*Reed above*
Sifting through the rows and rows of clothes I don't want is the most boring task I've ever been presented with. Seriously, I don't know what my mom expects of me. Telling me to go ahead and pick out whatever I want, but only if what I want is technically what she wants.
"Theresa, look at this one!" My mother says with a bright smile, pulling out a white blouse-like shirt.
I resist crinkling my nose at the frilly looking thing and shrug, "Maybe."
I can hear her sigh, seeing as we've been at this for an hour already and have hardly found anything we agree on. Eventually I know she's going to get sick of my stubbornness and just pick whatever she finds suitable. Just as I'm flicking through a row of sweaters that all have stupid designs or are too tight, or have sparkles all over them, I notice a simple black shirt that must have been discarded on the wrong rack. It's just a simple, flat black, crew-neck, but I love it.
Deciding to test my luck, I put it among some other sweatshirts and call my mother over. As she comes over, looking excited, I pull the shirt out and look up at her hopefully, "Theresa, I don't think that belongs over here."
"I like it though. What's wrong with it?" I say, knowing she won't want to make a scene in a store, and hoping I can win this battle just once.
"Theresa... what's wrong with the stuff I've pointed out?" She asks in frustration.
"I just don't like them, mom. They look uncomfortable and you know I hate dressing all girly. Please? Let me pick out one outfit I want and you can pick out whatever the hell else. Just let me pick one," I beg, feeling pathetic that I have to resort to begging just to wear what I want.
She shakes her head in frustration as she stomps past me, grabbing the shirt, "You can have the shirt, but that's it. Go sit on the bench outside the store. I'll be out soon."
I sigh, but feel slightly happy that she at least caved for the shirt. As I drop down on the bench outside, adjusting my bra that's digging into my ribs uncomfortably-Who ever invented them is the devil incarnate, I swear it- my phone buzzed in my back pocket.
Pulling my phone out I see a text from Reed. We'd been texting back and forth a little since meeting a week ago. I haven't had a chance to meet up with him to explain everything, and now that so much time has passed, I was beginning to chicken out. What if it's too late to right myself? I've let him believe I'm a boy for a week now, and to suddenly be like 'haha hey! I'm actually a girl.' feels like a major dick move.
Reed: Have you seen the trailer for the new fallout game?
Theo: No, does it look good?
Reed: Good? Good!? Boy, I think I came in my pants it was so sexy.
I laugh at his ridiculousness, biting my lip. He's always like this, random and shameless in the things he says.
Theo: Damn. I'll have to check that out when I'm home.
Reed: Where are you? o:
Theo: The mall. Went school shopping xp
Reed: Cool. Hey, do you feel like shooting hoops tonight?
Theo: Not sure. I'll have to see if I can go out, my mom seems kind of pissy today.
Reed: Ugh, moms -.-
I see my mom coming out of the store, and quickly stand, seeing as she still looks ready to snap at me for once again being the failure daughter who can't even manage a simple shopping trip with her own mother.
Theo: Killer mom approaching, bye! D:
Reed: Have fun with that xD
I shove my phone in my pocket and quickly hurry over to grab a few bags from her, helping her put them away in the back of the car, the stares she gives me not going unnoticed. "Who was that you were texting? You seemed awfully smiley."
I blush at that and shrug, "Just a friend."
"A guy friend?" She says, a smile suddenly appearing on her face.
Over the last couple years it seems the only middle ground we've found in the mother-daughter world is the part where we can talk about boys and such. I always go to her with my boy troubles and she enjoys listening to me gush about cute boys, probably because it's the only time I ever seem like a normal teenage girl. At least I can do something right.
"Maybe," I say, unable to stop the smirk that makes it's way on my face as I think about Reed and his messy hair and honey eyes.
"A cute guy friend?" She says, nudging me as she pulls the car out onto the road.
I chuckle and cover my blushing face at that, "Yes, yes. He's cute. But, I don't know, I think he's just interested in being friends."
Mostly because he thinks you have a you-know-what between your legs, I think to myself, wanting to hit my head against a wall once again.
"Does he go to your school?" She asks.
"He will be," I say, but sink a little as I think about my little predicament. "I doubt he thinks of me as more than a friend though. We're more buds, and we don't even know each other that well."
I mean, he doesn't even know your gender, I want to actually facepalm over my idiotic thoughts that won't stop ridiculing me for getting myself in such a stupid position. Honestly, I know I have some internal struggles with who I am, but to actually externalize it and actually let someone believe I'm a boy, when the whole situation is due to come back and smack me in the face? I'm just a giant idiot.
I let the conversation drop after that, and I'm relieved when my mom doesn't push for it to continue either.
A few nights later it's the day before the first day of school, and I have successfully managed to work myself up completely about what I'm going to say when Reed finds out I'm not who he thinks I am. He's going to find out tomorrow, there's no way around it. Not only have I been panicking, but I've also accidentally begun ignoring him. If he's going to end up not liking me for being a liar, I may as well not let myself get attached to him or drag this out further.
I actually had to leave my phone upstairs so I wouldn't have to see notifications come in every half hour from Reed asking why I'm not answering him, or if I'm okay, or if I got in shit with my mom. Oh, if only he really knew. I'm in trouble alright, but he'll figure that out himself tomorrow.
Groaning quietly, I fall back on the couch in frustration, feeling anxiety eat at me as my last night ticks away, slowly bringing tomorrow closer.
"What's up with you?" My dad asks, coming in from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in hand.
I grab a fistful and munch on it, "Nothing. Just not excited for school tomorrow."
"Theresa, don't speak with food in your mouth. Boys like your new friend won't find that attractive, you know?" She sighs, sitting down next to me on the couch as I subtly roll my eyes.
That's not all they won't find attractive. I'm pretty sure Liar and Freak are up there too. "Yeah."
I stay silent, just sitting, cuddling a throw pillow as my parents chat and flip through the channels. Eventually my mom puts on E!talk that dumb show where they talk about celebrities and all the stupid things they do on a daily basis. My dad groans and gets up, making his escape, mouthing an 'I'm sorry' at my pleading gaze to take me with him. We both know my mom thinks this is good girl-bonding-time.
"That Miley Cyrus girl used to be so pretty, makes you wonder what had to go wrong for that to happen," My mom scoffs.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eyes, shaking my head at her cruelty, "I don't know. I mean, at least she knows who she is and isn't ashamed of it."
"She should be," My mom says, giving me her 'look' that says she knows right from wrong.
Suddenly the E! host comes back on and starts up the next segment and this one actually manages to really catch my attention.
"Bruce Jenner recently went through his final procedure and in the recent issue of 'Vanity Fair' comes out boldly with the statement "Call me, Caitlyn." The woman says, showing a picture of a mature woman on the front of some magazine.
As the people begin discussing it I find myself becoming enthralled, taking in every word. So many positive things being said about things that feel so relevant. Inspirational, Leader, Spokesperson.
Suddenly the channel changes and I find myself blinking and turning to my mom hastily, "Turn it back, I was watching that!"
"It's garbage, Theresa," My mother snaps, her lips pursed in annoyance. "People like that are a disgrace, tarnishing what god gave them. It's wrong and completely unnatural, you don't need your head filled with crap like that."
"It's not crap," I mutter. "They even said, she's inspirational. She's doing good and helping people."
"He isn't doing anything but encouraging people to destroy god's gift to them, and these people are paid to say anything. If you pay high enough you could get someone in the media to convince half a country that dinosaurs are still real," She scoffs, shaking her head.
"She is not a he anymore. What's so wrong about it? Can't we just be happy they're happy?" I argue.
"Oh, and should we be happy for a murderer who is happy after killing someone, too?" She retorts.
"How is that in any way like someone just changing their own physical appearance to make themselves happy?" I snap, throwing my arms in the air in exasperation.
"They're both sinful, Theresa. Now, I'll hear no more about it. Go to bed," She says sternly, pointing towards the stairs.
I gawk at her, "Are you serious!? Those are in no way the same, and also, it's only seven!"
"I said go," My mom barks, not even looking at me anymore.
Tears stinging at my eyes, I toss the pillow back on the couch and storm upstairs, making sure to slam my door loud enough for her to hear. How could she call someone a sinner just for being themselves? They weren't hurting anyone. Did she want them to stay miserable their whole life just to please other Christians and some god I can't even be sure truly exists!? That makes no sense!
Feeling frustrated I pull out my laptop and pull up the google search bar, typing in a single word that I remember hearing. Transgender.
trans·gen·der
adjective
denoting or relating to a person whose self-identity does not conform unambiguously to conventional notions of male or female gender.
My eyes open wide and I feel like all the air has left my lungs as my shaking hands hover above the keyboard. As soon as I manage to catch my breath, I find myself clicking link after link, wanting and needing more information. I need to know more, I need... to know.
A term referring to when one's gender and sex are not always or ever equivalent. Often used as a referent to the person themselves.
The state of being transgendered may or may not have any bearing on sexual preferences.
A person (either male or female), who desires to become the person that they most identify with, psychologically & spiritually.
An adjective for someone whose gender does not correspond, or does not fully correspond, to their assigned sex.
I feel tears build up in my eyes, a painful lump growing in the back of my throat as I read on, feeling as if I've finally found my answer and wishing more than anything that it wasn't the truth. Wishing I could go back to not knowing, but also beyond relieved to finally have a clear answer. I have a way of describing myself, a way to tell people what I'm feeling without rambling hopelessly and making little sense. Finally... I have a sense of self, a slot I fit into. I'm no longer just a puzzle piece that doesn't fit with the rest. I'm not the only one like... me.
I feel the tears slip down my cheeks as fear and relief both hit me at the same time. Relief because I've finally figured out who I am, and fear... because I already know my mother won't accept it and knowing this may have given me clarity but in no way did it make my life any easier.
I read story after story, blog after blog, forum after forum. Absorbing everything I could, wanting to hear everything that people like me had to say and feeling my heart warm every time someone said something I could relate to. Finally, I could relate and it felt so good I was trembling slightly.
Suddenly, I pause and look down at my purple pajama bottoms and tank top, and then back up at the images of other girls dressed as boys. For once, my need to dress masculine became so damn clear I felt like I was stupid for having been blind to this for so long.
Closing my laptop, I storm over to my closet and yank out my box containing all the clothes that my aunt had gotten me over the years and pulled out a pair of men's jeans, the shirt my mom bought me, a men's watch, even a beanie to conceal my shoulder length hair.
I quickly lock my door and march over to my bedroom mirror, tearing off my pajama's and glaring at my femininity as I pull on the jeans, liking that they hide how slender my legs really are. Pulling on the shirt, I pause and narrow my eyes in annoyance at how even my small breasts manage to stand out too much beneath the men's shirt.
Biting my lip I quickly tear off the shirt and march into my bathroom and raid my medicine cabinet until I find what I'm looking for. Ace bandages. I saw a picture of a girl wearing these to flatten and hide her chest. With haste, I quickly begin binding my chest, making sure it's nice and secure before slowly walking back in front of the mirror, admiring how flat my chest looks. Excited, I yank on the shirt again and I feel my heart pound at how perfectly flat my chest looks.
It's a little tight and uncomfortable, but at least unlike a bra, this gives me a desirable look. Once I pull on the watch and tuck my hair into the beanie so only my bangs hang free, I push up the sleeves of the shirt to my elbow and glance at my appearance.
I... I actually look like a boy. A proper boy.
I almost choke up again, feeling so relieved to look in the mirror for once and like what I see, but just as I'm about to grab more clothes to try on, I see my phone light up on my desk. Slowly, I walk over and unlock it to see the most recent text from Reed.
Reed: Theo?
My eyes stare at the singular word as I look up at my reflection, regarding myself carefully as I mull the word over in my head.
"Theo."
I say it over and over as I stare at my reflection before finally, I say it one last time and a small smile flourishes across the face of the boy in the mirror. It sounds so right, and suddenly, I feel as though that boy staring back at me is a whole other person. As he smiles at me, I begin to realize it was him all along, crying out; wanting to be heard. On the outside, everyone sees Theresa, but he's been inside all along, desperately wanting to be known. Desperately wanting recognition, tired of being called upon by a name that isn't his, but someone else's.
My heart aches as I look at the reflection that I know is me, but at the same time, not.
A/N
Okay, before people go bezerk on me about how wrong it is to use ace bandages, I know. Just putting that out there, I know how dangerous it can be and what can happen. This story is going to be all about the ups and downs and rights and wrongs and lessons that this trans character faces and learns. Sometimes a character has to learn the hard way, and sometimes they figure it out before things go bad. We shall see.
Anyway, besides that, what did you think? Are you enjoying it so far? Just figured I'd check in haha :)
Love you
~Shay<3