to the four of us taking our leave. Michael dropped Mal and Ash off of their homes, then sped through at least two separate yellow lights to get back to my place, which only made me hornier.

 

Once on my bed, Michael looked up at me while I fumbled my way through tearing my pants off. Unfortunately, that also meant watching me trip and fall on him.

 

“Oh shit, are you okay Hare?” Michael’s surprise only made me laugh harder at my own clumsiness.

 

“I’m fine, hon!” I managed to get out through giggles, “Hey, hey, hey, let’s do that!”

 

Annoyingly, Michael seemed really pensive, “What do you mean?”

 

“That!” I yelped, rolling off of Michael so I could turn around and lock lips with him again.

 

“Hare, are you okay?”

 

“I’m fiiiiiiiiine,” I droned. I could tell that my annoyed tone of voice didn’t help quash Michael’s fears, though, “I’m totally fine, I just want you. In. My. Ass!” I’d never considered anal before, but after enjoying basically crossdressing for two days, I was more than happy to keep trying out new things. The old me wouldn’t have done it, so why not let the new me try it out? 

 

I’d also gone through a lot of trouble getting ready, too.

 

“Hare, did you do any drugs today?” Michael asked, slipping out from under me and sitting up right, “You’re acting a bit…different?”

 

“Michael, I’m fine,” I sighed, sitting up right on the edge of the foot of my bed, “I’m just horny, Jesus!” 

 

And so long as I didn’t think about the raging erection trying to come untucked in my panties I would stay that way.

 

Michael turned around on the right-hand side of my bed, pulled a leg up off of the ground and sat half-crossed legged, “That’s it, right? I’m just concerned for you, is all.”

 

Speaking in as calm a voice as I could manage I turned back to Michael and sat crossed on my bed, “Mikey, I’m fine. I promise! I just—I finally feel free of a ton of bullshit, and I just want to enjoy being whatever the hell I am.”

 

“Can I ask about the clothes?” Michael’s eyes scanned my body, and while I didn’t exactly have any curves to make a guy go ga-ga over, I could tell that Michael was looking at me differently. 

 

And I really liked that.

 

“I wanted to look cute for tonight!” My voice took on a cutesy tone that sounded so fucking gay—kinda like how I used to talk before high school—but I really liked it, “You keep calling me cute, so I just…you know?”

 

“Wanted to make me call you cute even more?” Michael laughed, almost a little incredulous. 

 

“Yeah! Besides, I’m not straight, I can dress a little…you know?”

 

“I mean, you should just dress how you like, not how you think you should—”

 

“I am, Mikey! Heck, I even bought this pink sweater without even having Ash tell me to try it out!!”

 

“Ash helped you?”

 

“Yeah, she did! She taught me about fashion and makeup, and I know I still have a lot to learn, but this is way better than looking like I normally do!”

 

Michael paused for a moment, as if contemplating something. Finally, Michael looked me in the eyes and asked, “Are you okay with this? Like, getting called a girl by people who don’t recognize you?”

 

Ugh, this was driving me nuts, “Michael, it’s whatever. I’m doing this because I enjoy it. If I get called a girl, I don’t care—hell, it’s actually kinda funny! I don’t want to be the old me anymore, and the old me would’ve called me a faggot and fucked off to jack it to anime or whatever. I have real people to be friends with now, and an amazing boyfriend who’d rather make sure his boyfriend isn’t having a mental health crisis over getting to fuck him in the ass or get his dick sucked. So, for the final time: I’m okay!”

 

The expression on Michael’s face softened a bit, and even threatened to turn into a smile, so I unleashed another attack. Leaning forward until I could move onto my knees, I placed my right hand on Michael’s chest. Even beneath a loose tee shit it was evident how much definition was waiting beneath. “Fuck, how did you get so ripped?”

 

“Gym. Tons and tons of gym.”

 

“Fuck,” my breath was heavier than I’d ever heard it before, “No wonder you can lift me up!”

 

“I mean, you’re pretty light, Hare,” reaching around my back, Michael pulled me up close and held me at the small of my back. Even just the simple touch was enough to get my heart racing again. Finally, Michael attacked my lips with his own, and I could feel the tension in my legs melt away. 

 

Breaking momentarily, I flashed my boyfriend a smile and asked, “Please?”

 

“It’s your first time, right?” Michael looked concerned, but I didn’t care. 

 

“It’s okay, really!” A chain reaction of quick nods accompanied my reply “I—a certain someone showed me how to clean it.”

 

Michael’s smile was as soft as his sigh. Finally, Michael let go of me to begin undoing his belt, “Ah, fuck it. Don’t come complainin’ to me when your ass is sore tomorrow, Hare!”

 

The excitement in my giggle helped me ignore any issues I had with the sound of it, “Yes, sir!” Unable to wait, I helped Michael pull his pants off and tossed them on the floor. Rising through his boxer briefs—strained as it was—was the most beautiful cock I’d ever seen.

 

Much, much longer than mine, Michael’s shaft basically pulsated a burning red color that left me wondering if he needed to dip the thing in a bucket full of ice just to safely calm it down. Rolling off my bed I dug out the lube that I had bought at the mall the other day, and helped Michael apply it generously. Simply touching my boyfriend’s hot penis made me half-yelp from the supposed illicit nature of it all.

 

When Michael finally inserted his penis into my ass I screamed into one of my pillows so as to not alert the neighbors about the gay sex the fairy loser next door was having. Each thrust and retraction from Michael felt like a masseur rubbing up and down my spine. Sometimes, Michael would thrust a little too hard for my rookie ass, but others it felt just right. 

 

A final thrust from Michael was enough for me to jizz all over my bed’s bottom sheet, but I didn’t mind. It was probably due for a washing, anyway. 

 

Unsheathing from me, and then unsheathing from the condom, Michael backed off of my bed and stumbled out of my bedroom in the direction of the restroom. Moments—and a piss—later, Michael rejoined me on the bed, completely wiped out.

 

“Holy shit, Harri,” Michael’s voice sounded aged with fatigue, “That was the best—good god!”

 

“It was amazing for me, too,” my laugh was so light, and against my instinct to pass out on the cum spot I managed to add, “Gawd, I hope it’s always that good.”

 

“Expecting big things from me, are we?” Even a weak laugh from Michael still felt like it was a meteor crashing right into me.

 

“Pfft,” it was hard not to pant, “I mean, have you seen how big you are down there?”

 

“Sheesh, you aren’t that much smaller, are you?” Michael seemed almost incredulous at the idea. 

 

“Eh, it’s whatever,” play it off with a laugh, Hare, “I’m more concerned with getting my asshole used to you!” The size difference with Michael really wasn’t the issue, it was the awkwardness of my thing shaking about that made me feel so weird. 

 

Michael moved in closer, the heat of his ‘post-workout’ body no less hot now than it was a few minutes earlier. I could feel the tug of slumber pulling at my feet, turning them into lead. With my body shutting down after a day of unsustainable adrenalin, I allowed my body to follow its natural instinct and cuddled up next to my boyfriend. In all my many nights in this world I was positive that I was falling into the best sleep of my life up to that point.  

 

***

 

December 07, 2023: 

 

The zoo’s ‘Asian animals’ swapped between a series of different exhibits all interconnected via a series of tunnels underground. If I had to guess, the idea was to keep the animals interested—which is to say, so that they didn’t get too bored with the same exhibit everyday—but when tigers could only be safely housed in three of the five exhibits it was clear that the designing staff for the add-on exhibit was not the best in the world.

 

Still, there was a certain joy in watching tigers walking to and fro right up in front of you. The only thing separating you from gruesome death by jungle cat being a thick—if now thoroughly in need of cleaning—layer of glass. Nevertheless, the look of the fearsome beast before me was somehow still frightening. It was literally an entirely different type of creature from a human, but at the same time it still shared one basic need with humans: the need to eat.

 

Just two years ago the zoo was home to a six year old female tiger named Kirana. The then-two year old tiger, Raja, was brought to the zoo in hopes of mitigating the extinction faced by the Sumatran tigers.

 

Raja killed Kirana.

 

Eyes lifting back up from the smart phone in my palm, I wondered just how good Raja’s survival instincts truly were. Was I Raja in this scenario, or was I Kirana?

 

Or would—if given a second chance—Kirana have struck Raja first, killing him before he could kill her? Was the instinct to preserve the self more powerful than the instinct to preserve the species? 

 

Was I Candace—struggling to survive in a world where I was now at an endless disadvantage—or was I—?!  

 

—Wetting its feline snout with the blood and innards housed in my body was simply in its nature. Something that you couldn’t really blame the tiger for.

 

It made me wonder: What was my nature? What was the nature of this ‘Candace Queen’ that I had apparently turned myself into over the course of the past ten years.

 

After literally waking up ten years in the future just the day before, it began to dawn on me—as I stared the prowling tiger in the eye—that I somehow felt almost more scared of my life than the threat of being eaten alive by the faded orange feline.

 

The most stark contrast between the tiger and the human was that the tiger never had to question the nature of its existence. The tiger knew who and what it was.

 

I envied the trapped soul.   

 

***

 

December 14, 2013:

 

When consciousness began swirling within my mind again the first thing I could feel was the branding warmth of my boyfriend’s arms wrapped around my waist. I was glad that Michael wasn’t tangling his arms around my chest, if only so that I wouldn’t have to explain to him quite yet that he had better not get used to how it currently feels, as I was going to begin taking hormones soon, but the warmth covering my back from his chest was enough to solidify in my mind that I much preferred harder chests like his on people other than myself. Especially when I got to rub my hands over them.

 

Laying there in bed, feeling Michael, was good enough for me, anyway. Perhaps we could make out in an hour or two once we were both more awake. 

 

Unfortunately, a rude awakening decided to squash the thought, “Harrison, what the fuck are you doing?!”

 

Recognizing the unwelcomed third voice, I immediately shot my eyes open, pulled the covers over me, and hopped out of bed, sending Michael rolling off the bed—and waking up mid-roll, too. Terror streaked straight up my spine as my older sister stood before me, just inside the door of my bedroom, cradling her bump, dressed like a million bucks, and looking positively livid, “Fuck! What the fuck are you doing in my apartment, Annabeth?”

 

“What the fuck are you doing sleeping with a man, Harrison? And don’t tell me that you’re just being ‘bros’ or whatever,” my elder sister shot an immediately right finger at Michael, “I can see his cock outside the corner of my eye, Harrison!”

 

Nearly ready to vomit, I quickly grabbed and then threw a pillow at Michael—who caught it with ease—so he could cover himself. “Get the fuck out, would you?”

 

“I’ll be waiting in the living room, Harrison, don’t try to sneak out, either,” turning to give Michael a proper look over, Annabeth made a face that I couldn’t discern before taking her leave. The sound of her shoes on the hardwood floor of my apartment was deafening.

 

With Annabeth out of my bedroom I immediately ran over to my door, shut it, then locked it, before collapsing on my bed, “I am so fucking dead.”

 

“I mean,” Michael jittered, his body moving robotically as he bent down to pick up his underwear and pants, “It’s probably a bad time to die, what with you going to be an uncle soon and all.”

 

“Not funny, Michael,” I groaned, turning over to yell into the ruffled up duvet covers on my bed.

 

“S-sorry, Hare,” one leg through at a time, “I’m just a little shell-shocked still.”

 

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” my voice was still muffled by speaking into a duvet, but I eventually picked my head up, “If she tells our parents—”

 

“—I’ll be there for you, no matter what,” Michael’s reply lacked any of his previous nervousness, and it was almost jarring to hear the transformation in his voice between the last two times he opened his mouth, “I know we’ve only been together for a week, Hare, but—I just want you to know, I’ve got you. If you lose the apartment—anything—I’ll help out.” Michael bent down and supported himself on the bed with his arms to kiss me.

 

The little buzz I got any time our lips touched was almost enough to make me forget the music I was about to face. As if to spite me, tears slowly welled within my eyes, but refused to come all the way out, “Th-thank you, Mikey, I—you’re incredible.” 

 

“You’re the incredible one, Harri,” Michael lobbed back, “You’re about to go out there and face one of your greatest fears. That is something that I’ve never had to face, but I know you can do it.”

 

Michael’s warmth was like a battle ax trying to crack through a dam holding back all of my emotions. It was so hard to process how I wound up with such an incredible boyfriend, but here I was: Now the happiest I had ever been—if wrapped up in the world’s biggest headache. 

 

“And if I fail?”

 

“Then you’ll still have a pretty decently handsome boyfriend?” Michael’s mugging had me burst into a fit of giggles that I then followed up with another kiss. 

 

Getting up from my bed, I moved quickly and slipped into a pair of sweats and my hoodie, put my hair up into as much a ponytail as I could manage, and then took Michael by the hand. I was going to have to face the music at some point, I might as well do it with Annabeth first—in case she was salvageable.

 

My dearest older sister was waiting for us while sitting on the living room couch and passing the time by scrolling through her phone—hopefully not texting one of our parents. It was a surreal sight to see my sister in my apartment, since she had never visited before, and this was the first time I was seeing her since she had announced her pregnancy. I was surprised, since I knew that she had been planning on waiting a few more years to start having kids with her husband so as to focus on her law career in the company our dad worked for, but here she was nevertheless. 

 

The sight of her flawless hair and makeup and the fact that she was pregnant was both confounding and made me feel ill. Why was she putting in so much effort? Why did it bother me that she looked so damned good?

 

Annabeth’s exacting tone snapped me from my wonderland of thoughts, “Honestly, I’m not even surprised that you’re gay,” Annabeth wasn’t even looking away from her phone, “You never could keep a girlfriend, after all.”

 

“Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” I asked, trying to cut straight to the chase.

 

“You’re supposed to take makeup off before going to sleep, you know,” Annabeth looked up from her phone at last, a sharp and critical eye piercing my very soul.

 

“Shit, I guess I fell asleep with it on…” Turning to Michael, I found that all he had to offer was a shrug. Yeah, well, he wasn’t exactly that kind of queer, I guess. “So, are you?”

 

Annabeth let out a heavy sigh, one that I couldn’t quite figure out, “If they find out you know that they’re going to be pissed, right?” She even tapped her right foot impatiently, “Hell, they might even disown you!”

 

“Yeah, I do…but what was I supposed to do, Beth?” Crossing my arms I shifted on my legs, trying to find a more comfortable position to stand in. Sitting down seemed as if it was too good for me, “I actually like Michael. That’s his name, by the way.”

 

Michael followed up with a weak, but jolly wave of his right hand. 

 

Annabeth picked up on my exaggerated condescension but at first only replied with another scan of Michael’s body. Returning her eyes to her phone, my sister finally replied, “How long have you been fucking my baby brother, Michael?”

 

“Jesus Christ, Beth!” I groaned, practically folding over in pain, “Michael, you don’t have to answer—”

 

“We’ve been dating for a week, today actually,” Michael wasn’t usually one for confrontation, but I appreciated the candor with which he fired back. “We’re not just fuck buddies, y’know.”

 

Annabeth shot a glance up yet again, just in time to catch me nodding furiously in agreement with Michael, “Yeah, Michael and I spent—actually, I don’t need to explain myself, Beth. It’s not like you didn’t sleep around with girls behind Mom and Dad’s backs when you were a teenager! Shit, how many times did I catch you and Meg Burman—”

 

“—the difference between that and this is that I stopped fooling around in college and got my life together. You? You’re just being a brat and coasting off of my keeping them happy,” there was an unpleasant undertone to Beth’s voice that was both cruel and crass, but not in the way that it made her cruelty worse. I realized that the bitterness in her voice was something that I would perhaps never understand the full scope of. 

 

As much as it made my blood boil, I could tell that Beth barely even liked her husband. She picked him because of his familial and business prospects, not because she actually liked the guy.

 

He was also a massive douche that slept around on her, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. When I caught him with one of the bride’s maids on the goddamned fucking day of their wedding he made up some sob story that he did a shit job of selling, then made a thinly veiled threat against me. There wasn’t much I could do when my parents already saw him as a prized son-in-law who was quickly rising through the ranks of the big law firm that represented the family company. 

 

Taking a deep breath I shot my eyes around the living room, hoping to find something to say that could counter my sister’s claims. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind except, “Why are you here?”

 

“Mom and Dad wanted me to check up on you,” Annabeth rose to her feet—with only the slightest bit of struggle—and then walked towards me, “They wanted to remind you not to forget to come home for the family Christmas party on Christmas Eve,” then she shot a look to Michael, her eyes at his chest-level, “And I suggest not bringing your boyfriend as your plus one.”

 

The manner in which Annabeth spoke of Michael was beyond upsetting, but I didn’t know how to respond without yelling at a pregnant woman, so I said nothing. 

 

“I’m sure that you’re a lovely young man, Michael, and I wish you two the best of luck,” Annabeth’s words practically dripped with a ‘but’ tacked on to the end, “But…I’m afraid that it isn’t going to work out. Our parents expect Harrison to continue the family lineage, or whatever they go on about in their boring sermons that I tune out.”

 

Neck craned down to look Annabeth in the eyes, Michael paused for a moment. “I think Harri deserves better than that. Please don’t tell your parents about us until we can get him independent.”

 

Annabeth’s face contorted in such a way that said she was struggling with something, but I wasn’t sure just what, “They won’t hear about it from me. Just make sure you two are more discreet next time. I doubt our parents will come over unannounced—or come over at all—but if I could sneak up on you two, so can they.”

 

“How the hell did you even get in my apartment?” I interjected.

 

“Mom has a key, Harrison. Did you think she was going to pay for an apartment that she couldn’t access?”

 

All this time thinking that I didn’t need to bother with the chain lock, and Mom had a key this whole time? “Jesus…”

 

Hand on bump, Annabeth turned to face me next, “Harrison, be a dear and walk me to my car.”

 

That was probably code for “I need to tell you something without your boyfriend hovering over us,” but I didn’t care much. Biting the inside of my mouth, I nodded to Michael and led Annabeth outside to her 2013 Subaru Outback. I appreciated the gusto she had to have it custom repainted pink.

 

“Guess you won’t be going camping with the girls for a while, huh?” I sassed, pointing my eyes at her belly as it nestled safely behind the steering wheel. Joking was the only way to make the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach not scream out loud. 

 

“Not until she’s a little older, no,” Annabeth cracked, finally letting out a small smile—just for her unborn child.

 

“You think they’re a girl?” I asked, arms still crossed to make sure I didn’t freeze to death in the morning chill. 

 

“Just a hunch,” the warmth in my elder sister’s voice betrayed the dressing down she had just given me only moments before, “As for you, brother dearest…well, good luck.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” I retorted with a pained groan, “Try to forget what you saw back there, huh?”

 

“You mean women’s clothing on my little brother’s floor that were much too small for his ripped boyfriend to fit into?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, that, too,” a sigh slipped out of my mouth as the weight of the situation began to hit me, “It’s—I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

 

“Don’t, then,” Beth shot back with a facial expression that managed to decrease in intensity quickly across the two syllables. Starting up the ignition of her Subaru, Annabeth sighed deeply, then shot a look directly into my eyes, “Just make sure Mom and Dad don’t find out. And maybe try to find a girlfriend you can maybe stomach, so they don’t try setting you up with one, either.”

 

“I can’t,” Beth seemed nonplussed, “Dating women…isn’t easy for me.”

 

“Because you’re gay?”

 

“I don’t know anymore, honestly,” I admitted, my stomach growing more upset, “I thought I was bisexual, but every time that I’ve tried—well, like you said, I couldn’t keep a girlfriend…and there was a reason for that.”

 

Beth shook her head, “I don’t know what to tell you, Harrison,” closing her driver’s side door and lowering her window, “I know it’s not fair to you, but you’re going to have to try to get over it. Being bisexual is a privilege neither of us has. So eat the shit and grin—or become independently wealthy somehow before Mom and Dad find out their precious baby boy is bottoming for the finest cut meat this side of the Olympics.”

 

“Jesus, could you not talk about my boyfriend that way?” I laughed weakly, hoping to disguise my actual distaste over her describing my boyfriend so crudely. “Michael’s not just big muscles and a dick to me! He’s smart, and kind, and funny, and—”

 

Annabeth let loose a fierce cackle at my rapidfire retort, “Jeez Harri, you really are down bad for him, aren’t you?”

 

“Our relationship is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to an actual romance, I guess,” it was funny to say, but it was true. “I’ve learned a lot about myself—and a lot about being in a relationship.”

 

A dour look returned to Annabeth’s face as she thought on my words, “I am sorry, Harri. You deserve better.”

 

“So do you, Beth. Mark’s a douche, I know that you know that.”

 

Beth smirked, staring down at her steering wheel, “...that’s kind of you to say.”

 

This time, my stomach churned for another reason, “You caught him with another girl again, didn’t you?”

 

Beth’s face turned a sour shade of pink, and I dared not push further, “Fucking some college intern floozy this time.”

 

Nasty devils whispered into my ears even nastier thoughts about what to do to Mark as they stood on my shoulders, “For fuck’s sake, he’s twenty-eight, married, and has a kid on the way!”

 

“When did you become so opinionated on the behavior of men,” Beth laughed as she turned back to face me. The tears budding in her eyes were unmistakable. 

 

Bending down I placed my right arm over the door frame of Beth’s driver’s side to support myself, “After spending a week with a boyfriend who wasn’t a massive piece of shit, apparently!”

 

I couldn’t recall the last time we shared a laugh together, but I was sure that I wouldn’t forget this time.

 

After the storm of giggles came to a natural end I opened my mouth to speak, only for my older sister to cut me off, “Don’t even say it, Harri.”

 

I said it anyway, “You really should divorce him,” I wasn’t sure if the tiny movement that Annabeth made was a flinch at the idea or not, but I could tell she was thinking over my words, “Dump his ass, ask Mom and Dad for some money until you’re ready to get back to work, then when you’re independent ask Meg to take you back.”

 

Tears streaked down Annabeth’s face, ruining her makeup, “Do you think I haven’t thought about that before?”

 

As my sister sobbed—turning her face into a canvas for water coloring—I couldn’t help but kick myself for not thinking things through, “Beth, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 

“—how am I supposed to ask Megumi to take me back after I dumped her like that? After I said the horrible, horrible things that I said to her?” The sobs were consistent now, and before I knew what I was doing I slipped my left hand inside the window, unlocked her door, and invited her out for a hug. As Beth stood there in the parking lot of my high-priced apartment complex, sobbing into my shoulder, I wondered if I would ever understand women…

 

…or if I was doomed to make them weep over their powerlessness for the rest of my miserable life?

 

***

 

December 14, 2013: 

 

“I couldn’t believe how much of an idiot I was to say that to her,” I bemoaned, after gulping down an entire glass of ice water. 

 

“She was hurting, you tried to help her. Hardly the worst thing anyone’s ever done, Hare,” Michael countered, his voice soft, and his right hand warm as it held my left on the diner booth table. 

 

“What are you, a therapy major?” I laughed weakly, hoping to inject some levity into the situation. 

 

“I mean, I’m going to be teaching high school math and physical education, so I guess that’s basically the same thing,” Michael cracked back, his eyes carefully watching to see if I would take the bait.

 

I needed a laugh, so I took it, “Sheesh, maybe I should become a teacher, too? Not like I’ve got anything else to do, right?”

 

“Pay’s shit, but I think it’ll be rewarding, but whatever works for you, Hare,” Michael affirmed, stabbing his fork into a piece of scrambled egg. “You need to go grocery shopping, by the way.”

 

“I’m aware,” I sighed, rolling a sausage link around on my plate with my fork, “I just haven’t felt like it, lately.” Even now, I was afraid of biting into something and it splattering on my new top. The pastel green wasn’t as cute as the pink, but it was its own kind of cute. I also loved how the pink of my purse contrasted against the green backdrop. 

 

“You barely ever eat, so I guess I’m a bit worried, y’know?” As Michael raised his glass of orange juice to his lips, eyes locked on me, as if expecting me to make a move, “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

 

“I am…I just don’t eat much,” First Ash, and now Michael, “I get really bad stomach aches often.” Yeah, from situations like this.

 

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry,” Michael wasn’t buying it, even if he told me he was, “Are you getting seen for it?”

 

“It’s fine,” I replied, “Speaking of being seen, that asshole homophobe isn’t here today…”

 

“I’m honestly kind of surprised that they let us back in here,” Michael admitted, looking around.

 

“I mean, there’s a Pride flag up in the window, right?” I mused, tapping one of the windows lightly, “I assume that they get it?”

 

“I guess…?”

 

With a squeeze of his hand I nodded, “It’ll be fine!” Michael nodded weakly, so I decided to switch up the subject: “On another subject, I was wondering…why do you want to be a teacher? I wasn’t aware that that was really…well, I guess it makes sense, I’m just surprised seeing a strapping young man such as yourself wanting to be a high school teacher, I guess.”

 

“Don’t use ‘strapping’,” Michael laughed, mid-sip of his water, “It makes you sound like an old man—anyway, I thought it would be nice to be, y’know, a mentor. For queer kids, specifically.”

 

Michael’s reasoning took me aback, “That’s…kinda…well, that is sweet of you. What the hell?” I tossed in a half-laugh to try and diffuse the anxiety that I could feel beginning to grow in my chest.

 

“What, is that wrong?” Michael asked, his eyes tracking mine.

 

“N-no, I mean—sorry, sorry. I forget that you’re not like other men,” even pausing for a deep breath wasn’t quite enough to calm myself, “Sorry, I think I’m just used to the men in my life being…”

 

“...assholes?” Michael finished, raising his eyebrow for comedic effect.

 

It was good enough to elicit a real giggle out of me, at least, “Y-yeah, I mean—my dad and most of my cousins were always…just…well, you know? I wouldn’t have ever expected them to…care about other people.”

 

“I know what you mean, trust me. I’ve seen plenty of shitty men in my life, but I’ve been lucky enough to have decent guys in my life, too. My dad, for example…”

 

Memories of Michael’s pain sobs recounting his father’s coma status began to drown out everything else in the room, but the touch of Michael’s hand on mine brought me back to the present. And his kind eyes captured me.

 

“It’s fine, Hare. I’m not going to get upset over it right now,” Michael’s smile was faint, but enough to remind me of just how strong he was. 

 

It was hard not to be jealous.

 

Clearing my throat, I was barely about to muster enough strength to reply, “I think it’s really cool of you to do that, y’know?”

 

“Honestly, it’s not even just my dad, you know?” Michael continued, placing his fork down onto his plate, “We had a teacher back in my high school. She was openly queer, even if it was pretty…frowned upon. Talked about her wife a lot, too. It was nice—knowin’ that there was life beyond being just a queer kid…” Michael’s voice grew quiet, “I think she did wonders for the closeted kids, too. The kids who had to make sure their queerness didn’t get back to their parents. That’s why I want to be a teacher, as opposed to just doing activism work. Public school is the first—and only—line of defense for a lot of these kids, after all.”

 

Michael’s dedication was overwhelming. I’d never given anything he said any thought before—kids had always annoyed me, and high school had been torture for me because I didn’t know I was gay—I had been so scared of the consequences of realizing I was into men to even consider that I was repressing an important part of who I was.

 

A repression borne of the fear and hate of others, harming me and keeping me from being myself. 

 

Queer kids deserved better adults than that. They deserved to know that you could be queer and happy.

 

I deserved to know that back then, and I didn’t.

 

It was beginning to settle in now that Michael had the right idea. Even just being present, and unashamedly yourself was important. I wasn’t sure if I could do that…but the least I could do was to protect that from the closet, if need be. 

 

I was going to have to talk to my academic advisor on Monday.

 

***

 

December 07, 2023: 

 

The North Pacific Aquarium was one of the few parts of the zoo that remained as-is from when it was first added in 1963. The building that housed the 250,000 gallon main tank was two stories tall so that one could peer down into said tank from above, or walk around it and peer into the tank from the sides. I had found that I had always most enjoyed staying down below, in the dark, circular level lit only by colored lights within the various side exhibits, and very dim yellow lights hanging above. While my height always made the low-hanging ceiling precarious—I had to make sure never to reach up to stretch—it was nevertheless a comforting experience.

 

On the opposite side of the path that surrounded the main tank were smaller tanks that featured other sea life. I was most fond of stopping to wait for the octopus to show itself—it usually hid within the narrow crevice in the rock attached to the back wall of its tank. There was something alien about an octopus, with its many limbs, wide reach, and cute little suction cups. In a way it was like the octopus wanted to hold you, and never let you go. Perhaps I was reading too much into it? Continuing the theme of ‘alien’, the jellyfish and their funny little dances—accompanied by esoteric music—always brought me to a calm. I would escape all my worries—and even the sound of others around me—simply by getting lost in the black-painted backdrop of their tank that morphed it into an all-consuming, calming darkness. 

 

But all that was gone now. The old aquarium of my youth had been closed off due to its age and weakening infrastructure, and now a new ‘Pacific Seas Aquarium’ took its place. The large pane of glass that served both as a ceiling-to-floor wall and then wrapped upward into a overhead glass ceiling was almost enough to wipe away my melancholy at the passage of time. Staring up at the sealife floating above my head was like watching life move on with the passage of time.

 

With the Pacific Seas Aquarium curiously empty despite the school field trips visiting the zoo I decided to lay down flat on the well-kept carpeting to stare up at the fishies above. “Wanna join?” I asked Michael, lightly tugging him by the sleeve of his jacket as I crouched down.

 

Michael smiled, and then followed my lead.

 

Moments passed as Michael and I stared up at the fish, not a word said. Finally, I admitted what I knew we were both thinking, “This concrete floor beneath the carpeting is uncomfortable.”

 

“I dunno, I might try sleeping on concrete more oft—”

 

Before Michael could even finish his joke I rolled over and shut him up with a kiss on the lips.

 

It seemed like something Candace would do.

 

Finally pulling off of Michael again, I rolled back onto my back and stared up at a hammerhead shark passing over us. It was a majestic beauty, long but also thick and full of life as it swung its tail powerfully to traverse throughout the tank. I wasn’t sure that I understood the logic of mixing it in with so many other aquatic animals, but I nevertheless appreciated its sight. 

 

I don’t know if it was because my mind and body were older now, but I found it easier to get lost in the sight of life living before me. Ten years of my life were just gone in a flash, and what did I have to show for it on the inside?

 

Why couldn’t I just appreciate all the good things around me?

 

Turning to Michael again I told him what was on my mind, “The world really is huge, isn’t it?”

 

Michael didn’t need to turn to face me, he already was, “Yeah, Candace,” and it was like his dark eyes saw only one thing, “It really is.”

 

There was a sorrow in Michael’s eyes that left me with pause. What had this man seen in his life? And why was he showing me it now?

 

“What’s wrong?” I dared a whisper.

 

“Nothing, babe,” Michael whispered back as he took my left hand in his right, “I just…want you to know that I’ll always love you.”

 

A pit in my stomach bigger than the Grand Canyon threatened to weigh me down like an anvil, “Michael, what’s the matter? You sound—”

 

“I’m fine, Candace,” Michael laughed lightly, a wry smile sprouting on his face glacially. “I just want you to know that I’ll always be here for you, even if your memories don’t come back. Even after the last two days…you’re still…you.”

 

My memories, huh…

 

Perhaps he hadn’t meant to make the point, but the point that Michael made was nevertheless still a good one. What was I going to do with my life if my memories didn’t return? Would I try to go back to being—oh.

 

Oh, god.

 

The very thought of it sent my entire body into a sudden locked state. Even the smallest of movements were beyond me. It was like staring down a hurricane, like being frozen with fear in the middle of a dark forest at night as loud thunder overwhelmed all my senses to the point that even the unlit forest turned to complete black.

 

The idea of being—

 

—The idea of going back—

 

—was something that was repulsive to me.

 

I never wanted to be that person again. I never wanted to see the world through that person’s eyes again. I wanted only to be better than that person ever was.

 

But to be Candace Queen?

 

How could I be a woman loved by so many—most especially such a perfect man—when I still felt like I was that miserable boy on the inside.

 

I didn’t want to be him, and yet I still felt like I was him.

 

Was this what Ash had to deal with for all those years before she transitioned?

 

Was this what gender dysphoria was like?

 

Was—who the fuck was Ash?     

 

***

 

December 20, 2013: 

 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Ash asked with something of a shove in her voice. “My fifteen minute break won’t last all day, Bunny!”

 

On the wobbly Subway table before me sat two bottles of pills, and behind them, Ash. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. 

 

It was actually pretty exciting. 

 

Looking between Ash and my pill bottles only made the racing of my heart worse. Unscrewing the bottle of Spironolactone I immediately slipped it in my mouth and began chewing on it, doing my best to wash it down with my bottle of water before the awful taste hit my mouth.

 

All that it really did was give me a stomach ache faster.

 

“I still can’t believe that you can’t swallow pills whole,” Ash laughed, the nametag on my vest reading ‘Miss Ashley’ in poorly pasted letters. What, did corporate turn nametags into a fucking art project to save money?

 

“Oh, hush!” I finally replied, water bottle drained. I was going to need to buy another of those, just to make sure I got the awful taste out of my mouth.

 

“Welcome to pissing every thirty minutes for the rest of your life, my good sir!” Elbows on the table, Ash leaned her head down to rest it on top of her right arm, and looked at my other bottle of pills.

 

“It’s worth it, right?” I asked, opening the bottle of Estradiol and placing one of the little blue pills beneath my tongue like Ash taught me. Ash said that letting it dissolve underneath my tongue was best for absorbing the estrogen, and I had elected to heed the wizened woman. 

 

“Yup-yup! You’ll be thirsty a lot more, but it’s worth it. Spiro, plus Estradiol, plus that skincare routine I had you start will get you exactly where you wanna be!”

 

“Cool, cool,” I replied, nodding my head while bouncing my right leg in place, “So, just do this for a few months, right? And then…boom? Cuter face, right?”

 

“Hellz yeah, hon!” Ash winked, pushing herself off of the table to stand up, “My break is almost over, but if you wanna pretend to be a customer who needs help I can drag my feet getting back to electronics.”

 

“Hell yeah,” I almost-laughed, making sure not to disturb the little blue pill dissolving beneath my tongue. Double checking that the two pill bottles were properly closed I slipped them back into my purse and tossed my empty water bottle in the trash can before following Ash out of the Subway and back onto the sales floor of the store that she worked for. 

 

It was a messy, crowded, and outright annoyingly loud store that stretched for what I could have sworn was a mile in all directions. I could hear over the intercom sound system Europe’s The Final Countdown for what must have been the third time since arriving less than half an hour ago to pick up my prescriptions, and as I considered the devastating effects that might have on the psyche of a retail worker, I resolved to perhaps not think so poorly of Ash’s sanity from then on.

 

Crossing through the woman’s apparel was more than enough to slow our retreat back to Ash’s department. A lot of what was sold was a bit bland, but for the price it could be argued that the pieces would serve well for at-home clothing. 

 

“We can do better for you elsewhere, hon,” Ash laughed, turning back to me. 

 

“Yeah, I know,” I returned as I caught up with Ash, “It’s just nice to look. Guy clothes are so boring.”

 

“Yeah, the whole ‘if you wear color as a guy it means that you’re GAY’ attitude is so boring. Like, get over yourselves, men!” Ash’s laugh was infectious, but I couldn’t help but wonder how what she was saying was perhaps inspired by something she had experienced before. 

 

“Do you mind if I ask a question?” Couldn’t hurt to ask, I supposed.

 

“Shoot?”

 

“Did you ever…like, before you transitioned, were you…?”

 

“Bisexual? Naw, that clicked after I started living as myself,” Ash ducked down between rows of clothing to avoid being seen by one of the assistant managers on duty, “Probably should’ve guessed it at some point, but it was honestly a lot easier to just assume that I was a straight guy until…well, I realized that I wasn’t. Oh, by the way—I’m not out as trans here, so don’t mention it to anyone, yeah?”

 

“Oh, right, sure thing,” I replied, “I didn’t know you could do that?”

 

“Going stealth? Yeah, it’s pretty sweet. Employers give you a bad enough time for being a woman, or maybe looking, like, visibly queer or whatever. If they knew I was packing a little something else into my pants they’d treat me or look at me even worse.”

 

“Damn, that sucks,” I frowned, crossing my arms, “What the hell is the matter with people?”

 

“Hey, you did nearly beat the shit out of a guy for calling your gay ass a fag the other week, didn’t you?” Ash laughed, pointing at me with double finger guns.

 

“Yeah, true, I guess,” I let the thought play over in my mind for a beat, “At least you get to just be a girl, though, right?”

 

“I mean, I don’t particularly care for the whole ‘having to hide a part of myself’ bullshit. I’m pretty sure they can tell that I’m not exactly exclusively attracted to men, too. Watching what I say and do all the time makes it harder to interact with people when I’m always trying to make sure that I’m not slipping up and saying something I probably shouldn’t know about. It was such a pain when I first started working here and was still getting used to talking all the time, I was afraid that my voice would accidentally lower or my cadence would get too flat, y’know?”

 

“Damn, you’re right,” Ash had it so hard, I didn’t know why I kept trying to act like my sexuality problems were all that bad.

 

At least I didn’t have to pretend to be anything more than an—admittedly very feminine—guy. People knew to expect what the fuck was in my pants when they saw me.

 

Ugh, what a gross thought.

 

As Ash and I neared the back edge of the apparel section and the electronics department entered our line of sight I couldn’t help but wonder about something Ash had said, “What did you mean by your voice, Ash?”

 

Turning back to face me almost with a hell of a blank expression on her face, Ash closed the gap between us and then whispered, “What, do you think HRT changes your voice, too?” in one of the deepest voices I had ever heard in real life.

 

“Holy shit?!” I half-yelped before slapping my hands over my mouth so as to not draw attention.

 

“Damn, it hurts doing that now,” Ash coughed as she rubbed her throat. 

 

“H-how?!” I whispered in something of a sharp hiss.

 

“Voice training, my guy,” Ash shrugged, taking another quick look around for anyone around. “I’m not doing it again while we’re here, so I hope you enjoyed the free voice acting performance!!”

 

“Y-you mean you have to—can—practice to sound so cute?” I asked, ignoring the rest of her point. “Can you teach me?”

 

“I mean, yeah, sure, but you do know I’m trying to sound like a girl, right?”

 

“Whatever, works for me so long as I sound cute. Besides…I kinda already talk a bit gay, anyway, doesn’t really matter to me if I can stop sounding so…squawking, or whatever.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Ash replied, “I’ll teach you when I’m not supposed to be working, I guess. Stealing an extra ten minutes for my break is probably pushing it, so ciao!” And with a wave of her hand, Ash was off. Watching her walk away dressed in an actual ‘professional’ dress code uniform was the most weird thing. Ash’s style had always been so expressive and punkish, but here even she was forced to conform to a stifling way of life.

 

I kind of hated it.

 

Remembering that I hadn’t replied, I shouted back, “Awesome, works for me!” I nodded, throwing my whole body into the motion, “I can’t wait!”

 

Turning back to catch me mid-nod, “You’re killing me, Harri,” Ash laughed, before turning back to face the rest of her shift.

 

I wasn’t really sure why she said that, but decided to roll with it, and took my leave.

 

***

 

December 07, 2023: 

 

“Oh, Ash? We went to college with her,” Michael answered between a bite of his burger and a sip of his soda. The zoo concessions didn’t give out straws or lids due to potential hazards to the wildlife, so Michael drank his carbonated hell drink from an exposed cup, while I nursed a cup of water and conspicuously stole fries from Michael’s overpriced lunch.

 

“We should’ve just gone to a restaurant,” I moaned, stomach still uneasy from the earlier ice cream, “I think you mentioned her earlier, right? This ‘Ash’ girl, I mean?”

 

“Yeah, I did. She was your closest friend in college, besides me. Taught you a lot about being…well…”

 

“Being…uh…the kind of woman I am?” I asked, hoping I was interpreting Michael’s cautious phrasing correctly.

 

“She’s—yeah, she’s—” and then, in a whisper, “—trans.”

 

“I…already knew that, right?” I asked, not sure if I was asking Michael or just trying to ask myself.

 

“Yeah, you did, that’s why I figured it was okay for me to say it. She was the sister of one of my high school boyfriends. It turns out she and I wanted to go to the same university, so…yeah, we got to hang out more.”

 

“Damn, what a family!” I almost said in a raised voice as I leaned back in my chair. It was kind of nice watching my breasts move up and back with the rest of me.

 

I hoped that thinking that didn’t make me some sort of pervert.

 

“And they were twins, too,” Michael added for extra effect.

 

“AND THEY WERE TWINS?!” I cried out in laughter—which only drew the attention of other people in the cafeteria—finding some weird humor in the situation. “I don’t suppose the other one was, uh, you know?”

 

“No, no, Brandon’s still very much a cis man,” Michael chuckled, his eyes saying that for at least a moment he was somewhere else—or some ‘when’ else. “Brandon’s off playing in the NFL—said he didn’t want to miss his window, even if it meant not having a college education.”

 

“I hope he’s doing well, then,” I replied earnestly, “I imagine you two still keep up?”

 

“Oh yeah, he’s got Facebook—we still have that, it’s just a billion times more awful,” Michael ended his sentence with yet another laugh.

 

“Why is everything always so much worse in the future?” I asked aloud to nobody in particular, but that only sent Michael into another fit of laughter. “What’s so funny?”

 

“‘In the future’, she says!” Michael’s laugh eventually wined down, “I’ve never spoken to a time traveler before!” 

 

“Oh hush, Michael!” I scolded, picking up Michael’s burger and then taking as big a bite as I could off of it for dramatic effect. As the soggy bun and plain taste of the burger hit the inside of my mouth I realized what I had done and immediately spit the burger back out into my mostly empty water cup.

 

“I don’t have cooties, I swear!” the massive man joked while his eyes watched intently for my reaction.

 

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s just—I had that ice cream earlier, I don’t want to—”

 

“Candace.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Michael had that deadly serious look on his face again, “I know about your history with eating disorders, it’s okay to eat.”

 

I was drawing a blank, “I don’t know what you—my history with what?”

 

“Candace, this—Jesus, you still think you’re nineteen, of course this would come back.”

 

My eyes narrowed as the scowl on Michael’s face fluctuated between different emotions, “You’re talking like you’ve gone through this before?”

 

“Yeah, I did, Candace—in college. Ugh! Fuck, listen—you’ve seen yourself, right? In the mirror and stuff, yeah?”

 

‘Concern’ must have become a new element on the periodic table in the last ten years because Michael’s words sounded like they were radiating with it. I wasn’t sure what to make of what was going on. I had an eating disorder? How the hell did he figure that? Sure, I didn’t like to eat much and all, but that was because I hated—

 

—oh.

 

I hated my body. I hated looking like—but now? I didn’t look like that anymore. I didn’t look—I looked amazing. This was not 2013 anymore, Candace, you know what you look like now. You look like some horny teenage boy’s wet dream, only that horny teenage boy isn’t a boy, he’s a horny teenage girl.

 

You look like a girl now, Candace.

 

I’m a—

 

The next thing I knew I was blowing snot into a tissue that was soft to the touch of my nose and upper lip. Michael’s right arm wrapped around me tightly and I could feel the fear on his breath as his breath touched the left side of my face and neck.

 

Dabbing the tears from my eyes I looked first at the table to see my purse opened, a smattering of items dumped onto the zoo cafeteria table. Among those items was a hastily torn open pack of tissues lying atop a tampon that I kept in my purse in case another woman needed one.

 

That’s right, I carried tampons and pads with me to make sure I passed better.

 

“You okay, dear?” Michael asked, the concern in his voice practically coming to life and buying its own ranch in the midwest. “Do you need anything?”

 

The memories were a jumbled mess in my head. Little flashes, here and there: meeting Ash at the student lounge, the party, Michael hitting me in the head by accident, the entire night we spent up on our first—our first date!

 

Michael and I dated in college? But we—he said—?!

 

I asked the question without even considering the consequences: “Michael, we dated in college?”

 

Michael’s face went white. Lost for words for a moment, Michael took a deep breath, “Yeah. Nearly four years.”

 

“‘Nearly’? Why—why did we break up and only get back together two years ago?” My mind was split between wondering why my voice sounded so panicked, while also telling myself the truth: you already know, you’re just refusing to admit it to yourself. Again.

 

“Candace, I…” Michael’s voice was weak and as I followed his shifting eyes it became clear to me that he was concerned about exposing my secret to a cafeteria full of people. 

 

Turning red, I blew my nose again, refilled my purse, and then headed for the exit. I could hear Michael not far behind me, but before I could reach the restrooms a familiar sight caught my eye, stopping me in my tracks.

 

Biting my bottom lip, I took one more look back at the restrooms—dozens of parents and children flooding in and out—before turning to the statue to my right and approaching the familiar sculpture.

 

The Family called.

 

***

 

December 24, 2013: 

 

Christmas parties for the Woods family were an exhausting affair that typically meant tons of socializing with people—both family and nought—that I couldn’t stand. This year also meant having to do so in an overpriced suit that I now hated more than ever, while also pretending to be heterosexual, despite powerful evidence to the contrary now at the forefront of my mind.

 

Between the rush of studying, and taking classes, and trying to fit in date time with Michael or friend time with Ash, it felt like literally having my fingernails rip out.

 

My first Christmas with a boyfriend and I had to spend the majority of it with a bunch of people who wouldn’t hesitate to call me a faggot if they knew I sucked cock like one. I hated myself for even showing up, but Annabeth had made it clear that my lack of presence would be duly noted, and at this point I wanted nothing more than to make sure that if I was to be there that I was going to be as unspectacular and unapproachable as possible. 

 

And that meant skulking around the outer rim of the party guests as they all packed into the largest room in the Woods family estate, doing my best to look like I was trading between conversations, all while actively ignoring the talk of whatever mundane bullshit the aunts and uncles and business associates were pretending to chortle over. 

 

Luckily, there was at least one unexpected saving grace at this year’s Woods Christmas party: my cousin, Elliot, looked significantly different. Cousin Elliot was the youngest son of one of my father’s younger brothers, my uncle Andrew. Uncle Andrew was significantly less of an asshole than my dad, and it seemed to have translated into allowing his eldest son the privilege of being emo. Making my way through the crowd, I slowly approached Elliot from his left as he stood, back against the wall of a corner in the Wood’s mansion’s expansive dining hall.

 

“Nice lip ring,” I opened, hoping my sarcasm was more playful than, well, sarcastic.

 

Peering up from his phone, Elliot shot me a quizzical look, “Nice…ponytail?”

 

Taking a sip from a glass of champagne—nobody really cared about who was old enough for drinking the copious amount of booze at these hellish family gatherings—I smirked, trying to play it cool, “I guess trying out new things is contagious. Maybe it’s in the champagne?” Please laugh, please laugh.

 

“Pfft, haven’t tried any,” Elliot laughed, still idly scrolling through his phone. “Just needed a change of pace.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” Elliot had always been easily picked on both at school and in the family, something that I had managed to ease my way out of over the years thanks to my height and not having any sort of social life. After I graduated from high school it thankfully left Elliot as the only Woods boy in high school, which meant he would no longer have to endure the direct shadow of his predecessors. 

 

I still wondered if anything actually improved for him during his senior year or not, “How has school been, Elle?”

 

Elliot’s face barely flinched, “Boring—not that I don’t mind fading into the background a little. No more cousins or brothers to be grouped in with, thankfully. No offense to present company, of course.”

 

“Of course,” I laughed, leaning against the wall next to my younger cousin, “Best thing about being the younger sibling is that all your older siblings get to suffer all the adult indignities. Makes the bullshit you put up with as a kid kinda worth it.”

 

“Pfft, I’m sure Annabeth must love that,” Elliot slipped his phone into his dress pants pocket before turning to me and asking, “So, do you have a college girlfriend yet?”

 

While I had significantly more patience for being asked that question from Elliot—as opposed to any of the others in the family—it was still a sore subject with me. Adjusting my footing and scrunching my face a little, I opened my mouth to reply, “Aah, well—”

 

“—I have a boyfriend,” Elliot’s reveal came out so quickly and so breathlessly that I almost didn’t have time to register it. “You’re the only one I’ve told about Jace, so…um…if you don’t mind?”

 

Stunned, I almost didn’t register the growing panic on my little cousin’s face, “Oh, shit, Elle, don’t worry!” I blurted out, stumbling over my own tongue. The panic seemed to be dissipating, but very slowly, so I added, in the most hushed whisper, “Me too, actually.”

 

That did the trick, “Holy shit? You?! Too?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Couple of weeks now,” I added, sheepishly. “His name’s Michael. He’s incredible,” I could barely contain my excitement at being able to share the news with someone I could trust, and noticed that my voice began slipping into the fruitier territory that I had been practicing with Ash, “Omigawd, sorry, like, I’m just so glad I don’t have to pretend to be straight all night, y’know?”

 

Flashing a rare smile, Elliot rolled over onto his left shoulder to better look me in the eye, “Same, holy shit, Harri! Umm, so, like, Jace—my boyfriend—is, like…you know, trans, right? We were dating before he came out to me, and I kinda realized I was actually really still into that—er, dating men, I mean.”

 

It had occurred to me that I hadn’t thought much about the possibility of trans men being a thing, although it definitely made sense, “Damn, that’s amazing. I’ve got a trans woman as a friend back at college, and she’s kinda been teaching me stuff. Trans people are so cool!”

 

Relaxation dropped Elliot’s shoulders, “Okay, good, damn—I’m glad that I didn’t have to explain what a trans guy is.”

 

Relief washed over my shoulders just as much as it visibly did for Elliot, “Yeah, trust me, I’ve been a nervous wreck lately, trying to figure out how not to get outed before I graduate college and all.”

 

“Oh God, I know the feeling. Jace’s parents are supportive—thank fucking god—but we’re both still in the closet, y’know?”

 

“Shit, that’s gotta be even more rough in high school,” another sip to calm the nerves, “We should double date sometime, y’know? Or even just hang out at my apartment, my folks never visit, and Beth…well, Beth knows about me,” and then, with some self-deprecation, “And I’m actually, y’know, using the chain lock on the door now, too.”

 

Elliot’s laugh at my expense didn’t sting nearly as much as I expected it to, “That sounds awesome, actually. I’ll talk to Jace about it—well, assuming this party doesn’t bore us to death.”

 

“Ugh, you got that right, hon,” I groaned before finishing my glass of champagne. 

 

I was going to need a lot more to survive the rest of the night.

 

***

 

December 07, 2023: 

 

Since 1976 a bronze statue of a family made up of a man, a woman, and a child of unspecified gender has existed just a few feet past the entrance of the zoo. This statue made of bronze was installed in celebration of the United States’ bicentennial. Officially titled ‘The Family’, I had always felt like The Family was the universe’s way of mocking me by possessing sculptor Clare Shaver and through her crafting the perfect tulpa for my unending torment.

 

While the man and the woman of The Family had defined short and long hair, the child was notably without defined hair. The lack of defined hair was likely less of a political statement about gender, so much as to make the child without identity.

 

Because what is a child if not simply an extension of their parents and their designs for them?

 

Still, the smooth head could perhaps mean that the child was bald, and a bald child would most likely be defined as being ‘male’, for it was only socially acceptable for a healthy child to be bald if they were male.

 

Thus, I always wondered: was I the child in this bronze sculpture? Annabeth had always been the favorite, yet I was the presumed heir. The contrast between the two conflicting facts was confusing and maddening all at the same time. As I had continued to grow and experience more of the reality of my family and the life that I was expected to lead I realized that I was definitely not this child. I was not held hand-by-hand by two loving parents, who loved each other. I was untouched—I was the extension cord left in its closet, told of its grand destiny and purpose. 

 

It was like the universe held the beloved child that I was meant to be, the beloved child that I had failed to be, and “the beloved child that I should be to be ‘good’ and ‘right’” over my head as a proof of my own personal inability to be the thing that I had been expected of me all these years. I was now eight months away from turning thirty years old and I didn’t know who I was, I just knew that I was not the child in The Family.

 

Yet at the same time, The Family was such a goddamned off-putting statue in terms of design. The limbs seemed more like creepy noodles than actual limbs, and the lack of faces—while meant to convey an easier mode to self-insert in—meant that it only made the mockery of my failure all the more apparent to me as I stared at it.

 

I stared at ‘The Family’ every time I visited the zoo, but this trip to the zoo was different. In years passed, I had visited the zoo as a man, and as a man you cannot visit the zoo alone. While your desire might be to simply look at the animals—trapped in their mundane lives as much as they were their cages—a man visiting the zoo alone was still a pariah. If the world perceived you as a man at a zoo you had better goddamned be there with a woman or children. That was the only way not to feel the leers and looks of distrust of others.

 

But as a woman? As a woman the only looks I received were of appreciation for my body, even when hidden behind sweat pants and a hoodie.

 

A woman alone at the zoo was little more than a pleasant surprise for men to sneak glances at, lost children to ask if she were their mommy, and harried women to ask to watch their kids for a second. 

 

Was I now the woman in this bronze monstrosity? If I was no longer a child, but now an adult, did that not mean that I was…The Mother?

 

But I could not become a mother. Not in the way that—

 

I crouched down, a sudden, sharp pain stabbing into my lower abdomen as the desire to vomit surged up-and-down the entire length of my body. By the time I caught myself wiping tears from my face once more Michael was already closing the distance he had been keeping between us to join me on my knees.

 

The grassy peak of the hill that The Family was placed on was soft. With the zoo itself so close to the Puget Sound I forced my mind to wonder just how structurally sound it was to build a zoo on such land.

 

It was the only way to stop the sobs from drawing more eyes.

 

“Candace,” Michael's gentle voice whispered into my right ear, “Should we go home?”  

 

“No,” I sniffed, wiping snot from my upper lip as I stood. “One more stop before we leave, okay?”

 

“Of course, hon,” wrapping his arms around me from behind, Michael held me tightly, and the dissonance between my body’s familiarity with his, and my jumbled memories created an anxiety in me that I couldn’t process. 

 

Unpeeling myself from my boyfriend’s grasp, I turned around to look up in his eyes, only to be greeted by a smile, “What?”

 

“You might want to visit the lady’s room to touch up your makeup, dear.”

 

I wasn’t sure why Michael seemed so charmed by me while saying this, but I imagined that he was right. “Wait for me?” I asked, gripping his hands tightly in mine.

 

“Always.”

 

With an exaggerated breath, I let Michael’s hands go and marched straight to the restrooms.

 

This time, I knew which restroom I was walking into.   

 

***

 

December 24, 2013: 

 

Clive Woods and I had never been very close. The eldest brother of Elliot, Clive was a rising surgeon who at just the age of twenty-four was already earning a name for himself in medical journals for his advancements in sports medicine, and in gossip magazines for his charming good looks, and whatever starlet or influencer he was now seeing.

 

Clive was much closer to Annabeth, thanks in part to being nearly the same age, and in part to early childhood time spent together. As I watched Elliot’s older brother regale party guests with his tales of surgical conquest, the memories of years spent envious of Clive’s good looks and social charms flooded back to me.

 

But then—in my wizened years of late teenagehood—I finally realized what I actually envied: Clive’s closeness with Annabeth. While my sister was a lawyer and Clive a doctor, it was their upward trajectory in life that had given Clive more in common with my own sister than I. The bustling career and the ability to flourish in a party setting were all nice and good, but it was Clive’s overall life that mocked me the most. 

 

Clive knew where he was going in life. I did not.

 

I never did. 

 

And I’m afraid that that is why we almost never spoke. 

 

Our relationship had been defined by the stereotypical teasing and tormenting of an older child to their younger relative, before Clive graduated into his life as a functioning adult and I into my life as a withdrawn recluse, and as nice as it was to have one less technically-still-an-asshole for an older cousin, it also meant that Clive and I had not a thing in common.

 

Blonde hair kept perpetually poking up thanks to hair products of some sort, Clive broke from his gaggle of giggling party guests and approached the long table full of punch bowls and little party snacks that I had claimed as my homebase while I waited for an opportunity to nab another champagne. Only an inch taller than me, Clive’s imposing aura came not only from his built, muscular physique, but the ease with which he could open a conversation.

 

“Harri! Long time no see!” Clive’s slap on the arm was the sort of jovial physicality between men that I had never understood, nor appreciated. It was, nevertheless, precisely the kind of thing that was expected of me to reciprocate.

 

“Glad to see you’re doing well, Cousin Clive,” I replied with a weak smile. I’d be doing good, too, if I was with my boyfriend, instead of suffering through this high-class hell.

 

The way that Clive stood was proof enough to spill the beans. Social interaction was a game to the sort of high-class socialites like those in my family. Clive made his rounds at the family gatherings, told some stories, cracked a few jokes, and made sure that everyone after the fact would have only kind things to say of him, “So how is, uh, college going? Prepping for law school like Bethy?”

 

This was awkward, “Haven’t decided yet, actually,” I admitted, perhaps with a little deception mixed in. “I’m thinking about maybe getting into education, though?”

 

Raising an eyebrow mid-sip of a barely touched glass of champagne, Clive swallowed before clarifying, “Thinking of becoming a college professor, are we?”

 

There was an amusement to the surgeon’s question that teased Clive’s inner child wanting to come out, just to sneer down on me, but I kept my poker face strong, “I was thinking maybe high school?”

 

Clive chuckled freely at that. If the mere notion of me becoming a college professor was humorous enough, becoming a high school teacher was surely me fucking with him, “I’m not quite sure that Uncle Art would approve, Harrison.”

 

I had not missed the emphasis on ‘quite sure’ in Clive’s voice, “Well then, I’m sure you won’t be telling him the musings of his black sheep son then, will you?” The alcohol was glorious tonight: I normally didn’t have nearly the silver tongue necessary to speak my mind, let alone indulge in catty talk with the man who had been the golden child of his branch of the Woods family.

 

Clive’s lips pursed as he shot a look down, collecting his thoughts in the moment, and swirling the fizzy liquid in his glass, “You know, I really do envy you, Harri.”

 

Taken aback, I approached my reply with a little more caution, “How so, Cousin Clive?”

 

If ever there was for a man to take a deep breath in a way that the sound alone spoke to the bitterness on his heart Cousin Clive had found it, “You and Bethy have first dibs on the family fortune and businesses. As extravagant a life as I’ve made for myself, being a surgeon was always going to be my consolation prize.”

 

The balls on this man, “Clive?”

 

A solemn bitterness characterized the demeanor of my cousin in that moment in a way that seemed to me to be almost above anger, but below self-importance, “Yes, Cousin Harri?”

 

“You should tell that to all the people whose lives you’ve improved.”

 

The mixture of confusion that slowly turned to shame that churned on Cousin Clive’s face as I took my leave was the sweetest reward possible.

 

***

 

December 24, 2013: 

 

To celebrate my father being promoted to vice-president of the Apollo Arms corporation, the Woods family Christmas party was being held with even more pomp and circumstance than usual at the old family home.

 

My father had inherited the multi-acre mansion that made up the Woods family estate when his parents passed away, and even after moving in when I was nine I still found myself unable to get used to the eeriness of the building—or its expansive surrounding grounds.

 

Beth, I and our many cousins had spent our childhoods combing the Woods Estate from the impeccably kept halls of the mansion to the wet and rocky forest and to the swamplands beyond it. Summers spent on the lake or running through the fields were remembered between baseballs to the nose, or from my bedroom window as the years proved that I was least miserable watching the adventures of the Woods family children and their cousins under other family names from afar. 

 

The scolding and lecturing from parents too lost in their own little worlds to truly understand my world made up of being an outcast in my own family was the perfect capstone to a truly exhausting life of appeasement between periods of paradise in the sanctuary of my own room, with my own computer. 

 

My father, a man known as Arthur Woods, had been an ever present specter in my life best described as horrifically distant in all the ways that mattered. When he wasn’t away on business he was at home, doing what wealthy, hapless, greedy fathers did best: treating their children little differently than they treated their business and employees. Art Woods was a profoundly boring man wrapped up in the failing body of a man from the initial wave of Baby Boomers. As I watched my father regale extended family and associates with his exploits closing deals for the military arms company that he worked ‘tirelessly’ to build during the Vietnam War I was only more aware by the day that he was an amoral asshole. 

 

My mother, Darcy Woods, was the queen bee socialite. Ultimately only a plaything for her husband, Darcy spent her days since marrying my father at the age of nineteen reveling in and owning the social status bought with old money and a little luck in the military industrial complex that saw my father transform the old money of the Woods family into new money. I had been a later birth for my mother, having me when she was thirty-four years old, as a last ditch effort at giving my father a son to continue on his side of the family name, and I had wondered if she resented me for not already being on track to fulfill that duty, considering her husband was now most certainly sleeping with younger women behind her back.

 

Or at least, that’s what Annabeth told me. 

 

Side-by-side with her husband, Mark, Annabeth positively radiated. Being the center of attention had never been hard for Annabeth, as she had excelled at it throughout our childhoods. Truth be told, I envied her for the manner in which she managed to hold the attention of any bigwig or annoying aunt or uncle that she had to entertain. Even when she was clearly smiling through a painful conversation there was something about my elder sister that bitterly reminded me not just of who she was, but of who I would never be. 

 

The nearly three year age gap between us had left us splintered as siblings. Because Annabeth was always hitting important landmarks in her development before me the attention of our parents had consistently laid with Beth. While it had afforded me relative freedom to skirt around unnoticed, it had also left me feeling particularly isolated.

 

Isolation could feel great in the moment—until the wisdom and experience that came with age and independence illuminated just how much you had missed out on as a result of having little to no real experiences as a child.

 

It taught me that for a child to become an adult having a ‘childhood’ is required. Without one, a child would forever remain such.

 

Nevertheless, I did my best not to ever show just how bitterly jealous I was of Annabeth. Instead, I isolated myself further in my room, and now that I was away at college—well, that plan had gone to shit when a certain meathead tossed a football at my head.

 

The Hellish nightmare of a marriage that Annabeth had been pressured into by our parents was punishment enough—

 

—Especially as my eyes darted back and forth between the heavy makeup on her right cheek—which didn’t quite hide the fresh swelling—and the ugly mug of her husband laughing at the joke of some guy I didn’t recognize.

 

Champagne in hand—my third for the evening, surely getting plastered before five in the afternoon was a welcomed and earned reward for suffering fools for an entire evening—I put on my best smile, walked over to my sister, took her by her left arm, and interjected into the conversation, “Excuse me, I need to borrow Annabeth for a moment.”

 

As I gently—but firmly—pulled my sister away to a private room to talk, Mark called out to us, “Anna, don’t be too long!” With a fake laugh that only made me hate him more.

 

Beth hated being called ‘Anna’.

 

Once inside one of the many bathrooms in the house I locked the door and turned back to Annabeth, “So, he’s graduated to this now, has he?”

 

“Wh-what do you mean, Harrison?” Beth replied, her faux-posh vocal inflections only underscoring how pointless it was for her to play dumb.

 

Unfortunately for Annabeth Eleanor Woods-Albrecht, I knew she was too skilled and dedicated to have slept her way to where she was in life, “Fuck off Beth, you know exactly what I mean. How long has he been hitting you?”

 

Beth only replied with a look at the ugly bathroom rug beneath the sink.

 

“That piece of shit,” my blood boiled over, churning and mixing in my veins like a storm in the ocean, “I’ll fucking kill him!”

 

A wicked panic sprouted on my sister’s face. Beth immediately grabbed me by the shoulders, half-shaking me where I stood, “Harri—you can’t!”

 

“Then fucking divorce him—actually, no, how the fuck is he supposed to be trusted with raising a child if he does this to you?” It was taking everything I had not to vomit into the nearby toilet.  

 

“He promised to get help, Harri,” Beth’s voice didn’t convince me that she actually believed what she was saying. “He’s just been really stressed out lately at work, and it—it just happened.”

 

“Beth,” I lowered my voice, keeping it as steady as I could in a vain hope of reaching her better, “You are one of—if not the—strongest women I know. You know this isn’t right, and you sure as shit know he isn’t going to get help for beating his pregnant wife.” A wave of motion sickness struck me even simply saying the words, but I pushed forward anyway, “For fuck’s sake, we’ll tell Mom! She may be a pain in the ass, but she’ll at least get dad to back you on this!”

 

Annabeth only stood there in silence, rubbing her stomach again.

 

Another wave of discomfort hit, cascading into vertigo. Nearly falling in place, I barely managed to prop myself against the bathroom sink, and then finally vomited inside of it.

 

“Oh fuck, Harri, are you okay?” Beth suddenly snapped back to life, as if proving the age old adage of it being easier to help others before yourself, “Come on, sit down?”

 

Guided to the toilet seat by my sister, I let my hands search for the trash bin I recalled being on the side of the toilet for years, brought it up to my lap, and then filled the liner with another torrent of regurgitated champagne.

 

“I see we can’t hold our liquor, eh, baby brother?”

 

Hearing the usual snark and animation in my sister’s voice was as disorienting as vomiting twice in quick succession. “Fuck off,” my voice was hoarse, strained rasp, and I couldn’t help but curse Annabeth for her mocking, and curse myself for sounding the way I did. I just sounded like another disgusting man, like that piece of shit husband of hers.

 

And I hated it.

 

I didn’t want to be forced to become like that.

 

Like Mark. Like Dad. Like any number of the bullies I faced in high school, or the cousins that had tormented me.

 

I wouldn’t become like any man.

 

“Come on, Harri, let’s go and get you some water…”

 

As Beth guided me out of the bathroom, down the hall, through the living room, and into the kitchen, I kept my eye on Mark—who locked eyes with me mid-conversation with some dipshit businessman—until he was no longer in my sight. 

 

Once inside the kitchen I rinsed my mouth out with water, before proceeding to drink glass after glass to rehydrate myself. With nobody else currently in the kitchen, I turned my attention back to Annabeth, “Divorce his ass, Beth.”

 

“It’s not that simple, Harri,” Beth sighed as she leaned against a counter, “Mark will make a divorce messy, and I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to—Jesus Christ, I’m stupid! So fucking stupid!” Tears streamed down my sister’s face, just barely revealing the purple bruising on her right cheek. The sight of the bruise dialed up my vertigo yet again, but with a hand on the counter to steady myself I remained upright this time. Even the slightest sound, or the corner of my vision warping, made me prepared for another overwhelming wave to hit me at any time.

 

Unfortunately, another wave of discomfort hit in the form of an unwanted presence, “Anna, you’re needed back out there to entertain the guests.” Mark, rounding the corner into the kitchen, stopped when he saw me and Annabeth still talking, “Oh, I’m sorry, Harrison,” Mark’s hand—red with tension—reached for Annabeth’s wrist, “I just need to borrow my wife for a little wining-and-dining. You understand, I’m sure?”  

 

Mark could fool my parents and he could fool our extended family members, but I knew a fake jovialness when I saw it, “If you touch her again I’ll tear your arm off.”

 

I wasn’t expecting my voice to sound so calm, but it did, and I was surprisingly okay with that.

 

For his part, Mark just wore something between a shit-eating and a lifeless grin, “Nice one, Harri,” and then wrapped his hand around Beth’s right wrist, “But as you can see—”

 

“—ouch, Mark, you’re hurting me!”

 

“—they need us back out th—”

 

Before I knew it I had grabbed a spare punch bowl from off the counter and slung it straight into Mark’s face. Five pounds of glass shattered into my brother-in-law’s perpetual shit-eating grin, sending him crashing down onto the floor.

 

The horrified looks on the faces of the newly arrived party guests checking on the violent crashing noise were nowhere near as painful as the look on Annabeth’s face. I could feel the emotion drain from me completely as my body moved with the stunted movements of a robot from an old film.

 

Pain of the heart soon gave way to pain of the body as Beth’s face contorted as she looked into my eyes with her piercing, enraged blue eyes.

 

Annabeth was going into labor.

 

“CLIVE?!” I shouted, calling out for Elliot’s older brother, already mid-crouching down to assess Mark’s condition.

 

With my eyes glued to Beth as she slowly descended down to the floor—her back grinding against the kitchen counter—I didn’t see Clive turn his head, but the sharpness of his voice as he whispered “Shit!” was enough to not surprise me when the behemoth of a twenty-four year old doctor rushed up to Beth’s right side and slowly helped her down to sit on the kitchen floor.  

 

Miserable sack of shit that I was, I was too stunned in my place to even help my own pregnant sister.

 

Miserable sack of shit that I was, the next thing I could remember was the cries of a baby in my traumatized sister’s arms.

 

Miserable sack of shit that I was, at least Mark Albrecht wasn’t going to have a son he could spend decades abusing.

 

In fact, it turned out he wasn’t even going to have a child that he sired at all.

 

***

 

December 07, 2023:

 

The inside of a crowded, dirty women’s restroom was not all too different from the inside of a crowded, dirty men’s restroom, I found. In men’s restrooms the men were always just pissing and going. If you looked at another man or spoke to another man while in the bathroom you had to have been some kind of faggot.

 

Plenty of men declined to wash their hands afterward, too.

 

With women, however, I found that the dynamic was always different. My father could never be bothered to take care of me as a small child, so the duty of making sure my restroom adventures went well often fell on the shoulders of my mother. It was strange to now revisit the women’s restroom and the hustle and bustle that came with it from the position of…well, a woman. 

 

Whether I was really a woman or not, I now lived in that role, and that meant fighting the—I suppose, ‘other’—women for enough mirror to double check my makeup, while avoiding having small children bumping into me to try and wash their hands.

 

If I had any nerves left to fry, I imagined they would have been fried from the sheer chaos of it all. 

 

Finishing my handiwork, I turned away from the mirror and made a beeline for the exit, only to be stopped by a woman with a not-unfamiliar shade of blonde hair in jeans and a top that looked battered from a years-long war with multiple washes and fresh food stains. The vaguely familiar woman kept a baby in her arms as her older son—perhaps six—snuck up past me and began to wash his hands in the space I had previously occupied.

 

“Hey hon, is that hunk out there with all the muscles yours?” The woman asked, an amusement in her voice that was surreal to have directed towards me.

 

“Technically,” I replied, unsure of what the blonde haired woman was asking. 

 

The amusement in her voice was unsettling, although I wasn’t even sure I could describe to myself why I felt that way, “Well hey if you’re not that into him perhaps we should swap!”

 

My reply was—perhaps—not the wisest, “If you don’t want your husband I’m not sure why I’d want him.”

 

Much to my relief, the woman shot back with a laugh of that read devoid of offense while peeking behind me at her son as his attempts at washing his hands were no doubt just soaking his overalls and blue t-shirt in unfiltered bathroom faucet water. “You’ve got a good point there, girlie,” the frazzled mother replied before turning her attention back to her son, “Cody, stop—” turning back to me, the woman held out her infant daughter for a moment, as if I would know what to do, and much to my surprise, I accepted the unaware baby, “—Cody, you’re getting yourself all soaked!”

 

As the woman held her son beneath the air hand dryer I found myself stumbling around the restroom, dodging women and children as they entered and exited the bathroom, and all while trying to keep the child in my hands from erupting into a crying fit. Eventually, I found that I had somehow wound up in front of an empty sink again, and caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. The woman in the mirror’s reflection held the child in her hands with great protectiveness. For a hair of a second I wondered if the woman in the mirror was actually Annabeth, holding her precious son, but no—Annabeth didn’t have nearly as perfect a nose as the woman in the mirror did, nor did she have breasts as perky and large. Of course, the biggest difference was also that the child in my hands was also clearly not a boy, whereas the nephew I could so vaguely picture now was clearly a boy.

 

The entire experience was unsettling, and I found myself trying to fight off the familiar vertigo that I felt any time I was forced to confront—

 

“—Thanks for holding her, sweetie!” The blonde woman wearing the faded lavender top said with a smile, her voice bringing me back. 

 

“Oh, no problem, hon,” I replied, the grace with which I smiled and spoke unfamiliar to my memories, yet familiar to my mind and my body at the same time. In these briefest of moments when I was not paying attention I found that I behaved in a way that I would never have in my teens. Were these moments that left me so at a loss for words the same moments when ‘Candace’ came back out?  

 

Were these moments the woman that so many seemed to love?

 

Taking her son by the hand, the mother of two made her way to the door, “Bree, by the way!”

 

Panicked as I said the first thing that came to mind, “Candi! Candace! Whatever!”

 

“Nice meeting you, Candi!” Bree’s voice trailed off as her son practically dragged her out so as to continue exploring the zoo.

 

In another world such a bathroom encounter would have led to me and Bree making a playdate for our children. This woman—so close to me in age—and I would have become fast friends, sharing shared misadventures in mothering and wifeing as we watched out children becoming fast friends on the playground.

 

Turning back into the mirror for a quick look—just to see if I could see the woman everyone else saw in the mirror—I was crushed by the sight of something important missing from my reflection this time.

 

***

 

December 25, 2013: 

 

The warmth of my boyfriend’s massive hand brushing through my blonde locks filled my body with a pleasant warmth that was nearly good enough to wash away the sourness and the sickness of the evening. Laying in my bed, I prayed to a god I didn’t believe in for the evening to have never been, and the next morning to be.

 

Unfortunately, we were nine minutes past midnight and my luck had yet to change.

 

After hitting Mark and somehow completely missing Annabeth giving birth right in front of me to a child clearly neither an Albrecht nor Caucasian, I rushed out of the house and drove back north to be with Michael. A text from Elliot confirmed that the family was pissed at me, and Annabeth had yet to stand up for my actions.

 

Yet again, another emotional outburst from the moody Harrison ruined the lives of the esteemed Woods family. Always the family villain, never the family hero.

 

Sick of it all, I vomited some more, before calling Michael and begging him to come over. As was consistent with his behavior, Michael appeared at my house in short order, and proceeded to try and hold me until I fell asleep.

 

I was having a rough time of it, unfortunately.

 

“It’s not your fault, Hare,” Michael whispered following another of my whimpers, “You did what you thought—what you knew was right. I’m just sorry I wasn’t—I wish I had been there for you.” Michael’s voice was like a warm wood oven fire on a chilly winter night. It protected me in ways I couldn’t begin to put into words.

 

“That’s not your fault, either,” I sniffed, squeezing Michael tighter. An irrational part of my brain feared that he would up and fly away in the wind, like a pretty flower that I could reach for, but never smell. “Sorry, I’m just—I’m exhausted. I don’t know what to do anymore. If Mark presses charges—fuck, I should’ve just finished the job.”

 

“You’d be in jail right now, which…is not a good idea for you,” Michael’s right hand traced down the length of my back, and it felt amazing.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean…well, just because you’re tall, it doesn’t mean—Harri, they’ll know.”

 

“Know what?” I asked, missing something that Michael seemed to think was obvious.

 

“They’ll know that you aren’t, y’know, ‘like the other guys’,” Michael’s voice was a soft whisper, as if any louder would shatter stained glass, “They’ll hurt you for that.”

 

It was hard not to laugh at the concerned look on Michael’s face, “Are you calling me faggy?” I needed the laugh, so I forced myself to take it, even if it made me feel like a terrible monster.

 

“I mean…you’re not exactly tough looking…and have you seen the way that you move your hands around when you walk?”

 

“Oh hush, you!” I giggled, pushing Michael’s right pec, and barely moving him any. How was he so strong?

 

It occurred to me that being on HRT would reduce my strength even more, as both Ash and my doctor had warned me. I was happy to be free of the effects of testosterone, even if that meant being a bit weaker at the end of the day. It wasn’t like I was running around picking fights all the time.

 

Well, the two from this month aside.

 

Michael didn’t know about me yet, though. I had yet to tell him that I was taking HRT to try and look cuter, nor did he know that I was working with Ash to make my voice cuter, too.

 

If we were going to keep doing stuff naked together it was probably as good a time as any to tell him. Placing my hand on his chest I kissed Michael on the lips and held it for a moment before breaking, “Hey, can I tell you something?”

 

“Anything,” the warmth of his voice was matched only by the warmth of his body, and as Michael pulled me in closer for another kiss, I finally blurted out:

 

“So, I’m taking hormone replacement theory. To look cuter.”

 

Michael stared at me, dumbfounded.

 

“...this isn’t going to be a problem for you, is it?” I asked, not sure of what to make of Michael’s facial expression.

 

“...are you trans?” Michael’s question was so plain that I wasn’t quite sure how to answer it.

 

“Wh-what? No?!” I shouted, unsure of why my voice sounded so panicked, “I’m just—I want to look cuter, you know? And you don’t have to be trans to take HRT.” Before I knew it I was rolling out of bed to get some distance between the two of us.

 

“Hare, just calm down, okay?” Michael got out of bed and walked around to hug me, but I inched back to keep some space. “Harri, I promise, this isn’t a problem for me! I was just—I wanted to make sure that you knew that you could be honest with me. About anything.”

 

“O-okay, okay,” I I fired back, tightening my arms across my torso so as to cover it, “S-sorry, I’m just—I hate how I look, but that doesn’t mean that I’m a woman!”

 

“That’s fair, Hare—Christ, I didn’t mean to rhyme, sorry,” Michael threw a palm over his face and groaned for the added effect. “What do you need from me? I’m sorry, that sounds accusatory, what I mean—what I mean is, what can I do for you?”

 

Michael’s question was one that I wasn’t quite sure of the answer to. An awful feeling churned in my stomach for far from the first time that night, “Michael, I—I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

 

“You’ve had a shitty night, I get it,” the smile of Michael’s face did little to convince me that I hadn’t hurt him. “I just want to make sure you’re—”

 

Before Michael could finish saying another perfect sentence I threw myself into his embrace, “—Just hold me, please?”

 

As was usually the case with Michael, he did as he was asked…

 

…and he did it damned well.

 

***

 

December 25, 2013: 

 

“Are you sure that your mom won’t mind?” I asked, wrapping myself in a plush throw blanket as the heater in Michael’s car slowly kicked on.

 

“Not at all, it’s been a while since I brought anyone over. Besides, I think we’ve kind of advanced to the ‘bring my boyfriend over for Christmas dinner to meet my supportive mother and little sister’ part of the relationship a little faster than usual, don’tcha think?”

 

The past twenty-four hours had been a living nightmare, so I decided to take the cheesy swagger at face value and giggled, “Okay, okay, you have a point. You don’t think she’ll mind me…dressing this way?”

 

“She’s one of those moms that goes to drag shows, you’ll be fine,” Michael hummed as we turned off of the highway.

 

There was a cognitive dissonance in crossdressing to meet your boyfriend’s mom, but considering how this was how I normally dressed now, I was beginning to wonder if it was still crossdressing, assuming that crossdressing meant ‘dressing differently from normal’, but that seemed like a whole lot of thinking that I wasn’t up to doing after how little sleep I got last night. Turning to face Michael, I was mesmerized by how his face moved while he paid attention to the road before him.

 

“And I guess your little sister is cool, too? With the whole—uh, dating a boy, right?”

 

“No, she’s actually a raging biphobe—makes birthdays and holidays real awkward!”

 

“MICHAEL SCOTT SUMMERS!” I shrieked, eliciting a terrible supervillain laugh from my boyfriend. 

 

“Sorry, sorry, you’re just so easy sometimes,” Michael’s apology didn’t sound as convincing behind a laughing fit.

 

“Ugh, you dick,” I scoffed, turning back to watch the road.

 

A devious snicker slipped out the side of Michael’s mouth as he kept his eyes on the road, “Hey, last I checked you liked dicks!”

 

“If you weren’t driving right now I’d slap the shit out of you, you get that, right?!”

 

“Ooh, kinky!”

 

With yet another scream I buried my head beneath the blanket keeping me warm to stew in my defeat.

 

***

 

December 07, 2023:

 

I had a love-hate relationship with the fox exhibit at the Point Defiance Zoo & Aquarium. The fox exhibit had two different sides to it: an indoor exhibit where you could see the fox sleeping inside of its little foxhole and an outside exhibit surrounded by a little moat with tadpoles and frogs in it. The green-stained water of the moat was an unpleasant sight, but kept behind closely measured bars it was at least outside of the reach of anyone foolish enough to try to dip their hands in for a taste.

 

The thing that irritated me so much about this exhibit was—despite the interesting design of both an indoor and outdoor design—the fox—fur of a white variety—was rarely ever visible. The arctic fox had learned long ago not to hide in the hole itself, for it was there that he would be harassed by an endless stream of children all tapping on the thick glass of the small door. At the same time, the little bastard had learned to use the elevated rock formations of his exhibit to hide from excited audiences while outside.

 

It was a real pain in the ass for a depressed trans woman just trying to stare at the beauty of nature in her desperate attempts at healing.

 

Leaning forward on top of the railing, I looked out at the fox-less fox exhibit. Allowing my eyes to get lost in the overgrown grass, I then allowed my mind to get lost in future.

 

What was I going to do if my memories didn’t fully return? I had a boyfriend—an incredibly charming one, that I was apparently actually attracted to—a successful career, and, apparently, no more Woods family.

 

I was officially Candace Queen, yet still worried about my future.

 

Then again, perhaps that was simply how it was to be a human: constantly worried about my future. My parents had always been worried about their future and had thrust those same worries onto me, but now my future was not a life of being a businessman or some old money bastard who wined and dined with the other high-class bastards.

 

Now I lived in a shitty, too small apartment and chose one of the poorest paying jobs. I had nothing to my name!

 

Accept, admittedly, a much cuter name. And a much cuter face. And a much cuter ass—really, everything.

 

I’d have died to—there’s that thought again, always at the back of my mind. My mind and body felt like someone else’s and yet…I loved that. As strange and alien as they felt, I finally felt free of that person I used to be.

 

Well, almost. Now all that was left was just how fresh my life before that stupid football hit me still felt. Otherwise, my body at least felt and looked entirely—

 

—well, almost entirely. There was still one last reminder of who I used to be on my body.

 

Oh. That’s a new thought.

 

Did…did I hate having a—?

 

I suppose that made sense. I had an orchiectomy, after all. An orchiectomy is the first step to a vaginoplasty, too.

 

How did I know what the hell a vaginoplasty was?

 

Black-and-white photos capturing my phone in my hand as I researched trans surgeries flashed between each blink. My acrylic fingernails starkly red against the black and white of the rest of the images in my mind. Recalling the mix of anxiety and joy at learning what was possible sent me standing straight up, only to grab the rail before me with my palms.

 

“Candace, are you okay?!” Michael’s voice called to me from my right, but I was too locked in to process his words.

 

I wanted it so badly.

 

Eventually, I woke back up in Michael’s embrace, my hands squeezing his torso for dear life, and Michael’s hands rubbing my back as I nuzzled my face into his shoulder. 

 

It was all so much to consider and so very little I could continue to deny.

 

I had to make one last stop before I could commit to what my heart was telling me was inevitable.

 

***

 

December 25, 2013:

 

The Summers family home was a short distance outside of Seattle, nestled in an unassuming neighborhood that didn’t look particularly different from any other low-income Washington neighborhood. The front yard was littered with plump green grass that dripped with water and clearly hadn’t been cut in weeks due to the aforementioned water making that a massive pain in the ass this time of the year.

 

The thickness of the grass was such that I could only imagine how a footprint would fail to fade for weeks should one step on it.

 

With the weather threatening to hit a high of 45F later in the day I found myself nevertheless needing to wrap myself up warmly. Ash had mentioned that with estrogen becoming the dominant hormone in my body I would find that I was prone to getting colder easier. I wasn’t sure if I was simply psyching myself out after only five days on HRT, but it was nevertheless a more pleasant thought to consider needing to wrap myself in a cute pink puffy jacket a good thing, so I did.

 

If I hadn’t been such a coward I would have considered trying out the cute new skirt I bought the other day, but that seemed a bit too far outside of my comfort zone for now.

 

The driveway of the Summers house was a worn concrete surface with cracks and the occasional hole from which little green hairs of grass sprouted out. A moss-marked basketball hoop stood stapled to the house above the garage door with the rope netting half hanging torn, and a ‘LOVE WINS’ sticker that had seen better days curiously slapped onto the back board at an awkward angle.

 

All in all, it was easier to tell that Michael lived in a home, whereas I had come from a castle. The benefit of copious space aside, I think I enjoyed the cozier feel of the home more.

 

As Michael led me through the front door I was instantly taken with how the living room boasted a full, wall-long series of bookcases, stuffed with both various books and knick-knacks. The sound of a faucet turning on in the kitchen just out of sight clued me in on our entrance being recognized, but Michael nevertheless called out to the person who was presumably his mother.

 

“We’re home!”

 

A curious choice of words, I nevertheless couldn’t help but feel my face grow flush with a varied selection of pinks and reds. To say that ‘we’ were home felt somehow even more intimate than inviting me over to meet his family for our first fucking Christmas together.

 

A rumbling storm of thunderous steps beating down against the carpeted stairwell to my right preceded the arrival of a girl one year my junior: Michael’s younger sister, Sarah. Sharing his same lush dark hair, Sarah’s unrestrained giddiness kept her ponytail bouncing with each hop down the stairs. Reaching the base, I was surprised to find that Sarah was my height, and in excellent “I do a ton of cardio” shape. Was she an athlete like her brother?

 

“Holy crap Michael, you said you had a boyfriend, not such a cute girl as your girlfriend!”

 

Sarah’s mistake was one that I was finding becoming a very common one to make when others met me. Before I could correct Sarah, Michael interjected, “Harri is my boyfriend,” looking at me for approval, I nodded. It was a bit annoying that Michael was still stuck on the whole “Are you sure you’re a boy?” thing, but I was so over trying to deal with the anxiety all this shit gave me.

 

Still, Sarah’s compliment meant that I was doing something right, I suppose.

 

“No fucking way, are you into drag?” Sarah’s wide eyes shot between her brother and I, as if she was expecting either one of us to answer a question posed directly to me.

 

“Oh, uh, I’m really just more of a crossdresser, you know?” I finally replied, feeling as if I was having an out-of-body experience. Did I really look that good to other people? I mean, it was a major improvement on when I didn’t wear makeup or cute clothes, but still…

 

“Omigawd, your voice is so cute, too!” Sarah practically squealed before hugging me. The platonic physical intimacy with a woman—related to or not—was so foreign that I didn’t know if I was supposed to hug back until Michael, over his sister’s shoulder, gave me the “you’re all good” look and I returned his sister’s gesture.

 

“O-omigawsh, th-thanks?” I stammered back as Sarah and I broke, “Your—your everything is really cute, too?” Christ, awkward comments like that were why I couldn’t keep a girlfriend to save my life.

 

Unlike my former girlfriends, though, Sarah didn’t look at me strangely when I complimented her dress, or her makeup. Was it because the whole ‘crossdressing’ thing made me come across differently? Did I give off ‘won’t ask you out’ vibes? Then again, I was dating her brother, and I wasn’t exactly keen on asking my boyfriend if he wouldn’t mind me also dating his sister.

 

The thought of being boyfriend to yet another girl made me feel sick to my stomach, anyway, so I decided not to entertain the thought any further, wrapped my arms around Michael’s muscular arm, and leaned against him. It helped with the anxiety.  

 

Still, I was really glad she liked my voice. I was still working hard with Ash to get it just right, and I was glad to not really sound like a straight guy anymore, either. The contrast between wearing clothing that was more on the bright and cute side, and having a voice that was decidedly more masculine would have made the entire process of learning makeup and how in the heck to dress with more colorful fashion a bit pointless, anyway. 

 

Turning, Sarah called out to whatever room was located through the arched door way ahead of us, “Mom, Michael and his boyfriend are here!”

 

An elegant woman covered in flour gracefully stepped out into the living room, one hand holding a bowl while the other stirred with a whisk. Long, curly dark locks tied up in a ponytail, it was most certain to me that Mrs. Summers failed to look her age by double digits. The only dullness to the richness of her hair was that of misplaced flour, and as I resisted the urge to try and look at the woman in her piercing, confident eyes, I realized that I was probably looking like a complete freak failing to introduce myself. 

 

Before I could even catch up with the situation, Mrs. Summers spoke first, “Michael, your boyfriend seems suspiciously like a girlfriend.” There was a casualness to her voice that seemed neither threatened nor showing her cards. She was simply cool as a cucumber, and it threw me for a loop.

 

“That’s because he’s a he, not a she,” Michael replied, doffing his jacket and hooking it on a coat rack. “Harri, Ma. Ma, Harri.” From behind, Michael unzipped my jacket and slid it off of me one arm at a time, then hooked it on the same coat rack. Readjusting my purse as my coat was removed from me, I once again couldn’t ignore how weird the strap felt against my chest. I couldn’t wait for the day my chest was softer, funny as it sounded.

 

Lifting the whiskto her forehead, Mrs. Summers made a small saluting motion without actually beaming herself with the utensil, “Howdy, Harri. Cute purse.”

 

Blessed be this woman, there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in her voice. Was this how it felt not to have judgemental pricks for parents? “Oh, gosh, thank you, Mrs. Summers,” a nervous giggle slipped out of me as I grabbed the pink, froggy-covered bag itself and held it up to my chest from the side of my hip, “A friend helped me pick it out, so I’m really fond of it.”

 

“Oh god, Michael,” Sarah interjected as she took my right hand in herself to better examine the acrylic nails I had done two days prior, “You need to date feminine gay guys more often. I’ve got way more in common with this one than all the others!”

 

I wasn’t sure how to take that, but blushed either way. 

 

“I wasn’t aware I was dating men so you could become friends with them, Sarah,” Michael sassed, a hint of genuine irritation evident in his voice, “Also, Harri’s not gay, he’s—”

 

“—That’s not really important right now, Mikey,” I rushed, hoping to skip the sexuality question for the time being.

 

“Omigawd, he calls you Mikey!” Sarah’s snicker was equal parts sincere and sarcastic, clearly trying to rile up her brother. I’d seen how my cousins interacted with one another before, but they were still family, so the antagonizing nature of their relationships had still seemed too close to home to really look at objectively. As a true outsider to the Summers family dynamic, I realized for once the quaintness of such a dynamic.

 

It wasn’t going to stop me from getting upset with Annabeth the next time we tussled, though.

 

Leaning against the arch of the room entrance from the kitchen, Mrs. Summers pointed at Sarah with her flour-covered whisk, “Alright missy, hurry up and get back in the kitchen and help, wouldja?” Turning to me, Mrs. Summers added, “Ignore my daughter, she’s a shit-stirrer,” and then to her son, “Michael, go ahead and show your boyfriend around the house. If you go up to your room to hang out just don’t impregnate him.”

 

I knew that that last bit was merely a dose of absurdist humor, but I couldn’t help but wince at it. Way to remind me that Michael could leave me for a cisgender woman at the drop of a dime, Mrs. Summers.

 

Taking my hand, Michael shook his head at his mother’s dry wit and led me up the stairs. The halls were absolutely hellish, clearly being built too narrow and a tad too low hanging, which led me to wonder if the second floor of the house had either been a last minute addition or one made years after the fact. Whereas the first floor was without carpet, it was the second floor that mysteriously had carpeting, which I thought was a curious choice, but it honestly didn’t seem all too out of place amidst the oddly narrow hallways of the floor. Michael and I eventually led me to his bedroom, and without much talk, ushered me inside like we were being chased by a ghost. Stumbling inside, I let myself fall onto my boyfriend’s bed, which had little room between his door and the opposing wall. It was a big bed, for a big boy, in a very small room.

 

“Draw me like one of your French girls?” I teased, messily posing on Michael’s bed.

 

Rolling his eyes at my silly sense of humor, Michael laid down beside me to look me in the eyes, “Sorry about them. They’re always this way.”

 

“With your new boyfriends?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

 

“Uh, yeah. Sarah’s a cheeky brat, and Mom gets her kicks whatever way she can,” Michael’s lips rolled into the back of his mouth, as if showing some anxiety would somehow make the situation seem more organic.

 

“I wasn’t really a fan of her joke,” I admitted, trying not to seem too upset with Michael about his mother.

 

“About you being gay?” Michael asked, confused.

 

“No, no, your mom, I mean. The pregnancy thing was…a bit much, y’know?” Wrapping my right arm around Michael, I dug my face down into his chest to hide my face, and definitely not to smell him.

 

“Oh, that? Yeah, Mom can be a bit…well, she’s an assistant manager at a big box store, so she’s a bit…out there.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard you gotta be a sociopath to be a salaried manager in retail—or in general,” I said into Michael’s chest. Realizing what I just implied about my boyfriend’s mother, I quickly pulled my head out, “Oh shit, hon, I mean—”

 

“Hey, she says the same thing about her fellow salaried managers, you’re fine,” Michael laughed, his eyes never peeling away from mine, until he leaned in to kiss me. 

 

It was surreal how kissing a man easily wiped out my anxiety now. Kissing all of my ex-girlfriends inevitably led to me getting sick, or followed a panic attack that I couldn’t explain having.

 

I used to think that I was straight, then I thought that I was bisexual…but was I really just gay? Could I really try dating another woman again? What woman would want a guy like me if I was practically crossdressing most of the time? Or growing breasts? A bisexual woman? I mean, yeah, it’d be nice to have something in common, but also, dating me would still be like dating a guy, so—ugh.

 

“I am sorry about Sarah, though,” Michael continued, “Her hobbies include sewing, basketball, and causing mayhem.”

 

“So that is why there’s a basketball hoop outside?” I giggled, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes, “What did you two eat growing up to get so tall?”

 

“This coming from the six-three supermodel?” Michael shot back, rolling me onto my back and then getting on top. As an endless series of kisses rained down on my neck and face Michael’s hands planned a sneak attack behind enemy lines and slowly crawled up my torso beneath my sweater and shirt.

 

It was hard not to break into another fit of giggles, “Michael, please! That tickles!” But he did not stop—not that I wanted him to, of course.

 

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Michael said between kisses, his hands climbed high and high on my body, “Think we have time before they call us back down there?”

 

“You want to fuck me in your bedroom while your mom and sister make Christmas dinner?” I laughed, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting me at full force. 

 

“I mean, I was supposed to help Mom, but my amazing, smart, cute boyfriend just needs so much attention lately~!”

 

“Pfft, fuck off, Mikey!” It wasn’t exactly easy, but I managed—with assistance from a very helpful Michael—to push my boyfriend off of me, and then got on top of him. “Let’s try cowgirl this time, yeah?”

 

“You don’t think all the bouncing will make too much noise?” Michael laughed, his question not particularly sincere.

 

“Shit, with the way this second floor is made…you might be right. Fuck,” my disappointment was immeasurable, and my day ruined.   

 

“Hey, don’t worry Hare, we’ll do it tonight at your place if you still want to, yeah?” Michael’s voice was particularly soft all of a sudden, so I looked down at him.

 

“Are you okay?” I asked, particularly confused by why Michael looked so serious.

 

“I was just wondering why you didn’t want me correcting Sarah earlier, actually?”

 

Sliding off of Michael to lay on my side next to him, I took my time trying to find the right words for what I was trying to say, “I can’t—I don’t want to date women anymore, so it doesn’t really matter.”

 

Turning onto his right side to face me better, Michael took my hands between his, “Hey, you don’t have to feel bad, you know? About being bi, I mean. Especially not with me.”

 

“It’s—it’s complicated, Michael. None of my relationships with women worked out, and I always felt so—I think—I am gay, Michael. Whenever I dated a woman it felt weird, and I’d feel gross. Dating you feels right.”

 

Michael didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t understand or interpret his facial expression.

 

“You’re not upset, are you?” I finally asked after a long pause.

 

“No,” Michael’s voice was soft, and I could read what he meant by it, “So long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

 

“Thanks, I am happy—with you,” I still didn’t know what to make of Michael’s reply, but I ultimately decided not to push it any further. If I sat thinking about this stuff too long I knew it would only be a matter of time before I began catastrophizing about my parents finding out about me being…well, gay.

 

It sure was surreal realizing that all those years of not being manly enough for my dad was all because he was, indeed, correct: I was gay, or whatever. I couldn’t keep pretending to be some straight guy, the more I realized I didn’t want to be, the more the thought and act of pretending to be was tearing me apart.   

 

Now I just had to try and keep it all together in time for college to be over so I could break free of my family, should they—very likely—choose to disown me.

 

***

 

December 07, 2023:

 

The rinky-dink apartment that I shared with Michael was an outrageous $1,200 a month for a one room apartment that featured what I was pretty sure was mold, mixed in with god knows what else, in the bathroom. The rest of the apartment was strikingly patched over with decoration that spoke to the colorful lives of the man and woman who lived there. 

 

I recognized what Candace Queen had contributed to the decor of the apartment as matching my own personal tastes. Nice wood frames for an earthy feel to the picture frames—mostly of me and Michael, together—made us look more like a family than the sterile white or metals that my mother had preferred.

 

There was even a framed picture of me and ten students. Taking it off of the Command strip that sealed it to the wall for a closer look I saw the faces of children all happy to be there, surrounding their teacher. Silly poses were struck by all in the photo, the whiteboard serving as their backdrop scrawled with assignment information and funny dry-erase illustrations of cute sharks..

 

Their teacher—Candace Queen—me smiled with warmth and love that I didn’t recognize possible in myself. Turning to Michael I asked, “Is this really me?”

 

Finishing a sip from a water bottle as he leaned against the corner wall that led to the kitchen, Michael began with a silent nod, before languidly speaking up, “Yup. Y’all took that in June, on the last day of school before summer break.”

 

Staring intently at the photo, I struggled to put names to faces. 

 

I wasn’t sure if that was the reason tears were dropping on the frame or if part of me really did remember the children, deep down inside.

 

“Claire, Andi, Drake, Isaac, Rachel, Jae, Zoey, Izzy, Hayley, and Allistair,” Michael began, “Those are their names. Rachel wasn’t out yet and I don’t know for sure if Jae is queer or not, but the rest were all in the GSA that you’re the advisor of.”

 

Wiping the teams from my cheeks—I sure was ruining my makeup a lot today—I pushed and pushed, struggling endlessly to try and remember these goofy teenagers.

 

I couldn’t remember a single thing about them—

 

—except the one thing I had wanted to confirm—

 

—they were my children—

 

—and I loved them.

 

Putting the photo back up on the wall I turned to Michael, cleared my throat, and said the one thing that I knew absolutely for sure: “Michael, I need you to teach me how to be Miss Queen again. I want to go back to school on Monday.”

 

The look of concern on Michael’s face was underscored by a complete lack of surprise.

 

***

 

December 25, 2013:

 

“Umm…are you sure you don’t need help with anything?” The awkwardness of watching the three Summers’ dance around one another as they brought dishes and silverware to the dining table was, suffice it to say, awkward. There was a casualness and comfort to the three in how they communicated and moved around one another in the mostly cramped house that left me in awe. Life under my parents’ roof was a lot less whatever the Summers family had going on and a lot more a terrible, lifelessness that could only be found in the Woods family. The complex relationship I had with Annabeth was the closest thing I had to something like what Michael had with either his sister or mother. There was annoyance without bitterness—raised voices without coldness. 

 

Finally, the three joined me at the table, and I could feel only ‘awkward’, rather than ‘super awkward’. I wasn’t sure why I felt this way, but just in time to realize that my right leg was bouncing up and down in place, Michael placed his hand on my knee, and I felt myself steadily slowing down.

 

“So Harri,” Mrs. Summers looked like the most beautiful, if perpetually exhausted, woman I had ever seen, and the sound of her smooth, husky radio host voice tripped me up to no end, “Regale us with the tail of how you met my son, if you don’t mind?”

 

“Oh God,” Michael groaned, dropping his fork to hide his face in his palms before even getting to take a single bite.

 

“Oh, um…well…we were at a party and he hit me in the head with a football,” the tail of how I met my boyfriend after being hit in the head by a football thrown by him was much funnier when I wasn’t having to tell it to his mother.

 

“Oh GAWD,” Sarah burst into a laugh, leaning forward to show her interest, “Do tell?”

 

“It was an accident! Harri walked out of a room and then my arm was already in the throwing motion and—”

 

“Domestic abuse is a serious topic, Michael,” Sarah deadpanned, her eyes full of a devious glee.

 

“Fuck off with that, Sarah,” Mrs. Summers interjected, her voice taking a rare seriousness as she admonished her daughter. Sarah backed off immediately at her mother’s sharp scolding and hung her head low, which satisfied Mrs. Summers enough to continue, “So he clocked you, what next?”

 

“Umm…he waited with me until I woke up, then took me to get an ice pack, and then we hung out at the park…”

 

“Jesus, this is romantic,” apparently incapable of not being sarcastic, Sarah leaned forward and stage whispered, “Michael’s other boyfriends never got as much T-L-C, y’know?”

 

“Will you stop?” Michael groaned, his voice strained as his pleas fell on deaf ears. “Hare and I hung out until I had to hit the gym the next afternoon. There—end of story.”

 

The most awful, devious face stretched across Sarah’s face, and I could practically see the cartoon lightbulb turn on above her head, “So you two…spent the night together after the first time that you met?”

 

Michael could form no words, and I wasn’t about to add fuel to the fire.

 

Sarah, for her part, erupted into an entire pack of hyenas’ worth of cackles.

 

Turning to me, Mrs. Summers shook her head in mock shame, and then admitted, “It’s my fault she’s like this. I shouldn’t have watched so much Boy’s Love when I was pregnant with her.”

 

Without a word, Michael stood from his seat and walked outside into the backyard of the Summers home, probably in hopes of a bolt of lightning striking him or something.

 

***

 

December 25, 2013: 

 

“Harri, I gotta know—how do you get your stubble to not come through on your makeup?”

 

Sarah’s question was one that I was kind of hoping a certain somebody would finally ask, “Oh, I actually had electrolysis the other day. It helped a lot, but I’ve also been practicing making sure that my shadow doesn’t come through.” Turning to Michael, I then winked with a self-assured flow to my body language, just to nail it home that I was busting his chops, “I’m surprised you didn’t notice, Mikey!” It was getting harder and harder to not develop some kind of ego over my growing skills, “Your partner is only getting cuter and cuter! You should take note!”

 

Using his fork to shuffle food around his plate, Michael finally responded to defend himself, “Isn’t electrolysis permanent?”

 

Mrs. Summers turned to me, as if she already knew the answer, but still wanted to see if I knew. Re-situating myself in my chair I took a moment to get my bearings, “Yeah, so? I barely grow any facial hair, and it always looks gross. This is an improvement, if I do say so.”

 

“I think you look super cute, Harri!” Sarah said triumphantly as she took my hand to check out my manicure—I was still practicing, “It’s a shame you’re not into girls, I’d definitely treat you better than Michael!”

 

A wave of vertigo washed over me as I sat still in my seat. Grabbing the edge of the table with my right hand to try and steady myself, I did my best to not puke and cause a scene.

 

Five seconds later I was rushing to the bathroom to vomit into the toilet. I wasn’t sure, but I might have knocked some things over on the run over? As I emptied my entire stomach into the toilet bowl the next thing my body registered was the familiar gentle touch of Michael’s large hands on my back. As he pressed his hand onto my back I became aware of the cold sweat coating it as my top pressed directly against my skin. As reassuring as the back rubs were, they only confirmed my fears that I had indeed caused a commotion. 

 

I wanted to be noticed for how I looked, not how I was puking up what my boyfriend’s family had just made.

 

Without turning my head from the toilet I could hear Mrs. Summers just outside of the bathroom practically shaking her head as she told her daughter, “You really gotta stop hitting on gay guys, Sarah.”

 

“Yeah, I know—he’s just so cute! And girly!!”

 

“God, I need a smoke,” Mrs. Summers groaned before walking off to presumably have a smoke on the back porch.

 

“Sarah, will you just give us a minute and buzz the hell off?” Michael shouted back to his sister.

 

While I immediately unloaded into the toilet again, I could just barely make out Sarah walking away, “Sorry I made you puke, Harri!” The basketball player’s voice grew more and more distant with each word, which only made the process of focusing on her voice harder and harder as my head pounded with every new noise that my ears could catch. 

 

Feeling reasonably emptied out, I pulled my head away from the bowl and slumped my back against the wall to try and catch my bearings. Sitting against the cabinets below the sink Michael rested, turned his head up, and just stared at the ceiling of his bathroom.

 

With my voice yet again raw and sounding like shit, I began my apology tour, “I’m sorry that I ruined your Christmas, hon.”

 

“‘My Christmas’?” I was taken aback by the surprise in the mountain of a man’s voice, “It’s my sister that keeps messing up your Christmas the day after you had a terrible blow-up with your family. I should be apologizing to you!”

 

Shaking my head to try and snap out of the fog that was settling back in, I found that I could only reply with a low whisper, “You don’t need to apologize to me. She’s fine. Lovely girl, even.”

 

“Then why did you just vomit a gallon of puke? And don’t tell me it’s because the ham was cooked wrong, either.”

 

“The potatoes were sour?” I offered back with a cheeky smile on my face.

 

Michael wasn’t buying it, “Come on, Hare. Trust me!”

 

Mustering what little strength I had, I pulled myself up off the floor, “I don’t know, sweetie. I just—I pictured myself with her, and—let’s just forget about it, okay? I’m happy enough now as it is.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Michael covered his face with his palms and took a deep breath. Finally removing his hands from his face, Michael quickly turned around and began splashing water on his face.

 

“You okay?” I asked, confused.

 

“Yeah!” Michael replied, taking a moment before turning back to face me. Eyes red, Michael’s wet face looked strained, but I didn’t push any further. Drying his face with a towel, Michael tossed the used towel on the sink counter and then brought me in for a hug, “I’m glad that I met you, babe.”

 

“Me too, Mikey,” I replied, voice partially muffled by speaking into my boyfriend’s chest, “Me, too.”

 

***

 

January 04, 2014: 

 

Following the Woods family Christmas party debacle nearly two weeks ago I did my best to give Beth some space. Thanks to texting with Elliot I had learned that Beth and her son were thankfully not staying with Mark in their home, but had rather moved back into the family mansion. That, unfortunately, was going to make contacting Beth—who was refusing to answer my calls or texts—quite a bit difficult. 

 

So, I did the only thing that I could do in this situation: I hunted down Meg, Beth’s old girlfriend, to see if she could find a way to support Beth.

 

Waiting for my mask to finish cleansing my face I tapped away on my phone, scrolling through Meg’s Facebook account for several minutes before finally biting the bullet and sending her a friend request. Much to my surprise, Meg accepted my request almost immediately—before I could do little more than admire her elaborate makeup game on her profile picture. 

 

It didn’t take more than half a second for me to send a chat request:

 

Harri Woods: Meg! Thank you for accepting my friend request! It’s me, uh, Harri. You used to, uh, kinda-sorta date my sister, Beth?

 

Megu Burmen: Yeah, i know who you are lol

Megu Burmen: so uh…what’s up?

 

Harri Woods: oh, right yeah

Harri Woods: uh

Harri Woods: so, like, i think beth could really use you right now

 

Megu Burmen: did something happen to beth?

Megu Burmen: harri, is she okay?

 

Harri Woods: uh

Harri Woods: define ‘okay’?

 

Megu Burmen: HARRISON

 

Harri Woods: wait sorry my bad

 

How the hell was I supposed to explain all this shit to Meg over text? This was hardly the sort of thing you talked to someone about over fucking text, right?

 

Harri Woods: Meg. Megumi. Can we, uh, maybe have this conversation in person?

 

Megumi Burmen: whatever, sure, just tell me: is beth okay?

 

Harri Woods: physically, yeah

Harri Woods: she’ll be fine

Harri Woods: i just think that she really needs you right now

 

Megu Burmen: im still in gravelly lake, wby?

 

Harri Woods: in seattle for school. 

 

Megu Burmen: shit.

Megu Burmen: okay, just text me your address and i’ll skip out early on work

 

Harri Woods: is that okay?

 

Megu Burmen: my project lead can suck my dick if he has anything to say

 

Harri Woods: gfkdnskdrnfh

 

After texting Megumi my address I checked the time on my phone—just barely noon—and knew that with just an hour before she arrived I had enough time to make myself presentable.

 

And then it occurred to me that—without any selfies on my Facebook account—Megumi Burmen was in for a surprise about her ex-girlfriend’s kid brother.

 

***

 

January 04, 2014: 

 

Brushing my hair was becoming something of a stress-relief exercise for me. With its length now resting comfortably on my shoulders unless I tied it up I was becoming very fond of finding new ways to style my hair in whichever way I could to hide my awful, bulbous forehead. Thankfully, I was finally able to get bangs, but I still wasn’t happy with how my face looked. Makeup was literally the one saving grace that kept me from entirely zoning out anytime I looked into the mirror nowadays. 

 

Spending an hour trying to make sure that I didn’t look like a fucking gross man wearing makeup kind of needed me to pay some attention, after all.

 

Rocking the pair of jeans that made my ass look best, as well as an oversized pastel lavender sweater that looked closer to a dress with the way it draped over and down my hips, I felt sufficiently like I would be giving off ‘not a straight guy’ vibes. Meg would have zero issues feeling threatened by me, assuming I got my look as right as I think I did.

 

The knock at my door nearly made me shit myself, though.

 

Rushing to the door and unlocking the chain lock before remembering to peep out the peephole I was happy to find that the familiar—if slightly older—Megumi Burmen stood on the other side of the door in an ‘office professional’ evolution of her signature Goth style. Unlocking the door, I opened it up and invited the familiar face in.

 

Well, familiar enough. Meg looked like she had had some work done on her face, but she still moved and held herself in the same way that she always had. I’d always admired Meg’s confident stride, but in this moment it was replaced by a nervous hunch as she walked into my apartment quickly and with a jitter in her step. 

 

Uncrossing her arms, Meg turned around and invited me in for a hug. With a tight squeeze and deep sigh of relief, “Jesus Christ, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Meg’s embrace was soft to the touch, but firm in a way that reminded me of Michael, although in this case the three inch difference in height was in my favor. “When Harri texted me I was scared to death, and you didn’t return my texts or phone calls—I was worried, Bethy!”

 

Well, this was awkward. 

 

Reflexively hugging Megumi back—as anyone would do when being hugged so lovingly and sincerely—I took a few seconds to process just what in the hell I was planning on telling Meg when she eventually got a better look at my face. Did I really look that much like Annabeth?

 

Pulling back, Megumi looked me in the eyes, “Beth? Are you okay, hon?”

 

This was so fucking awkward. I didn’t know for sure if I looked scared shitless, but I could literally feel the muscles in my face stretching and contracting.

 

“Wait a sec…Harri?” Meg’s face contorted from confusion into realization as she looked me up and down, “Jesus Christ, I thought you were—I thought that Beth was just in heels or something—I mean, you are Harri, right?”

 

While the confused Meg nervously adjusted the black tie around her neck, I managed to force out a nod to the affirmative. As I tried to form noises with my mouth I was quickly distracted by the look of warmth that took over Meg’s face. Was she warming up to the surprise of learning that I wasn’t some straight guy already?

 

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. This makes so much fucking sense!” Megumi’s body language melted into a casual, if striking stance that reminded me of the cool girl I remembered from my childhood. Even now that she was twenty-two Megumi still had that dramatic flair for Goth fashion that was impossible not to melt over. Ms. Burmen always knew how to rock an ankle-length skirt and dress shirt combo like nobody’s business growing up, and that clearly translated to black dress pants in adulthood. 

 

Sure, I was a gay guy, but even I could appreciate a woman who truly oozed cool!

 

“Harri—wait, do you have another name you like to go by now?” Beth asked, a paleness other than her makeup filling her face. “Oh gosh, I’m not deadnaming you, am I?”

 

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m still just Harri these days,” I replied, relieved that my vocal exercises this morning hadn’t gone to waste.

 

“Jesus, even got the voice down, too! Just, like, holy shit?” Meg stood back so as to take me all in. As embarrassing as it was to have her eyes tracing my frame, it was hard not to blush at such a beautiful and confident woman appraising me highly. “Wow, I’m so happy for you, girl!” While it had been at least three or four years since I had last seen Meg, I remembered a Meg Burmen who had been much less genuinely expressive in her emotions. The way that Meg was speaking to me now confused me in that, honestly, I just had never really seen her as being the kind of woman to be so openly nice.

 

Then again, when I knew her I was just some annoying, clingy little brother and she was my sister’s secret, amazing, intimidating, and gorgeous girlfriend.

 

If four years could make me some kind of gay crossdresser of sorts, could it not make Meg the more cheery? Or did she simply not see me as much of a threat because I was so different now?

 

And then I remembered what Megumi had just called me, “Oh, uh…’girl’?”

 

Meg blinked for a moment, “Uh, yeah? You’re trans, right? Holy shit,” Megumi’s voice burned with a panic that felt all too real, “Are you not officially out yet? Because of your parents, right?!”

 

Explaining things to Meg was going to take a minute, “Uh…well, I’m—so, like, I’m not out to my parents. Just my friends, Beth and—obviously—my boyfriend.” Megu’s eyes nearly bulged out of her sockets at the mention of my boyfriend, “Michael’s really nice, you don’t have to worry!” It bothered me how clinical my giggle sounded, but considering how much I was trying to just reassure Meg, it made sense for a bit of a performance. “I mean, so, like—I tell my doctor that I’m trans so I can get HRT, but I’m just a gay guy.”

 

‘Performance’? Yeah, that just about said everything there was to say about my life before college. 

 

“You…what?” Megu looked incredulous, “I mean, I’m not judging—obviously, you know that I don’t have a leg to stand on being that I’m bi and basically dated your sister for most of our lives, but I’m just—you’re a cis guy and you still want to take feminizing HRT?”

 

I was pretty surprised that Megumi knew what HRT was, but it made sense that she would know about it if she had dated a trans woman in the past four years, “Yeah? I mean, I just really wanted to look cuter, and my friend Ash said it would help.”

 

“Harri, you…” Meg’s eyes shot down, and then up, as if she was struggling to say something, “Do you dress like…well, like this all the time now?”

 

“I mean, not if I have to be around my family,” I chuckled softly, a nervous churning in my stomach making me wish I had something to drink. “Well, Beth has seen me like this, though,” the look of astonishment on Megumi’s face worried me a little, but I figured being truthful couldn’t hurt, so I continued to answer Megumi’s questions.

 

Suddenly taken with fatigue, Megumi walked over to my living room couch and took a seat, “Harri, I—nevermind that,” Meg raised her right hand to rub her eyes with her fingers, before stopping and sparing her immaculate wingtips their unjust annihilation. “Harri, what’s going on with Beth?”    

 

Taking a breath at the question, I walked over to my refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water and then handed one to Megumi, “You know that Annabeth got married, I assume?”

 

A sour look of genuine bitterness seeped out of the very pores on Megumi’s face as each word of my very, very stupid question left my mouth. Of course Megumi knew—she was the one person missing from the wedding ceremony.

 

“I mean,” taking a sip of the water in my hand, I decided to stop awkwardly standing over Meg and sat down next to her with as much grace and caution as I could, “Mark—her husband—he’s not a good guy, Meg.”

 

The heaviness of the motion that Megumi’s chest made when she inhaled made it perfectly clear that she did not need further explanation. An expression that reminded me of how I felt during the Christmas party took over Megumi’s face and contorted it into an awful shape. The silent snarl of a face matched her increasingly reddish purple cheeks very well. 

 

If I didn’t know what pure hatred looked like on someone’s face before, I did now.

 

“If it makes you feel any better,” the sound of someone sniffling—I’m not sure if it was me or her—broke my concentration, and I paused for a moment, “I put the bastard in the hospital when I found out.”

 

I was so glad that I had started keeping a box of tissues on the coffee table. Reaching for the box, I picked it off the table and put it on the couch between Megumi and me. At least a minute of blowing our noses passed before I was able to continue.

 

The pause in the conversation made it a very awkward minute.

 

“Beth needs you, Meg,” I kicked myself for whimpering like a child in the moment, but all I had to myself now was my emotions. Everyday I felt less and less like whoever the hell I was before college had begun, and more like someone who actually cared.

 

Apparently, I was now the type to cry. A lot.

 

Meg’s jaw clenched as she looked down and slowly shook her head back and forth, “Beth made it clear that we were done.”

 

“We both know that she didn’t mean any of that shit, Meg,” it seemed almost condescending, but in such a defeated mood I could only sigh at how exhausted I was, “I know she’s still in love with you, Meg. I see it in her eyes, she just can’t forgive herself for how she ended things. That she ended things.”  

 

Meg paused to sip from her water bottle and I decided not to fill the air. Finally, Megumi looked me in the eyes, “Was it bad?”

 

“She wore a shit ton of makeup to the family Christmas party, but I don’t know how long it's been going on, to tell you the truth.”

 

Megumi looked like she wanted to spit on the floor, but instead the tense ball of emotion that was her entire six-foot tall frame refrained and left her to merely bite her bottom lip. Looking me in the eye again, Megumi asked, “Is she still living with the piece of shit?”

 

With a light shake of my head, “No, I heard from our cousin that she packed up her shit and took her newborn son with her back to the family mansion.”

 

“Jesus Christ, they have a fucking kid together?” Meg leapt off the couch and began pacing around my living room. “How the—fucking hell Harri, if she doesn’t get full custody, she’s—he’s—oh my god!”

 

“She’s not going to have a problem getting full custody,” I countered, pulling the muscles in my  jaw and neck back.

 

“What do you mean? Isn’t that asshole a lawyer? He’ll make her life a living hell, Harri!”

 

The panic in Meg’s voice was torture. Fighting through the overwhelming second-hand panic filling my chest, I cleared my throat and attempted to speak again, “Uh, yeah, trust me. He isn’t the father, Meg—”

 

“—How the hell do you know that?”

 

“Beth and Mark are both white, Meg.”

 

Megumi Burmen’s arms dropped to her sides as her entire body went stiff as a board: “Huh?”

 

Opening the gallery on my phone I tapped the album for downloaded photos and then enlarged the last photo sent to me by Elliot, then handed my older sister’s forlorn love my smartphone. “Meet Hinata Woods, Megumi.”

 

Megumi Burmen stood frozen in place for five minutes, completely silent, before finally easing herself back down onto the couch. 

 

I held the shaking and sobbing Meg for fifteen minutes while she wept tears of joy over my sister’s freedom from her nightmare. I wasn’t sure who Annabeth had slept with, but whoever he was I was happy that he had saved my sister from a lifetime of living, breathing horror. 

 

Blowing her nose loudly and proudly, Megumi stood up and slipped her purse back over her shoulder with staggering motor control, “I have to go see her. Even if she hates me, I—I need to make things right. They need me.”

 

“Shit,” I groaned, “I’d go with you, but—well, I’m kind of in deep shit with my family right now. If I showed up it would just cause an even bigger mess.”

 

I wasn’t sure I had ever seen someone smile so widely before, but the smile that Megumi blessed me with was truly unforgettable, “Harri, thank you so much for this—for getting in touch with me.”

 

Confused by her exact meaning, I shrugged, “It just seemed like the right thing to do, I guess. I hope she listens to you. I—” my voice caught in my throat, and as I struggled to form words Meg bent down and kissed me on the forehead. “—Meg?”

 

“Silly, silly girl,” the mere sound of Megumi’s giggle brought back flashes of a secret life full of color and love, but dyed the grays and blacks of old photos, “I hope you figure things out soon, Candace.”

 

“Wh-who is ‘Candace’?” I asked, vertigo keeping me grounded on the couch.

 

“I gotta get going, dear,” Meg whispered as she bent down to give me one last hug. “I’ll let you know how things go, yeah?”

 

“Y-yeah?” I replied, lost in a daze. I wasn’t sure if I had actually said anything.

 

The sound of Megumi closing the door behind her was the last thing I could remember until I woke up six hours later in my sweat-drenched bed. 

 

***

 

January 04, 2014:

 

Showering the ick and grime of sweat off of my body was pure jubilation. The warmth of the shower thankfully opened my nostrils and out from them I was able to expel hours of built up snot. Had I cried and forgotten about it? But why? The conversation with Megumi went well, and then she left. What would I have had to cry about?

 

Exiting the shower and drying myself off, I casually picked up my phone from the sink counter to check for messages from Meg: Nada.

 

Cursing something you can’t say on television under my breath, I resumed drying myself off and then looked in the mirror. Two weeks of hormone replacement therapy was surely not enough to notice any real differences, but in spite of it all, I couldn’t help but smile—it wouldn’t be too long now because I just would not look like Harrison Woods anymore. And I would have breasts, too!

 

Sure, I’d have to hide them around my family, and explain to anyone who notices them that I’m actually just a cis guy, but having breasts would still be nice to have! They looked amazing on women and if I had some of my own I wouldn’t need to suffer through some awkward relationship where I malefailed harder any man should.

 

Well, no, any man who was attracted to women! Which clearly, if I was attracted to women I wouldn’t have fucked up having three different girlfriends, isn’t that right, Ca—?!

 

—Perhaps it was just the paranoia speaking, but I could swear that my chest looked a little puff—

 

—the annoying, high-pitch ping of the Facebook notification sound caught my ears before I could finish my thought. Lifting the toilet seat and sitting down, I picked up my phone, I took a deep breath and unlocked my screen.

 

Megu Burmen: Saw her. She hasn’t left the house in weeks, so I’m dragging her to get a bite to eat. Wanna meet up? U should be here, actually.

 

Harri Woods: Shit, yeah, but it’ll probably be a 50 minute drive?

 

Megu Burmen: I’m dragging her to a place in North Tacoma, you’re good, just meet us there, yeah?  

 

With the address now in hand I stood back up, looked in the mirror, and signed dramatically.

 

If Beth was going to chew me out in 35 minutes, I might as well look like a queen.

 

***

 

January 04, 2014: 

 

Since beginning my foray into dressing cuter the process of trying on new clothes and then dumping a terrible amount of money on clothes was becoming something of an addiction for me. While deposits into my account had continued even in the wake of the scene I had caused on Christmas Eve, I was beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t pinch every penny, just in case my parents cut me off.

 

Then again, it seemed sincerely doubtful either one of my parents was paying attention to their automatic transfers or whatever the hell their accountants did for them.

 

Nevertheless, I was beginning to enjoy the fashion freedom offered to me by womens’ clothing, and that came with it the freedom of skirts. Was it too much to wear a pink sweater and skirt? Black leggings did off-set the surplus of pink energy, right? 

 

When it came to the whole ‘crossdressing’ thing I realized that if I couldn’t be confident in my fashion sense then I had better make up for it with makeup that hid away any of the nasty and masculine features of my face. Someone who looked just like a woman with awful fashion sense was better than someone who looked like a crossdressing boy with awful fashion sense, and thus less likely to be hate crimed on the streets of a major city.

 

Exiting my car with great care to not get the flowy skirt caught when I closed it, I took just a few steps onto the sidewalk before I found myself beginning to regret not just boymoding. I didn’t need the stress of Annabeth's ire combined with the looks of strangers staring at the tall freak of a boy in a skirt. The past month had felt excessive. 

 

Sheesh, I wonder if Ash ever felt this way? The Ash I knew mostly dressed like a tomboy with jeans and cargos and tank tops, but we had discussed skirts before—she knew about skirts and dresses and makeup and so many more ‘girly’ things than I ever did. Hell, she was the actual girl here, why the hell was I the one who was so much girlier than her?

 

The curious thought lingered as I carefully walked down the busy hill’s thankfully not-so-busy sidewalk to the restaurant that I had agreed to meet Megumi and Annabeth at. For a guy who thought he was straight just a month ago, I had really jumped straight into the whole ‘gay crossdresser’ thing exceedingly fast. The generic saying in film and television was that “college is a time to find yourself!” and the more of myself that I found, the more I couldn’t quite square it with the guy I had been before. 

 

Not that I really minded that, of course. Anything was better than being a cookie-cutter rich boy who studied shit he didn’t want to, then married some equally poor girl from a rich family just to have kids he didn’t want to have with her for the sake of appearances.

 

Of course, Dad would have gone apeshit if he had ever seen me playing dress-up with Beth and Meg. Heck, it’s specifically why I made sure to never wear dresses when I hung out with them in Beth’s room growing up. Dad wouldn’t have bothered checking in on us himself, but if Mom or one of the housekeepers had I would have been well and truly fucked. As distant and cold as Beth could be to me, the time I spent tagging along with her and Meg was really the closest thing I had to friends growing up. I got to be one of the girls, without being a girl.

 

Maybe that’s why I felt so close to them, even though I wasn’t technically one of them? ‘Deeply closeted gay boy under the same controlling thumbs of parents who expected great things out of them’ relating to his sister who had to suffer through the similar trials of being a woman in a world that sought to turn those they deemed women into walking wombs? Hell, it made sense why I felt like I had more in common with women then all the straight boys I knew growing up. We are two peas in a fucked up pod.

 

I just wish things hadn’t gotten colder and colder between Beth and I the older we got. The exact when and how of it all was lost to time in a childhood that had few saving graces, but the more I thought back to it, the more my time with Beth and Meg reminded me a lot of my recent time with Ash. Ash treated me like I was part of the same group as her, which made sense in a lot of ways: we both knew—or at least, I was beginning to learn—what it was like to be queer in a world that didn’t really care for people like us. Was that what it was like to be bound to someone by shared trauma, rather than blood?

 

Before I knew it, I stood before the restaurant that I had been told to meet the girls at. Somehow, it had escaped me that the restaurant was attached to a hotel, so the vastness of the building itself was quite a sight to take in. In the shape of a giant block, the large white building’s sides were littered with windows—mostly covered by privacy curtains—and looked just a shade off of being pure white. Two entrances on opposite ends of the building set the two different sides of the building: one for the hotel check-in desk, and another for the restaurant side. Not wanting to remain outside in such flamboyant fashion I sped walked to the furthest entrance and did my best to avoid making eye contact with anyone waiting outside of the hotel and talking.

 

Reaching the entrance that I needed to enter through, I took a deep breath and climbed the five steps up to the door. Once inside of the building I hastily approached the—thankfully vibrantly queer—man running the check-in podium.

 

Despite my quick stride over to the check-in podium I found that each step closer to the man had left me dead on arrival with agonizing eternity. From the moment the vibrant soul in a black dress shirt laid eyes on me he opened with a bright smile that melted my very being, “Welcome! I love your outfit! Do you need to make a reservation, or…?”

 

I nearly choked on my own throat as I swallowed. My shoulders felt too big, yet also felt like they were shrinking inward at the same time. I felt like a horrible fraud of a man in clown makeup, while simultaneously caught up in the cute twink’s radiant smile. He was nearly a foot shorter than me, but at the same time I felt smaller than ever. Finally, I realized that I was standing around like an idiot and replied, “U-uh, p-party for Burmen?”

 

Double checking his floor plan, the twink with bleached hair looked up at me and smiled yet again, “Right this way, ma’am!”

 

Oh thank God!

 

He thought I was a woman!

 

***

 

January 04, 2014: 

 

The clatter of dishes and silverware complimented the lush sound of a frothy beer tap pouring into a mug. The choir of voices filling the restaurant from the dozens of filled tables and the stretch of the bar spoke to the hundreds of little stories being told at any given time. If I could only focus on those quaint little adventures, rather than the suffocating sound of silence at the tense table that Megumi and I now shared with my older sister, Annabeth, and her—thankfully soundly sleeping—newborn son.

 

Megumi was the first to break the deafening silence, “It’s great to see you, Beth. You look well.”

 

Annabeth looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

 

Curtly, my sister shot me a scowl before turning back to Megumi, “It’s the makeup. I’d look like hell without it.”

 

I’ve known since we were small when Beth was lying just by the tone of her voice, and she was most certainly lying about her self-review. It reassured me a little that Beth seemed unwilling to chew into Meg enough that she would simply let herself take Meg’s compliment.

 

Unfortunately, all of her ire seemed transferred over to me. Any time Beth shot me a glance for my reaction it felt as if a harpoon gun was being shot into my chest.

 

“I see you even brought little Hinata, too,” Meg redirected. There was a curious little hum in her voice as she said the boy’s name. “‘Hinata’ is gender neutral, but it’s usually a name reserved for girls.”

 

Beth blushed in a rare sign of vulnerability, “I could have sworn I was having a girl, so I just went with the name I had planned on going with.” Beth’s voice was a half-whisper, her voice strained in that way where it was clear that she was trying not to show annoyance with the questions asked of her.

 

“You knew the kid wouldn’t be Mark’s, didn’t you?” I interjected. It was against my better judgment, but I couldn’t help but pry further. Better to focus on someone else’s drama than my own..

 

“Your outfit is tacky, Harrison,” Annabeth replied curtly before turning back to face Megumi, “I’m sorry for my baby brother, Megumi. Clearly all that time away at college has taught him to interfere in the wrong kind of business.” 

 

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at that one, “Come on Beth, you need someone other than Mom to talk to, and Meg’s known you nearly as long and a hell of a lot better than her.”

 

“You sound like a squawking parrot, Harrison,” Beth did not spare the venom with that one, “I don’t know why you bothered coming here, either.”

 

Meg reached with her right hand and placed it atop my left as it gripped the edge of the table, “You sound lovely, sweetie,” the gentleness in her voice was a thousand-times more motherly than the new mother to my right, but I squashed such an awful thought almost immediately. “Your sister’s just a little stressed right now.”

 

My death grip on the table lessened just enough that I was no longer in danger of connecting my thumb and index finger through the hard wood. 

 

With a weak smile softly painted on her lips, Meg turned back to her ex and used her left arm to reach across for Beth’s right hand. 

 

Beth reluctantly let her ex touch her.

 

“I know that you both have had a rough couple of weeks, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you—the both of you.”

 

Megumi’s gentle voice left me more than a little taken aback. I wasn’t used to such tenderness from a woman—

 

—well, no. There was something vaguely familiar about Meg’s casual intimacy, but I couldn’t put it into words.

 

Beth, for her part, made a disgruntled noise that was audible enough for me to snap back to attention, “Megumi, it’s fine. I can raise him all by myself. You needn’t—”

 

“You’re not even going to tell the father?” I asked, somehow not surprised that Beth was going to make things harder on herself. “Come on Beth, is this guy really so bad that you wouldn’t want to tell him? Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just tell him?”

 

Beth looked at Meg before glancing back at me with a stare that was more than just the usual disdain, “This doesn’t concern you, Harrison. Again, why in the hell are you even here?”

 

Megumi spoke up before I could reply, “I asked Harri here because I wanted to tell him the truth.”

 

Beth turned a shade of white that I wasn’t sure was humanly possible, “Meg, you don’t—Megumi, please think about what you’re doing.”

 

Meg giggled not quite softly, but also not quite harshly, either, “It really isn’t such a big deal that I can’t tell your very queer sibling, Bethy. Honestly, I should have told Harri when we were still kids.”

 

Panic painted Annabeth’s voice in a way I had never heard it colored before, “If Harri accidentally let slip to our parents they would have—”

 

“—What the hell are you two going on about?” I interjected, my eyes switching furiously back and forth between the two women.

 

Megumi’s face stretched with a nervous grin masquerading as a confident one as she slowly traded between looking me and then Beth in the eyes before landing back on me again. The entire air of the table churned from ice cold to a muggy haze.

 

Finally, Beth relented: “Okay, fine! You’re right, Megumi—it’s you.”

 

The meaning of Beth’s whispered words were as foreign to me as the computer coding I had tried to learn in high school. Glancing at Megumi to my left, I found the software programmer with the same wide-eyed look. Her forced, anxious grin finally relented under the strain of her played-up anxiety and shrinking to a more manageable size.

 

“Yeah, uh, so—I’m trans, Harri,” Meg admitted, her words just gliding out of her mouth without any majesty.

 

And suddenly, things made a lot more sense.

 

***

 

January 04, 2014: 

 

Whatever conversation that Beth and Meg were having was lost to me as my ears zeroed in on the sound of plates, bowls and silverware clinking and clanking throughout the restaurant.

 

Megumi Burmen was trans.

 

I had known a transgender girl for over half of my life.

 

I had hung out with her—listened to her talk to my sister—or occasionally talked to her myself—for hours on end.

 

Played with her when we were both still young enough to ‘play’.

 

Hell, I had even had a crush on her at one point.

 

Megumi Burmen was transgender. 

 

Megumi Burmen was transgender.

 

Annabeth had known?

 

Annabeth was okay with trans women?

 

Would Annabeth be okay with a trans—

 

“—Harri, are you okay, dear?” Meg’s concerned voice and touch brought me back to the moment. Beth was trying to calm a crying Hinata while rocking her in her arms. I couldn’t help but regret my thoughts on her appearance from earlier: she looked absolutely perfect now as she gently rocked in place with her child.

 

The vertigo came back with a vengeance. Even sitting down it was like the world was bending and warping around me. Suddenly the room was wet, hot sauna choking me. The clashing and scraping of ceramic and metals crashed into my ears and then scratched at the back of my eyeballs from there. Even the taste of my own saliva turned into a vicious copper that left me wanting to—

 

—My brain hadn’t captured the sensation of me standing or moving several feet away from our table. When the sensations of it all finally kicked in I found myself crashing through the door of the nearest restroom to vomit into an unoccupied stall’s toilet.

 

A dainty but familiarly caring palm rubbed my back, although with my vision blurred with tears and my ears feeling full of cotton balls I could only tell that it was Megumi by the way her palm settled on my spine. 

 

I gurgled out what I hoped sounded like the older woman’s name, but the name was followed in kind by another wave of green sludge straight into the toilet.

 

“It’s okay now, Harri,” Meg cooed, in that voice that made her sound like a mother.

 

I wanted to contemplate the appropriateness of the comparison, but I had another wave of sludge to expunge.

 

Finally, the sickness and the bending of space and time around me stopped, and I was left with legs dead to the world on the cold floor of a mildly ritzy restaurant’s restroom. 

 

“You doing okay, Harri?” Meg asked, her voice betraying that she was very well aware that I was completely wiped out.

 

A thick coat of sweat slowly poured down my face like syrup. With a struggle, I managed to prop myself against the toilet stall wall as I tried to focus on Meg, crouched in front of me, while holding on to the handlebar screwed into the wall. “Umm…” Meg’s voice was distorted, as if she were being interviewed anonymously for a news program, “Y-yeah?” Mine didn’t sound much better.

 

Megumi’s smile would have probably come across as patronizing at any other moment, but I was far too out of it to really take offense. Patting me on the head with one hand, Megumi laughed, “You look worse for wear, girly.”

 

I didn’t really know how to respond to that, so I ignored that last part, “Yeah, I can feel it in my bones.”

 

Without taking a moment, Megumi asked, “So, surprised?”

 

Incredulous, I gave Megumi what I imagined was a baffled look, “You can say that again!”

 

Megumi giggled in a way that seemed almost out-of-character for someone painted in such dark, gothic colors. The reassuring giggle read more like it was unsettling to me, although it occurred to me that I was hardly in the best state-of-mind at the moment, “S-so, you’re…like, you and Beth? But how?!”

 

“Honey,” Meg intoned with a breathy voice, “Now, I know that we went to the same schools, so did you just not pay attention in health class?”

 

With a grimmace, “Oh my fucking gawd, girl!” My voice was at the quieter end of a shout as a centipede of frustration crawled up my spine, “Meg! I know how that works, what I don’t get is—”

 

“Beth and I were both invited to a party with some old high school friends,” an expression that retold just how nervous she had felt at the prospect of seeing my sister took over her face as she recounted the difficult event to me. “Seeing each other irritated us both enough to get wasted, and, well, voila: we have a kid now.”

 

“Omigawd, you two had a one night stand?” It was an obvious fact—I knew as much as the words tumbled out of my mouth—but amid the vertigo and dehydration my brain was basically on autopilot.

 

“...well, emphasis on the night,” Meg laughed, almost with a little pride.

 

After a beat, I caught wind of Megumi’s meaning, “Jesus girl, how the hell did you manage that? I can hardly feel it anymore when Mikey and I are—”

 

“—Regular practice. And boner pills,” Megumi’s dark makeup gradually became off-set by the red of her blush. “You have to use it or lose it, y’know?”

 

Ash might have mentioned that before, although I was far too out of it to really think back on it, “So you…just…well, I guess you don’t have—y’know, that?”

 

“Bottom dysphoria?” Megumi asked, digging through her purse for a breath mint. Megumi popped one in her mouth, before handing me the disk-esque container. “No, not everyone does. I’ve had enough experience to know if it bothered me by now, too.”

 

Fiddling with the container while mitigating my own embarrassment over how my breath probably smelled after vomiting so much, I barely caught the last part of Megumi’s reply. “‘A lot of experience’?” I asked, confused.

 

Megumi retorted with a tight-lipped look to underline her wide eyes.

 

“Oh! Shit, you mean—wow, I mean, you are very gorgeous, so it makes sense that you’d—oh god, I probably sound like an idiot right now?!”

 

“Eh, it’s kinda cute,” Megumi’s giggles had an enchanting swagger to them. I could absolutely see how a woman who spoke and paid attention with her casual vibes would be a popular partner. “I couldn’t stay love-sick over Bethy forever, after all.”

 

That was true, “Honestly, part of me wishes I’d known.”

 

With a raised eyebrow, “Known what?”

 

“That you were trans, I mean,” I laughed, handing her back her mints while pulling my knees up to hold my legs close, “I might have realized that I was gay sooner if I had more openly queer people to, y’know, talk to and stuff.”

 

“You knew that Beth and I were both bi, so it’s not exactly like you didn’t sweetie,” Meg’s voice had an air to it that I couldn’t quite place into words. Her stare felt like it was boring into my skull slowly and methodically.

 

“Yeah, I mean—well, I guess what I mean is—if I had known about HRT or whatever sooner.”

 

Megumi took a moment to gnaw on the mint in her mouth, “Yeah, I can see how you could have benefitted from that sooner. Well, not until you turned eighteen, at least.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Minors need parental permission to get on blockers and HRT. Even then, HRT is only for once you’re, like, sixteen.”

 

“Is that when—”

 

“—Unlike you two doofuses, my parents actually like me,” Megumi’s smile was something like a half-smile, “Sorry, that’s probably a shitty thing to say.”

 

“I mean, it’s true,” I softened, which led Megumi’s half-smile to bloom into a full one, “They wouldn’t have helped me stop first puberty even if I had known it was possible…”

 

“You hated it that much, huh?”

 

“It was torture. The way my body was changing, the way I was—”

 

“—constantly horny?”

 

I blushed—the mere forward crassness coming from a woman whose beauty I had always admired left me a little off-balance, “Y-yeah, that too. I guess you also—?”

 

“I came out to my parents in fifth grade. They got me on blockers and let me socially transition during the summer between elementary school and middle school, so I never actually had it as bad as you. Well, not until the latter half of high school when Bethy and I started—” Megumi broke out into a terrible snicker, leaving me mortified by the implication. 

 

“Gaaaaawd, Megu!” I half-shouted into my palms as I clapped them over my face to hide my embarrassment. An unfortunate mix of vomit stench and wintergreen became immediately apparent to my nose.

 

“God, I love bullying you bottoms,” Meg’s laugh oozed a confidence that reminded me far too much of Michael whenever he was trying to push my buttons. “But no, really! I’m surprised you don’t know how to keep it working?”

 

Rolling my eyes, having resigned myself to my fate, “Like you said Megumi, I’m a—” and then in a whisper, “—a-a bottom.”

 

Megumi burst into another fit of giggles.

 

“Hey! Come on!”

 

“I’m sorry!” Meg said between outbursts, “It just kills me how you said it in a whisper, like it’s some kind of deep dark secret!”

 

“Hey, if my dad found out…”

 

“Aah, right, yeah,” Meg replied, catching my meaning, “Ol’ Grandpa Artie can’t have no faggots carrying on his name, yeah?”

 

Clenching my lips, I looked down at the tiled floor of the restroom, and finally remembered that it was probably not the most clean surface in the world to sit on. “If he finds out that I’m gay, I’m—I don’t know what to do. I need to hold off on letting them know that I’m—I just need to wait until I graduate!” 

 

“Hey, hon?” Megumi’s voice took on a softer tone that brought me out of my anguished stupor, “You’ll be fine either way.”

 

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

 

“Do you really think Bethy or me wouldn’t help out if they disowned you?” I wasn’t expecting the warmth or the kindness from Megumi, although I suppose that if anyone would get me, it would be her.

 

Still, what she said reminded me a lot of what Michael had told me. 

 

Everyone wanted me to know that I didn’t need to hide, but was I really that free? 

 

I couldn’t handle considering the alternative, so I asked: “How long have you known?”

 

“Since I was ten or eleven, I guess? I always knew that I felt weird as a ‘boy’, but it didn’t really click for me that I was a girl until—”

 

“No, I meant about Hinata,” I quickly corrected, the idea of reconsidering my—

 

“—oh, today, actually,” Meg’s tone was more jovial than I had expected.

 

“Wait, you mean—?”

 

“Yeah, I knew when you showed me that picture,” there were signs from her body language and facial expression that Meg was trying to suppress a happy grin, but she was doing a lousy job of it.

 

“I…wow, umm...that’s kinda cool?” It was surreal to be told that I had been part of that moment for Megumi. I would never be a mother like her, but getting to see her reveling in it was almost like a high. That I had actually been the one to ‘tell’ Megumi that she was a mother was special in a way that I didn’t quite understand why it made me feel so energized. 

 

“Speaking of mothers,” Meg chuckled as she stood up and offered me a hand, “We should probably go and check on your sister, yeah?”

 

Accepting Megumi’s hand, I stood up with a bit of unease. Fighting through my dizziness I asked, “So, like, how are you so calm right now, Meg?”

 

With a wry smile, “That’s my secret, girly—I’m scared shitless.”

 

As I followed Megumi out of the restroom, two women on the opposite side of the door stood before us, discussing something that I did not bother trying to make out, but otherwise not even noticing anything out of place. 

 

Stepping aside, Meg and I let the two other women enter the restroom first. As Meg and I stepped outside it occurred to me what had just happened. Turning to catch the sign of the closing door, my eyes nearly flew out of their sockets.

 

***

 

January 04, 2014:

 

Back at our table. 

 

Beth to my right, Meg to my left.

 

Little Hinata silently asleep in his baby carrier, despite the hustle and bustle of a popular restaurant and bar sounding little different than an orchestra warming up. 

 

Downing a full glass of water—ice long melted—I found myself desperate for hydration.

 

Curiously, a pitcher of water—albeit, sweating condensation as the ice cubes within grew ever less corporeal—filled the center of the table. Turning to Annabeth, I was immediately greeted with “Don’t look at me like that—we both know how thirsty you get after vomiting.”

 

An olive branch, was it?

 

Biting my lower lip as I let my eyes fall to my salad I ruminated on what exactly to say. Should I even say anything? Wouldn’t—shouldn’t—everything work out if Megumi and Annabeth just made up?

 

“So, uh, I imagine you put my name on the birth certificate, right?” Megumi asked, finally speaking up. The pensiveness of her voice immediately caught my attention.

 

Beth nursing a water—and clearly avoiding wine—placed her glass down before looking her ex-girlfriend in the eyes, “Yes, I did.”

 

Nervousness obviously peppered Megumi’s voice, but with a slight fidget in her seat, the woman layered the gracefulness on thickly as she replied, “Do you want to stay at my place for a while? We can look after our son together more easily that way. At least until you’re ready to get back to work, that is.”

 

Annabeth looked absolutely awful, then she said something absolutely awful: “Let me raise Hinata on my own.”

 

As I poured myself a second glass of water my mind caught on my older sister’s words, and I began to overfill the glass. Pulling my glass up, I almost shrieked at Beth as I hastily sat the pitcher down. 

 

Megumi managed to reply first, however, “Bethy, come on. You know that doesn’t make any sense.”

 

Covering her face with her palms, Annabeth silently sobbed. Between hiccups, she managed to get out, “I-I know! I’m sorry, I’m just—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!”

 

Beth’s rising voice stirred Hinata, and amidst the red that I was seeing I could hear his strong cries calling out.

 

The idea of robbing a happily willing trans woman of the ability to be a mother was horrifying, and it filled me with more shame and disgust than I could handle that my own sister would stoop to such a low. Standing up—legs still shaky—I looked down on Beth and said something cruel, “You’re no better than Dad.”

 

Tears streaking down her face, Beth looked up at me stunned and harmed, but I was already turning to leave.

 

I sobbed the entire drive back to Seattle.

 

TO BE CONTINUED…