The Gentle Giant and the Melancholy Monster

Chapter 5

I arise from my deep, peaceful slumber, stirring slightly under the covers. Next to me was my best friend, snoring so incredibly loud that I could hear my parents in their bedroom, which was next to mine, snickering to themselves. We left the door open last night because it always got so hot in my room.

"Jess, what time is it?" I mumble, shoving him lightly until he finally budges and almost falls off the bed. He rolls over to find that he had been sleeping on top of his phone, murmuring something under his breath. It's probably about me.

"It's 7:14," he groans.

"I don't wanna go to school. It's my birthday. I might be late for the bus, anyway. I forgot to set my alarm."

"Don't worry." he so generously replies. "I can give you a ride."

"Such a gentleman," I reply sarcastically as I get up from the bed, putting on my fuzzy blue slippers. I make my way into the bathroom, trying my best to be quiet so my parents don't notice me. They always insist on making me a huge birthday breakfast, and singing to me as I blow out the candle they stick in a stack of waffles, since I don't like pancakes. I usually succeed in avoiding them until I'm ready to come downstairs and eat. Usually, I would be rushing to get my clothes on, wetting my hair and skipping taking a shower, and shoveling a granola bar in my mouth before leaving the house to get on the bus, which always came at 7:30. I was thankful that I had a friend who was old enough to drive. But unfortunately, he leaves in two days. Though his car is nice, I suppose I'll miss my childhood best friend as well. But we did promise each other we would never go this long without talking ever again.

I returned to my bedroom, where Jesse was finishing getting dressed. He had on a pastel green shirt that was oversized on his skinny body and baggy blue jeans. "I wish your school didn't require uniforms. I picked out this outfit, thought it would look super adorable on you, and nearly asked if you wanted to borrow it, or even keep it."

"I guess, but I don't know. You can pull off just about anything, Jess. From overalls, to dresses, to a suit and tie. I don't know how to separate my fashion taste from my gender and the fact that I have to hide it from pretty much everyone."

"Well, that's what's so great about clothes. Hasn't anyone taught you that clothes have no gender?"

I let out a sigh. I didn't mean it like that. "I know that. That's not what I meant. But what if I continue dressing in feminine clothes if/when I'm fully out?" I whisper. "I'm not cutting my hair, Jess."

"So? There's no rule that says that trans boys have to cut their hair. Are you still hung up on 'not looking trans enough'?' All that matters is that you're dressing how you want to. Not how others want you, too."

I motion for him to turn the opposite way before undressing and first putting on my skirt. He was always right. I need to wear what makes me happy. And if someone asks about it, run the opposite way! "Alright, Jess. You're good. Are you ready to have birthday waffles and chocolate milk for breakfast?"

"Your parents are the best, Luc- um, Luis XIV! Did you know he was the longest reigning monarch?"

"What? Yeah, I thought everyone- oh! Interesting. We're learning about him right now in school," I reply, continuing to babble on about history until my parents are out of the hallway. "Damn, that was close. Tonight, we won't have to worry about that, though."

A month ago, or, maybe even a week ago, I never would have thought that I would ever feel comfortable enough to flatten my chest and wear my binder under my school uniform, and instead change into a pair of pants instead of a skirt before I left for school. Jesse was absolutely right. Clothes and gender aren't the same thing, and it shouldn't matter what color or type of clothing somebody wears. But, it's hard for me to wear something other than feminine clothes out of the house, because I had spent my entire life being told what to wear by my parents. When they gave me the freedom to pick out my own things, I went straight for the dresses, and that was the same even after realization kicked in. I just thought that it would be too risky to wear something even slightly masculine. At first, it was because I didn't want to believe I was different. It was a scary thing to think about. The whole process of telling people you want a whole different name, and wear different clothes, and get shots that make your voice deep and grow more hair, and smell worse. But then, I grew even more paranoid. Starting last year, I noticed that I wasn't even the least bit happy with my appearance, or my voice, or anything.
It was like waking up in a stranger's body. One of the hardest things for me to endure personally was the first week back at school. New teachers had to learn our names, and I heard the name "Atarah" so many times that day, and I ignored it at first every single time. The hardest thing for me was when my name stopped feeling like my name.