Agnes in JackieLand

Chapter 1

My slate-grey eyes absorbed the image reflected to me in the full-length mirror. I don't think I did a horrible job. Squinting, trying to see every little thing, I nod to myself. I may have actually pulled it off. Maybe, just maybe, I might even manage to fit in. My hands itch to put my long locks up into a ponytail or fix it into a braid, anything that would get it out of my face. I knew that it was going to drive me nuts all day.

"Aggie, you ready?" Dad yelled from somewhere downstairs.

The grunt of a reply that came out of me was a ghost of a whisper and more for me than him. As far as clothes, teeth brushed, and shiny hair were concerned, I am ready. I look the part for school, but my nerves, brain, and overall essence, were not ready at all.

Not even a little bit.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, I managed to walk out of my room. Following the familiar grey floorboards down the hall and then down the creaky stairs. My annoying brother raced past me just as I reached the bottom, pushing me out of the way, barely even noticing I was there.

I took a deep breath, centering myself. I need to be in the right mindset for what is coming. My sneakers squeaked on the ceramic kitchen floor, right, left, and right, one after another. This, among other reasons, is why I never wore the shoes. They squeaked!

A gasp as I entered the kitchen had me hanging my head, trying to avoid the actual look of the gasper. I couldn't stand to see the shocked expression I knew was plastered on my father's face.

Shuffling over to the breakfast nook, I sank into my favorite spot without looking up. A steaming plate of peanut butter pancakes was set in front of me. Breathing in the fragrant stacks reminded me of why I was feeling anxious today.

It is my birthday.

"Happy birthday, my beautiful daughter," dad said in his sing-song way that drove me bananas.

"Thanks," I mumbled, wishing he would ignore me.

My father always made a big deal about birthdays. I had hoped today would be different. Today, I am seventeen, a very insignificant age. Nothing extraordinary ever came of being seventeen. There was no need to celebrate it.

I went about buttering my pancakes very meticulously, watching as the yellow pats melted down over the perfectly cooked pastry. My father was adequate at an array of various things, and cooking was one of them.

He likes to tell people he can cook because of the woman inside him. In today's society, he is referred to as a trans. Yep, you got it. My dad was a guy who dressed like a chick. It had embarrassed me my whole life. My therapist says that it is the cause of my OCD problems. I say it is the cause of my entire life's issues.

I had the need to be perfect in school, in mannerisms, dress, hair, and personal space. I like to think that I am the June Cleaver of the new century. I even dressed the part. But today, today held the promise of change, something new. During my last therapy session, I made a promise that brought about this situation.

So here I am, pushing my neurotic fantasy life aside. I agreed to dress in today's teen fashion and join in with my peers. I am trying to fit in with today's adolescent society.

I am wearing the clothes my father continuously bought me, hoping I will someday get out of my "phase" and be a normal kid. Ha! Normal. He was one to talk. Normal was not a word that I would use for this household. Not only was my father a transvestite who liked men and women, but my mother was a drug addict. Meth. Her choice of poison. Our mom left when I was five, and Robbie was one.