Talisman

He/Him

Mckenzie envied her. Her beautifully toned legs, perfectly moulded breasts and long, blonde hair.

Mckenzie hated her. Her naïve smile, blank eyes and coquettish looks.Mckenzie loved her. She was all he ever wanted to be.

Mckenzie received the Barbie doll as a Christmas present when he was just eight years old. It had been a tough year, and it was all his parents could afford. His facial expression, when he unwrapped the toy, was not one of despair, as one might expect in a boy of that age, or of joy, it was, in fact, inquisitive. Stupefied by alcohol and merriment, Mckenzie's parents, Mr and Mrs Southaven, did not notice this, although they would always blame themselves for what happened next.

July 15th. Mr Southaven made the mistake of asking what Mckenzie wanted to be when he grew up.

"Sir, I want to be her." Mckenzie, in all his childlike innocence, pointed his slightly grubby hand to Mary, lying naked and forlorn on the floor. Mr Southaven guffawed, leaning back in his threadbare armchair, the only chair in the living room. "That's my boy, always aiming high. I'm sure your future wife will look exactly like your damn Barbie. I wasn't so lucky, as you can see." Mrs Southaven looked to the floor, wringing her thin, white hands. "No. Tell me what you want to be. A firefighter? A policeman? A slot key person like your good ol' dad?"

Mckenzie was confused. He believed that he had already answered the original question. His eight-year-old mind struggled to comprehend why his father didn't believe his answer to be valid. It was quite simple, really, thought he, I want to be my Barbie. Deep down, he already felt like he was her already, but the grimy mirror in their bathroom countered this argument. Maybe a different way of explaining it would help.

"Papa, s-sorry, Sir, I want to be a girl."

A sudden deathly silence fell over the room, punctuated by Mr Southaven slowly rising from his chair. Mckenzie had seen his father angry many times, yet somehow this was different, this was...dangerous. Drawing himself to his full height and turning to face Mrs Southaven, who was standing to the right of him, he began to speak in a calm, smooth voice, "Did you put him up to this? Think it'd be some kind of joke? Some kind of sick joke?" He spat out the word sick as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, spraying Mrs Southaven with saliva in the process. He failed to see that she was as shocked as he was, possibly even more, standing with her mouth hanging open, showing the few, varying shades of brown teeth she had left. Mr Southaven seized her by the neck and finally her incredulous eyes turned to him, filling up with tears. "I SAID," he growled, shaking her slightly, "what did you do to him?" Unable to speak, due to the hand constricting her throat, she shook her head as well as she could, small spasms and jerks in an attempt to convey that she had no idea about this, about her son's proclamation. He dropped her as if she were a rag doll, and she slumped against the greasy, dented, puke green wall, caressing her throat, already worrying about what the postman would say if he saw her with more bruises.

Meanwhile, Mckenzie had scuttered backwards on all fours until he hit the wall directly opposite. Shaking with terror, and knowing that it was best to be invisible in these kind of situations, he did not utter a single sound. Inwardly, he cursed himself, he had done something wrong, he had said something wrong and it was HIS fault all his fault and Mama was gasping for breath and tears were streaming down her cheeks and each one was caused by him. He tucked up his knees under his chin, putting his hands on the back of his head and rocked back and forth, back and forth, silently on the spot.

Mr Southaven slowly turned to face his distraught son, growing even angrier at the sight of the girly, pathetic streaks of saltwater on his face. "Right," said he, "That's it. I ain't having no more of this... this... abnormality." He stormed out towards the door adjacent to the armchair, swooping down and picking up the Barbie on the way.