I stare at my face in the mirror for a few moments longer. I examine my jawline and Adam's apple. I run my fingers through my grown-out hair one last time before standing and exiting my room. I'm overwhelmed by the smell of eggs and bacon as I make my way down the stairs. I smile at my mother who is holding a frying pan over the stove as I enter the kitchen. My dad sits at the kitchen table with a newspaper in hand.
"Good mornin' Mom and Dad." I say.
"Good morning, dear." My mom says as she turns to hand me a plate of scrambled eggs, two strips of bacon, and a glass of orange juice.
"Thanks, Mom." I say and take the seat across from where my father sits. I watch as he flicks his cigarette over the ashtray. He's been smoking since I was younger, but recently it became more frequent, along with his drinking. I can't stand the smell of either.
I eat quickly since I'm running late already, shoveling the food into my mouth and swallowing it all down with the orange juice. I then stand, grab my bag, and head towards the front door.
"Have a good day, Butters!" My mom calls after me.
"You too, Mom! Bye, Dad!" I shout back before leaving.
Before I can even see the bus stop, I hear the loud arguing between Kyle Broflovski and Eric Cartman. Kyle is a very tall, ginger Jewish kid who often argues with the shorter, but much larger, Eric. They throw insults back and forth, while Kyle's best friend, Stan Marsh, just watches, his ears plugged by earbuds. The fourth boy who stands with them is Kenny McCormick, the only reason I still hang out with them all in the first place. He turns his lightly freckled face my way when he hears my footsteps in the snow and smiles.
"Hey Leo!" he says, removing his hand from the pocket of his orange parka to dab me up.
I take his hand and smile back. "Hey, Ken."
"God, you don't ever learn, do you, Fatass?!" I hear Kyle yell at Eric.
I glance over Kenny's shoulder to watch them argue.
"Yeah, well, at least I'm not a thieving jew!" Eric yells back.
"I already told you, I didn't fucking take it!" Kyle shouts back, throwing his hands up in frustration.
"What are they arguing about this time?" I ask Kenny, who sighs in exasperation.
"Cartman left his diary on the bus yesterday so he's blaming Kyle for stealing it." Kenny explains, rolling his blue eyes at the whole situation.
Eric whips around and points an accusing finger at Kenny. "It's not a diary, it's a fucking journal! Diaries are for girls and fags. This notebook has my personal information and thoughts inside! Kahl stole it to use as blackmail!"
"When have I, or anyone at all for that matter, wanted to waste our time by messing with your personal shit?" Kyle asks.
"I don't know, Kahl! You must be on your period this week or something! But I will not stand for this..." I end up tuning out the rest of their conversation as Eric's voice begins to give me a headache.
Luckily, the bus pulls up, saving me from having to listen to their arguing any longer. As I step on, I notice Eric's journals sitting in the lost-and-found bin at the front of the bus. I make my way towards my usual seat, over the wheel. Kenny sits beside me, and Kyle beside him. Stan and Eric share the seat across the aisle from us.
I stare out the window, as I usually do.
Once in my first-period, English, the bell rings and the teacher begins taking role.
"Leopold Stotch?" He calls out.
It takes me a moment to notice before racing my hand. "Here."
I then look back down towards my desk and my sketchbook. I'm currently working on my homework for my art class, which I had forgotten to do over the weekend. If I miss another homework, I'll get grounded.
The next class is P.E., my least favorite. It's not that I hate working out or that I'm even very weak, it's just that the other kids in my class avoid me like the plague. Being forced onto teams is the worst. No one wants me, and I don't want to burden anyone by being bad at whatever sport we're playing. But the worst part about this class is how often they operate the class between boys and girls.
"Alright, for this week's unit, we are doing dance. Will each boy find a girl to partner with?" The coach tells us.
Great. I think. I stand around, waiting to be paired up by the coaches since no one chooses me on their own anyway.
"Leopold, how about you partner with Annie over here." The coach calls to me. I head over, standing next to Annie. She glares my way, but I keep my eyes on the ground. The coach stares at me for a moment longer.
"Wait, Leopold, do you prefer Butters or Leo? Ive heard both from your friends. Or just Leopold?" He asks.
"Oh, i, uh..." i think for a moment. "Any is fine."
The truth is Leopold, Leo, Butters, it doesn't matter. None of them feel right. They're all versions of what i might be called, but none of them feel like my name.
My name is something different. When i hear Butters or Leo, i feel sick. The same way I feel sick when they separate the class between boys and girls. The same way I feel sick from looking in the mirror and seeing short hair and an Adams apple. The same way I feel sick when I have to stand to pee, or use the boys bathroom, or wear a suit to church.
Being a boy makes me sick.
