Michelle | Trans Scömìche

Chapter 2 - Him

How, was the question.

It was never 'why?'.

Or 'what?'.

The human brain is so idiotic that it can't seem to compute that there were time when you needed to know why something happened, not how. You needed to know what happened, now how it happened.

If a woman was to get raped, she may get asked three questions.

How did it happen?

Why did it happen?

What caused it?

She may answer in the same order.

A man drugged me, and then took me back to his home and raped me.

It happened because I was raped.

This man who drugged me was the reason I got raped.

In that case, it makes a bit of sense. However, when a transgender gets asked the same questions, there may be different answers- and different responses.

How did it happen? will be answered with:

It didn't just happen out of no where. I was born this way.

In a response, they may get:

No, you were born either male or female. Anyways... Why did it happen?

The transgender would then say:

I was born this way.

Again, the questioner would reply:

Once more I will say, you were born the gender you were biologically made into. Final question: what caused it?

The last answer the questioner would get would be:

I am not a (male or female). I was born to be a (opposite gender of what he/she last said), but was placed into (gender born into). It happened because I was born this way, and if you cannot accept that, okay. But it is how I feel.

They wouldn't understand, however, the shit that the transgender person may go through. Everyday criticism that they need to begin to 'dress' or 'act' their true gender. No cis-gender human being would ever understand what it means to be transgender, no matter how hard they wanted to.

No one understand how I felt, either.

The only man that accepted me no matter the circumstances was out of my life, and he left me with a woman who wanted to shape me into the daughter she always wanted.

I'm not the perfect daughter.

I'm not a daughter at all. I never was, and I never will be. If I was her son, maybe she'd be able to accept me because I would 'actually be my gender'.

"Why can't I just be a girl?" I whispered into his shirt, tears filling my eyes and soaking the fabric, "it would be so easy. Mom would love me, dad and her would've gotten along. It's my fault, I'm not normal."

"Mitch, babe, you're as normal as ever. Being in the biological body of a female doesn't make you any less male than cis males," he whispered, rubbing my back. What would I do without him? Where would I be without him? Who would I be without him?

"T-thank you," I thanked him with a muffled voice, my body shivering slightly until the hands that were rubbing my back were placed on my sides and his arms were around me.

"Anything for you, Mitch. I love you," he kissed my cheek.

"Love you too," I pulled my face from his shirt and smiled shyly. He was my best friend. My only friend, for that matter.

"Now, I would love to watch RuPaul's Drag Race with you and eat cookie dough ice cream..." he sighed, trailing off.

"I have the dinner with the Maldonado family. But I don't have to go anywhere for another hour or so, okay? So let's just lie down, I really don't want to face my mom."

"Okay, do you want me to get one of my sister's old dresses from her room so when you go back she won't yell?"

I looked down at my blue skinny jeans and his black shirt, frowning.

"No. I brought the dress she bought me, don't worry," he nodded and let go of me, letting me lead into his living room. While I cozied up on the couch, he left to get ice cream while I burrowed into my thoughts and a blanket.

There was an hour and fifteen minutes until I had to be back home for dinner with the Maldonado's. What I would give to stay at his house forever and never leave. I didn't know why I came to him for comfort, because he was the nicest human being alive when what I needed to do was prepare myself for the judgement I would be receiving.

My mom would bring up my dad, and his behavior when I was younger. She liked to go in detail about how he lead me into wearing make clothing, and traumatized me into thinking I was a boy. I usually went to the bathroom when that topic came up to keep myself from sobbing or screaming, or more commonly both.

Kirstin was bound to be speaking about how normal her life is and her fantastic boyfriend, Avi. When we were little, she used to tell me that I was stuck in a fairy tale where everything came true- that going around in men's clothing would make me a man. I would pull her hair when she did this, and then she would make up some story on how I went psycho on her to her mom and I'd get punished by mine.

"Mitchie? I've been trying to get your attention for fifteen minutes. You missed Willam getting disqualified and your ice cream is melting. Are you okay?"

"Oh," was all I said, taking the bowl of melting ice cream from his hands and laying back on the couch once again. My eyes fell onto the screen, watching the show as he snuggled into my stomach.

Little giggles came from my mouth as he swore under his breath, little drops of ice cream falling onto my (his) shirt. He just scowled playfully and went back to the bright screen.

"Love you, bestie."

"I love you more, bestie," he countered.

"I know, bestie."