Life Imitates Art

Part 33 - Born Yesterday

Mum refuses to speak to me for the rest of the night. Tessa and I head upstairs, where she offers me a cute silvery dress to wear.

"The whole thing would look awesome on the gloomy tones Laura did on you! You'd be an artist and an art piece all in one!"

I shake my head.

"Sis, we're hurting Mum. The longer we do this, the worse it's becoming for her. Did you see her face?"

"I did." And Tessa stands up and lifts my chin up with a scowl. It's like I'm in trouble with her now too. "And she isn't going to get her way this time."

"But-"

Tessa cuts me off again. If I were to draw her right now, her eyes would have flames the size of volcanoes spewing from them.

"No. No. No. You need this, sis. You want this. And Mum isn't going to stop my little sister just because she's worried about being seen as the mother of a strange boy who wants to pretend he's a girl. Her words, not mine. Now, get this dress on."

I comply, doing my best to shut out the damage I'm doing to the woman who raised me. Dad's trying to stay out of it and play both sides while Mum and Tess consistently try to pull me one way or the other. And I know I want to be on Tess' side. I want to do what she does, to go where she goes. To live life in a pretty frame like she does. But if it's going to tear a whole family apart, I can't exactly be so selfish.

I thank Tessa for the dress, and the bounce of the skirt is the only thing that brings me any semblance of pride or joy as I retreat to my art studio/bedroom. Mum passes me in the hallway, and I hide my eyes. I can't see what she thinks of me. I don't want to know the new pain I'm inflicting on her. I might feel pretty, but all she'll see is her freakish son.

It's the following morning that Mum sits us both down in the living room. The initial meeting felt like a conversation. This feels like negotiations before a war.

"Son, I've tried. I've really, truly tried. My God, I've let you away with so, so much. I've tried to be nice about this, but you just keep going against my orders. And I'm not just making these orders because I don't agree with what you're doing. I don't, for the record. I think it's too much time drawing girls that's done this."

We know not to speak. She is nowhere near done.

"From the moment your nails were painted that first time, I knew it was trouble. The pipeline, they call it. I've been researching. A little boy starts with drawing girls. Girls he can never have. Girls who aren't real. But then, he attaches himself to them. He starts thinking that they are real. Once he does that, he imagines the fake girls as friends. He talks to them as if he is part of their world. That's what you do over Discord, no doubt. There's no sign of there being other friends from school for you to talk to."

Her tears of anger don't stop her tirade of terror.

"All I wanted to do was protect my little boy. And then, Tessa starts educating you on how to be one of these girls who don't exist. You end up making an a*se of yourself in public on at least one occasion. You have no idea who saw you. You have no clue what people want to do to boys who are too afraid to be boys. Boys who play this sort of make-believe."

...what else is there to say?

"So I set rules. Keep the make-believe to a minimum. I try to stop Tessa from making you her sister. I try to prevent any more eyes from seeing you. And I do that for your own good! I don't want my son to be a front-page headline as he's murdered for being too weak. Then what do you do? Tessa says she has found some brilliant club. I bet you created the fake ad yourself, eh? You wanted to trick me. I never bought it. I just wondered if my own kids really hated me so much that they would betray my number one order. The moment I took the lipstick from your bag yesterday morning, I knew you were going to go against what I said. So I did what any mother would do. I went online to see your message history, daughter. My daughter who must think I was born yesterday. I saw the stream link. I was disgusted. That's my only son making an a*se of himself in front of people who might hurt him over the joke."

"You know my sign-in?! That's so intrusive! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Me?! What's wrong with me?! I have a son who has delusions of being a girl, a daughter who seemingly needs to encourage him to misbehave and cause his death, and a husband who won't even lend a hand in saving the confused boy from himself. But I'm the one going mad?! Look at this! Just look at it!"

The headline on the phone reads "Gender-Confused Grafton "Girl" Almost Killed Over Identity Fallout". The face is unmistakably hers. But...Molly never shared anything like that.

"Do you want to be next on here? Do you want people baying for your blood? Why would you? And all over what? Dresses? Makeup? Things you shouldn't even need."

Tessa calls Mum out. "That article's bullsh*t. I know that girl. She's fine. She was totally accepted by her family. Because her mum cares for her in a way you don't seem to care for Max."

"She'll care right up to the point where her son's in a grave! Then, it'll be victim card all the way. 'She was just living her truth.' Sh*te. This 'Molly' is just another brainwashed boy. He's too far gone. You are not. That's why I got you a therapist."

"You what?" Tessa lunges for Mum but I stand in between, the sadness blurring all of my vision to the point that I don't even want to be here. This is all my fault. I've made such a mess. And Dad comes in to calm everyone down, but he also never picks a side.

"Your mother thinks it would just be a good idea to stop Max from doing anything stupid. You're supposed to protect him, honey."

"Him? He's clearly a girl!"

Words won't work. I feel five again. I just silently slink off to my room. Mum screams for me to return, but I don't dare listen. There's only one voice I need to hear from. But she's probably working, just based on the time.

The only time I move is to lock the bedroom door. Not even Tess needs to see me right now. I don't even have the energy to girl-up in any way. Wrecked. Ruined. Repulsed by what I've done to the people I love, and knowing full well that I caused every single part of it.