campbell's guide to the universe

prologue;

age seven- sitting in the backyard in a suit i stole from my brother's closet, around a table of tea. i am surrounded by stuffed animals in chairs.

"boys don't have tea parties!" my dad shouted.

he was trying to invalidate my gender, i have come to realize now. he was trying to say you can't be a boy because you're having tea parties.

"yes we do," i countered. if i said it enough, i might believe it.

age ten- sitting in a classroom, leg tapping up and down. i've become acutely aware that i'm doing it, that people have noticed, that the sound is starting to annoy me, that i need to stop. but i don't; i can't.

my mind is running in circles and i can't stop that either.

age twelve- sitting on the little brown couch in the living room, picking at my fingers. my parents were telling me about their divorce.

"it's not because of you!" they told me a suspicious amount of times (ten; i counted).

so, logically, i believed it was my fault.

age thirteen- sitting in my bedroom, knees pressed tightly to my chest.

earbuds are blaring music into my head, perhaps a little too loudly, but i don't care. everything is going to die eventually, so why not rush the process for my ears?

i am at dad's house. he isn't home though. i have a ball of anxiety in my heart as i wait for the sound of the front door opening.

i have homework. too much of it, if you ask me. not only that, but i don't have enough energy to put effort into actually getting any of it done.

instead i squeeze my eyes shut; inhale, exhale.

age fifteen- sitting in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, hands shaking.

i'm staring at my reflection with a crazed gleam in my eyes, brown locks falling and clogging the drain.

"what did you do?" dad shouts when he sees me; he's angry.

he calls mum to come over. when she sees, she looks like she might cry.

but i feel like myself. i feel like a boy.

my chest aches from wrapping it up in bandages and my hair is choppy and my cheeks are tear stained, but that's me. a broken boy, but a boy nonetheless.

age seventeen- sitting at the kitchen table, voice wavering in the eerily still air.

mom and dad sit opposite me, trading glances to tell each other that i'm the biggest disappointment in the world.

"i want to take a gap year."

i'm tired, overwhelmed, sad. but i can't manage to say any of that so it comes out as "i want to take a gap year."

age nineteen- sitting on a balcony, the lights of the city spreading out beneath us and all the way to the edge of my vision. my hands shake, even after all these years.

"hey, campbell?" you asked; your voice was a welcome distraction from my thoughts.

"yeah?" i reply.

"i love you."

my heart jumps to my throat. i want to say it back.

however, we end up leaving it at that because i'm too scared i might ruin it all.

age twenty- sitting in the doctor's office, nodding. my eyes are sparkling under the harsh lighting.

he's telling me about testosterone and its effects and asking questions; are you sure, are you sure, are you sure?

i sit there, thinking about how lucky i am to be here. i think about how other trans people never make it this far, never made it this far.

"i've never been more sure of anything in my entire life."

age twenty one- sitting in a rickety wooden chair at the cemetery, picking mindlessly at a thread on my coat. the sound of crying and eulogies are carried away by the wind.

mom is staring wistfully at the closed casket. dad.

my brother says a few words, his eyes never leaving my face. my ears go red but i can't meet his gaze. we both know what dad was like, what it was like to grow up in his environment.

"i'll miss you." i mumble, startling myself.

now i am the only one left to hate myself. but, i decide, that's a secret we can keep between ourselves. one you took to the grave.

age twenty four- sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor of our apartment, backs up against the wall. your hand is in mine; i know i'm trembling but you don't seem to mind. you never do.

it's midnight, and you probably want to go to sleep. no, i know you do. but i can't.

now seems as good a time as any.

i have no ring to give, not much second thought to this decision. but all of that is pointless anyways.

"will you marry me?"

"yes," you mutter. without even glancing over at you, i can hear the smile in your voice with the way that it wavers at the end.

age twenty seven- sitting sitting sitting. sometimes i think all i'm ever doing is sitting. waiting. so i ask if you would like to go on an adventure; you accept the invitation.

so we do. we run. and we never look back.

➸

life passes in flashes and blurs, in clarity and obscurity, in suffering and in smiling. life is often an uneven mixture of happy and sad, of ups and downs.

and we've got to hold on.