"Huh? Yes . . . I have."
Oh, God. Intersexuals. People born with both male and female organs, or organs that differ from their chromosomes.
He swallows. As if with great difficulty, he lets out the three words. "I . . . am one."
Regardless of everything, relief floods my entire body, making the shock from the completely unexpected news feel negligible. Though it was the last thing I expected him to say, it still defies the fact that he won't permanently have to stay in the hospital in a few months and slowly die an agonizing death in front of my eyes. After Dawn and July, if he too left me, I would lose any will I have to live.
But I don't let the relief show. I put a hand on his shoulder and let him speak.
He glances at the hand, and then at me. He puts his hand to his chest and says, "Cedar, I'm a boy, you know? I really am. But my body is . . ." He struggles to form the sentence, and gulps in saliva after every word. "I don't have a . . . "
I nod and say, "I understand."
He looks like he is on the verge of tears. He is playing with his fingers anxiously, and not meeting my eyes.
"Tell me everything, Edgar."
He drawn in a deep breath, nods, and starts. "When I was born, they thought I was a girl. But the doctor noticed my . . . private organ is kinda bigger than normal, so she told my parents I might be one, but we can't be too sure until I reach puberty. My parents didn't quite believe her, but gave me a unisexual name anyway according to her advice. When I was 11, showing no signs of puberty, it was confirmed."
He laughs dryly. "My parents wanted to pretend that it wasn't the case and wanted to continue raising me as a girl but . . . that doctor– Sarah was her name – supported me a lot. She told me I can choose whether I want to live as a girl or not. That doctor was our school nurse Leah's mother. She passed away three years ago. She is the reason why I can live as a boy now, like how I want to."
"How did you know you wanted to be a boy?"
He shrugs. "I just did. It's just like how you know you're a boy without anyone telling you. Besides, to develop sexual characteristics of a girl, I would need hormone replacement therapies—super expensive and not easily accessible in our country. My parents weren't too happy though. I would have to live my entire life hiding my body, after all. It is also very uncommon for those with my disorder to choose to live as a boy. But . . . I've never regretted my decision. I like being a boy. I feel like myself."
He takes another deep breath. "My family came around to accept it too. Both brother Ed and sister Ely were very supportive. Grandpa knows too but he has a bad memory so he forgets sometimes." He pauses for a while and concludes, "11 years I lived as a girl, but now here I am."
That would explain why he has no childhood photos. I nod and squeeze his shoulders assuringly. I finally get it all. Everything has clicked together. He must have been hurt when I asked Are you a girl? to him back then. And now I have nothing good to say. I can't imagine how it was for him. No one but him, and people who have the same condition as him, would understand.
So I only say, "Thank you for telling me."
He doesn't reply. I decide to lighten the mood. "Oh, God!" I sigh out of relief and slump down on the bed.
"What?" Edgar turns his head back and raises an eyebrow, though he still looks scared.
"I'm so relieved."
"Huh? What's there to be relieved about?"
I shake my head. "You won't believe this, but the whole time, I thought that you had AIDS."
His eyes widen. "You thought what?"
"It was just! It was just the only thing that made sense. It would explain why you don't go to bathrooms. Why you can't have kids. Also, I heard you and your sister's conversation that night in your house. My mind connected the dots and concluded it was AIDS. Edgar, I was terrified. I thought you are about to die."
"Pfft!" He throws his head back and bursts into laughter. I smile. He shakes his head and says between laughs, "Dude, seriously! How the fuck did you think I would end up with AIDS?"
"I don't know!" I laugh as well. "That didn't cross my mind. I was just scared that you would leave me too. I was really scared, you know? No kidding."
"Idiot!" He laughs some more, wiping tears with his finger. Then he stops, and lies down beside me. Both of us stare at the ceiling. He says, "That was not the reaction I expected."
"What did you expect, then?"
"That . . . you would feel repulsed, or disgusted . . ."
I click my tongue. "Edgar, you've judged me all wrong. I'm friends with you, not your body. Whether you are a girl or a boy or both or neither doesn't matter to me. I consider you a really good friend, that's all that matters. And besides, it isn't like it's your fault how you were born. I don't have any right to hate you for something you can't control."
He remains silent for a while. Then he says, "I wish everyone thought like you, Cedar."
I look at him through the corner of my eyes. That same pained expression has returned.
"I kinda made a really close friend before I came to this town. His name was . . . " Edgar gulps, as if pronouncing the name hurt. "Anyways, back then, I thought that we would be friends till the end of time. We were inseparable, kinda like you and Dawn. So naturally, I thought that he would accept me even if I suddenly turn up dressed like a boy. So I told him about it."
He pauses. I take a deep breath, knowing what's coming.
"I was wrong."
"What happened?"
"At first, he didn't quite get it. He asked me if I was a girl. I told him that no, I'm a boy, but my body is a bit different. He seemed confused. He went back home and told his parents. I don't know what his parents told him, but the next day he came with some of our classmates and beat the shit out of me. He spat at me saying that I belong under their feet and I deserve to die. That I should live in the slums where I belong. Since, you know, majority of intersexuals in this country are sold or taken away to the communities, which are basically slum areas."
"Oh, God."
"I know, right?" He lets out a dry laugh. "My world shattered into pieces. Had to stay in the hospital for a whole week. We changed cities when I was twelve and came here. That's when I met Lexi. It was kinda love at first sight." My neck starts to ache, so I put a hand under it. Edgar continues, "You know, in 8th grade, Lexi was the one who confessed to me."
My jaw drops. "Wait, what? Really?"
"Yeah." He smiles. "Hard to believe, right? For a moment, I was in cloud nine. But then it hit me. It was impossible. I couldn't tell her about my body. There's no way I could. So I rejected her. Now that I think about it, it was the right thing to do. Even if she happened to accept me, her family would never. She deserves someone a lot better, someone like you."
"I don't think you should be the one to decide that."
"I guess." He shrugs. "Anyways, it became hard for me to trust people. I was really afraid of telling you. I still can't believe I did. Wow. I guess you're easy to talk to." He lets out a long and loud sigh and smiles. "Damn, feels like a brick off my chest."
"I'm glad you told me. Otherwise, I would keep thinking that you are going to die anytime and destroy my already crumbling mental health more."
He laughs. He turns his face to me. "Do you see me differently now?"
"Yeah," I reply. His smile fades. Then I say, "I see you as a coward for not chasing the girl you like, even though she likes you back."
He smacks my arm. "Fuck off." He sighs disappointedly. "I don't think she likes me anymore, though."
"There's only one way to find out."
"Dude, it's obvious she doesn't. Why else would she confess to you? And think about it like this, you're okay with your friend being gay, but you won't be okay if he's gay for you. It's kinda like that."
I shake my head, not having any arguments for the last sentence. "But you should still try. Feelings don't die so easily."
"Who made you the love guru? You fit better as a nerd."
"Don't change the topic." I roll and lie on my stomach, propping my upper body on my elbows. "Talk to her."
"Huh . . ."
"Are you even getting what I'm saying?"
"Yes, yes." He sighs in resignation. "I will think about it."
"That's more like it!" I punch his stomach.
"Ouch! What'd you do that for?"
"Revenge for scaring me."
"It was your assumption!" He grabs a pillow and hits me. I grab the other one. Then somehow, it turns into an impromptu pillow fight and goes on until I abort.
"Wait," I say, abruptly remembering something. "Edgar is a unisexual name?"
"Oh nah, I'm talking about my first name."
"What?" I frown. "Edgar is your first name."
He blinks, confusion turning to shock. He gives me an incredulous look. "Dude. You seriously telling me you don't know what my first name is? Even though it is called everyday during the attendance?"
My name is called at the very beginning, and Edgar's towards the very end, according to our positions from last year. By the time Edgar's name comes, I'm usually already back into some book. I never cared about learning names of other students anyway. Everyone calls him Edgar as far as I know, so I joined Edgar and Conway naturally. "It's not Edgar Conway??"
"No." He shakes his head. "What the fuck? Edgar is just a name that Grandpa gave me after I started living as a boy. I kinda had a phase in the middle when I was very aggressive about about the fact of being a boy, so I ask everyone to call me that. But people still know what my first name is. Where the fuck do you live?"
I shake my head, still in denial. "Well, what is it?"
"It's Evren. Evren Conway."
I blink. "You're not joking right?"
"No!" He scoffs. "Holy shit. That's what happens when all you care about is your textbooks."
"I can't believe this."
"Of course you can't. But hey, do you know Evren means cosmos? I think cosmology might be my destiny."
"Oh, please don't. I can't imagine the condition of your poor cosmology teacher when you call Chaos theory as Kiwi theory."
"Okay, rude. But what's Crayons Theory?"
--------------------
Edgar leaves a little after eight. I come back to my room, silently checking up on Mom who is watching TV in the living room. Then I begin to revise Physics.
I finish by early midnight. I sit on my computer and research about Intersexuals. After a lot of searching, I finally found similarities of Edgar's case with a sexual disorder called Swyer's Syndrome. People with this are generally raised as females, which is what Edgar had said. Unless hormone therapies are taken, they cannot develop sexual characteristics, like breasts and menstrual cycles. They're usually tall, but Edgar isn't, which could be something he got genetically from his mother.
I notice how in this particular website, these intersexuals are addressed as "girls with Swyer's Syndrome". Is that right? I'm pretty sure like Edgar, some do choose to live as a boy. But then again, this syndrome is already very rare, so there is a possibility of Edgar being the minority within the minority.
I think about everything Edgar said. His own parents were in denial about it. I wonder why he needed to be accepted by his parents out of all people. Your child is still your child, and any sexual disorders they have are definitely not their fault.
Not like I'm one to talk.
I think about Edgar's childhood friend, whose name he couldn't even pronounce. I wonder why people who are slightly different from the majority bunch have to go through these. I wonder why some people waste the energy to make fun of and humiliate them. I don't see any achievement in it. To feel superior? But why should they feel superior for being ordinary? No matter how I think about it, shouldn't it be the other way round?
This might give me a headache. I was about to shut down my computer when another thought hits me.
Rain Castleton.
My heart starts pacing faster. I enter Google again. I type Rain and Rain Castleton comes up as the seventh results. The truth is only a magnifying glass away.
Then I close the window and shut down the computer before I change my mind again.
I stare at the black screen for a while before heading to sleep.
-----------------------
19 July; Friday
I wake up from a dream about my parents fighting while the house is burning on fire, not bothering to rescue me, who is stuck in the storeroom.
I'm sweating, which is probably why I feel so cold. Throat dry, and eyes sore, I try to reach for the blanket while blinking my vision clear. That's when I see him.
"J-July?" My eyes widen in disbelief.
He is sitting right in front of me, a pencil on his hand, the sketchbook I bought for him two days ago on his lap. He keeps his gaze elsewhere as he replies, "Hey. I'm back." He holds up the page of the sketchbook showing a work in progress. It's a drawing of the asleep me. "Apology gift," he says.
I jump up to sitting position, my heart skipping a beat as soon as I process everything properly. I look him up and down. He is still the same. I blink again and again. He is still here. I wonder if somewhere in my mind, I started to believe that July was never real.
"When did you come back?" I ask.
"Umm . . . a little while ago."
I unconsciously raise my hand to touch his face, but stop midway. He glances at the hand and then at me, a look of nervous anticipation on his face. That's when I remember that I am supposed to be very mad at him. I open my mouth to scold him, to tell him how hard it was for me to go through these days, but nothing comes out. I don't know whether it's from happiness or rage, but I see my vision become blurry with tears.
"Fuck you," I only say, then lie down again, covering my head with the blanket.
"Cedar!" He shakes my shoulder over the blanket. "Don't be mad at me. I hate that. And why in the world are you wearing a blanket in summer?"
I don't reply, and hear him grunt.
"At least give me a chance to explain why I did it!"
Doesn't he get it? I'm silent because I'm giving him a chance to explain.
"Okay, listen," he says, "the reason I left all of a sudden is . . . I wanted to give you a glimpse of how your life would be when I'm gone."
I say, "I'm not taking you for granted. I know you'll leave. I remind myself all the time."
He squeezes my shoulder. "I know, I know. But I thought it was still important to do it so that you don't get . . . carried away."
I remove the blanket and look at him. "What do you mean get carried away?"
"I . . . " He purses his lips and gives me an exasperated look.
"Whatever," I say, not hiding the irritation from my voice. I put the cover back on, sulking under the darkness.
"Cedar, listen."
"You didn't have to come back. Just leave forever. And then go to hell."
Guilt stabs me as soon as I let those words out, intensifying further when I hear no reply. I slowly bring the blanket down from my face and mutter without looking at him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
"I know you didn't." He pats my arm. "I'm really sorry, Cedar. Now I regret it. Did . . . a lot happen when I was away?"
"Thought you would never ask," I reply sarcastically.
"Don't do this."
I peek out from the blanket. He really does look guilty. "Where did you go?"
"Huh?" He moves his gaze away, hesitating. "I can't tell you yet . . ."
I snort. "Of course you can't." My tone sounds too cold to my own ears.
"Ceda-"
"Forget it."
The rage not cooling down, I put the blanket over me again though it's very hot, and close my eyes. I have an exam tomorrow and I need to sleep.
I hear him click his tongue. After a moment's silence, he says, "I made a poem for you. A haiku, to be specific. If you like it, you have to forgive me."
Oh? Biting my lips, I curiously wait for it.
July clears his throat and begins.
"Thee skin is like biscuits."
The first line nearly cracks me up, but I try to hold it in. I count the words in each sentence to see whether it follows the five-seven-five rule. It doesn't. What did I expect?
"Thee skin is like biscuits.
My tender heart cries out in remorse
Dear Cedar, please forgive me."
Both of us burst into laughter at the same time. I sit up and ask between laughs, "What the hell does my skin have to do with your remorse?"
"I thought I should start with something romantic!"
"Not romantic at all. And it's supposed to be 5-7-5 syllables, not words."
"What, really?" He giggles. "I didn't know that!"
"This is so funny." I shake my head and laugh some more. After it dies down, I say, "Fine, I forgive you."
"Thank God."
After a short silence, I ask, "Hey, what about . . . Dawn's wish?"
"Hmm? What about it?"
"I mean, we don't really talk about it. I know it's mostly up to me, but I need time to think, which I'm not getting. And– and I'm still very lost. I can't wrap my head around what I will exactly have to do to fulfill the wish. I can't even come to terms with myself and it's–"
"Cedar, Cedar." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, alright? I know it seems like we aren't making progress, but we are. You'll get it at some point. Dawn's wish is very abstract, so it's not your fault for being lost. I'm letting things take a more natural course so you don't unconsciously force your emotions to work in the way they have to. Take your time. We've still got more of it together."
I look at my lap. "So . . . we're really making progress?" I don't see any progress though. I wonder what he means by progress to begin with.
"Yep! We are. That's why I'm not so worried. As I said, you'll get it soon."
"Okay." I nod and quietly mutter, "I just want you to be happy."
"Oh yeah?" He chuckles.
"You weren't supposed to hear that."
"But I diiiiid, heh." He replies in a singsong voice, and I just roll my eyes. Then he says, "By the way."
"Hmm?"
"Were you sleeping stark naked 'cause I wasn't here?"
My face immediately reddens. Shit, I didn't realize that. I am wearing my underwear, but my Little Buddy is big enough to show the bulge through the thin blanket even without an erection.
I put my hand over the place and quickly try to find my clothes around me like someone who got caught in the middle of sex. I locate them on the other corner of the room, hanging from my study chair.
"July, get my clothes from there," I calmly request, my face burning as though it is on fire.
"Oh it's fine, really." He suppresses a grin.
"I said get them."
"We're both bo—"
"July, get them, for fuck's sake!"
.
.
.
.
hello lovely people!
so, i was really excited to write an intersex character like edgar. i don't see them much often in books. i spent days researching about them, but i'm still very afraid that i would get something wrong.
if i've written anything wrong, PLEASE let me know. :(
i hope, that someday, an intersex person would read this and feel happy and proud for being represented. only then, i would feel successful about writing edgar.
another thing. keep in mind that july is playing roles in MORE things than it seems!
thanks for getting through this long chapter. july is back! yay!
-- love, poma